#-that you value or you WILL come back to find your hard drive wiped in new and unusual ways'

[mister13eyond]

that 'caring for your cermet' video but it's just me making fake instructions for how to care for my ocs

mostly warnings

[yorshie]

Twitterpaited

Hey, These are my Springtime Headcanons!

That's right, we all know that I'm talking about mating season. I tried to not go explicit with these but by the vey nature of these headcanons they are adults doing adult things, so read at your own discretion. There’s cussing and mentions/alludes to adult activities. Set in 2023 so turtles are 24-25

Spring starts slow, creeping up like an itch on their carapace and a skin sensitivity. It hits them all in slightly different degrees of uncomfortableness, but by the end of the roughly two weeks they’re all done with each other and their own instincts. Splinter caught on to the signs of encroaching puberty in their early teenage years. When they were younger, all it amounted to was shedding shells and outbursts of manic emotion and moodiness, but by the time the the turtles are in their twenties it’s a full hormonal raging see-saw. He nopes out to Casey’s and April’s apartment every year by then. They make up the guest room for him and he turns off his phone for the duration. His sons are adults, they can figure out their own shit, and in his older age he values his peace and quiet. And the Lair in springtime is anything but that.

Everything comes out of left field and sucker punches the turtles every year. The human friends of the bale might have picked up on cues to determine when the craziness is gonna start, but to the turtles it feels like nothing is amiss until they’re in the thick of it nine miles behind enemy lines, ass deep in cleaning supplies, snack food, and suddenly unable to stand the sight or smell of each other.

Territorial out the wazoo, and that’s an understatement. They’ll get pissy over someone wiping their feet on the wrong shower rug. Everything in their space must be clean, must be straight, orderly and neat. For Leo this is no problem, but Raphael and Mikey spend a good day or two cleaning out their rooms because their turtle brains can stand the ‘pigsty’ all of a sudden and they can’t find the one object they need that they haven’t thought about all year. One year for Raph it was a particular pair of boxing gloves and he didn’t sleep for three days straight trying to find them. The compulsion to have a clean space drives Donnie up the wall the most, because the poor turtle will never have a clean Lab, no matter how hard he tries. The good side of that is, no one runs into hormonal Donnie as long as they stay away from the Lab- which is a good thing since he discovered years ago caffeine makes everything worse. Just imagine, hormonal Donnie with no caffeine. shudder.

One time Casey nipped down to grab something Splinter forgot, and when he came back home April Frebreeze-ed him outside the apartment before he was allowed to enter. The turtles stink during their springtime, especially with only rival males around to interact with. It’s like they’re each putting out ‘fuck you and fuck off’ stench and it permeates the air. Casey said it smells like a musky skunk, and April swears it smells like a boy’s locker room when she got a whiff of it second handed off Casey. Splinter shocked them both by mumbling into his tea “It smells like they’re horny and pissy.” Raph is the worst at this, but Leo is a close second. Every time poor Mikey sticks his nose outside his bedroom all he can smell is ‘fuck you and the horse you rode in on’ from his elder two brothers and being the smallest and youngest, his turtle senses equate it to ‘I’m gonna get my ass kicked if I leave this room’. 

Despite everyone being frustrated and pissy about it, there’s not a lot of fist fights going on. It’s more subtle postering than anything overt, and it’s mostly between Leo and Raph. Whenever they clock the other in their peripheral, they start up a warning rumble that, in Raph’s case, will shake the furniture in the room if he puts effort into it. At most it’ll escalate into huffing and flexing their arms and chests, but it’s likely to scare the shit out of anyone watching. Every once in a while Mikey will be feeling his oats and will rumble back, and it’s usually enough to shock the shit out of his bigger brothers and they’ll stop for a bit. Leo absolutely hates it. He’s the leader, but come Springtime everyone seems to forget that, and for him it feels like every time he sees Raphael he’s in a power struggle for the mantle. Raph is just pissed he has to see Leo's ugly mug and judgmental eye rolls when he’d rather just get his food and get the fuck back to watching tv in his room with his door locked. 

The one thing that will cause them to stop in their tracks, however, is the discovery of anything smol.  Raph turns on his tv and sees baby animals by accident? Bawls for hours. Families or small children running around exploring on Mikey’s instagram reel feed? Turtle is hit in the chest with the thought that he will likely never be a father. Leo finds old photos of when they were toddlers while cleaning his room?He’ll avoid everyone for the rest of the day, chest tight at the thought of little faces that resemble his own. Donnie finds all the parenting books he downloaded over the hope of ‘what if’? He’ll throw them in the trash and then dig them out hours later in a silent apology to whatever kernel of hope he has.

Now as the turtles get older, there’s always the chance they have an s/o during their Springtime. They learned the hard way that things can get really weird, really quickly, when one year April hugged Raph goodbye after a game night in March and she said “wow you smell really good for some reason”- cue the turtles locking eyes in dawning horror and scuttling out of the room like their pants are literally on fire, and April disgustedly cussing Raph out over the phone once she figured out what exactly was happening. So, needless to say, if the turtles do have an s/o during these two weeks, there is a strict order to stay away from the Lair. If the relationship is far along enough, the turtle could join their s/o at their place, provided they can take the whole two weeks and then some off work, because there is no way any of the turtles could chill enough to let their s/o leave the safety of the nest until turtle.exe stops hogging the brain console and logic comes back online. Even if their s/o leaves just to run errands, they’ll likely come home to find a stressed turtle panic cleaning and vibrating off the walls, rumbling every time they hear footsteps outside in the hall… Maybe it’s better just to leave him in the Lair to preserve his poor blood pressure.

Courtship behavior, however, comes out as well in the Springtime, and it’s something to contend with if either the warning isn’t heeded or the turtle heads aboveground. During the other months of the year, the turtles are more into romancing their s/o’s in a more ‘normal’ manner, but during those two weeks the little voice that warns them humans won’t really ‘get’ all the turtle-y interactions goes suspiciously quiet. Actions such as kissing, hand holding, and personal bubble space go right out the proverbial window, and in their place pop up some more hindbrain postering that, well to be honest, can be downright confusing

One of the most obvious courtships traits is dogging their s/o’s footsteps. It’s a shadowing instinct, made ten times worse by their ninja training and their ability to move silently, and nine times out of ten they don’t even realize they’re doing it until their s/o turns and runs into them. They’re always in the way, always underfoot, and if they can’t physically follow they’ll track with their gaze. It gets worse if the other turtles are around, to the point where their s/o might feel like they’re being stalked by a particularly rumbly bodyguard that covers their back at all times. Surprisingly (sarcasm), Mikey is the worst offender. Leo is the best at keeping himself to only following with his eyes, but eventually they’ll all break and find themselves one step from being up against their chosen partner.

Another turtle-y interaction that grips them hard is the need to provide. He notices his s/o hasn’t eaten in a few hours? He’ll make a point to get them to eat or to bring them snacks. The room’s too cold or there’s too few blankets to cuddle up in? He’ll bring the covers from the bed if he can’t get away with just relocating to the  bedroom, but no matter what he’s getting some article of his ill-fitting clothing on his s/o. It’s a ‘kill two birds with one stone’ technique that soothes the itch in his snout that absolutely freaks him out when he realizes his s/o doesn’t smell like him.

The turtles also turn handsy overnight. Their s/o better be prepared for casual touch at any open opportunity, because the turtles will not waste it. Everything from a hand on the small of their s/o’s back, to touching any bare skin, to fluttering their fingers against their s/o’s face. The latter happens the least, and only when no one else is around to witness it. If their s/o ever tries to turn the tables and return the favor around others, it quickly becomes apparent by the sputtering and coughing from the other brothers that they might not understand all the connotations associated with the action. Cue their turtle getting flustered and all but ducking their head into their shell in embarrassment over being propositioned in front of his family.

Cuddle time dissolves into massages as an excuse to rub up against their s/o, to the point that the s/o might have to point out that massages are usually done with hands and not by just bumping and rubbing a turtle snout over any body part they can reach, which will only be answered with annoyed grumbling and insistence that they ‘aren’t’ doing that… while not stopping doing exactly that. There is also no such thing as personal space while cuddling- if their s/o doesn’t want a heavy ass turtle in their lap, they better nab that spot first or risk being squashed.

Speaking of turtle rumbles, those aren’t the only sounds that come out with a vengeance during springtime. The turtles all churr more readily, chirp and click to get each others and their s/o’s attention, but when they’re alone with their s/o it ramps up, to the point where they’ll forgo words all together. Donnie is the worst offender as he’s battling not only hormones but also caffeine withdrawals, and as such he tends to only hiss at his brothers when they stick their heads into his lab to make sure he’s still alive. With their s/o's however, it's all rumbles deep in their chest and churrs that are likely to rattle the breath in their chests. Raph has the lowest auditory range with his rumbles while Mikey sounds the sweetest.

[jarael]

baby — for the single-word drive!

The vacation to the island had been necessary for the couple, but it was now time for Sigrun and Yugiri to return home. They unlocked the front door of the house, and shuffled in, weary from the trip back.

"It's very quiet..." Yugiri, as a shinobi, knew the value of silence, but as a mother of three little ones, also knew that silence could be a very, very bad thing. She gave Sigrun a concerned look as she locked the door behind them.

Sigrun nodded, but concurred, "I didn't sense anything bad when we were gone, or coming home. Do you not trust Alphinaud and Alisaie?"

"I do, or we would have found other babysitters. But this is the first time we've both been away from the children for an extended period of time."

"You sound like me when we first started dating. Such a worrywart," teased Sigrun.

Yugiri's nose crinkled in annoyance. "Mind you, I am not that paranoid. I'll be better once we see the children." She headed to the children's bedroom, Sigrun trailing behind her. She placed a horn close to the door. No noise, except for light breathing. Slowly, she unlocked the door, revealing the precious sight before her.

The twins were in their cribs, asleep on their backs as per instructions. Everything was clean, almost like nothing had been touched since their vacation started. The sunset came through the window, giving it an even calmer ambience. Seated in one chair, by the cribs, was Alphinaud, out like a light, his braid slightly loosed and dried spit-up on his shirt. Hopefully, it would come out and Ameliance would not be bothered. In the other chair, across from him, was Alisaie, her braid completely undone as she slept peacefully, Berenice on her chest. Berenice was the oldest, and was quite tall for their 4 years.

Sigrun stuck her head in the room behind Yugiri, and it was then that Berenice stirred. Their eyes lit up, just like their father's did. "Momma! Mommy!" Their excited voice woke up Alphinaud and Alisaie, the former rubbing his eyes and the latter wiping the drool from her lip.

"Oh! Sigrun and Lady Yugiri, how was the trip?" Alphinaud still had immaculate manners, even with knowing Sigrun for over half a decade by now.

"Wonderful, thank you for asking," Yugiri replied, scooping up Berenice. "And you've kept everything in order. Thank you--it'll make getting back into our routines easier."

"Well, we certainly weren't going to leave the place a mess," Alisaie countered. "And it wasn't that hard, even with the babies. If you give a few minutes--"

"Are you really that much of a rush to get back to Sharlayan or to Garlemald? I'm sure your father is in a meeting as always, and Jullus will find a way to survive without you." Sigrun had finally gotten to a point of being able to speak about either man without sounding like she was trying to spit out something stuck in her teeth.

A rumble came from both of the Leveilleurs' stomachs. "Well, if you don't mind having us for dinner..." Alisaie asked meekly.

"Of course. Give us a moment to get settled, and we'll order food. We have a lot of things to give you and to show you, anyways."

[intheorangebedroom]

Pleased to meet you, chapter 12

Summary: You gave in to Benny, sort of, and now you have to go buy a goddamn car. You and Frankie find yourselves alone together for the first time in nearly 16 years.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x French fem!Reader.

Rating: Explicit 🔞

TW: cryptic mention of self-harm.

A/N: Voilà, they're talking. Jfc the struggle... I'm still in a state of shock (and exhaustion). I think I'm satisfied about the substance of this chapter, not so sure about the form. Some of you might recognise some lines from the movie... I'm insanely grateful for anyone who interacts with this story, for your support and for sticking with them this far! *presses post now and goes drink a tall glass of Bailey's*

Word Count: 7.1k (oops)

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Chapter 12: The Drive Home

The two of you didn’t talk much over the course of the weekend because there was no need for words. The synchronicity between you was evident, if one that he couldn’t explain. The implicit trust and shameless want he saw in your wide eyes was a high he never found anywhere else, no matter how many drugs he tried.

You were you, and you craved him.

Most of the talking had been done on the fire escape. Favourite books, favourite movies, favourite musics. Politics and values, dreams and allegiances. The differences welcome, no real divergence, only promises. 

In retrospect, this was another regret. So many questions he should have asked. He never forgot your reaction when he called you baby. How you tensed up in his hold like a wild animal, like you’d never known love, or you had forgotten that life could be sweet. Your sadness had torn a gaping hole in his chest. How many times had you say, “sorry”? The first night, at least. He’d spent the following days erasing it, thoroughly, lovingly. There was what you were, and what you’d been taught. Who had done this to you? 

And yet, in spite of your apparent wounds, you had let him in. Your softness towards him all the more special. Uncertain, at first, and suddenly all in. Resolutely unguarded, a strength in its own right. He wasn’t sure, then, if he possessed that kind of courage. But he knew what he felt, this consuming urge to right all the wrongs. He would gladly unleash hell on anyone trying to hurt you again. 

Is Benny good enough to you? Most probably. And he should bottle up his questions and leave you the fuck alone. Turns out you didn’t need him to flourish.

He understands clearly now, with enough years behind him to name the feeling, why he’d been so eager to feed you, to get you cleaned up. He remembers that shower together, before you started fooling around again, he had come in your mouth less than an hour before, fuck he’d been relentless, and you’d taken it all. 

Standing behind you in the narrow tub, he had washed your body, lathering soap with the palm of his hands on your shoulders and your back, the curve of your hips, along your thighs, his satisfaction tinged with regrets for you’d lose his scent, but he would imprint it on you again later, deeper, definite, and you kept leaning into his touch, eyes half closed, humming quietly to yourself, your skin a constant thrum. Like you’d been starved of any form of attention, of affection. He could tell. Yet he never asked. 

And perhaps it had played into what had happened next, how he had lost it completely, when he took you on the bathroom floor, after nearly two days restraining himself, his arms caging you with an iron grip, his teeth sunk into the soft flesh at the base of your neck, pinching your nipples so hard you had cried out his name. Your body vibrating endlessly with it. He had to carry you back to bed. 

You were still laughing from that disastrous attempt at a romantic fuck when he stepped out of the bathtub behind you. His cock felt heavy as he palmed himself through the discomfort of the condom, and he was about to take it off when his eyes flickered up to you. You were wiping the steam off the mirror above the sink with your right hand, and you turned around to face him, radiant, with a candid smile. The yellow light from the bare bulb hanging above the mirror ricocheted on every single droplet of water clinging to your body, your skin glinting in a golden hue. 

You were golden. 

Something snapped in his brain. His breath caught in his chest, and he shut his eyes quickly, but the vision was dancing under his eyelids and when he reopened them, his gaze had turned dark and wild. He was on you in one step, his right hand curled around your nape. He pulled you in with all of his strength, tilting your head up with a tug of your hair, his mouth crushing your mouth, his tongue forcing you open. You responded immediately, his hunger bleeding into you through the kiss and you sank your nails in his back and his shoulder. It felt more like wrestling than kissing, your bodies slippery and wet, and he laid you down underneath him on the rough rug as you whispered a needless plea he couldn’t hear, with the thunderous noise of the blood rushing in his ears. 

He had fucked into you at a punishing pace, with the maddening thought of ripping that damn condom off his cock to have you bare and paint your slick walls with his cum, his blunt head bumping against the cup of your cervix and it still wasn’t enough. He had to possess you, encase every part of your body with his, crush you with his weight, mark your skin with his mouth and his teeth and his spit and his cum, fuck your cunt, your mouth, your ass, your tits with his cock, his fingers, his tongue. Ruin you for other men. You were his. He was yours. 

He should have been terrified by the intensity of it, and perhaps he was, but your every movement spoke that confession.

There hadn’t been anything to fear within the realm of the orange bedroom. But then, how to explain the deafening silence that came when he never heard your voice again?

He waited. He waited on the car ride with his sister to basic training, realising in a panic that you two hadn’t even exchanged last names. He waited the following hours, days and weeks. He waited as he helplessly observed the quick fading of the red crescents your nails had left on his skin. He waited all through the pilot training program, his first tour and the second. He waited, patient and focused and cool-headed, and with each passing year, the certainty waned. He waited until one day his phone got stolen, and a Verizon vendor who looked like a drowned rat flatly told him he had to change his line. He had remained perfectly calm, but he could have murdered the man.

What began after that was a brand-new kind of hell. One morning he woke up and he couldn’t convoke the memory of your taste. That was when he started fucking all these random women, their faces and bodies morphing into a blurry composite of anonymous features. The doubt drove him insane, but he could no longer find it in himself to believe it had really happened. Maybe he had dreamed you. A filthy fever dream that had meant everything. Finding the book with your red lips etched on the page barely helped, only adding to his confusion, edging on resentment.

But when he saw you, when he saw you walking into the familiar setting of the bar where he meets with his friends every week, holding Benny’s hand, beyond the fury of those years, beyond the anger and the pain, he looked into your eyes and found hope again.

So now he’s back to waiting. Back to that goddamn piece of plastic burning through the back pocket of his jeans. But waiting is fine. Waiting is seven years of his life. Nearly a sixth of his years. He knows how to handle that. Waiting is what was before everything went south, before his phone got stolen, before his first kill, before Al-Qa’im, before the brothels and before the doubt. 

And so, he waits. He waits as April slowly dies, as May drags by and as June blossoms under a thin drizzle. He waits until, one perfectly mundane Thursday morning, you text him. Three messages sent in quick succession. 

Hey. Is this coming Saturday at 10am ok for you?

It’s me by the way. 

He stares at your name. It’s been 16 years since he’s said it out loud. His thumb hovers over the screen. He tells himself the burning sensation from the scar on his left side isn’t real. It’s not pain. It’s guilt. 

—

Yea. I’ll pick you up outside your building. 

Frankie 

You never gave him your address and he hasn’t asked, you have to assume Benny gave it to him. Have to. 

Nine weeks and four days since you last saw him. Since he walked in on you in Will’s spotless kitchen, basking you in his scent and his heat and his strength, and demanded that you let him come with you to buy a car you don’t even want. A goddamn car. Not a table, or a plant, or even a TV, a goddamn car. And you didn’t even think twice. You straight up consented without taking a second to think about the consequences, just like you had instinctively and consistently reacted to everything he had ever asked. 

In the course of those nine and a half weeks, you’ve reverted to the proven ways of your former life, doing what you do best: act normal amidst the rumbling storm inside your brain. Constantly, expertly compartmentalizing, your mind an oversized closet of neatly folded fears and neurosis. Immediate pleasures and comforting memories. Sadness, fondness, regrets, remorse. Restless with your time, headstrong against your anxiety, no pause to reflect. The great escape. 

The very next day, you started to fill up your boyfriend’s house with your belongings, scattered across every room. Panties, bras, socks and t-shirts in the newly emptied chest drawer by the bedroom window. Books he never gives you time to read on the nightstand. Deodorant, creams and shampoo in the bathroom cabinet. An umbrella by the front door. Records stacked by the vinyl turntable. A tin mug in the kitchen. You stay there four to five nights a week, now. He is delighted. 

On three separate occasions, Benny had to go away for a fight and remained out of town for a couple of days, which is not uncommon, and you ordinarily welcome the time alone. 

