#not to sound like a stage parent but why don’t they take professional pictures before each show lol

[petrovna-zamo]

💙 ❤️

[ktheist]

(why) we got married | m

synopsis. they say the 7th year of your marriage is always an uphill battle - but with the existence of your prenup coming to light thanks to taehyung’s lawyer slash family friend’s slip of tongue - first it reached your and his families, and then your family’s close friends and then your family’s close friends’ friends until - almost everyone is speculating on the grounds of you and taehyung’s marriage being anything but love.

you’re not sure if you’re even going to make past the second year mark in your marriage. but is the reason you got married really as important as why you choose to stay or leave?

muses. chairman!taehyung x stewardess!reader

alternative title. as you are.

inspired by. the 1 by taylor swift

genre. arranged marriage au with a pinch of drama and angst

words. 12.5k

warnings. explicit content

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs. story time.

x

in your defense, neither you nor taehyung made an elaborated plan to deceive both his family and yours with the marriage which yes, had been founded upon a contract. but that’s not the point - the point is, your father and brother never sat down with taehyung and had a man-to-man talk. and his mother never sniffed out your reason for marrying her son being his abundance of wealth. but when all comes to light, thanks to taehyung’s lawyer slash family friend who made a slip of tongue - your parents and his were the ones most vindictive about who’s digging whose gold.

and to be completely frank, you were one article away from calling up your mother and telling her that you seduced taehyung into marrying you - just so she’d stop baring her fangs at mrs. kim. these days the headlines keep blowing up your mother and mrs. kim’s completely-by-chance meeting at a five star restaurant that erupted into manic yelling and pointing fingers.

“what did you say, you-” the audio bleeps for a split second before your mother in law’s voice comes back on, “-it was your daughter that seduced my son!”

“you crazy-” the audio bleeps again, “-you better watch your mouth or i’ll-”

the remaining seconds of the video are filled with bleeps that make it hard to even understand what either woman was saying. a wave of regret floods your chest as you scroll down the words strewn out into a juicy, tea-spilling commentary on your and taehyung’s past - the writer seems to pick up the minor little details that, in hindsight, leaves a big fat question mark out in the open.

when exactly did ___ ___ and kim taehyung start dating?

the answer was never.

the two times you and taehyung were photographed together was at a cafe near your office and the other, near his penthouse wherein you were discussing the terms of the contracts by yourselves. the one near taehyung’s penthouse being the final stage where you both signed it on your ipads. to the naked eye, you probably looked like you were on a date and being young professionals, it was only a given that both of you had some sort of electronic on you at all times - even during dates.

everyone just assumed you were together and with the assumption of being together, comes the conclusion that you were deeply, madly in love. was it the way the picture caught you two looking at each other with smiles on your faces? was it it’s sister picture that stilled you in a frame where you’re looking at your ipad and taehyung looking at you with the same - possibly remaining - smile from the moment the first picture was taken? that, you will never know.

but so it goes, you started going to socials together because taehyung needed some cleansing from his... charm-filled past. he used to go to those with different partners each week, and the previous woman that went with him always ended up refusing to talk about it or boasting about her ‘relationship’ with him. that was of course, after yoo now-kim jeongyeon got married three years ago. he used to attend those socials with her for the most part.

but someway, somehow, his public record was clean of any drama.

you would know, you’ve seen the man in action with your very eyes. on your 7th social event together, son chaeyoung had marched up to you and him like a ticking time bomb, red-faced and flaring nostrils and all. you were about ready to stand your ground when taehyung softly touched your hand that was around his arm and asked if you minded if he left for some fresh air.

of course you didn’t - respectfully, you couldn’t care less what taehyung does as long as it didn’t bring a negative light to you and him and the dynasties you both carried over your shoulders. everyone had their eyes wide open and ears perked for what was to come when taehyung walked chaeyoung out to the hallway. but nothing happened, and you were left to mingle on your own until he returned, looking devilishly handsome as always and strutted up to you with an air of refined sureness.

chaeyoung didn’t come back with him but everything remained quiet - not even a dramatic “stay away from my man!” at any point of your contract. you never asked how he did it - you thought it involved money, but over time, you realized it was just kim taehyung and all the things that made those women attracted to him. and just like a flame, he’d burned the moths’ wings until they couldn’t flutter over to him anymore after your wedding.

“uh, miss, we’re here,” the driver calls, meeting your eyes through the rear-view mirror.

it takes you a few moments to close the cover of your ipad and shove it into your handbag before pulling out bills that’s worth more than your car ride, “thanks, keep the change.”

and with that, you hop out of the cab, ready to put on a facade of grace and confidence. the staff who knows you greets you with a range of emotions, some with unhinged admiration from day one, others with curiosity on what’s truly hidden beneath those darken ray bans - without a doubt, aware of the drama going on between their boss’ mother and their boss’ wife’s mother.

either way, you make sure to return each smile and greeting like you always do. red lips sewn across your face like an ever smiling doll.

it’s only once you’ve entered the elevator and luckily left to your own devices, do you let your shoulder sag, the smile downturned into a frown all the way until a ding echoes into the small compartment and a red ‘8′ flashes on top of the doors.

you don’t fail to fix the secretaries a smile, relief flooding over you at how their warm - or was it profession-required - greeting hasn’t changed even after the rumors spreading about your inevitable divorce - of course, purported by you and taehyung’s mothers.