The first time provided you with the perfect opportunity to get together with Yovanna, the two of you meeting in a downtown Russian restaurant of her choosing, sharing copious appetizers and laughs and strong liquor, along with your respective backstories, yours carefully redacted. She recounted the first twenty years of her life, traumatic by any standard, matter-of-factly and without bitterness. She defines resilience, and the following morning you woke up revived, if a little hungover.

By the time Benny had to leave again, however, an indistinct, murky dread had settled in your chest and between your shoulders. You proceeded calmly, with resolve, asking him if you could spend the evening at his place in his absence, which implied him giving you a set of keys. You trusted him not to make a big deal about it, and sure enough he didn’t, but you did not anticipate the way he made love to you that night. With an unusual softness, and intent, as if to communicate how much he had no desire to be away. 

And when the time came, a Saturday, you curled up on the empty couch in the silent living-room, hunched over a book you could not focus on, eventually falling asleep on his side of the bed. 

The third time had been rough, perhaps because you chose to stay at your apartment, chain-smoking again, drawing from your experience the necessary resources to hang on until dawn, when you know the morning light will dissipate your darkness. The morning always comes. All it takes is for you to bite the bullet and await. You know the dance. 

You haven’t told anything to Rosie, even though you’ve had several opportunities to do so. You know what she’ll say, and you don’t care to hear it. You’re getting a car, not a room. You’re an adult. You’ll be fine. 

And anyway, Rosie knows something’s not right. You haven’t missed one single Taco Tuesday since you skipped that first one, back in April, and you’ve done your absolute best to act natural, like it means something, but she’s been closely observing you ever since. Like she used to when you first arrived here, after she’d dragged you out of your isolation, like you’re a saucepan of milk over the stove, ready to overflow. You don’t know how she does it, but she knows something’s askew. 

Seemingly innocuous questions of “everything good with Benny?”, “Still happy with your job?” cue you in. Sideways glances. Her dark eyes overshadowed. 

And if she only had doubts, your behaviour on her 36th birthday probably confirmed them all. 

She had made plans to celebrate with a girl’s night out, inviting some of her friends from work, along with Yovanna, to her favourite place, a Mexican restaurant with a garden room in Boerum Hill, Brooklyn, which brought you way too close to Greenpoint for comfort.

You didn’t just get drunk, you got blackout drunk, downing shots of tequila, knowing very well your body doesn’t tolerate those, polishing off everyone’s drink until you got sick and just about passed out, and Rosie had to take you home, where you woke up with your head split in half to a handwritten note on your kitchen table that read, simply, “call me.” Which you haven’t done.

You spent the next day glued to your sheets, only crawling out of it to stick your head down the toilet bowl, throwing up, seven times, grand total, your body painfully collapsing on itself, getting rid of the alcohol, but not of the guilt, and not of the pain. No, those remained, sticking to your clammy skin, weighing down your soul.  

You know this road, been down it many times. The automatic deflection through invisible, self-inflicted physical pain. You recognise the symptoms, the warning signs for that shifting cloud of thick black smoke swelling in your chest, like a fast-growing beast made of nothing tangible but two glinting, yellow eyes. 

So the following day, when you got to work, you picked up your phone, and texted Frankie, at long last. When his answer came, immediate, as if he had been waiting all along with his phone in his hand and did not care in the least if it showed, you informed Benny, and asked Suzanne for your Saturday off. 

A sequence of events that has you standing in front of your bedroom mirror, now, applying mascara, nervously fiddling with your hair, unsure whether you’re wearing the proper outfit. You’ve been up since dawn, and as you gulp down your third cup of coffee along with your fourth cigarette, ignoring your throbbing throat, you tell yourself it’s not really stress, it’s only the morning light, because you still haven’t installed the curtains you bought over a year ago. 

You can feel a contraction building up in your left calve. It would be wise to drink some water. But you don’t.

The smell of nicotine clings to your hair and your clothes, but it’s too late to shower again, or even to change, and it doesn’t matter anyway. You’re getting a car. Not a room, after all.

Your eyes flick down to your watch for the umpteenth time. 9.55am. You peer out at the sky, through your bare bedroom window. It hangs low and overcast, the temperature chill, for mid-June. It all adds up and lies heavy on your lungs. You don’t know the first thing about buying a car, but you’re not exactly eager to take a test drive on wet asphalt.

When you pull open the front door of your building at 10am sharp, you notice the pattern formed by the wet dots as they agglomerate on the pavement. 

Frankie’s here, parked just in front, as promised. Faded red t-shirt and light-coloured jeans, he’s standing on the sidewalk, leaning against the hood of his red truck, arms crossed over his chest. The vehicle is ridiculously massive but his broad figure and square shoulders look perfectly on scale. He’s been waiting for a while, judging by the dampened patches on his shoulders, but his face doesn’t show any sign of impatience. The deep lines between his eyebrows only giving the slightest hint of tension under the brim of his cap. 

“Hey,” his voice sounds rusty, as if he hasn’t spoken in weeks.

“Morning,” yours is too breathy, and impossibly high.

You don’t stop and walk straight to the passenger side of the car, ignoring the way his head tilts to the right to follow you, instead cringing at how inelegant you must look, as you climb awkwardly into the high cab. You drop your bag on the floor and fasten your seatbelt, admonishing yourself, one more time, that none of it matters, not how you move, nor what you wear, nor what you smell like, because you are only getting a car. 

He waits until you are settled in to join you inside and when he shuts the door, his scent fills up the space, brushing against your skin, and you pinch the side of your right thigh as hard as you can. His moves are measured and deliberate, and you will your heart to slow the fuck down and align its erratic rhythm to that of his movements.

You risk a glance in his direction when he lifts up his cap and combs his fingers through his thick dark curls. You remembered them a lighter shade of brown. During the few hours you’ve spent observing this older version of him, you’ve come to decipher the gesture. He readjusts his thoughts, just like he does his hair. Once the cap is firmly deep-set on his head, the mountain that is Francisco Morales is set in motion. 

But you don’t know him anymore, not like you did. Years after years, unwanted layers of separate lives, wounds, and emotions have altered the fabric of your innate connection. He has become a guarded man, remote, distant. To you, at least.

Then why are you here?

There’s a pause and the air hangs still for a moment, save for your uneven breathing, louder than the few street noises. Frankie’s perfectly poised when he turns towards you and asks, “So where are we going?”

You blink wildly, your mouth falling open at the one question you didn’t anticipate. 

“What– what do you mean, where are we going?” you stutter. 

“To what dealership?” he offers patiently. 

“I don’t know,” you breathe out, with a shake of your head, “you said ‘let’s go get a car’ and I–” you trail off, you don’t know how to end this sentence. 

“I said, ‘let me go with you to buy a car,’” he corrects, and you sit there, dumbstruck, and exposed. 

“What kind of car do you want?” he tries again, and as you remain silent, rubbing your palms on your thighs in a subconscious attempt to dry them of the sweat your entire body is breaking into, he averts his eyes, looking down at the steering wheel. A smile tugging at his lips. 

“How about we go somewhere, get a drink, first?” he finally proposes. “We can talk about it, see what are the options?”

“It’s 10am,” you reply blankly, as if it makes any difference. 

You immediately wince and his smile broadens. 

“A coffee, then?”

—

Your nervousness drives him mad. You stare out the window as he drives, refusing to look at him and he can see your fingers compulsively fumbling along the side of your thigh when you think he’s not watching.

He put you in that impossible situation. You look pale and tired, there’s a faint smell of cigarette about you, and what’s worse is that he can’t help but smile like a fucking idiot, no matter how hard he tries to bite it down or cover it with a grimace. You’re sitting next to him in his truck. Once more, all he had to do was ask.

You look like a misplaced stereotype of a French girl in your stripped boat neck shirt, and he struggles to focus on the road, scanning the exposed skin of your neck, where it meets your shoulder, searching for a mark that has long faded. 

By the time he pulls into the empty parking lot in front of the Dunkin’ on Tonnele Ave, fat raindrops are splattering on the windshield. 

“You wanna stay here? Or sit inside? I can go get our orders and–”

“Oh yeah, here is nice”, you acquiesce, apparently relieved at the thought of not having to go out, “I mean it’s fine. Please.”

You say “please” like you used to say “sorry.” 

“Milk, no sugar?” he asks quietly, immediately regretting it. He shouldn’t let on how much he remembers. He’s going to freak you out.  

You draw in a deep breath and answer, “Please.”

—

It all begins with small talk. Absurd and mundane. The weather, the traffic, the coffee that’s never strong enough. And before either of you realise it, the parked car feels like an island, the paper cup nicely warming up your stiff hands. 

You’re the first to chance a diverted evocation of your shared past, inquiring about his sister. She’s fine, he tells you, not without pride, a well-established professional photographer, whose work you’re likely to have seen in news magazines and art catalogs.

Your left knee propped up on the seat, your back leaned against the door, you’re finally facing him, your posture relaxed. His broad frame doesn’t allow him that much space, but he too seems at ease, his legs stretched as far as they can, his left arm resting on the wheel. Still, you recoil imperceptibly at his next question. 

“What about you? Are you an archaeologist?”

You take the involuntary hit and think about the best way to present that part of your life, so you don’t come across as worthless as you systematically feel every time you have to discuss that particular subject. 

“No,” you eventually sigh, “I failed.” Ignoring the tick of his jaw, you carry on, “I mean, I graduated, got my BA degree. But I couldn’t get any internship, just like they said. So I moved on to a master’s degree, but in contemporary history,” you chuckle at the nonsensical turnaround in your resume, easing into the topic, “and then I got tired of starving,” you laugh, lifting your palms upward, “so I became a civil servant. Got a position with the historical library of the Hôtel de Ville de Paris. I mean the Paris City Hall,” you shrug, uncertain with your whole translation. 

“Did you like it? The job?” he asks.  

“Well, it’s not what I had set out for. But I think it fitted me better. No pressure, no deadlines. Old books, manuscripts, first editions–” you start to enumerate before your voice fades.

“Do you miss it?” 

You nod wordlessly, your throat suddenly a little tight. His voice is so low you struggle to hear him when he asks again, “Why did you leave?”

You take a brief moment to gather your thoughts, looking vacantly at the neon letters spelling Dunkin’, blurred by the rain running off the windshield. You’ve been asked this question about a million times since you’ve landed here a little over two years ago. Offering countless consensual variations of the same explanation, none of them ever sounding quite right. 

Next to you, Frankie’s waiting, hung from your lips. 

“I think it’s because I had a purpose, but no goal, you know?” you say as you turn toward him again, in time to see him gritting his teeth. 

The crease between his brow deepens before he says, barely audible, “Do you have one, now?”

Somehow, you find it easy to maintain eye contact, and your own voice is steady as you tell him, “Yeah, I think I have.”

Frankie wants to follow up on your answer but he finds himself incapable of speaking. He doesn’t think he’d be able to bear it if you told him that the life you share with Ben provides you with both. Yet, your eyes tell a different story. Your eyes tell him this is not about a man. It is not about him, or his friend. This is entirely about you. 

“None of it sounds like a failure to me,” he eventually says softly. 

There’s no sign of the stress that tensed up your body earlier. He likes the sight of you sitting comfortably in his truck, absentmindedly playing with the empty paper cup in your hands. Perhaps you’d like another coffee, but he fears that if he leaves the car, he might find you gone when he returns. 

Outside, a tall blond woman is running on high heels towards the front door of the Dunkin’, her gait cloddish and imbalanced has she tries not to slip. You watch her until she makes it inside.  

“I don’t know. Anyway, nothing much I can do about it, anymore,” and perhaps for the first time ever, you’re ok with it. “But you, you made it! You became a pilot.”

He shakes his head, and before he can stop himself, mutters under his breath, “Yea, at what cost.”

Uncertain if you heard him right, you sit up straighter and ask, “How was it?”

“How was what?” he frowns. 

“The army. Was it what you thought it would be?”

“Yes and no,” he sighs. He has never given himself the time to reflect on that before. Rather rushed in the opposite direction. “I never expected it to be easy, but– I joined so I could get my pilot’s license. And I ended up doing stuff I hadn’t really signed up for.”

“Did you ever kill anyone?”

“Why the fuck you wanna know that for?” he narrows his eyes at your face, his voice an angry rumble. 

You want to crawl onto his lap and wrap your body around his, knock off that damn cap and run your fingers through his curls, get a glimpse of the lighter shades they used to shine with. You want to press your lips against his forehead, ease the crease of his brow with your thumb, let your skin reach out for him, like it used to, when words were unnecessary, you want him to hear it, because I care, because I wasn’t there, because I wish I could carry it with you. Because I spent too many nights awake, wondering where you were. Because, even when I thought the morning would never come, I hung on, in hopes that the thread between us would keep you safe and sound. Hear everything you cannot pronounce.

You lean back against the door, cranking your brain for another approach. “Did you know that Will kept a ledger of his body count?” 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, before running a palm over his face. “Jesus… No. But I’m not surprised. Did he tell you how many?”

“Yes, but I don’t think it’s for me to tell you. Although he’d probably tell you too, if you asked him,” you reply in a casual tone. 

“You two really talk about everything,” he says with an empty smile.

“No, not everything. But we do talk a lot,” you offer no further insight into your relationship with the older Miller brother.

“And did he tell you how’s his sleep?” he snarls.

“He says it’s better than it should be,” you shrug as if you were still discussing the weather. “You haven’t answered, Frankie.”

He presses his back into the back of the seat to crush down the shivers that run down his spine when his name passes your lips. A lot may have changed. But not this. 

He knows what you're doing. At least he thinks he does. And anyway, that’s another thing that hasn’t changed. To your voice, he complies. 

He runs his knuckles under his chin, seemingly weighing his next words. “I did what I had to do. I was– I was often too quick on the trigger. I didn’t count them.”

Between his spread thighs, his hands have joined, his right thumb scratching the small tattoo on his left hand. 

“Were you ever scared?”

“No,” he says firmly, shaking his head, “not for myself anyway. For Izzy. Anything happens to me, she’s alone.”

The leather seat creaks when you scoot closer to him, seeking his heat. He rubs his skin harder, so he won’t think about yours. The rain has become a heavy downpour, the drops falling onto the roof of the truck in a loud racket that nearly covers your voice when you speak next. 

“What about that thing Tom mentioned, that night at the bar? About you being grounded. Does that mean you can’t fly anymore?”

His hands still. He turns his head and glares at you, his eyes black and cold. Your face is so soft. You said you’d take anything. But that was long ago. That was before.

He licks his lips, clears his throat. You won’t back down. So he tells you.

“I was suspended. They ran a random drug test at work,” he leaves Giovanni out of the picture, the last thing he wants is for you to think he’s not taking full responsibility for his own fuckups, “it’s a flight school for rich assholes over in upstate New York, and– they found traces of coke in my system.”

“Coke?” your eyes widen with shock as the image shoots through your chest, and he can’t stand the way you look at him right now, like you don’t know him, like you never did. 

“Does it help you? With your– sleep?” There’s no judgment in your voice, and you hope it gets through to him, pass the thick skin and the shame. And, perhaps, he’s more surprised than you that it does. 

“Yea,” he says, looking down at the little tattoo again, shifting in his seat, “it did, yes. And with the rest, I guess. But I’m not using, anymore. Izzy would bite my head off. She found me a good lawyer, the case got dismissed, somehow–” he shrugs, “I got my license back. I’m clear.” 

“What are you going to do, now?”

“I think they’re going to take me back. I gotta go there Monday, actually.” 

“I mean about your sleep, Frankie.” 

God, your face is so soft. 

“You don’t worry about that.”

As if it were that simple.

—

Cars have come and gone in the small parking lot. A composite Saturday morning crowd of busy moms and weekend workers hurriedly flowing in and out of the coffee shop, holding white paper bags and cardboard trays with tall paper cups. 

The outside world resurfaces around Frankie, as you two sit in silence side by side in his truck. 

You peeled him open. Picking out the jagged pieces of his life one by one, with infinite tenderness, and methodically reassembled them. Sought him out in the darkest confines of his existence. Left him with no place to hide. Weaved back the thread. 

“I think I need another coffee,” you stiffen a yawn. 

“Yea.”

The rain abated, without your realising it. You walk in together this time, and when you return to the car, you pull out your phone from your bag, to find Benny has texted you. Your eyes are heavy and your movements slow, you’re suddenly exhausted. 

You answer Benny’s question, “Are you guys done?” with a half-truth about waiting for the weather to get better, inwardly smiling at his abusive use of emojis. 

The conversation resumes, with more trivial topics. You mention the curtains laying untouched in a bag on your apartment’s carpeted floor. 

Eventually, Frankie asks about the car again. Secondhand, you say, and small, preferably European, although you can’t say why. An expression of your homesickness, perhaps. An extra comfort.

It’s a ten-minute drive to Autoland, a dealership on Communipaw Ave that Frankie pretends to know but really only googled the previous day. 

He parks in a lot across the street from the dealership, and gets out of his truck with a spring in his step. 

This time, you circle the vehicle over to Frankie’s side and wait for him, uneasy and apprehensive, seeking the reassurance of his tall figure before you can take one more step. The place looks reasonably sized, for once, you’ve seen bigger ones in Parisian suburbs, but you’ve never bought a car in your life and you’re utterly out of your depth. 

He looks at you as he tucks his t-shirt in his pants, and smiles. Before the two of you cross the busy road, he places a large hand on the small of your back, his fingers splayed, and gives an imperceptible squeeze. You lean into his heat, let it seep in and run through you. You’ve spent years worth of sleepless nights trying to imagine how it would feel like if he ever touched you again. Like electricity, like a dam that gives, like the end of your world. It’s none of it. It’s quiet relief. It’s a close circle. 

The cotton of your shirt feels warm under his palm, it catches at the calloused pads of his work-worn fingertips. Your skin, just underneath it. It’s not it, not yet, and it can’t be. This would be the end of everything. 

True to his profession’s stereotype, the salesman jumps you the very second you step into the lot and introduces himself as Gary. But the cliché ends there. Gary is a lean man of average height, in his late twenties-early thirties, with olive skin and strands of straight black hair that frame his face like a stage curtain. Shiny buckle shoes, skinny black jeans and a tight button-up shirt in a loud pattern, he looks just as misplaced as you in the somewhat depressing dealership.

Gary speaks with a quick flow you struggle to understand and swallows half his words, and when you discreetly peer up at Frankie, you catch him trying to repress a mocking smile. He tilts his head down and raises an eyebrow as he mouths, “I think he’s high.”

You’ve clearly stated what you were looking for, yet Gary keeps walking you towards sedans the size of your living-room. European, alright, Volvo and Volkswagen you wouldn’t know how to maneuver on an empty racetrack. He keeps addressing Frankie, who tries his best to suppress the scoffing off his tone every time he has to remind him that you are the client, and when Gary, at long last, takes note, he punctuates his well-rehearsed speech with a “sweetheart” that send Frankie’s shoulders heaving with a soft chuckle. 

After ten minutes that feel like an hour, you lose patience and cut him mid-sentence. 

“Hey listen, Gary, let’s forget about the European thing, ok? I want a small car. Small, you know, like three doors?” 

“Oh yeah, right, small car, got it!”

He turns on his heels and start walking briskly. You turn to Frankie, eyebrows disappearing into your hairline as you tell him, “Is he fucking serious?” and revel in the sound of his breathy laughter.

You join Gary at the rear of the dealership, where half a dozen compact cars are parked, when his cellphone rings. Raising a heavily bejeweled index to excuse himself as he picks up, he steps away from you. 

Hands on his hips, one leg extended to the side, Frankie watches you impatiently checking the time on your wristwatch.

“Hey,” he starts in a husky tone, “you know, I did fly over the Andes.” 

A wildfire flares up in his chest as you lighten up with the first genuine smile he’s seen on your face since you came back into his life, one that reaches your eyes, that has you beaming, and that he recognises, and you too recognise him when he smiles back, his dimple deeper in his fuller cheek when he adds, wiggling his eyebrows, “Twice.”

You let out a thrilled little gasp, your voice failing you, a little hoarse when you whisper, “How was it? Was it what you expected?” 

“Almost,” he answers. 

You’re so close, so fucking close he can smell that new perfume, and it doesn’t matter that it’s not the same, your eyes are, what if he leaned in a little closer and brushed your lips with his, what if he asked you to leave with him? Would you follow him, again?

Your gaze fall on his plush lips when he licks them, but you back away at the sound of Gary’s voice, standing in front of you.

“Ok guys, sorry about that! So, small car?”

Frankie’s mouth twitches and he stares daggers at the salesman.

“Hey Gary, would you mind giving us a minute?”

He doesn’t wait for his reply to place his hand on the small of your back again, and you take a few steps with him, on shaky legs. 

“Look,” his dark eyes plunge into yours, “if you don’t want a car, we can just go. Tell Benny there wasn’t much choice, which is kinda true,” he gestures towards the yard. “Just– please, promise me you’ll take a cab, when you go out at night.”

Your mind’s racing, going through the options, you need more time to think, so you stall and retort with your usual argument, “I’m a big girl–”

“From a big city, yea, I heard you the first time. Please.” There’s no scorn in his tone. You’re a big girl. He does believe that. But he needs to hear you say it. 

To you, however, it doesn’t sound like a request, most definitely like a direct order, and your mind reels unwillingly as you picture him on the field, in his military uniform, a gun in his deft hands, shouting instructions in his assertive, deep tone, his force and temper barely contained. You’ve seen his control slip. Experienced it firsthand. And you’ve no business being this aroused right now.

You let it ripple down your limbs before you push it away, before you sigh, “Ok. Let’s go, then. I’ve had more than I can take.”

Getting rid of Gary proves itself challenging. He follows you all the way back to the street and hands you a business card you politely decline at first, before changing your mind, in hopes it will shake him off faster. 

His nasal voice is still ringing in your ears when you climb back into the safe-haven of Frankie’s truck. He turns on the ignition and merges into traffic, taking the direction of your apartment, the only possible destination, the decision tacit and unspoken. 

This time, you watch him drive. In fact, you can’t stop staring, the lean muscles undulating under the freckled skin of his forearms, the shape of his solid shoulders, the line of his throat, and the curls on his nape, the sharp edges of his profile, the bare patch in his beard, the thin wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. For the first time, you notice his watch, big, square, utilitarian. 

You jolt yourself out of your trance and decide to call Benny. You can hear his disappointment through the phone, and you feel terrible, like you haven’t tried hard enough, before it occurs to you that the last time you placed your own needs below those of the man you shared your life with, it didn't end up so well. Granted, Benny’s not Éric, not by a stretch, which might be the very reason why it affects you now. So you repeat your promise to take taxis at night, Frankie’s eyes flicking between you and the road. 

He steers slowly through midday traffic, praying for red lights. The silent stillness between you hangs heavy when he double-parks in front of your red brick building. You can’t move. Not when you don’t know if you’ll see him again. 

Drawing in a shaky breath, you gather your strength and unfasten your seatbelt, Frankie once more lifting his cap to readjust his hair. 

“I never thanked you. For coming with me, today. For your help–” you trail off.

The sun has come out and you feel hot in your jeans and thick t-shirt. He doesn’t look at you, his head down, his brow once more knitted. 

“I– I guess I’ll see you,” you murmur. 

You want to wish him good luck, for Monday, ask him to call you afterwards to tell you how it went, but it all gets stuck in the back of your throat, so you grab your bag, instead, and put your hand on the door handle. 

He moves fast, gripping your arm, unclenching his jaw to ask you to “Wait.”

You face him, resigned. If not ready. You know what’s coming. 

Funny how, when the opportunity finally presents itself to get an answer to the one question that has obsessed him his entire adult life, the words won’t come out. And Frankie struggles to look at you as he whispers, “Why didn’t you call?”

You take the punch, breathing in deeply, thinking that the question you so dreaded wasn’t that terrible, after all, when you register the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. 

“What’s it gonna change, now?”

He lets go of your arm. “Please,” he breathes out. 

Images overlap as your vision blurs, your last kiss, not far from here, so long ago, you cupped his face with both hands and sought his eyes with yours. 

You blink back the memory before you open your bag and pull out your wallet, moving slowly, as if in a dream, your body rebelling against the injunctions from your brain. You take the rectangular note, and with a trembling hand, place it on his lap. Frankie tilts down his head, narrowing his eyes on the little piece of paper, ink-stained and torn out. You’re not sure that he understands what he’s looking at. 

“I got caught in a rainstorm on my way back to Rosie.” It’s hard to speak with the heavy lump in your throat. “I– I was going to call you, that night, but that’s all that was left of your number.” You pause to aggressively brush off a stray tear rolling down your cheek. “I went back to your place, I thought I might catch your sister. I was too late.”

Look at me, Frankie. I tried. I swear.

Frankie hasn’t moved. He’s glaring at the paper, teeth clenched, breathing heavily through his flared nostrils. 

Wiping another tear from your cheek, you open the door and get out of the car. Your strides are long and hurried as you walk toward the front door of your building. 

****

Additional note: Thank you for reading this far 💕

I have no idea when I'll be able to work on and post the next chapter. Good news is, it's already half done, and entirely outlined. However, it is also my favourite, so I want to make sure I get it right. I am truly exhausted and clearly need to refill. Plus the holidays are never easy on my mental health... Everyone, be gentle to yourselves in this time of year 🧡 I'll keep you posted (bad pun always intended). Never hesitate to drop me an ask, I really love those. Love 🧡

Taglist (thank you 🧡): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @nicolethered @littleone65 @bands-tv-movies-is-me @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @all-the-way-down-here @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos

[unknownjpegs]

property value

The house comes with an original blueprint, which is nice. There’s some stuff he doesn’t feel comfortable doing alone, so it’s good to have when he needs to bring in an expert. 

An expert meaning his dad’s old friend Jim, a retired contractor who offers to help him out if he can pay upfront. And if he’ll let Jim take some original brass dresser knobs that catch his eye.

“You see your old man lately?” Jim asks him, while they’re working in tandem to knock an old wall out.

Benji pauses mid-swing, wipes the sweat off his forehead. Gives Jim a look, one of the ones the old man is used to seeing from him since childhood. He puts both hands up in surrender. 

“A’right, lad, a’right. On yer own time, whenever that might be.” He swings, and plaster flies.

“It’ll be soon,” Benji admits, but he thinks that might be lost in the loud thunk of the next blow. 

It’s near sunset when they’ve managed to get the project done. When the frame of the wall is all that’s left standing, they take a break. Pints in hand, some shit swill from a fancy brewery out near Speke that Saha recommended.

“Shit swill,” Benji offers.

“Aye, well, don’t be snide about it, lad.” He takes another gulp, grimaces with more than a bit of regret. “Bet they put their best piss n’here, lotta hard work went in. Big stream.” 

Benji snickers. “We’ll find somethin’ better for phase two, ‘ey?” 

“Drive me to water, at this rate.” Jim says with a shake of his head. “You sure you wanna g’on? We can just fix ‘er up inside here.”

“I’m sure.”

“Load bearin’ wall on the other side, if we take this one. Can’t undo it, mate. Knocking’ a hole few feet off that little study.” Jim hedges. “M’not trying to steer y’off, just…it’s a historic house, Benji. You’re losin’ a lot of value with less room, just for this.”

Just for this, Benji thinks grumpily, eyebrow pulling. It’s not for nothing. 

“Always wanted one of those big fuckers,” Benji says, stepping over to the sawhorse where they’ve laid out the blueprints. 

“N’here I go reportin’ back to your old man, lad’s doin’ great, throwing orgies in his posh fuckin’ pool of a bath.” 

“Do not,” Benji laughs, “Tell my fuckin’ pa that there are orgies happening. He’ll disown me for that over the military shit.”

Jim puts his hands up in surrender. “Listen, lad, what else am I meant to assume?”

*

When the bathroom’s done, tiled and wet-sealed and clean, Benji leads him up the rickety stairs — still gotta get those nails replaced —  shrouded in a blindfold. 

“This is a sex thing,” Xavier chuckles, hands out to catch himself on corners he’s not yet used to. “You keep telling me it’s not, but I can see right through your fuckin’ plan. Succubus.” 

“It’s not. And aren’t the ones with dicks incubus,” Benji asks, genuinely thoughtful about it. “Incubi?”

“Dunno,” Xavier says, oof when he knocks against the bathroom door. “Never listened to them much.” 

When the blindfold comes off and he sees the bath, Benji assumes it’s the excitement of a kid on Christmas. Never personally experienced that, but Xavier’s got the hyped-up gasp, the jittery ball of energy. His eyes bounce between it and Benji, question there. Benji grins, and it’s barely stretched his mouth before Xavier’s flung himself over the side. 

Benji would reach for his phone and take a picture, if he hadn’t left it down on the couch. 

“Oh, shit,” Xavier yells, the triumphant cry echoing off new tile. His sneakers squeak at the end of the tub, and he’s gotta sink real low, chin dipping under the edge, to get his toe even near under the faucet. 

“Man,” he’s proper laughing, excitement lighting him up from the inside out. Benji can’t stop fucking grinning, so wide his cheeks are starting to ache. “I don’t even have to tuck my knees or anything.” 

“You shoulda seen us trying to get it up the stairs. Had to knock out the wall and take the door to get it to fit in here.” 

Xavier stops kicking his feet. Looks over at him, arm flung over the edge of the bath. “House didn’t come with a tub, huh? What kinda country is this. Very backwards, no wonder Brits smell.”

Benji sticks his tongue out. “It came with a bath,” he corrects, “You wanker. Real small one.”

Two big hands push up on the ceramic edge. Xavier looks very serious now, his eyebrow bunched and mouth open.

“You had this put in?” 

Benji nods, shrugging a little sheepishly and breaking eye contact. “Sure.” 

“For me?”

“Would you believe s’for the other six-something Yank who lives in the house?”

“No,” Xavier breathes, eyes wide. “Get over here before I drag you in.”

And he can’t really say no to that, can he? Not big enough for an orgy, but Benji fits with room to spare.

[tunnelwash]

Revitalise Your Ride: The Benefits of Professional Car Detailing

Hey there, car enthusiasts! Are you tired of driving around in a dull and dirty car? Well, it's time to revitalise your ride! In this blog post, we'll be discussing the importance of maintaining a clean and well-maintained car and how Professional car detailing service Christchurch can help you achieve just that.

So buckle up and get ready to learn all about the amazing benefits that professional detailing can bring to your beloved vehicle.

I. What is Professional Car Detailing?

Before we dive into the benefits, let's first understand what professional interior car cleaning entails. Unlike regular car washing, which focuses mainly on removing dirt and grime, professional car detailing takes interior car cleaning care to a whole new level. It involves a meticulous and comprehensive cleaning and restoration process that aims to bring your vehicle back to its showroom-like condition.

Professional detailers possess the expertise, knowledge, and specialised tools necessary to go beyond the surface and tackle the hidden dirt, scratches, and imperfections that may be diminishing the overall appearance of your car.

II. The Top Benefits of Professional Car Detailing

A. Enhanced Exterior Appearance

Detailers have a range of techniques at their disposal to bring out the shine and lustre of your car's paint. From using a clay bar treatment to remove contaminants to polishing away scratches and imperfections and, finally, applying a protective wax coating, professionals can transform your car's exterior into a head-turning masterpiece.

B. Protection against Environmental Elements

Your car faces a constant battle against the elements - UV rays, acid rain, bird droppings, and more. Professional detailers understand the importance of protecting your car's paint from these harsh elements. They apply specialised protective coatings, such as paint sealants or ceramic coatings, that act as a shield against UV rays and contaminants.

C. Interior Deep Cleaning

While the exterior of your car is what catches everyone's eye, the interior is where you spend most of your time. Professional detailers understand the importance of a clean and fresh interior. They go above and beyond a simple vacuum and wipe down, using techniques like steam cleaning, shampooing, and leather conditioning to ensure that every nook and cranny of your car's interior is thoroughly cleaned.

 D. Improved Driving Experience

A clean and fresh interior not only looks great but also enhances your overall driving experience. By eliminating odours, allergens, and bacteria, professional detailers create a healthier and more pleasant environment for you and your passengers.

III. Time-Saving Convenience

We live in a fast-paced world where time is a precious commodity. When it comes to car maintenance, professional detailers offer a time-saving convenience that is hard to beat. Instead of spending your weekends washing and cleaning your car, you can leave it in the capable hands of professionals who will handle all aspects of car detailing Christchurch efficiently and effectively.

IV. Increased Resale Value

Are you planning on selling your car in the future? Regular professional detailing can help maintain your vehicle's value over time. Potential buyers are more likely to be attracted to a car that has been well-maintained and has a detailed service history.

Final Thoughts

So, if you're ready to give your car the care it deserves, consider investing in professional car detailing Christchurch and beyond. Your vehicle will thank you for it, and you'll be driving in style and comfort once again. Don't wait any longer - schedule an appointment with a professional detailer today. And don't forget to share this blog with your fellow car enthusiasts who might find it helpful. Happy driving!

Source:https://cardetailingservicechristchurch.blogspot.com/2023/12/revitalise-your-ride-benefits-of.html

[kibomi]

messy — sakusa kiyoomi

contrary to popular belief, sakusa kiyoomi is messy.

no, he doesn’t leave his clothes strewn across the floor or his toothbrush away from its rightful home in the holder. he doesn’t walk away from a countertop if there’s remnants of his dinner or leave a room without washing his hands. he doesn’t leave discarded boxes of hair products lying on the bathroom sink or forget to wipe his feet off on the rug before he enters his apartment.

in fact, he’s actually pretty clean—neat, he prefers. and it’s not that he’s a germaphobe (despite how often his cousin or teammates try to claim as much) or that he’s a neat freak (like his mother laughs about with his aunt). he just likes things being a certain way, enjoys a routine. it works well with him, really. that’s all.

so messy, well, that’s generally not a word one would use to describe sakusa kiyoomi.

but he is.

perhaps there’s a reason why no one believes you when you tell them. because they only see him for his face value—the sakusa who wipes down his seat with his sleeve before sitting, who fakes (or not so much) a gag when he watches bokuto and atsumu share a drink, who germ-x’s his hands after touching a doorknob with the sanitizer strapped to his bag.

they see the sakusa who cleans and swipes and shudders and shivers around anything resembling the word messy.

and, frankly, you find that a little bit funny.

because the sakusa you know—though he does align with that of the view of others—couldn’t be more different.

the kiyoomi you know drools in his sleep and wakes up with it smeared across his cheek. he spills bleach all over your carpet because he’s a tad bit clumsy and cusses under his breath with stinging eyes as he tries to clean it up. he knocks things off counters with his elbows and kicks flower vases over until the water spills onto the hard wood. he drops globs of hair gel in the sink without noticing and frowns when he comes back to see them dry. he loses his masks at least three times a week and somehow blames it on you when they turn up pink in the washer because he threw them in with his japan team jacket. he forgets to turn the dishwasher on and misses the basket when he goes to throw his socks in and doesn’t fix his hair nine days out of ten.

he gets worked up too easily because his loves with his entire being and you drive him up the wall crazy until everything coming out of his mouth is absolutely messy. it’s you, he swears, that makes him this way. that makes him lose his sense of routine and schedule and tidiness. it was fine until you came along, perfect and prim and dare he say proper.

but then there was you. you and your stupid smile and that stupid glint in your eye and the absolutely stupid way you wouldn’t leave him alone even when he barked at you to. he was fine before you, but now that you’re here, well.

he’s messy and unruly and nowhere near neat.

and the worst part, truly, is that he can’t even say he hates it. it would be a lie. you helped him ‘loosen up’ as komori would call it. made him realize things didn’t always have to be so so.

it’s.. nice, he admits. you’re nice. and messy is sometimes nice too.

so maybe that’s why neither of you seem to pay much mind anymore when you’re out with friends. all cramped into a tiny corner booth as hoots and hollers sound over the table. and atsumu, ever the enticer, pipes in.

“still can’t believe yer able to deal with omi-omi’s cleanin’.” and atsumu doesn’t heed to the glare sakusa throws at him across the table. he never does. “does he walk behind ya with disinfectant?”

and you all laugh (minus kiyoomi, who offers nothing but a roll of his eyes) because it’s all in good fun. you wave the blonde off, let the smile crinkle your eyes as you lean across the table slightly.

“actually,” you fake a whisper, “he’s quite messy.”

that, of course, gets you a sea of laughs far louder than the one prior. a chorus of ‘no way’s, ‘not omi!’s, and ‘good joke yn-kun’s all the way around the table as his teammates bust their guts at your little admittance. you just lean back into sakusa’s side, giggle at their debauchment of your statement.

and as you watch kiyoomi’s hand falls to your thigh—a mess of mangy little cuticles that certainly aren’t neat, you can’t help but grin.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are Weird: Soldier without a war. Part I

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

 “You sure the speks don’t patrol there?”

“If they did do you really think I’d bring this rust bucket along for a job?”

Melp strapped himself into the copilot’s chair and looked over the console readings one last time. All systems were showing minimal operational capacity which normally would have been setting off alarm bells but with how things had been going for him and his captain lately it was the best they could ask for.

Melp was part of the salvage company “Outlying Star”, co-owner in fact with his partner and current captain Galem. When the war against humanity had started the two had thought it was the best idea to make a fortune with all the wrecks floating between star systems from fleet combat and had went all in on a converted freighter to pick through the bones and sell what they could.

At first Melp and Galem had made a killing, bringing in semi functional sub space drives and salvaged fully automated hard shell loaders from human ships. They made enough to fund a fleet of five ships and live the good life back on Valfha without a care in the world; for a little while at least.

Galem thought it was because of the government’s restrictions on salvageable items that had hampered their business but Melp believed it was because they were just too good at it that and had inspired countless others to take up the salvage game. Soon markets, both legal and black, became flooded with salvaged goods and people willing to undercut each other to make a quick buck. Neutron cannon went from 3.5 billion credits in value to just under 300 million credits in the span of six months. As a side effect of the sudden influx of salvage parts the government began taking notice and cracked down hard. Salvagers were called “Scavies” and deemed criminals by the government and the military would all too happily fire on any scavy ship they spotted. Seems they weren’t too happy about people rummaging through the wrecks of ships that once held their friends and the government would turn a blind eye if a scavy ship was destroyed during “Live Fire Exercises”.

Soon the jobs became even riskier and Outlying Star lost three ships after they were caught and destroyed. Another had to be sold for parts and salvage and now the final ship, the Morning Gale, was the last hope for Galem and Melp to make back some money.

“How do you even know this site hasn’t been picked clean already?” Melp asked over his shoulder as Galem entered the cockpit and locked the door behind him. “We could be wasting our time on a fantasy.” Galem shook his head which did little to ease Melp’s concerns.

“I got it from a reliable source that there was a big fight in the Glipi Cluster that we lost to the humans.” Galem began as he took the controls and slowly pulled back on the engine throttle as the ship ascended. “It was so embarrassing that the navy wiped all records of the battle and said the destroyed ships were lost in a freak transition from sub space into a rogue comet cluster.”

“If the data was wiped how does your source know about it?”  Melp quipped as the ship breached upper atmosphere and exited the travel lanes for the jump point.

Galem smirked as he engaged the sub space drive.

“They were there.”

 As the salvage ship exited sub space Melp let out a gasp. He blinked several times and rubbed his eyes yet when he opened them all he could see was a shroud of purple. Galem saw Melp’s confused expression and chuckled.

“It’s the color of the gas filtering through this entire cluster.” He said calmly as he flicked on several scanners and filter units. “Try looking now.”