“son, if you don’t divorce that woman right away, i-i,” and here you see for yourself, the woman who called you ‘my daughter’ with the most loving voice, stuttering into a fit of rage, “i don’t think i can face my friends anymore - that bitch jihye has been slandering our family saying you used her daughter to get hold of the company!”

mina is about to knock on the door and announce your arrival when you hold a hand up before placing an index finger to your lips. she doesn’t need to be told twice when she nods once and steps back to leave you eavesdropping on your mother in law and husband.

“that’s fair,” there isn’t even a stuttered beat in his response.

“what-”

“that’s part of the reason we got married,” he goes on, “and ___ needs some help setting up her brother with some connection so it works out - and mom, please refer to ___ and mrs. jeon by their names, ___ is still my wife and mrs. jeon is the woman who raised her.”

“y-you-” mrs. kim stutters out in disbelief just when you decide to make your presence known, hand on the door, “you ungrateful child, oh my- oh my-!” you walk into the sight of the woman falling backwards with mr. ji the kims’ lawyer stretching his arms out to catch her, shouting “madam!” while taehyung launching himself across the room, “mom!”

mrs. kim ends up hospitalized.

“it was a case of stress and overworking that should go away with a good few days’ break,” chairman kim who also opts to assume his seat as part of the hospital’s doctor and a family friend of taehyung’s, fixes you with a reassuring smile.

the stethoscope and white robe gives off a more professional vibe than the sophisticated air you see him wear at family dinners.

“that’s a relief - it’s nothing life-threatening,” the smile you return doesn’t seem to sit right with him as his eyebrows knit together and a cloud seem to loom over his face.

“it’s really not in my place but,” he pauses, probably weighing out the pros and cons of offending you with what he’s about to say - but he doesn’t need to worry too much because after today, you probably won’t be seeing each other at dinners any time soon, “me and jeongyeon,” he means his wife and taehyung’s childhood friend, “are here for you if you need to talk - i know mrs. kim can be a little unreasonable at times, but give her some time. don’t give up on her.”

you nod once, murmuring a hollow ‘thanks for that, seokjin’ before watching the man strut down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps accompanying his leave. only when you’re left with the sound of your breathing, do you finally allow chairman kim’s words to sink into the deepest depth of your heart.

it’s not an easy task to keep your heart still and unbothered by your own mother in law’s words. even now, you can still hear her embellishing her headache, back ache, joint pains and every sort of non-fatal pains she has enough to get taehyung to stay by her bedside - so he doesn’t go home. doesn’t go back to the place where you two have built for yourselves.

and yet you can’t help but agree that - “if you’d divorced her just like i told you, i wouldn’t have fallen so ill!” she sighs, just as you’re about to slide the door open.

all of a sudden, the image of the delicate woman swaying and tumbling towards the ground flashes at the back of your head and you instantly recoil, as if the door was made from fire.

the fear of worsening mrs. kim’s health at the sight of you has you backing away, choosing to wait at the seat in the hallway instead. seconds stretch into minutes and minutes into hours until you feel your body being shaken.

your eyes which you never noticed fluttered close - snap open only to gaze at the face of an angel - a concerned one at that judging from the way his eyebrows knit together. and then you’re hearing the smooth baritone of his voice. you almost pulled out your phone from your purse to ask if you could have it recorded so you could listen to it as a lullaby.

that is, until you realize the angel’s disheveled wavy hair and eyes that look like they’re well on their way to falling asleep standing.

“taehyung,” the name slips out of your mouth with a surprised gasp as you note the pristine pastel background of the vip section, body jolting to sit up from your previously slumping position.

“have you been waiting all this time?” he takes a seat next to you - and only then do you notice the unkempt mess that he is.

the first few buttons of his shirt is undone whilst it hangs over his shoulders, untucked, tie hanging loose over his chest as he drapes his blazer over his arm. the sight is almost alien, especially coming from someone who can’t even stand a crease in his shirt.

“what time is it?” you wonder, reaching for your phone while he checks the rolex on his wrist - which proves to be faster than rummaging through your bag.

“seven-thirty - you’ve been waiting here for more than five hours,” and just your luck, right as the words hit the air, your stomach decides to remind you of the meal you’re about to miss if you stay here any longer.

the heat rushing to your cheeks a second later is immeasurably hot, “o-oh, okay.”

clearing your throat, you ask, “so how was mother? seokjin already told me but i wanted to hear it from you that she’s okay.”