Melp looked again as the shades of purple faded away and let out a startled gasp. Upon gazing out of the cockpit window he could see why the navy had wanted to cover up this place so badly.

Floating around them were dozens of lifeless wrecks of Mibari warships ranging from light destroyers to several cruisers. Compared to their tiny ship it was as if Melp and Galem had entered the realm of giants. Melp was transfixed by the wrecks and became utterly enthralled when a massive shadow draped across their vessel.

“Is that what I think it is?” Melp spoke sheepishly as his blue hands trembled and changed to a soft orange color. Galem leaned forward in his seat to look out the window and whistled as his eyes caught sight of what had terrified Melp.

“A galaxy class troop carrier.”

The massive ship spun slowly in place like a top that refused to stop spinning, the metal interior exposed in several places from weapons revealing a dark interior of metal supports and long dead hallways. Melp looked towards the front of the ship as the command deck slowly spun into view and he was surprised to see the name of the ship had survived the damage it had taken.

“The Vault of Ohya…” Melp softly spoke. He reached out with an arm and shook Galem who was smiling like a hatchling on birthing day. “That’s the Vault of Ohya!”

“A piece of her hull to the right collector would be enough to refurbish this little dingy,” Galem said as he playfully smacked the command console, “into one hell of a floating casino.”

The two of them broke down into fits of laughter as if they had just been driven mad by their findings; but it was not of madness that now drove them but the sheer joy of their discovery.

These dozen ships floating lifelessly in the cluster were more than enough to bring the two of them back into the life of luxury they once held and keep them there until their dying days.

Melp was still star gazing at the shattered troop carrier when something else suddenly grabbed his attention.

“What’s that?”

Melp tore his gaze away from the Ohya and saw what Galem was looking at.

A new vessel slowly drifted out of the shadow of the troop carrier and came into view. It was clearly a human vessel of some kind; the lack luster design a clear give away. The body of the ship was missing sections of itself, but rather than appearing as if it had been damaged in the battle it looked more as if the ship had not finished being built. Sections of the body were lacking armor showing a complex network of pipes and corridors. The hull was painted in a soft grey color that stood out sharply among the ever shifting gas cloud surrounding it. Rows of gun ports ran along the sides, their openings revealing nothing of the pitch black interior giving them the appearance of small gaping mouths ready to consume Melp and his ship.  

The more Melp looked at the ship the more he felt something was just wrong with it. Galem must have felt something as well as he pulled up the virtual display and began interacting with it.

“Not sure what that thing is but it’s not listed in the records.” He said as he closed the display and leaned over the controls to get a better view of it. The tingling feeling at the bottom of Melp’s three stomachs was starting to grow stronger as his uneasiness did not subside.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that there’s no record of that ship variant from the entire war with humanity on any recorded file.” He popped open the virtual display again and flicked it over so it was hovering in front of Melp to view while he fiddled with the controls again. “Which means it’s worth a whole lot more than anything here.”

“How do you figure that?” As a response to Melp’s question he waved his arm across the scattered wrecks.

“Out of all the ships here the human ones are all clustered around that one as if they meant to protect it.” Galem said as he began moving the ship closer to the strange human ship.

“They could have bugged out and ran, but instead they all fought and died just to protect that thing; which means something on it must’ve been worth defending.”

Melp knew what Galem had some merit, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still very wrong; but before he could raise his concerns though a loud shudder ran through the scavenger ship.

“Get your suit on,” Galem said as he exited out of the cockpit, “let’s go find us some treasure.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If the exterior of the ship had uneased Melp, the interior down right terrified him.

No sooner had the airlock door opened the two scavengers leaped back in shock. Standing at the entrance was a humanoid looking figure. Galem screamed and grabbed hold of a nearby cutting tool and swung it at the figure before Melp could even say anything.

A shower of sparks eradiated off the figure’s body as the plasma torch cut into it, all the while Galem was continuing to scream, and cut a decent size hole through the beings torso.

“Shut it!” Melp shouted at Galem, forcing the scared halfwit to calm down some while Melp inched closer and retrieved the still burning plasma torch. The figure had not moved and inch even as the torch had melted away his exterior and as Melp moved closer still he noticed why.

“It’s an automated drone you idiot.”

Melp motioned him forward and the two of them inspected the machine.

It was human shaped but it was entirely of metal and wires, a mindless drone used for menial tasks such as inventory handling or maintenance. It wore a human uniform for some reason which clashed with its blank reflective visor face.

“Why’s it standing here?” Galem asked as he nervously tapped the drone. The touch pushed it off the ground and the dead drone slowly lifted off the ground in the zero-g environment and floated back into the ship, bouncing off the back wall before continuing to silently float away.

“Maybe it’s here to greet us?” Melp chuckled as he activated his mag locks and his feet latched on to the metallic floor. Galem followed suit and the two began entering the derelict ship.

“Can’t be,” Galem began as they reached the airlock secondary doors and began slowly opening them, “these tin cans would run out of power in a day and it’s been years since this tussle went down.”

With several loud grunts as the two strained with the manual release the inner airlock to the human ship finally cracked open. The two entered slowly, not knowing what to expect, and took stock of their surroundings.

They entered a long hallway that seemed to stretch out far into the distance passed the reach of their head lamps. Melp could see side corridors scattered every few dozen feet no doubt leading to other sections of the ship, but likewise they too were pitch black.

Something about Melp’s comment made him pull out his data scroll and do a quick scan. The device beeped rapidly as the scan commenced before ending with a loud “DING” and displaying a waterfall of information.

Melp read the data as the two continued to hover by the airlock entrance.

“It says here that somethings still giving off a power signature here.” Melp commented as he ran he scan again to be sure.

“Give it here,” Galem said as he turned to Melp with his hand outstretched, “you must be reading it-“

When Galem didn’t finish his sentence Melp looked up and saw something akin to a mixture of fear and surprise on his face. He was staring at something over his shoulder so Melp slowly turned in place , his magnetic feet latching heavily to the decking with each step like two magnets smashing together.

When he finally turned around he let out a yelp of surprise and tried to jump back, but his magnetic feet kept him firmly locked to the floor leaving him in an almost comical off balance state.

Standing directly behind him was another of the drones, this one dressed in what appeared to be some sort of security uniform even including an empty weapon holster at his side.

Neither of the scavengers knew how the thing got there as it most certainly hadn’t been standing there a moment ago. Before either of them could respond the drone’s visor lit up and displayed a pixelated face.  The visor was damaged with a deep crack running the length of it making the display flicker in and out on half the screen giving it an eerily ghost like visage.

“The captain,” the drone began as it stepped to one side of the hallway and extended a hand into the darkness, “requests your presence on the bridge.”

[nari-nim]

yeosang as your boyfriend

nari note: kicking off the bf series with this king. who do you want to see next? creds for gif goes to @holy-yeosang​

Let’s be honest, you might have to make the first move with him

But it’s worth it because yeosang is actually such boyfriend material

He takes comfort in established familiarity and warm-heartedness, so likes taking things slow and understanding your personality more than anything

Shy boi at first even as y’all are dating

It can take a long time to reach the point he’s super comfortable. 

But please be patient with him because he really has super intense and strong feelings for you

Super playful and chaotic once he feels max comfortable around you!!

Type to be quiet around others but then rambles nonstop with you. Would be so funny too, he has so many hot takes he was holding in 

Can be unpredictable, but not in a bad way! 

More like he just stares at you in such a straight face until you get slightly worried, but he just feeds you three pocky sticks, kisses your lips as you are munching in confusion, and then leaves

Also please he’s so funny??? Like it’s not the type of humor like Wooyoung who just is so loud and makes everyone laugh, but the type where he makes such snarky or intellectual jabs at the situation/those around him

So it just ends up with the two of your snickering on the side

So many inside jokes

So much laughter, always 

Definitely the type to tease you as his form of flirting

Enjoys personal attention and lots of eye contact when talking about literally anything that comes to mind

Really likes just sitting with you somewhere cozy and talking about life for hours and hours on end

Once he’s comfortable, he’s actually so adorably expressive and unafraid to return PDA

While he may struggle with emotional expression at times, physical affection can stand in loving words for him

While not as touchy as San or Wooyoung, he isn’t afraid to have the two of you be in your own world

Sits close to you at any given opportunity and quietly takes care of you

Like offering you snacks first, moves your hair behind your ears, urges you to wrap you arms around his, gives you his jacket

He’s the type to love you quietly

Actions speak louder than words, and his actions are so incredibly thoughtful and attentive

For example, he may not be tripping over himself to tell you just how much he loves you 24/7 but he never fails to open soft drinks for you after the one time your nail broke in front of him when you tried to pry the metal tab open, he literally ignores the group chat but makes sure he bids you good morning and good night because he’s seen how happy they make you feel, etc

Ok but he is so kind even if he rarely voices it. You can absolutely count on him to be there for emotional and practical support whenever it’s needed.

Very trusting in the relationship

He is really understanding of you having friends/a life outside of him so he’s less likely to get jealous

Really rational in disagreements

Sometimes it can get hard to read his expressions, so it’s important you both learn to communicate a lot to keep the relationship healthy! He’s actually really good at voicing his thoughts and opinions well once he has the space to do so

Values reciprocation

Will do aegyo to make you blush or sway things in his favor. And then will proceed to hide his face immediately after

please he is Adorable

You’re his hype man. He will also then get super shy, but loves every single second of it. Secretly wants you to hype him up nonstop

I think he secretly really enjoys words of affirmation as his primary love language (receiving).

Compliments can be a little rare from him, so when he does compliment you, you know he really means it!! 

And he will roast you

Sometimes, he has his fun by occasionally starting some verbal sparring followed by intense making up. 

Like he’ll choose a topic and say something so wild about it just to see your expression. Pushes your buttons a little before either one of you has to shut the other up through a make out session or a bet

Just very trustworthy, loyal, loving and faithful as a whole uwu

NSFW after this

With that being said, he’s a switch

I don’t see power play being as big of deal for him tbh, he likes to go with the flow with what you both feel like during the moment

literally his preference to dom or sub may actually depend on you and the dynamic of the relationship

when he’s dom, he’s soft or hard depending on the mood as well

but ngl I’m leaning on that hard dom agenda

Sex with him can start out a bit vanilla at first

He’s so careful and wants you to be comfy :’)

But give it a few rounds and lots of communication, his kinky ass will take over

Takes a lot of joy in pleasing you, and can take this to an extreme where he just wants to watch you cum again and again and again from his touch

Um can be a bit of a sadist 

Type to ask you if it hurts while overstimulating you and says “good” when you moan in affirmation 

Secretly has a thing to see you cry 

Also really likes edging

He likes driving you so desperate to the point you’re begging him to let you cum

As you’re reaching and moaning for him he’ll say in a teasing tone “oh really, what do you want? You want my cock? Hm? Is that it?” 

Just to hear your pleady whines

That mocking tone will send shivers down anyone’s spine 

Oh My God you cannot tell me he won’t have a degradation kink (giving)

Also the type to be like “use your words” while he’s going down on you and then proceed to suck your clit extra hard, making you unable to form coherent sounds through your loud moans. It then becomes his excuse to edge you for yet another round because you didn’t use your words, did you?

Whew, anyways

Grab onto his biceps while he rails into you and notice how they flex underneath you as he starts pounding harder in response

Likes to show off his gains by pushing you up against a wall 

Also likes it when you top him

Likes hearing you really vocal, even though he’s more on the quieter side when he isn’t dirty talking

Usually just groans when hitting an extra sensitive spot or when you give a particularly good blowjob that day

Likes having you go down on him as foreplay, but prefers penetration as an end goal

Into the classic missionary and launchpad positions so he can see your expression clearly as he overstimulates/edges you

Likes seeing you look up at him through those teary eyes <3

But also very into doggy style

Likes fucking you into the sheets in general, so any position adjacent to that is on his favorites list

um his fingering game is so strong

In the mornings, likes slowly fucking you from behind while spooning you so he can also grab onto your tits or play with your clit

His end goal always is to make you feel so fucking good, it just manifests differently than service tops like Seonghwa or Yunho

Very private about your sex life and not into public sex at all

Possessive in that way. Only he can touch you like that, see you like that, hear your moans like that, etc

Likes hearing you confirm that 

“Only I can make you scream like this”

“Who fucks you this good, huh?”

“C’mon, say it louder.” 

Has one hell of a degradation kink (giving) me thinks

Likes it when you talk back, lowkey likes brat taming when he’s in a dom mood

But does like teasing you in public and keeping it like that until you both find a bedroom, gets off on the idea of you both having to hide your neediness in public

Very little people expect that from just seeing you both together in regular settings 

But little do they know despite the two of you innocently sitting together eating brunch with the team, leaving a few inches for jesus, y’all just had the freakiest sex before getting there. Like you’re literally shifting around in your seat as the soreness kicks in, and Yeosang is smirking ever so slightly at your discomfort

Will rest a heavy head on your upper thigh for a few seconds, brushing his pinky finger against your clothed clit through the thin fabric of your outfit, as he reaches for the bread basket 

Likes hearing that little gasp leaving your lips

Knows he’s leaving you very frustrated and will use that to his advantage later

The whole time, he has the most innocent, fair expression on his face

when he’s a sub tho?

similar vibes. wants you to feel good. 

Still wants to dirty talk, but it’s far more subservient now

one quick way to get him into subspace

if you push him far enough, then he’s so pouty and clingy and fucking cute

It’s so rare to see him like this but always such a treat

favorite positions is to have you ride him and he’ll play with your tits

or he’s still fucking you into the sheets but you are 100% in control

Just imagine him all whiny and teary as he fucks into you, begging you to let him cum as your clench your walls purposely around him, making him yelp as he tries to still his shaking thighs to wait for your signal

actually can be quite obedient as a sub

truly will do his best to be your good boy 

Anyways, aftercare is pretty good with him. He’s very caring and gentle and checks in a lot with you (he better, usually he fucks quite a few rounds out of you)

If he’s fucked out tho, make sure he is also taken care of! As a sub, he follows your orders so well so he’ll probably fall asleep so fast after intensely cumming for the nth time 

At the very least wipes you both down clean with a warm washcloth and kisses you to sleep

Likes spooning you at the end :’)

give him his cuddles </3

masterlist

[jimlingss]

Speaking of AUs and plots, OC damages someones car by accident and instead of money they want to be paid back in dates.

Anonymous said: For the request: “I can make you a deal you can’t refuse.”

↳ Auto Date Claim

2.3k || 100% Light Fluff || Kim Seokjin

Seokjin grips the steering wheel.

He blows through the yellow light even though he should’ve stopped but there’s no time to waste, not when the last thing he wants is to be late for the meeting. Everything has to be perfect.

Which is what makes this phone call the worst.

“I’m not coming.”

“What?!” Jin looks to the display screen where there’s Jisoo’s name as if he can telepathically send her his exasperated expression. “Why not?!” 

“You know why. I don’t want to be a doll that’s supposed to sit there silently, Seokjin. I’m done.”

“No. Please. You know how important this meeting is to me. You can’t be doing this—”

“Oh, yes I can.”

She hangs up. Seokjin groans, the urge to slam his forehead against the steering wheel overwhelming. But he resists and when he gets to the next red light, he frantically calls Yoongi.

The dial tone rings over his car speakers and then the man picks up. Yoongi is calm by nature and there’s little that can faze him. But now, his voice pitches up every so slightly. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you on your way to meeting the Jeon’s?”

“Yeah, but Jisoo just called to tell me she’s not coming.”

“Oh shit.”

Family. Marriage. Commitment. They’re essential pillars for the Jeon’s who’ve been married for fifty years. They’re old school, the epitome of tradition. The plan was for Jin to look like a family man too, to add to his own integrity and to show that he shares the Jeon’s company values. And everything matters when it comes to the contract they’ve been trying to sign for the past year. A minuscule detail like this could tip the scales and make the Jeon’s sign with the competitor instead.

“Is Irene there?” Jin asks as he drives. “Maybe she can come instead.”

“She’s already running an errand for Hoseok. Just...make something up. Maybe you can say—”

At the exact same time, as Seokjin stops for a red light, the entire car jolts forward without warning. He nearly slams his head on the wheel — this time, unintentionally. 

What the fuc—

“Yoongi, wait. I just got rear-ended.”

“What?!”

As if things couldn’t get worse today. Jin undoes his seat belt and climbs out of the car. The perpetrator of the accident also gets out and he looks at you who’s completely wide-eyed.

“I’m so sorry!” you screech in horror. “I was just singing to this new album and looking around, I’ve never driven on this street before and I wasn’t paying attention, I’m so so sorry.”

You come to look at the damage at his bumper and a gasp tears from your throat. It’s a Maserati.

You don’t know much about cars, but even you’re aware this is a luxury vehicle imported from somewhere in Europe. Germany. France. Italy. One of those fancy countries where you haven’t even dreamed of traveling to. You don’t know much but one thing’s certain — you’re so fucked.

As you’re losing your mind, Seokjin taps his foot and checks his watch. 

His eyes bulge when he realizes the hour’s almost up. “Do you have your insurance information?” he blurts, interrupting your internal meltdown.

“I-Insurance?” You deflate all at once. “I don’t.”

Seokjin sighs and glances over his shoulder. The Hwagae Hotel where the meeting was taking place was so close that he could practically see the entrance door from here.

There’s no more time to waste.

“I’m heading to the Hwagae Hotel.” He points down the street. “Do you want to talk about it there?”

You nod dejectedly and get back into your car to follow him into the hotel’s parking lot before you slow down traffic any more than you already have. Getting more angry drivers on your back is the last thing you need at the moment. At the same time, your mind scrambles for solutions. But it comes up empty.

God fucking dammit. You shouldn’t have been cheap. You should’ve just gone hungry for an entire week to get the car insurance. Why on earth did you think you didn’t need it?!

By the time you get out of your car again, you’re on the verge of tears.

You eye the expensive, sleek black car. Then your eyes stray to the stranger.

“I...I don’t have much money I can give you.”

Jin glances at his watch and then at you. He finally gets a good look at you. Or rather, he notices your simple skirt and blouse ensemble. In an instant, a light bulb flickers in his brain.

“You don’t need to pay if you follow me.” His head nudges towards the hotel and your eyes become rounded at the suggestion. You gawk at the door of the hotel and back at him within seconds, entirely horrified. Seokjin quickly clarifies, “I have a business brunch inside and I need a partner to go with. You don’t need to do anything. You can just stay silent and eat.”

Seokjin watches as you look at the car and then his crisp suit before you’re slowly coming to nod. “A-Alright.”

He turns on his heel and struts into the hotel lobby without waiting for you.

Seokjin wouldn’t necessarily call himself a spontaneous person, but when push comes to shove and it’s the last moment, he’s good at coming up with fixes. He prides himself on it, having been the person who jumped in at the last second to repair things on more than one occasion. 

Podium mic not working at the charity banquet? He ran to the nearby mall and bought a portable karaoke microphone at a booth. The client has a pollen allergy he didn’t know about? He threw the flowers on the table out the window when she turned around. The handouts for the shareholder meeting were forgotten? He announced they were going paperless. 

The point is: Seokjin will do whatever it takes. Even if his methods are unconventional.

He enters the lavish hotel restaurant, already finding the couple by the windows. He brushes past the hostess with a sparkling smile and peeks over his shoulder to make sure you’re still following after him.

“Seokjin!”

They’re an old couple in professional garb. The man is in a gray suit while the woman is in a modest navy dress. He doesn’t miss the Louis Vuitton purse next to her wine glass filled with water.

“It’s good to see you, Mr. Jeon. You as well, Mrs. Jeon.” 

He shakes their hands and at once, Mrs. Jeon looks at you with her brows raised. “And who is this?”

“This is my partner….”

“Y/N,” you fill in for him, realizing he doesn’t even know your name. You’ve been through your fair share of meetings, so you smile and shake their hands with ease. 

As strange as the situation is, you’re just relieved he wasn’t lying about it. You had the impression he wasn’t, but you were ready to hightail it out of here if he brought you into a hotel room.

“I didn’t know you had a partner, Seokjin,” the older man notes, impressed and curious.

Jin laughs. “Well, I’m glad you know now.” 

Everyone takes their seats and the waiter comes by to fill your glasses of water and ask if anyone wants a particular drink. Once he’s sauntered away, the woman across from you makes conversation. “What do you do, Y/N?”

So much for having to do nothing. “I’m an intern at JML.”

“Oh, I have a friend’s niece who works there. Are you looking to become an accountant then?” her husband asks.

“Hopefully.” You smile before lifting the glass of water to your lips.

“That’s so nice,” Mrs. Jeon sighs. “You young-ins should work and develop a career while you still have the chance. Heaven knows things become so much more difficult once you start a family.”

Family? It’s a foreign concept to hear considering it’s not a subject even in the realm of your concern. You manage to stiffly nod.

“How did you two meet?”

You almost spit out your water.

Seokjin reaches over to pat your back as you wheeze. “Are you alright...darling?”

You wipe your mouth with the tablecloth napkin. What was this guy’s name again? Seokho? No that wasn’t it. It had a J in it. Seok...ju? No….

“Seokjin, I’m fine.”

Mrs. Jeon watches the interaction through rose-coloured glasses and smiles knowingly. “My apologies if it’s an intrusive question. I just adore a good love story.”

“Actually, it’s a funny story.” Jin smiles as a sweat bead practically rolls down his face. “Y/N here rear-ended my car when I was on my way to a meeting and that’s how we got to know each other.”

He looks at you and starts to laugh. After a delayed moment, you join in and inwardly cringe at how awkward it sounds. Yet the old couple doesn’t notice.

“How long have you been together?” Mr. Jeon asks with a warm smile, hands threaded on the table.

You look at him and his laughter dies down. “T-Thr-Two years! Yes, two years.”

“Well isn’t that sweet,” she swoons to her husband who nods in approval. “Are you going to get married soon? It’s not good to let a young woman wait too long.”

If you didn’t choke before, you might again. This time from your own saliva.

Mr. Jeon hums. “Yes, I personally don’t think one should wait long if they know it’s the right person.”

“That’s right.”

“Well that’s good news,” Seokjin interjects before you get the chance and he suddenly blurts, “Because we’re already married.”

Your head whirls to him, neck nearly breaking from the whiplash. You gawk at his profile.

Mrs. Jeon gasps in amazement. Mr. Jeon appears intrigued.

As the proclamation leaves his lips, it’s already too late to take it back. Seokjin isn’t spontaneous. He’s just good at quick fixes, too good that they become permanent fixes.

The point is: Seokjin’s an absolute idiot sometimes.

“Really?! Where’s the ring?” 

“We’re getting it fixed at the moment. Y/N lost a bit of weight so it kept slipping off her fingers.”

He turns to you and you stare at him incredulously before deadpanning, “Right.”

“When did you get married?” Mr. Jeon asks.

“Recently,” Seokjin lies without batting a single lash. It’s not hard to pitch an idea or an outlandish one at that when he used to work as a door-to-door salesman during his teenage years and then a car salesman during his college years. 

Seokjin’s entire career has been built on convincing others.

“So you’re newlyweds then.”

You give him a look. Jin smiles. 

“Yes. We are.”

By the end of brunch, you know more about Kim Seokjin than you ever intended to know — case in point, you’re now aware of his last name. You know he’s three years older than you are, that he’s been working at his company for four, and he’s pretty high up on the corporate ladder but is still continuing to climb it. You even know about the possible contract between his company and the Jeon’s, and the open plot of land on Hwarang avenue that would apparently be the perfect location to expand the Golden Resort and turn it into a franchise.

You’re sure he knows way more about you than he’d like to know too.

“I’ll be honest, I was unsure if I wanted to sign with your company, Seokjin. But you’ve shown me you have a lot of integrity and a strong work ethic. I think our values are compatible as well.” Mr. Jeon shakes hands with Seokjin. “You’ll get a call from my office soon and I think you’ll like what you’ll hear.”

“Thank you so much, sir.”

“You’re a lovely couple,” Mrs. Jeon adds on as she looks at the pair of you standing next to one another. “I look forward to seeing you again soon, Y/N.”

“Y-Yes…”

The two of them bid their final farewells and Mr. Jeon lifts his hand to the valet across the lot. Mrs. Jeon hangs off his arm as their Cadillac is driven up to the door. They get in soon after.

It’s silent between you and Seokjin.

“So…..we’re married, huh?”

“I’m sorry.” He turns to you with a heavy sigh. “It was a really important client I have to sign with and they really value family and relationships.”

You nod. It doesn’t really matter now — what’s important is that it’s over. But one thing isn’t. “About your car….”

The both of you walk across the lot to his vehicle and he finally has the time to get a good look at the damage.

There’s a clear dent in his back bumper and a scratch. But luckily, there doesn’t seem to be much anywhere else.

“It’s a ninety nine thousand dollar car.”

You wheeze. “Pardon?”

“I don’t know how much the damage will be, but it might cost a bit.”

Oh my god.

Seokjin suddenly turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I can make you a deal you can’t refuse. I know you don’t have the means to pay for the damage, so you won’t have to. But in exchange, accompany me to business brunches or galas. It won’t be often and it’ll be similar to what you just experienced. You won’t have to say much and you can even eat for free.”

There’s a drawn out pause. You blink at him owlishly.

“I accidentally told him you were my wife and if you weren’t there from now on, it’ll look suspicious,” Seokjin explains. “It’ll be just for a little while. Maybe half a year? I’ll figure something out after that. How does it sound?”

You know you don’t have much of a choice.

You don’t have insurance and you don’t have money to pay out of pocket. If anything, the offer is generous and Seokjin seems trustworthy — especially considering you’ve gotten to know him in the past hour.

For all those reasons, maybe that’s why you nod. “I can do that.”

He smiles and you brace yourself for a whirlwind.

[evilzoldyck]

Fiancée

part II

Suppressing down a burdensome sigh, you  looked back at the establishment who regretfully informed you that you were not able to match the prerequisites that the job description required. You knew all too well the insinuation of that statement, coming from a zero educational background and a rather low income class, the echelon of the societal hierarchy was brutal in your pursuit of a second occupation. Instead of quality, values and work ethic, they chose to look at the brands of your shoes and your status in this highly polarised civil structure.

Perusing through the town for any opportunity you could sought out until your heels formed blisters was a normal part of your everyday life, this day though, you figured you could take a short break by resting underneath a shady spot at the bustling market. While you were rubbing on your sore calves you can't help but overhear the excited prattle of a group of girls nearby. They all adorned leathered purses and scintillating jewelleries; young, beautiful and free of any burdens and responsibilities. 

“Have you heard? The Zoldyck family are hosting a formal competition for the chance to win the noble position of becoming a wife to one of their son!” The blonde haired woman reported with wide eyes. 

“Really? That family of assassins are holding a public trial?” Another one with carefully manicured acrylic nails spoke up. “You’d think as an assassin they’d be less privy about this.” 

“That’s not all, I heard that the winner also gets ten billion jennys,” the last one stated. “The Zoldycks are always ostentatious as ever, probably a marketing strategy to lure more girls in to participate.”

“Who cares about some jennys. I’d want to see the groom in question and if he’s really as tall, dark and handsome rumours made him out to be. If I hadn't been engaged, I'd try it out in a heartbeat.”

The blonde woman scoffed and retorted back, “good luck with that, I heard there’s over a hundred girls coming in from all over the world intending on participating already, and that’s just the numbers on the first day. Who knows how many will actually end up in three days time when the trial officially begins.” The group of girls wandered away until you couldn't hear their idle chats anymore, but their conversation still replayed over your mind like a broken record player. 

Ten billion jennys? In three days time? Those numbers alone made you heart skip a beat. There was a strong urge for you to look further into this for a mere moment before you scolded yourself mentally afterwards. There was no reason for you to get involved with someone as infamous as the Zoldycks. ‘The costs far outweigh the benefits,’ you told yourself. Propping yourself back up to your feet, you began to head home once the sun sets beyond the horizon. 

“Mother?” you called out once you stepped inside the shabby hole in a wall restaurant you ran with her. The candle lights all but one had been melted down, making it hard for you to see through the small, dark space. Once you turned around the corner and into the small kitchen room you spotted her cleaning up after a rather large spill which looked like porridge from the stone pot. “Mother what are you doing? You know you’re not allowed to look after heavy tasks,” you reprimanded, guiding her up back to her feet and wiped off the spoiled food from her hands with a nearby towel.

“It’s fine, just a little accident is all.” she waved you off as you continued to clean her hands where you spotted a rather large bruise on her along her inner arms.

“What happened?” you demanded in bewilderment. “Did that bastard come here today? Did he do this to you?” your series of questions did nothing more than to drive her away from you, but the thought of that filthy loan shark landing a hand on your mother made your blood boil and hands shake until you couldn't see anything else. “I’m going to kill him the next time I see him.”

“Oh hush, there’s no need for that,” your mother dismissed as if it was a trivial matter. “I’ll just clean this up and head on to bed-” you stopped her from bending back down to clean up after the mess and insisted that you do it yourself as you directed her back into her bedroom upstairs. Supporting her weight all the way up the stairs you assisted in preparing her bed and tucking her in. 

“You’re such a good kid,” she suddenly cooed, bringing up her frail and roughened hands from labour comfortingly up to your cheek. You held onto it and smiled down at her softly in response. 

“How did the interview go? Did you get accepted?” Once your smile disappeared into a disappointed frown she immediately soothed you. “Opportunities will come and go, don’t fret about it, darling. You’ll get it next time.” Though you nodded along with her words with a small beam, you knew you couldn't survive on optimism for much longer. 

“Good night,” you kissed down on her temple and blew away the fire flickering beside her bedside table before closing the door. Though it may sound impossibly crazy and foolishly dangerous, you knew where you had to go in a few days. Though the chance of you winning may be less than one percent, you would take any chance you had in order for you both to escape the life you currently had. 

The next two days went by in a blur, monotonous and grey as ever, and when you finally arrived onto the grounds of the Kukuroo mountain on the third day have the reality finally knocked you into your senses. Around five hundred girls filling your very peripheral visions stood and crowded in front of the ill-famed gate. Their mere chatter mass assembled together sounded like a roar, intimidating you by the sheer size of the sound of your competitors. Nevertheless, with a determined spirit, you filled in with the massive crowd around you. 

Suddenly, the noise all but halted once an old, feeble looking man made an appearance before the participants, smiling joyfully as if he knew something you didn’t. “Welcome ladies to the first day of the public trial on behalf of the Zoldyck family,” he greeted mirthfully. “We have expected a big turnout and for that we are more than grateful for. Therefore, this morning and the next marks the first preliminary task.” 

“Without further ado, each of you will have one chance to open the Testing Gate, which all of you must know that the first panel weighs around two tonnes and the ones after weighs twice as more as before, you are free to choose which panel to open. If you fail in opening the gate within the first five minutes I am afraid you are immediately disqualified from the competition. There is no need to label numbers as we expect them to go down drastically, I will monitor the first task for the time being and to all of you, I wish you the best of luck.”

There was an unnerving glances shared with each other by the girls, anxious on how to overcome the first issue with their high end shoes and neatly done hair and makeup. Of course, the Zoldycks won’t be looking at appearance to fit the mold, rather it was strength that they were seeking for. You cursed at yourself for not realising it soon enough too, wearing the nicest clothes you had in your closet and even going as far as spraying a bit of your mother’s perfume.

As the time goes by, the numbers slowly decreased with each failure. Some even left without trying, those who went undercover as a news reporter, a media freelancer hoping to snap a quick picture and those who thought they didn’t bear a chance. So far there were only five who managed to open the gate with one or two choosing the heavier panels. Once it was decided that it was your turn, the sky had already turned dark with the moon and the stars hung high above the skies.

Narrowing your eyes in front of two tonne door, you began to lean all your weight and force into pushing it open. There were sweats beading up to your forehead already as you continued to push on forward. “One minute,” the man stated. The minutes turned into seconds and so far no progress has been made. Gritting your teeth you kept your force constant hoping that you could manage to get a crack soon. 

“Four minutes.” Those very words alarmed you, making you lose focus for a mere moment. Though as quick as it came, you fortunately caught yourself, instead you drowned out the crowd behind you, along with time, sound and your senses and the elements of the world. Carrying that energy you had, you honed in on pushing your momentum forward. Suddenly a gap shifted, making you focus on not losing that velocity.

The older gentleman was counting down the last twenty seconds but you couldn't hear him, the ladies in the back watched in awe as you were the first one in a while to make such progress in the last few hours. When the crack widened to a space that you deemed was enough to slip your body through momentarily before the door swung back and crushed your bones, you managed to squeeze inside within the very last second.

Gasping tremendously for air from the overexertion of your strength, you looked around to find yourself on the other side in a quiet, shrouded forests along with the other girls who made it through before you. Once they've acknowledged your presence, they were quick to assess you head to toe with their sharp eyes. 

Of course, you couldn't forget that this was a competition.There was thick tension in the air between you all knowing that these people did not view you as anything but a rival. Taking your spot wordlessly on a tree stump, you waited for the first task to finish with the others and that meant waiting all night and day until each girl has had her turn on the gates.

This waiting game continued on until the next late afternoon when the sun was about to set again. There was now a total of fifty three of you waiting on the other side, each anxious and tired as every second passes. Suddenly, a pair of finely dressed men arrived bearing a stone faced expressions while carrying finely ornate candlestick to light the way. 

“Congratulations on passing the preliminary round. We now continue on with the trial by heading to the estate. You'll do your best job to keep up with us.” Without any further questions, they swiftly turned around and headed into the direction to the top of the mountain. It took you all a second to process what they said before you all followed and began your long trek uphill.

You were no stranger to walking vast distances but as you were currently running without sleep or food it made it quite strenuous for your journey up ahead. Once you've arrived, you’re greeted with the sight of a gargantuan house and in front, somebody waiting for you. 

“These are the ones who passed?” a woman dressed in a Victorian attire with a mechanical visor implored with a testy tone. 

“Yes Madame, should we escort them to their quarters?” One of the worker asked. The lady raised her hand in objection whilst keeping a steady view on all fifty three of you. 

“No need, I shall take them from here, you may be excused.” Without another word they bowed respectfully and left. “You all are here because you wish to make space for yourself in this family. Before you can idly daydream of such foolish fantasies, I will be here to test you all. You will be subjected to many trials, as many as I deem necessary, it will take days, months or even years but the trial will not end until I am satisfied that one of you is worthy enough. Should you break, cry, slip, scream, fall- should you show any sign of weakness during these times you are immediately disqualified.”

“Those of you who are not prepared for such endeavours, I advise you to head back now,” she stated, waiting for anyone to back out of the competition and when no one did, she narrowed her eyes further. “Very well then, follow me.”

There was an insinuation in her voice that tells you no matter what any of you will achieve you may never be deemed worth enough to earn a place in the family. Following the lady of the house dutifully she showed you all to a large room where fifty three futons are laid out in perfect symmetry on the floor along with a concave wood with a stick attached on the middle of the back and a pair of small bowls, one filled with rice and the other with cherry blossom petals for each bed. 

“You shall all sleep here during your time in the competition, those items you see are crucial to your rest. Place the rice to your left and the petals to your right head. The sticks are to prop your head up while you sleep where you will not make a single movement or sound. We will monitor you all night while you do and if I such as find a grain of rice or a petal out of place from their bowls or even failing to keep your head upright by these sticks, you are finished from here on out.” She instructed and before she could add more, she sniffed and grimaced for a second. 

“Be ready by six in the morning, the showers are down the hall to the left.”

Once she left, everybody claimed their spots on the bed and you took yours near the end of the back where it was the quietest. The one next to you was searching for her bowl of petals and you spotted it beneath her futon, out of her line of sight. When you offered it to her with a small smile she snatched the wooden bowl from you and averted her gaze instantly. 

“You shouldn't be here,” she muttered, sinking in her blanket. 

“What?” You couldn't help but ask. 

She rolled her eyes and huffed out an air of annoyance, “you’re going to get yourself killed.” Propping her elbows up to level with you, she eyed you seriously, “you’re not a nen user. We could all sense that back on the gates. Everyone here is a user except for you and that testing gate was nothing compared to what’s going to come. You shouldn't be here, you won’t come out the same if you do.” 

You watched her carefully rest her head on the stick and shut her eyes. Silently you did the same and through the pain and stress of your neck from balancing your head perfectly upright should’ve bothered you, it didn't do as much as her words. Still, you're willing to put yourself through hell, there was no other choice and to back out now would defeat your purpose.

It was close to dawn, and though you were restless all throughout the night you fought the urge to move and stayed perfectly still. Once you woke up however, you saw ten less empty beds. Frowning a bit, you got up to put your bed away and wash yourself before the clock strikes six.

Forty three people now remain and once you have all assembled in the main room before the entrance, the lady from before along with two other butlers arrived. This time she formally introduced herself as Kikyo Zoldyck, the Madame of the house and family. They directed you all towards a large room where a bowl of rice and soup was already prepared for each one.

“You must all complete your breakfast with proper, courtly manners, anything less revolts me. That means you must at all times during the meal to not slouch or make a sound, sit on your heels and eat a grain of rice one at a time.” She ordered acerbically. 

You took a seat to the one nearest to you and waited for their signal for you to eat. Once it was given, you apprehensively picked up your chopsticks and ate a single grain and more or less swallowed as it was so small you could barely taste or chew it. Five minutes have not yet passed when suddenly a girl doubled over, spilling her food everywhere whilst retching into the floor. Everyone turned their heads over to her in horror as they realised what you have all been eating.

Poison.

The smell of bile filled the room as Kikyo fanned her face to waft the air away from her vicinity and gestured to the guards to take her away. The rest of the meal was unfortunate as you struggled to ignore the groans and nausea of the others who fell victim along with the putrid smell around you. Ignoring your innate instinct to reject the food you chose to focus on your mind over matter, no matter what they were going to do to you, it was not nearly as painful as seeing your mother suffer when you could do something about it. 

It was then that your body went on almost pilot mode as you could not recall having any more thoughts or memories of yourself subjected to various torture trials. The days increased into weeks and the number of girls that were here soon dropped like flies. The woman that you spoke to on your first day, she was gone too by the fourth night as you watched the now empty spot beside you as you went to sleep.

Every day was a routine of testing the limits of your strength. Every meal given was always laced with some poison, it has come to a point where you suppressed your urge to vomit so hard each day that now it had sit still in your stomach. 

The same could be made every time you are sent to the electrocution chamber down in the depths of the cold basement where you could spend the whole day being shocked in miscellaneous voltages by the workers who looked like they were enjoying it too much. Or when snow came in, they would strip you bare of your clothes and drench you all in cold water outside. The lashings were always held arbitrarily though, they would only stop until the markings started to show as Kikyo deemed the sight of a scarred back to be ghastly to gaze upon.

Then there were only three, this time however, the task you were assigned was definitely an odd one. Kikyo was known for her admiration of finer things in life such as traditional japanese and eurocentric arts, this task she requires you was to perform an intricate dance. Beauty and gracefulness came later in the part of the competition you guessed. 

Though the level of difficulty was just the same as the previous ones.There was an emphasis on how every movement from the slightest tip of your fingers could immediately expel you if you strayed from the original choreography. For days at night you practiced until your feet would give out or until you heard birds chirping at the sight of the first light of the day. 

When the day finally came to determine your performance you are finally escorted onto the Zoldyck estate, though only one participant must attend at a time and you settled with being the last. So when it was finally your turn, you arrived at a private room where there was a screen that divided you from your spectators. The room itself was beautiful, lit with red candles and carefully carved up wooden walls that tells infinite stories.

You could see before you that Kikyo was not alone this time, there was another sitting patiently beside her. Before you could pry more to try and make out the mysterious figure, Kikyo’s voice reverberated through behind the screen to instruct you to begin. You inhaled a small breath and blinked in shock momentarily. You hadn't noticed before but the floor was absolutely covered in small broken glasses. You knew better than to expect the least by this point.

Clearing your mind as you do with every single trial that you participated in, you stepped forward. You could faintly hear the sounds of small shards of glasses every time you moved as well as feeling the red liquid slowly pooling beneath your feet. Nevertheless, you began without a moment to waste. Twisting at every turn, sliding your feet across the floor while masking your emotions with a stone, cold exterior. Hanging to every last words of her instructions to follow the exact routine. 

You were halfway done with your performance when the other figure suddenly stood up and came closer to the divider. Though you presumed it was quite unusual, you continued on with your dance until the person swiftly cut the screen seemingly with his bare hands to reveal an expressionless, grim man with long midnight hair and as far as you can tell, endless deep eyes.

The strange man that emanated pure darkness stood before you uttered your name in a low breath. “That is your name?” you halted your routine once he had addressed you as you nodded politely in response, looking down out of respect. 

“A daughter of a mere commoner, you run a restaurant with your poor, ailing mother down on an unnamed street. You don’t come from an impressive background or lineage, nor martial training of any skills and your nen has yet to be awakened.” He stated matter of factly. You held your tongue for you feared that you would be the cause of your demise.

He stepped forward towards you, his bare feet coming on contact with the sharp glass and yet no blood came gushing out like yours did. “You know the ones before you, they were the exact opposite. They came in and used their nen skills to protect and form a barrier against their skin and yet you endured even without having basic nen training which I would find quite impossible until this very day.”

“I could sense you are determined, but your heart is set somewhere else,” he came in closer and Kikyo now stood up, her lips pursed disapprovingly. “It is not me that you desire, is it?” The man was impossibly close to you that you found it hard to catch your breath and answer promptly. Judging by the implication of his words, he must be the son of the Zoldyck family.

“No.” You answered truthfully, not knowing whether or not that was the smartest move. He let out a small hum before asking once again, “then why do you do it? Why do you subject yourself to such extreme affliction without any power? Why do you fight so hard just to live another day?” 

“There are those worth fighting for, for every horrible persecution you put me through I will continue to fight.” His demeaning words spark a gust of defiance within you. “And you're wrong, I am equipped with power, something far more greater that no other kind of nen could reach.”

Furrowing his eyes, he looked at you in disbelief, “you're misunderstood, emotions cannot give you strength, they are mere obstacles in life’s objectives. It makes you weak.”

“Emotions aren't weak, they make me stronger, love made me stronger.” Looking into his eyes you saw no trace of empathy within him, you’re not shocked to learn if this man knows no concept of it. “It’s what kept me standing here after all this time.”

He stood still for a quiet minute, silently staring you down with those cold, dead eyes. He raised his arms and for a moment you thought he would strike you down with it and immediately dispose of you for speaking out of turn towards him. Instead, you're startled to find yourself swept off of your feet and held firmly by him, relieving you of your pain while your droplets of blood fell languidly, making a subtle drop against the wooden floor and glass.

“Illumi! What are you doing?” Shrieked Kikyo, holding up her dress to run towards the both of you. 

“The trial ends here,” he responded absentmindedly. “I have found my fiancée.” 

“No! It's only been a month!” She refuted erratically “She is the weakest of the bunch, her luck will run out soon just give it more time! There are far others more deserving with noble titles and background. You are upsetting the order, she cannot take your place beside you, she is far lesser than-” A look from Illumi caused her to clamp her lips shut.

“The sole objective was to find the strongest one to take the place as my wife and strengthen the Zoldyck family, was it not mother?” he asked bluntly. When she didn't respond he continued, this time facing you as he spoke, “I have seen proficient nen-users crumble under the pressures of these tortures, imagine the strength that she possesses once her nen is awakened.” 

“There is no need to look any further then, send the others home.” Illumi finished and began to carry you away from the room and Kikyo who appeared as if she was about to have a meltdown. 

Once the heavy doors were closed behind you, you flinched once you heard her piercing screams that shook the manor as he gave you a small imitation of a smile all throughout the time. 

You did not know whether to let your heart soar as you won the indisputable prize that could set a proper life for you and your mother or shrivel for the future. You could not have imagined in your wildest dreams for the man you’re sent to be wed off to be one that personified death. Just being held by him shook your very core. His aura radiated nothing but darkness, you felt no light in it that you could almost choke from the tension. 

There was no telling that this man would ever show compassion, there was something that tells you days with him would be worse than what you've endured these past few weeks. Setting your gaze forwards you tensed as you looked upon a macabre painting ahead of you, ironically painting your future ahead. 

In sparing your life, you ultimately gave him yours in return, but he and all his family would be a fool if they think they could take your love away.

[keewriting]

Cove x MC - One Shot #1

[Read on google docs to insert your MC's name]

The crescendo of rain hitting your window woke you from a peaceful slumber. It didn’t often rain this hard in Sunset Bird, especially not during the summer. You felt a pang of disappointment that your typical summer pastimes were not viable on a day like this.

You rolled groggily out of bed and sighed, wondering what Cove thought of the unfortunate weather situation. Knowing him, he’d be even more bummed than you — then it hit you! The list!

You scrambled over to your messy desk and opened the biggest drawer, which you affectionately called the “junk drawer.” This was the home to everything of value that didn’t have a specific place in your room. The actual value of the items in the junk drawer was pretty questionable. From old gaming devices and batteries, to loose papers that could maybe be useful someday.

With everything shoved out of the way, you uncovered the beacon of hope for this gloomy day. A small spiral notebook with a shiny turquoise cover, speckled in tiny yellow stars. You and Cove started using this notebook on rainy days for games of hangman and tic-tac-toe. There were years of games in this notebook, nearly every page filled with games and doodles.

You sighed wistfully as you turned the pages and reminisced about each game. Your first ever hangman game with Cove occurred on a particularly hot day. Yet, playing paper-based games became a rainy day tradition for you two. You went out and bought a special notebook just to keep them all in one place.

During your first hangman game with Cove, he settled on the phrase "you are cute." You couldn’t decide if that was the most Cove-like thing he’d done or if it was boldly uncharacteristic. You blushed at the memory and smiled gently.

Remembering your mission, you snapped out of the Cove-induced trance. You began flipping pages faster until you landed on one containing a list. On the last rainy day you and Cove suffered through, he had the idea to make a list of things you two could do to pass the time. It seemed he could only handle so many games of hangman and tic-tac-toe.

You each took turns writing something you would want to do on a rainy day. There were even corresponding doodles scattered on the page to illustrate each activity. The stark difference between your handwriting compared to Cove’s stood out to you today. His was relatively neat compared to your chicken scratch.

Rather than continuing to dwell on your poor penmanship, you looked closer at the items on the list. There were a total of 14 entries. You skimmed past each one with a focused scowl on your face until you landed on number 12: ear piercing. This was one of your suggestions, and one that didn’t come easily. You went back and forth in your head before writing this one. Considering how you would ask your moms for permission, what other people would think, and how Cove would feel about it. At the time of writing it down Cove seemed on board, for you at least. He was apprehensive about getting one himself, preferring to avoid the conversation with his dad.

A sly smile formed across your face. You decided that at 13 you were old enough to take control of your own body, regardless of what your moms would think. You emphatically shut the notebook and hopped up from the desk chair that you had slumped into earlier.

With a newfound energy you began quickly getting ready. You pulled on jeans and a t-shirt and rummaged through your closet, looking for your yellow raincoat and rainboots. As cliche as they were, you quite enjoyed the look. You could really use the brightness on such a cloudy day. You remembered to shove the small notebook in your back pocket.

You bounded down the stairs and out the door, calling out your goodbyes to whoever was still in the house. You paused under the awning to pull your hood over your head before walking carefully across to Cove’s house. The rain was still coming down hard and the street was slick with rain. With how clumsy you were you couldn’t afford to rush over and slip on a puddle.

Once you reached the Holden’s door you removed your hood and knocked confidently. Mr. Holden appeared momentarily to open the door, his face lit up when he saw you standing there.

Mr. Holden: Y/N! Hey, buddy. How are ya? Come on in!

You stepped inside with a smile and began wiping your feet vigorously on the door mat.

Y/N: Good morning, Mr. Holden. Is Cove around?

Mr. Holden: Sure is, he's surely tucked up in his room still. Why don’t you leave your boots and coat here and you can go wake him up.

You grinned at the thought as you pulled your coat off to give it to Mr. Holden. You slipped off your boots and thanked him as you tip-toed over to Cove’s bedroom door. You considered your options, truly unsure of what he could be up to behind closed doors. After some quick deliberation, you opted for loudly barging in while singing his name.

Without another moment of hesitation, you turned the knob and in a sing-songy voice, called out to him

Y/N: CoooOOoooove, rise and shine!

Cove’s sleepy figure stirred gently at the sound of your voice. He blinked open his eyes slowly and rubbed his hands through his seafoam green locks as you stood over him beaming. Finally, he uttered his first words of the day.

Cove: Y/N? What are you doing here so early?

You chuckled and sat down on the edge of the bed, close enough to make Cove blush and start to sit up.

Y/N: Do you hear that? Outside?

Cove paused for a second before looking past you out his window. His expression dropped and he groaned.

Cove: Rain…

You scooted closer and crouched so your faces were level. You smiled deviously and noted how his eyes widened and his cheeks reddened.

Y/N: Cove, today we will fulfil our destiny.

Before he could utter a word, you shifted to retrieve the crumpled notebook from your back pocket. Cove slid up more, clearly intrigued. You turned to the right page and faced it towards Cove while pointing decidedly to number 10.

Cove: Ear piercing… oh yeah! You want to do that one today?

You nodded enthusiastically, hoping Cove would still be on board for this idea. You knew it was a one-sided activity, but you could use his support since it would be your first piercing.

Cove: The mall has a piercing booth, right? Or did you have somewhere else in mind?

Y/N: The mall is exactly what I had in mind!

Cove: Cool. So, how are we getting there?

For the first time since early morning, you felt defeated. Your shoulders slumped and you looked down at your hands. At 13, you might be old enough to get a needle through your ear, but you still couldn’t operate a vehicle. The mall was also too far to walk to, you remembered the time Kyra drove you all to the mall for a visit. Noticing how down you became, Cove spoke.

Cove: I could… ask my dad to drive us there. He isn’t working today. I’m sure he’d say yes.

You instantly perked up and turned to Cove with an open-mouthed smile.

Y/N: Really? Really. Really? Would you?

Cove chuckled and nodded. You wrapped around him with a tight hug the instant his head jerked upward. Your face planted on his chest. You exhaled loudly as you listened to his rushed heartbeat. After you pulled away, Cove got up and smiled nervously, flustered and ready to get the day going. You sat patiently on the bed while Cove got ready and asked his dad about driving you both to the mall.

Once he returned to his bedroom, he wordlessly flashed you a smile and thumbs-up combo. You followed him out to the front door where his dad was waiting with your coat. You accepted the coat and slipped on your boots. Cove had no rain protection, but you decided to stay quiet, knowing he preferred minimal layers.

You all headed out the door into Mr. Holden’s car. Cove sat in the backseat with you even though he typically preferred to ride shotgun. You felt special that he would rather keep you company. A startling question from Mr. Holden interrupted your pleasant thoughts.

Mr. Holden: I hear you plan on getting an ear piercing today, Y/N. Is that right?

Your mouth fell agape and you looked over to Cove, who upon noticing your expression became concerned. You realized you didn’t tell Cove about your plans to keep the ear piercing a secret from your moms. Now that Mr. Holden knew, it was almost certain he would casually bring it up to your moms. Not willing to reveal your sneaky plans, you spoke confidently.

Y/N: Yep! I’ve been wanting one for a while.

Mr. Holden: Hey, that’s great. I bet it’ll look really cool.

You looked over at Cove and smiled at him, hoping to relieve any confusion or concern. He returned the smile, but still appeared deep in thought. The rest of the car ride was uneventful. Mr. Holden dropped the two of you off and notified you of his return in 3 hours.

As soon as you were alone, standing at the entrance of the mall, Cove turned to you with his arms crossed over his chest. You looked up at him sheepishly and noticed his shrewd expression.

Cove: What was that about? That face? Should I not have told dad about the piercing?

Cove’s perceptiveness toward all your quirks was a blessing and a curse. The smallest look on your face could be a dead giveaway to him. You knew he would feel guilty for ruining your plan, but there was no point in trying to hide it from him.

Y/N: I didn’t get permission from my moms to get a piercing.

His eyes widened as his arms dropped to his sides.

Cove: Oh my God, I didn’t realize. I’m really sorry. Are you going to be in a lot of trouble? I don’t want you grounded all summer. We won’t be able to hang out as much. Maybe we should get smoothies and tell everyone it was a joke—

You cut off his rambling, not wanting him to tire himself out so early. Although you appreciated his concern, especially regarding your ability to spend time together.

Y/N: It’s okay, Cove. Really. I totally forgot to mention it when I told you this morning because I was so excited. They would have to find out somehow, right?

Cove: I guess. Can I make it up to you, though? I’ll buy you a smoothie anyway.

Y/N: Well, I could never say no to a smoothie from Cove Holden.

You smiled at each other and continued into the mall. You walked with purpose toward the piercing booth. Your stomach was turning with eagerness and nerves. Cove’s long strides matched perfectly with your short but quick paces. He looked at you with a comforting smile as you closed in on the booth.

The piercer at the booth was an older teen with an assortment of piercings on their own face and ears. They chewed gum loudly as they took down your information and set you up on the cold, hard piercing chair. While they put on gloves and prepared the tools, Cove inched closer to stand next to you.

Cove: How are you feeling?

Y/N: Nervous, excited... very rebellious.

Cove hummed in acknowledgment. You felt his hand brush the hair behind your ear. He gently pinched the now exposed top of your ear. You felt goosebumps travel across your skin at the touch.

Cove: This is where you want it, right? What was it called again… a helix?

You felt your face get hot, pleased that he remembered, and surprised that he was so casually touching you. You managed a quiet “mhm” before the piercer sauntered over to you.

Piercer: Alright, kid. Where do you want it?

Cove shifted out of the way as you pointed to where he had touched. You explained to the piercer that you wanted a simple helix on your right ear. As the piercer was marking your ear, you looked at Cove with pleading eyes.

Y/N: Cove, can I hold your hand?

A distinct blush spread across his cheeks but he didn’t hesitate to position himself next to you on your left side. He offered you his hand and tried to smile reassuringly. You took it gratefully and practiced different levels of squeeze pressure. You didn’t want to accidentally hurt Cove. His hand was hot and familiarly comforting.

Piercer: Ready?

You looked straight ahead and tensed up. You felt your heart pounding in your throat, annoyed that you were so nervous about something you definitely wanted to do. You felt Cove’s eyes on you, a reassurance that he would always be there for you.

Y/N: Go for it.

The piercer lined up the needle and stuck it through your ear in one quick motion. The pain was sharp and quick. You winced and instinctively tightened your grip on Cove’s hand. He squeezed back gently and you could hear a slight sympathetic groan escape his throat. A throbbing soreness replaced the initial sharp pain. You sighed as the piercer removed the needle and inserted a simple silver hoop.

Cove: Y/N? Are you okay? How did it feel?

You looked up at Cove and met his concerned gaze. Without letting go of his hand, you offered a small smile.

Y/N: It definitely hurts. But having this helped wonders.

You lifted his hand and gestured to it with your eyes. His smile reflected a mixed sense of pride, embarrassment, and relief.

Cove: I’m glad… Here, let me get a better look at it.

With your hands still intertwined, he helped you hop off the piercing chair. You faced him and turned your head to the side so he could see the piercing.

Y/N: How does it look?

Cove smiled widely with eyes bright.

Cove: I like it. You look amazing, Y/N.

Although Cove instantly seemed to regret his phrasing, you felt thrilled. Knowing that Cove was into it made facing your moms later seem a little less daunting. You hoped he could be there to help back up your decision.

Y/N: Thank you, Cove. And thanks for being my stress ball.

Cove: Anytime. How about that smoothie I promised?

You bounced excitedly with a loud “Woo!” You finished the transaction with the piercer and listened to their spiel about piercing care. Soon you were off to the smoothie stand with Cove.

Y/N: Do you know what combo you’re going to get? Same as last time?

Cove hummed thoughtfully. You wondered if he was also remembering the time you stole a sip from his smoothie. He never ended up finishing it after that. You felt a pang of guilt and decided you would let him keep the smoothie to himself.

Cove: I think I’d like to mix it up. There were so many great options to choose from.

Y/N: Right?! I would love it if I could just add all of the fruit and berries. Make a super smoothie concoction.

Cove scrunched his face in exaggerated disgust. You chuckled at his reaction and gently nudged his arm. He nudged right back with a warm smile planted on his face.

You each placed your order with the smoothie attendant. Cove paid for both. You felt appreciative of the gesture, knowing he wanted to make you feel better about your foiled plan. His consideration for your feelings made you feel warm inside, even though you didn’t blame him at all for the mishap.

Cove picked up both smoothies and handed you your order with a smile. As you continued your walk through the mall, you took a long, deep sip and then exhaled loudly.

Y/N: That really hit the spot! Thanks, Cove.

Cove simply nodded as he continued to sip at his smoothie. For a second you thought his lips wouldn't move from the straw for the rest of the trip, not willing to risk losing a drop to your sneaky mouth. But then, he broke free and smiled with a wince.

Cove: Brain freeze.

You burst out laughing, relieved that he would actually be available to talk to you.

Y/N: I know a trick for getting rid of a brain freeze! Here, look at me.

Cove faced you quizzically. You opened wide, turned your face upward, and pressed your tongue up to the roof of your mouth. His gaze dropped to your mouth while his own mouth fell open. An obvious blush spread across his face and he nodded. You wondered if seeing the underside of your tongue was a little too scandalous for Cove. You closed your mouth into a cheeky smile.

Y/N: Try it. I promise it works.

Cove turned away from you and tried your trick with his mouth firmly shut. He sighed in relief and immediately took another sip of his smoothie. That earned another laugh from you. He smiled at you sweetly with a mouthful of smoothie.

The walk continued pleasantly for a few minutes. You laughed, and teased, and joked with each other comfortably. You both reminisced about the last mall trip you had with Lee and Derek, even though it was only a few weeks ago. Suddenly, Cove’s pace slowed and he came to a halt. When you turned back to look at him, his expression lost in thought. He absentmindedly picked at the side of the cup with his nails. You noticed tiny indentations marked across the styrofoam cup.

Y/N: Cove? Is everything alright?

Cove breathed out and walked towards you gently. He extended his smoothie towards your face. His face red and his eyes glued to the smoothie, refusing to meet your gaze.

Cove: Would you like to try mine? I think it’s delicious. I think you would like it.

Stunned, and a bit apprehensive, you thought deeply. You didn’t want Cove to miss out on the rest of his smoothie again. But this time he was offering. You wondered what changed, and hoped this wasn’t more piercing-related guilt.

Y/N: If you’re sure, I would love to. But promise me you’ll finish the rest.

Cove’s eyes snapped to yours and it was his turn to feel stunned. You never revealed to him that you knew he never finished the smoothie last time. He looked embarrassed, but you had to be sure he wouldn't throw it out again.

Cove: I— yeah. I’ll finish it.

That was good enough for you. You wrapped your lips around his straw and took a big sip. The flavor was different to yours, but still satisfying. You kept your eyes on Cove while you pulled away from his smoothie. He slowly raised the smoothie to his own mouth and took a quick sip, all while looking desperately to the side.

Y/N: Success!

Cove let out a nervous laugh, glad to have made that much progress. He was still blushing while you continued your trek. You wondered if his face would ever return to its normal color as long as that smoothie was in his hand.

You finally made it back to the entrance with Cove. His dad would be returning to pick you up in a few minutes, as promised. You both threw your empty smoothie cups into the nearby trash can. You looked out the glass doors and noticed the rain finally stopped falling. There might be a chance to enjoy the outdoors with Cove before it was time to face your moms.

You decided to wait outside. He stood next to you and sighed.

Cove: I’m sorry again.

Y/N: It’s okay, I couldn’t have asked for a better rainy day partner. Thanks for doing this with me.

You inched closer and smiled up at him. He grinned back, convinced that everything would be okay. You waited in a comfortable silence, satisfied with your own rebellious actions.

[sparkypantaloons]

Only Pieces

Every time he sees Jason he has to remind himself that it’s real. His son, his precious boy, is here and breathing and living. But, alive or not, he still died. And that bit never goes away.

Jason came back, but Bruce still mourns his death.

Love is the whole thing. We are only pieces.

It hits Bruce out of nowhere. Like a rabid wolf materialising out of the warm afternoon air, savaging him in to pieces of the man he once was. Breath, bone and sinew; torn apart and thrown up into the atmosphere. He can’t see, he can’t hear, he can’t speak. Why would he need to? He’s nothing but fragments now. Left to rot down into dust.

“You okay, B?” Tim asks, looking at him concerned.

He pulls his mortarboard hat off Jason’s head, elbows his brother in the ribs.

Bruce blinks. Tries to pull the shards of himself back together. Cobble them into something that resembles human.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, old man.” Jason says, side-eyeing him. He shrugs off the graduation gown as he speaks, throws it over Tim’s head.

Tim huffs, grabbing at the swathes of fabric. His hair sticks up in all directions as the cloth falls into his hands.

Bruce manages a stiff nod. Clears his throat. “We need to leave in five.” He says. The words rise in his throat like glass.

Tim shrugs. “Ready when you are.”Jason doesn’t say anything. He just stares at the older man, eyes narrowed.

Bruce turns. Leaves the library. His vision is blurring, he feels like he might be sick.

Somehow he finds his way to his study. He closes the door more heavily than he intended and it rattles in its frame. The sound is like an assault, all at once too loud and barely audible over the rushing in his ears.

He sits in the chair behind his desk. Gropes for the second drawer down on the right hand side. The whiskey bottle rattles as he yanks the drawer open. Then the liquid rattles down his throat as he drinks straight from the bottle. It doesn’t burn the way it used to, but it still works. Just.

His senses return. Taste first, then smell, the woody flavour of the spirit left lingering in his mouth. Then he can feel the bottle in his hand, round and smooth under his calloused fingers. He watches the liquid settle as he places it down on the desk, the blurring at the edge of his vision disappearing. He can breathe again.

He slumps back in the chair, tilts his head back and takes a deep breath through his nose. A tear escapes the corner of his eye before he can stop it. He wipes it away quickly and takes another deep breath. He can’t do this now.

“Master Bruce?” Alfred is stood in the doorway. His eyes slide from the younger man to the bottle on his desk, and he tilts his head knowingly. “The boys are waiting.” He says gently.

Bruce nods. His eyes are in danger of blurring again. “Jason, he…” He croaks. He screws his eyes shut, takes another steadying breath.

“I know, Master Bruce.” Alfred says kindly. “I saw.”

~

Bruce drives Tim to his graduation ceremony and Dick comes too. Tim makes his brother sit in the back because even if Dick is the oldest, it’s Tim’s graduation. They chatter away on the journey and Bruce makes sure to laugh or interject at the right moments, to frown or make disapproving sounds when he should. But he’s gripping the steering-wheel too tightly and he’s not fool enough to think they haven’t noticed.

When they arrive, they have photos taken of the three of them. Dick and Bruce in dark blue suits, Tim in between them in his academic regalia. They grin brightly but Bruce only just remembers to let go of Tim when it’s over. Remember’s that he can’t hold his children in his arms forever, no matter how much he wants to.

They mingle before the ceremony, meeting some of Tim’s friends and their families. Brucie Wayne comes out, and Bruce manages to lose himself in the performance. He almost convinces himself that he’s okay, is sure that he will have at least convinced the boys. But when he and Dick take their seats in the hall and Tim has left to sit with the rest of his class, Dick reaches down and takes his hand. He squeezes it tightly and says under his breath “You’re okay, Bruce. It’s okay.”

Bruce has to take another deep breath, then makes the command decision that enough is enough. He slips his hand out of Dick’s, takes out his phone and opens an old WhatsApp group. He sends a short message, then mutes the chat before any replies come through.Today is about Tim.

Bruce slips the phone back into his pocket. He can fall apart later.

~

Tim accepts his degree and they have more photos. He throws his mortarboard higher than any of the other graduates, and then he puts the cape on Bruce and the hat on Dick for one last photo, grinning between them and clutching his certificate, one arm wrapped tightly around Bruce’s waist.

Back at the Manor there are more photos and Alfred opens some champagne. Steph and Babs are there, Cass and Damian and Jason too. Together they laugh and hug and clink glasses and order pizza for dinner, because Tim didn’t want Alfred cooking when he should be celebrating with his family.

Bruce lets himself slip under the surface of the noise, the sound of his children, bickering and joking and breathing and growing. The sound of the living. He lets the sheer life of them wash over him, feels the splinters of his heart float to the surface. He can breathe again.

Dick watches him from across the room. Bruce pretends not to notice.

~

It’s a long few hours later when he checks his phone. The old group chat full with unannounced messages.

He slips quietly out of the drawing room. The hallway is cold away from the warmth of his family. He suppresses a chill and makes his way to his study.

Sat at his desk in the quiet and the dark, he feels some of his resolve seep out of him. The Zoom loading wheel spins, then faces begin to populate the screen. There’s Judy in the top right, her horn rimmed glasses sitting atop her thick curly hair. Sal is just beneath her, his French bulldog snoozing in his lap. Top left is Bhavin, Ganesh sat on a shelf behind him, peeking out behind the cloud of white hair. Beneath him, in the bottom left of the screen, is Bruce. Elbows resting on the desk, heels of his hands pressed into his eyes.

“Oh darlin’.” Sal’s southern drawl comes through the speakers. “What happened?”

Bruce can’t speak. His throat has closed up. He’s trying desperately to force his tears back into his eyes, but they slip down under his hands anyway.

"Didn’t your boy graduate today?” Bhavin asks. He’s lived in the US fifty years, but his voice still carries the sound of his native Mumbai.Bruce manages a nod.

“Ah damn.” Judy says softly, pushing a hand to her chest. “That’s hard.”

“It’s been years.” Bruce croaks out. “This shouldn’t… I shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t what?” Bhavin asks him sharply. “Shouldn’t still mourn your child? What his life could have been?”

Bruce takes a deep breath. He finally looks at the screen. “I just… I know today was about Tim, but all I could see was Jason in the cap and gown, clear as day. And all I could think was how he should have graduated. How he should have grown up and been safe and happy and whole and…” He trails off. Stops himself before the tears threaten to spill again.

“He should have.” Judy says emphatically. “Jason should have had all those things. And so should my Tiana, and Sal’s Michelle and Bhavin’s Darshan.”

“It’s not fair.” Sal adds. “It’s not fucking fair and it’ll never be easy. Because you love your boy and he shouldn’t have been taken so soon.”

“My Darshan died forty years ago.” Bhavin says solemnly. “I still cry. I still wonder what he would be like now, who he would have become. Still rage he is not here with me. It never goes away.”

Bruce nods, and it’s Bhavin’s last sentence that keeps the guilt at bay. Because of course Bruce can’t tell them that Jason isn’t dead anymore. He can’t tell them how Jason dragged his small broken bones out of his own grave and clawed his way back to life. How he’s currently sat not fifty feet away, under Bruce’s own roof, surrounded by family and warmth and love.

And part of it doesn’t feel fair. That his boy came back when their children didn’t. But he’d gladly spend the rest of eternity paying whatever debt it is he owes for that miracle. Every time he sees Jason he has to pinch himself, remind himself that it’s real. His son is alive, his precious boy is here and breathing and living.

But, alive or not, he still died. And that bit never goes away.The grief of it comes out of nowhere. On a Tuesday afternoon, in the middle of a board meeting, or out on patrol on a Thursday night. It’ll hit him when he’s eating breakfast, or brushing his teeth, when he’s in the gym, or lying in bed… and the ground will fall out from under him. He’ll plummet into an abyss of grief and despair and rage. His boy, his darling boy. Dead. The life he could have lived, the wonder he could have been. Gone.

Because even if Jason is back, is alive, the dying never goes away.

All the pain and torment that came with it is here to stay, for good. He’ll never be what he could have been and Jason never deserved that.

It’s these three people, these once-strangers, who in some ways helped keep him alive just as much as Tim did, that bring him back from that edge. People who understand just as well as him that feeling of loss. How a taste or a smell can mean nothing one day and have you drowning the next.

Bruce hadn’t bothered to respond when Leslie had suggested he join a support group. She couldn’t possibly understand what it was to lose a child; what value could her advice possibly have? But then the rational part of his mind, what sad, little fragment of it was left, said that a support group could understand. That that was the whole point.

So he’d done it. Apprehensive though he was, he’d shown up on a rainy Wednesday evening all those years ago. At a church hall that wasn’t quite warm enough, serving coffee that was all but cold. Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd’s father. Turns out grief takes the edge off celebrity. Judy and Sal and Bhavin didn’t care who he was, only what he’d been through, only what he’d lost. Being a billionaire didn’t make you immune from loss. Hell, neither did being Batman. Nothing did. They understood that. In a way no-one else in his life did. And all these years later they understood it, still.

“You’re allowed to be sad, Bruce.” Judy says. “A hundred years from now you’re still allowed to be sad. But you have to keep on.”

“Remember Tim did it for him too.” Sal says. “Your boys and Cass are living for Jason too. Just like you are.”

Judy and Bhavin nod in agreement and Bruce finds himself joining in.

“Thank you.” He says. And he means it. “As always.”

“Any time, beta.” Bhavin says. “Any time.”

The screen goes black, and Bruce sits with his thoughts a moment. Already a weight has started to lift and he finds himself glad the night isn’t over yet. That his family is waiting just a short walk away.

Ace pads into the room, rest his head on Bruce’s knee. He scratches the dog behind his ears.

“Err… what are you doing?”

Bruce startles. Dick is stood in the doorway, staring at him with a look of concern.

“Why are you sat in the dark?”

Bruce can’t quite help himself when he says. “I’m Batman.”

Dick rolls his eyes so aggressively they might pop out of his head.

“What are you two doing?” Jason walks in to join them. “Why are you in here in the dark?”

“Why are you in here in the dark?” Dick shoots back.

“I came looking for you.” Jason shoves Dick lightly.

“I came looking for him.” Dick shoves him right back.

Bruce stands and walks towards them. He can't help but smile. “Mission accomplished.” He says. “What fine detectives you both are.”

This time Jason rolls his eyes, but Dick says, “You okay, B?”

Bruce nods, puts his arms around both of their shoulders as they leave the study, and maybe, just maybe, he squeezes Jason a little tighter than normal, relishes the solid aliveness of his second son in his arms. “I’m fine.” He says. “Just fine.”

[pastelwitchling]

Malex Happily Ever After chapter 114 sequel

Part One.

“Yeah,” Alex said into his phone, rubbing his eyes with his other hand. It was noon, but he hadn’t slept all night, consumed instead with his work at the base, his work in dismantling Project Shepherd, his breakup with Forrest, and his desire to talk to Michael about it all.

He had no idea why. It wasn’t like Michael was usually the epitome of comfort, but . . . Alex always thought, stupidly, that once Michael and Maria had ended things, and he and Forrest ended things, and they were both single again, that they would find their way back to each other. But Michael was keeping distance between them and smirking at Alex’s words every now and then, and it just felt a lot like being back where they started.

He plopped down on his couch and hung his head back to stare at the ceiling as Liz kept talking in his ear. She was saying a lot about the lab and bloodwork and finally finding Mr. Jones. Alex was tired, but he kept up fine. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the duffel bag lying halfway under the couch. The duffel bag he’d packed so many months ago when leaving and never coming back had felt like running away. He’d thrown in a few more things over the past year, and constantly found himself looking to it, just barely having forgotten that it was there.

He stopped listening to Liz, thinking about taking that duffel bag now, throwing it in his car, and just driving. It didn’t feel like running away anymore. He’d tried as hard as he could to be with Michael, and now he found himself along again, feeling worse than ever. Because now he knew Michael had loved somebody else. He knew Michael had tried, but not for him.

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose as Liz went on, ending with the question, “So you think you can come by and check it out?”

Alex shook his head. “Er – sorry, come where?”

“Michael’s bunker,” she said. “That’s where we’re testing the serum. No one’s studied the Project Shepherd reports like you have, I’m thinking if anyone can look at the side-effects of the serum and tell us whether or not they match what was done to the prisoners, then –”

“Right,” Alex shut his eyes, not wanting to hear any more about Project Shepherd and the horrible things they’d done. All the things that Michael was still punishing him for by keeping a distance. “I’m on my way.”

Alex did not move for several long minutes, staring instead at the duffel bag. He probably should’ve taken it and left, but hope was annoying that way, and even though a part of him still clung to the idea that he and Michael would end up together, the bigger part growled that if it was going to take this long, and force Alex to endure seeing Michael with anybody else for even a second, then maybe eventually ending up together just wasn’t worth it.

When he finally got to Michael’s bunker, he couldn’t help but remember when Michael had locked that door behind Alex the last time they’d argued in there. Michael never chased after him, and he was just so sick of waiting for him to do it.

He groaned inwardly and rubbed his eyes. Seriously, he thought. What was wrong with him today? He should just be glad the airstream was back in the junkyard. It had gotten really difficult avoiding the Wild Pony for a while.

He made it down the ladder easily enough, and tossed his backpack on the table next to where Michael was working. Michael looked up at him through his glasses and tilted his chin up in silent greeting. Alex was too tired to pretend like that was remotely satisfying, and without responding turned to Liz.

“Hey,” Liz said happily.

“Hi,” Alex crossed his arms. “What’d you want me to take a look at?”

“Well,” Liz handed him some reports, “we wrote down all of the results of the serum.”

“On whom, may I ask?” Alex raised his brow as he took them. “Who was your test subject this time? Max again?”

Instead of answering, Liz’s eyes traveled over to Michael who, until Alex turned to look at him, had been staring at Alex with a pinch in his brows. Alex’s shoulders sagged.

“Tell me you didn’t.”

He shrugged, his smirk humorless. His mask was up again. “We had to get results quick and I was already here.”

“I told you I didn’t want you being experimented on,” Alex argued.

“Mom did it,” he said. “Guess I wanted to see what the big deal was.”

Alex tensed, and Michael’s smirk fell away.

“Yeah, okay.” He took the last of the files and turned to leave.

“Alex, w-wait –”

“Do whatever you want, Guerin,” Alex said. “I’m done trying to talk you down.”

“Alex, come on!” But it was too late. Alex had made it up the ladder and patted his clothes down, heading over to his car. His jaw was clenched and his eyes burned and a suffocating weight sat on his chest, but he walked ahead.

Of course. Of course, Michael would ignore his concerns, of course he’d want to show Alex just how little value his words carried. You’re not her, so I don’t care what you ask me to do. You don’t matter as much as she did, so I don’t care if you worry. You’re not worth trying for, why would you be worth listening to?

“Stop, Private!” Michael caught his arm and turned him around. He still had his glasses on, but he was panting. Eager to ease his guilt, Alex knew, nothing more. When he saw Alex’s face, his own fell. “Are you – are you crying?”

“No,” Alex turned away, wiping his face furiously. Michael stood there, eyes wide, like he never expected to see Alex cry. Oh screw it. “Yes!” Another tear fell, and he didn’t bother wiping it away. “Okay? Yes, I’m crying.”

“B-Because I took a needle?”

“Oh, Guerin, no, it’s not just because of that!” He paced to the end of the airstream and back, then again. He looked up at Michael’s house, and couldn’t help but remember the way it sat so close to the Wild Pony. Because Michael just had to be close to Maria. Alex couldn’t remember Michael ever so much as following him two feet, but he followed Maria?

He came back to stand in front of Michael, his breaths short and painful. “I’ve had a bag ready since I found your damn airstream at the Wild Pony parking lot. I was going to go, and I wasn’t going to come back. I’ve had it ready since you started dating Maria, since Forrest and I broke up, and I still can’t bring myself to just take it and go. I was terrified something would happen to you if you put that damn crap in your veins, and I didn’t want you to end up like the prisoners in Caulfield. You ignored the one thing I asked you to do with a smile on your face like you think it’s funny that I’m scared, and I still can’t just pick up that stupid bag. It’s unfair, Guerin!”

His lower lip trembled, and he looked away, covering his eyes with his hand. “You can move on and love someone else so freaking easily, and I can’t, and it’s so unfair.”

They stood there for a long time, nothing but the wind whistling in their ears and Alex’s quiet cries. Liz seemed to have the good sense to stay in the bunker. Then Michael suddenly came up behind Alex, and wrapped his arms around him tightly.

“Baby,” Michael breathed against the shell of his ear. “I – I didn’t know, Alex,” he whispered, his voice full of pain. “I thought you didn’t care, I thought you wanted me to stay away. I – I was just holding onto easy, no one ever came close to you. I swear, I thought you didn’t want me anymore . . .”

Alex tried to process all of that. Michael sounded sincere, though maybe that was only because Maria had been the one to end things. That’s right, a bitter voice sounded. She ended things. Not him. After he told her he loved her. Then she ended it.

It occurred to Alex then that maybe Michael was holding onto him for a completely different reason.

A disbelieving, miserable chuckle left his lips, and Michael faltered. Alex brought Michael’s hands down. “Just stop it, Guerin,” he said hoarsely, his throat raw. “I already gave you my word that I’d help, I’m not going to stop just because I’m frustrated.” He shook his head, already walking back to his car. He had to get out of here. “You don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore. You’ll still get what you want.”

Before Alex could take in Michael’s shattered expression or read into it, he got in his car, turned it on, and drove away, needing to put as much distance between the man he loved and himself.

 Alex woke slowly to the sun just rising. He was surprised he’d made it up so late, but after working through the files last night, he’d passed out just at sunset. He supposed misery, anguish, and a couple of nights of no sleep in a row really put a person out.

He spotted the files on his desk and laid sideways on his bed for a while. He didn’t think he could get back into the nightmares of his family’s past before a good cup of coffee. He stuffed half his face into his pillow and thought of his conversation yesterday with Michael, how unwilling he’d been to eat or drink or do much of anything besides get to work and be useful afterwards. The memory robbed him of even his comfort in bed.

He forced himself up, and when he was washing up in the bathroom, he thought he heard a rustling somewhere outside, but when he turned the faucet off and listened, he didn’t hear anything. Deciding his exhaustion might be making him imagine things that weren’t there, Alex finished up, grabbed his crutches, and made himself a steaming cup of coffee.

He sat down on his couch and rested back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, his eyes fell to the duffel bag halfway hidden. He imagined, yet again, grabbing it now, getting in his car, and driving away without ever coming back. The thought did not make any part of him any happier than he felt now.

There was nothing but the tree branches rustling in the wind, the birds chirping to one another at the morning sun, wheels on gravel in his backyard –

Alex faltered in his thoughts and picked his head up, his brows pinched. He listened closely, and this time, there was no mistaking it; there was someone in his backyard.

“What the hell?” he murmured and set his coffee cup down before grabbing his crutches. He stepped into his backyard, not knowing what he would find (after all, Roswell was a small town, and people were usually good about not bothering military around here), and stopped.

There, behind his circular tables and chairs, was Michael’s airstream. Michael stepped out, wiping his hands on a towel, and smiled at Alex.

He came to stand a foot away from him, his hands twitching at his sides as if eager to reach out and touch. “Can I kiss you good morning?”

Instead of answering, Alex asked, “Guerin, what is this?”

Michael’s smile widened, and he took that as the permission he needed before he closed the distance between them, taking Alex’s face in his hands and kissing his lips both deeply and softly at the same time. He pulled away with a deep sigh, pressing their foreheads together, his eyes closed, as if he could finally breathe.

“I love you,” he whispered, letting his hands fall down Alex’s neck, his shoulders, his arms, and staying on his waist, gripping tightly. “I missed you so much.”

Alex’s eyes started to flutter, but before he could fall into whatever wonderland being around Michael pulled him into, he swallowed and took a step back.

“Why’s your trailer here?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

Michael looked like he hated the distance between them just as much as Alex did, the mask of humor and indifference he usually wore completely gone.

“After Forrest,” he said, “I thought . . . I thought you were better off without me. I thought you wouldn’t want me when you’d already had someone . . . better.” He came closer to Alex, pleading with him to understand. “Alex, I thought you wanted me to stay away. And I was so terrified that I would get too close, and you would hate me, and tell me to leave and not come back. So I stayed a safe distance, and I hated every second of it.”

Alex shook his head. “Why?” he said, his voice breaking despite himself. “Why’d you try so hard for her?”

“It wasn’t for her,” Michael urged. “It was for me. I needed . . . easy. I needed not that bad. I had no idea what I was doing, I acted like Max, I . . .” he shook his head. “Private, I don’t even know who that person was. The only time I felt like myself, like I could actually be myself and still be loved was when I was with you.”

Michael huffed a shaky chuckle, and roughly wiped his face with one hand. “Besides,” he said, “I left that parking lot the next day.” He looked over his shoulder at his airstream as it sat beside Alex’s things, and smiled with such sincerity that Alex hadn’t seen on his face in too long. He looked back at Alex with bright eyes. “But I think this looks good here. Don’t you?”

Alex looked from the airstream to Michael, and he huffed a chuckle. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he sniffed and wiped it away. “I just needed you to show up at my front door.”

Michael laughed, pulling Alex in against him and hugging him tightly. As he buried his face in the crook of Alex’s neck, Alex took his chance to press his face to Michael’s shoulder and inhale his scent.

“I want to do more than show up,” Michael said against his skin. “I want to stay, Alex. I want to stay, please let me stay.”

Alex hugged Michael so closely that nothing could’ve fit between their bodies. He felt Michael’s heart race, Michael’s lips against his neck, Michael whimpering under his breath as he desperately pulled them closer and closer together.

Alex whispered, “Stay, Guerin. I want you to stay.”

***

If you enjoyed reading, even just a little bit, please comment and share/reblog, it always makes the world of a difference ❤

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 2

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“Oh, hi Dana,” Maggie says, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “Should I have been expecting you today?”

Dana shakes her head from her mother’s doorstep. “No, sorry for dropping by unannounced, I was just...driving around. I thought I’d say hi.”

“Of course, sweetheart, come on in.” Maggie ushers her inside and puts on a pot of coffee. “Did you and Ethan have a good New Year?” she asks, pulling the creamer out of the fridge.

“Yes, it was fine. We just had a quiet night at home, nothing exciting,” she responds blandly.

They get situated in the front room, the warmth of the afternoon sun streaming in the windows and betraying the chill outside. Dana watches a pair of squirrels as they forage for acorns stashed away in the summer months. It occurs to her that the nuts they will eat were hidden before she married Ethan. Possibly even before she broke Mulder’s heart. It feels like lifetimes ago, and yet it was recent enough that the fruit of its season is still edible.

“Dana,” Maggie says gently, “can I ask you something? And I hope you won’t take offense.”

“Sure, mom,” she answers, not looking away from the furry foragers.

“Are you happy?”

Dana turns to look at her mother, finding her with a concerned and empathetic expression.

“What do you mean?” she asks. She’s worked so hard to be okay, but maybe she’s not doing as well faking it as she thought.

“Dana, you are my most level-headed child,” Maggie begins, “I have never questioned your decisions or your logic, or your path for your life. It’s so clear that you make your choices with great intention and consideration, and that’s why I didn’t say anything.”

“Say anything about what?” Her breath is becoming just a bit labored. It feels like her mother is about to reveal something significant to her, only about herself.

“You changed, Dana, after you and Ethan got engaged. It was like the light went from your eyes. I didn’t understand it, but I trusted that you knew what you wanted and chalked it up to jitters. But it’s been nearly three months, and I thought I’d have my daughter back by now.”

The pain in her mother’s eyes brings a lump to her throat and she swallows against it. Her chin quivers just a bit, but she fights to maintain control. It’s something she’s needed to do often as of late.

“Mom, how did you know that Dad was the person you were supposed to spend your life with?” she asks hoarsely, and Maggie’s face contorts into a mask of pained understanding as she takes her daughter’s hand.

“I knew,” she starts but then stops again, looking out the window with a faraway quality to her gaze. “I knew because when I was with him I felt alive, like he really saw me. And whenever I wasn’t with him, he was all I thought about.” Maggie turns again to look at her daughter with shining eyes, the memory of her late husband still one that pricks at the pain of her loss.

“But did you always feel that way, even after you’d been together for years?” Dana further interrogates. Certainly such a strong feeling must fade with time.

“It changed, of course, after four kids and dozens of moves and deployments. It wasn’t as consuming, we didn’t have time for it to be. But yes, in the moments that mattered, I still felt it. I still do now, and not having him here to reflect it back to me is what made losing him so hard.”

Dana nods tersely, looking out the window again as she sets her jaw against the tears. They still come, as she hasn’t mastered control over her tear ducts even after months of surreptitious crying.

“Mom,” she croaks out, turning back to look at the face of a person she knows loves her without question. “I think I made a mistake.”

“Oh, honey,” Maggie replies, tears filling her own eyes in sympathy for her child’s suffering. “There’s no mistake that can’t be fixed.”

Dana shakes her head and then lets it drop regretfully. “I can’t do that. To Ethan, to you. I already didn’t get married in the church, and I know how much shame a divorce would bring to you,” she says to her lap.

“Dana,” Maggie says with some exasperation, “do you realize that you’re suggesting that you should spend the rest of your life unhappily married because you don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings? Ethan will survive. He will find someone else who wants to be with him as much as he wants to be with them. I can certainly live through Marilyn Webber giving me the hairy eyeball at mass for a few weeks. You deserve to be happy, honey. And if that’s not possible with Ethan, you should move on.”

“Move on to what?” Dana asks in a whisper, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. But you’ll never find out if you don’t start moving.”

———

She waits with a glass of wine in her hand, the third she’s consumed this evening waiting for him to come home, waiting to ruin his life so that she might save her own. He walks in the door sighing heavily, a sure sign of a bad day, and she’s afraid she might lose her nerve. He stops when he sees her perched in the armchair. It’s no accident that she chose a place where he couldn’t sit beside her.

“Dana, you’re home early,” he remarks, looking at her with confusion and a little concern.

“Uh, yeah. Can we- can you sit down, please? We need to talk.”

The worry in his eyes as he sits on the end of the couch closest to her makes her heart speed up. Just do it. Do it before you chicken out.

“Are you okay?” he asks hesitantly, and she nods her head emphatically.

“I’m fine, Ethan, it’s nothing like that.”

He looks at her expectantly, bracing himself. She closes her eyes.

“Ethan. You- you are a wonderful person. A wonderful husband.”

“But…” he interjects for her. She opens her eyes and sees that his expression has changed from worry to resignation. Almost like he knows what’s coming.

“I’m so sorry, Ethan. You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just not- I don’t think we’re right for each other.” She takes a deep breath and a sip of wine. She’s almost there. Maybe he’ll take it the rest of the way for her.

He sits back on the couch, giving her an appraising look. “Since when, Dana? How long have you felt this way?” She can hear irritation in his tone.

She shakes her head gently. “That doesn’t matter, Ethan-”

He sits up abruptly and cuts her off. “It matters to me, Dana. Did you marry me knowing that your feelings had changed?”

She feels her chin pucker, the tears gathering in her eyes. She doesn’t respond.

He drops his head and gives a derisive little laugh, looking at the floor as he speaks. “I noticed the difference in you. I just didn’t want to believe it.” He lifts his head and there are tears in his eyes too, but his voice is steady. “Five years, Dana. What the hell happened to us?”

Mulder. Mulder happened to us, she thinks. But there is no value in telling him that.

“I’m so sorry, Ethan,” she says in a strained whisper.

“Yeah, you said that,” he replies dryly. “So, what do you want, to go to counseling? Get divorced?”

She looks at her lap. “We don’t have to get divorced. We’re not technically married,” she says quietly, shame constricting her throat.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asks incredulously. “I did not hallucinate our wedding, I remember very clearly that you barely got through the vows.”

“Um, Charlie was supposed to sign the wedding license, we were supposed to sign it as well, and two witnesses, before it could be mailed in and registered with the state. Missy found it at Mom’s the next day, blank. I guess we all just forgot.”

He’s quiet for a long time. When she looks up at him, his jaw is set and angry tears are streaming down his cheeks.

“You were never going to tell me, were you?” he asks quietly.

She looks away.

“Goddamn it, Dana!” he shouts, slamming his palm down on the coffee table. She jumps at the sudden outburst.

“I’m so sorry,” she says again. She doesn’t know what else to say.

He stands and goes to put his coat and shoes back on. “I need to get out of here,” he says as he stuffs his wallet in his pocket and collects his keys. He’s almost out the door when he stops and turns back. “What happens now?”

“I’ll go stay at my mom’s for the week, so you can….” she can’t quite voice the rest.

“Move out. Right. This is your place. Always was. Well, I guess since we’re not actually married there’s nothing more to do. Good luck, Dana. I hope you figure out what you want.”

“I’m so sorry,” she says again.

“Yeah, me too,” he says before pulling the door closed behind him.

[desertno3]

Violet – Chapter Four (5/7)

When Sean finally meets his daughter, you wonder why you ever left him in the first place.

Sean Wallace x fem!reader Chapter Four: 1991 words

Prologue // Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three

A/N: Hi! This chapter became longer than I ever planned it to be lol and as a result this series is now going to be seven parts instead of six! Low-key excited about what’s coming up but for now, I hope you enjoy this chapter! 🧡🧡

Taglist: @ysmmsy​ @prettyinpayne​ @the-a-word-2214​ @peakywitch​ @danceyreagan​ @ella1grace03 @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes​

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this series! ​

You wipe your hands on a tea towel when you hear the front door open, signalling Violet and Sean’s return. You then hear Violet’s footsteps pitter-patter down the hallway, immediately followed by Sean telling her to come back and take her shoes off first. Smiling to yourself, you leave the kitchen and head over to greet them, finding Sean knelt down and helping your daughter out of the aforementioned shoes.

“We’re back mum!” Violet says happily when she sees you.

“Yes, I can see that, love,” You smile before giving her a look. “Vi, you know how to take off your own shoes.”

“It’s fine,” Sean assures you, leaning over to place them neatly off to the side. 

He had been visiting frequently ever since you and Vi moved into your new place - an arrangement you both had agreed on not long after everything had been dealt with. He wanted to be an active part of Violet’s life and you were more than willing to let that happen, knowing how much it would mean not only to him but to Violet, too. She still didn’t know the truth about Sean but it was clear she’d grown attached nonetheless, her eyes never failing to light up every time you told her Sean was coming over. Today, she had been particularly excited because he promised he would take her to a park.

“There was a pond at the park, mum!” Violet exclaims excitedly, practically bouncing where she stood. “And we saw so many ducks! And swans. And gooses! One got angry at Sean.”

She’s giggling as she tells you the latter and you look at Sean with an amused expression on your face. Still crouched before your daughter, he glances up to give you a deadpan look as if to say don’t even ask, which makes you snort.

You both miss the way Violet’s gaze flits between the both of you curiously, a happy smile forming on her face. She then throws her arms around Sean, hugging him farewell.

“Bye Sean.”

He sways a little at the force with which she throws herself at him but manages to steady himself, chuckling as he hugs her back.

“So eager to be rid of me, hm?”

Violet pulls away with a sheepish look on her face, “I’m going to watch TV now.”

“Go on then,” He taps her nose. “I’ll see you later.”

She grins at him and then she’s gone, energetically sprinting past you and down the hallway, making a quick beeline for the living room.

“You don’t need to run!” You call out to her but it’s futile, she’d already disappeared into the other room. Behind you, you hear Sean chuckle.

“You’re such a mum,” He teases, getting up onto his feet.

You let out an amused scoff in response, folding your arms across your chest. “Don’t even start, she'll be a little terror if I don’t give her some rules to adhere to.”

Sean smiles fondly, thinking about his little terror of a daughter. While you were mostly joking, Sean knew there was a bit of truth to your statement. It was a task and a half to wrangle Violet sometimes, the headstrong little thing that she was. Unsurprising, Sean thinks amusedly, considering who her parents were.

But as difficult as she could be sometimes, Sean had seen first-hand all the good values you’d managed to instill in her. You’d definitely raised a sweet kid, one who was wonderfully earnest and full of kindness, and he tells you just as much, with a genuine sincerity in his tone that catches you off guard.

“You’ve raised her well, y/n,” He says sincerely, leaving you speechless for a moment. You didn’t expect to hear that from him at all.

“Thanks, Sean. I feel like I’m a terrible mum sometimes,” You confess quietly. “So that’s… that means a lot.”

He smiles and you’re sure your heart skips a beat.

You didn’t want to admit it but you enjoyed Sean's visits just as much as Violet did. The more time you spent around him, the more you found yourself falling for him all over again. You’d forgotten how well the two of you could get along and on top of that, watching him and Violet spend time together made you melt. You had no real inkling as to how he felt about you but moments like these definitely didn’t help your growing feelings.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?”

It comes out of your mouth before you could even think to stop yourself and when you see the surprise and hesitation on his face, you immediately regret asking.

“You don’t have to, obviously,” You assure him, trying to backtrack. “You probably have things to do.”

He winces apologetically, “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ve got to go back to the office tonight, unfortunately. Take care of some things.”

“That’s fine!” You reply almost too quickly, embarrassed at the fact that you might’ve been too forward by asking him in the first place. “No worries.”

There’s an awkward pause where neither you nor Sean know what to say next and you sigh, feeling like you’d just ruined a perfectly good moment between you two.

“Well I won’t keep you then,” You continue as nonchalantly as you could, hoping he didn’t notice how mortified you were. “I hope you have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too.”

He gives you one last parting smile and you watch as he heads out the door, hating how disappointed and embarrassed you feel after it clicks shut behind him.

You stand there for a moment before letting out an agonised groan and heading back to the kitchen, trying to forget that conversation ever happened.

The rest of your night is filled with your usual routine - dinner, dishes and then giving Violet a bath before bed - but no matter how hard you try, you can't help but keep dwelling on the exchange, ruminating on what it might have meant.

You were starting to feel foolish for thinking that maybe things were changing between you and Sean. That’s what led you to ask him to stay for dinner to begin with, thinking you were both at a place where that could happen without any tension or awkwardness. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe he wouldn’t have stayed even if he didn’t have business to attend to. 

You shake your head, trying to stop yourself from going further down that rabbit hole. You were going to drive yourself crazy if you kept thinking about it. The fact of the matter was that you had no idea how Sean felt about you but he was here nonetheless because he cared about Violet. You just had to live with that and forget your feelings.

Easier said than done, you think sourly. When the mere sight of him makes my goddamn heart race.

"Mummy?" Violet asks while you shampoo her hair, bringing you out of your spiral of thoughts.

"Hm?"

"You and Sean should get married."

You nearly choke on the air you breathe. Pausing your actions, you look at her in bewilderment but her eyes are on her hands as she glides them through the soapy water.

“Why do you say that, Vi?” You pry gently.

You wonder if you’d been that obvious with your feelings or if maybe Sean had said something, but she just shrugs like it was simply a passing thought she decided to say out loud.

“Sean and I are friends, darling,” You say to her, though you were starting to wonder if maybe that label was a stretch. “Usually people who get married are dating each other."

Violet makes a contemplative face, “Will you and Sean do that?”

“What, date?”

She nods, leaving you more confused than ever.

“I doubt it, Vi,” You sigh.

I burned that bridge a long time ago.

You massage her scalp gently, lathering up the shampoo as you watch her continue to play with the water, your own mind racing.

“Did you want us to date?” You ask her, still trying to figure out where this was coming from.

She nods again.

“Why?”

Violet looks sheepish now, patting away at the bubbles that surrounded her, and she says shyly, “So then I can have a dad.”

~

You sit against your headboard with your head in your hands, thinking about everything that had transpired since the late afternoon. Not only were you dealing with your reemerging feelings for Sean - who most likely did not reciprocate them - you were also dealing with a daughter who suggested you marry the man because that was the only way she thought she could get a dad.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you press your head against your forearms. You were acutely aware that you would not be dealing with any of this if you’d never left Sean in the first place. You sit there despairingly for a long while before a persistent buzz from your phone starts to fill the air. Lifting your head, you blink in surprise at the caller ID before answering it.

“Sean?”

“Hi,” His voice comes through the speaker, making your heart involuntarily skip a beat. “Sorry, I know it’s late.”

“It’s fine,” You assure him, shifting the phone to a more comfortable position. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, I just… I wanted to apologise again for not being able to stay for dinner. I should have taken you up on it, the meeting I went to instead was the dullest shit imaginable.”

You can’t help the small laugh that bubbles out of your throat at the grouchy tone his voice takes on as he tells you about how dull it was, “Sorry to hear that.”

He hums in response and you could just imagine the amused smirk on his face. “You don’t sound very sorry.”

“Well, I don’t know,” You reply. “Violet spent all of dinner telling me about every animal you saw at the pond today. Not sure if you would prefer a play-by-play of your own day over the meeting.”

“You underestimate how boring the meeting was.”

“No,” You laugh. “I’ll take your word for it.”

There’s a natural lull in the conversation and you know you have to take the opportunity to clear the air, for the sake of your own sanity.

“Sean,” You start, steeling yourself with an inhale. “I hope I didn’t overstep earlier, asking you to stay for dinner.”

“Overstep?”

“I… I worried you might’ve thought it was a bit much. The three of us have never properly spent time all together so I realise that it might have been a big ask and-”

“It was fine, y/n,” He says softly, quelling your worries. “I was surprised you asked but it wasn’t a problem. I would’ve liked it, the three of us together.”

After all that time you’d spent ruminating earlier, the statement is more than you ever expected from him. So much so that you’re rendered speechless, your heart in your throat.

“That’s why I called, actually,” He continues. “I wanted to ask if you and Vi wanted to come over for dinner next weekend. To make up for the fact that I couldn’t tonight.”

You don’t even have to think twice about your answer.

“Yes, of course. We’d love to.”

“Great,” He says and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll see you both then.”

You can’t help but smile in return, “Looking forward to it.”

“Me too. Goodnight y/n.”

“Night, Sean.”

You’re giddy as you place your phone on your bedside table and settle into bed for the night, Sean’s call single-handedly flipping your entire mood. Maybe it was silly to feel that way after just one phone call but you couldn’t help it, not when it came to Sean. Against all your better judgement, you feel a little spark of hope in your chest as you drift off to sleep.

Maybe there was something there after all.