“you know how mom is - keeps saying her head hurts from the fall even though mr. ji managed to catch her halfway,” in any other circumstances, you and him would have found humor in how your mother in law’s overembellished diagnosis to gain attention from you and taehyung - but this time, it’s only one of you she wants that from.

it doesn’t stop you from chuckling though, “it sounds just like her - maybe i should make some ginseng chicken soup to help her get better... or beef seaweed, you know, her...”

swallowing the lump in your throat is a feat - and unfortunately, you’ve failed terribly as taehyung gather you his arms.

only then, do you realize you’re sobbing like a child, emotions running wild as everything comes crashing in like a storm - his mother, your family, the whole fucking tabloids that’s being written and ready to be posted in the next few hours and the fact that the marriage may have been a fraud, but the bonds you made along the way had been more than just business. mrs. kim was a mother to you as much as yours is to taehyung. there may have not been any love between you two but you cherish his family like he cherishes yours.

“i’m sorry - for causing a- a scene - for causing mother to f-faint-” you weep and weep.

in your crying fit, you barely notice the way his arms tighten just the tiniest bit as he sways you left to right gently, one hand on the back of your head caressing your hair as he whispers something along the lines of “it’s not your fault” and “we’ll figure it out together.”

and so for the nth time in your one year of marriage, you’re banding together to capture mrs. kim’s heart again. the first time you visited her with taehyung, she narrowed her eyes at you and demanded taehyung explain as to why he didn’t come alone through the very same eyes next second.

when the man pretended not to notice and even placed a hand on your lower back just as your steps faltered in a ‘i’m with you’ kind of way, she opted to stare out the window while you unpack the broth you made onto the table. the portion you poured into the bowl you brought was getting colder by the minute as you spoke to her, “mother, i made beef seaweed soup, it’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

the only indication that she was listening was the way her eyes scanned the bowl of broth in front of her and proceeded to keep them on the window until you had to leave.

and so goes your second and third visits being received with shoulders made of ice a kind of silence that never fails to make your stomach churn with a sort of nervousness you should have felt when you meet your future husband’s parents for the first time. but the first time you met mrs. kim, your chest was filled with nothing short confidence and woo her you did along with taehyung’s relatives and closed friends. at the time, you didn’t think what you were doing - fooling everyone into believing that you’re marrying each other for love - would come biting you in the ass.

if karma existed then this probably you getting what you deserved.

on your fouth visit, you’d come alone because taehyung had an urgent meeting to attend. mrs. kim spared you a once over just like a rabbit who voluntarily and follishly hopped into the lion’s den.

“mother,” you offer her a smile, “how are you feeling?”

when silence is the only response you get, you quickly rummage through the paper bag you’d brought with you, “have you eaten? i made chicken soup-”

“don’t bother,” her voice cuts through the air like a blade. eyes as piercing as spears, “sit down, i know taehyung has an urgent meeting - it’s the only way to get him off my back.”

you’re not quite sure what she means but you have an inkling that the reason her hostility has yet to reach its pique is because taehyung has been giving her subtle looks to ‘mom, be nice to my wife’.

with a nod and a smile that seems to be glued to your face, you ask, “how was the bibimbap yesterday?”

though she didn’t cut you off, her response doesn’t exactly shed hope to your efforts being paid off when she dismissively says, “i gave it to mr. ji.”

the immediate ‘oh’ that tumbles out of your mouth is purely reflexive even though you know she’s never touched the meals you packed for her. but having her admit it is a different kind of heartbreak.

“i see,” is all you can say as you feel tears prick your waterline, a lump in your throat.

“this,” she places a folder of documents she seems to have ready by her bedside into your hands and without any explanation, sends you off with, “if you have any conscience at all, you’d sign these papers and stay out of our lives.  even though i never read the contract but i’m sure a smart woman such as yourself would’ve thought to include the alimony as well - you understand what i’m saying right?”

you tried to say something - anything but at that point, the look in her eye already paints a picture of you clinging onto taehyung’s wealth. and yet you still tried, “m-mother, i-...”

but no words come out and as though her point had been proven, she’d huffed out a sigh and tuned you out like she always did on your previous visits.

so you walked down the hallway with shades covering your tear stained eyes and a skip to your step that oh-so-badly wishes to break into an unceremonious run to a place where nobody knows you. where nobody looks at you with rounded eyes for the briefest moment that easily translates to mrs. kim ___, wife of kadore’s chairman who married her husband for money.

but all you can afford to do is keep your head up until you reached the bathroom door, check each stall one by one to make sure no one’s inside before you finally set down the document and your handbag on the sink. the first sob hits the air as soon as you see the woman in the reflection’s reddening eyes and smudged makeup.

it takes you several breath-holding, eyes-shutting and a couple more sobs breaking through the cracks of your walls before you can finally pat some powder onto the patch of skin under your eyes and on your cheeks where most of the damage was done. by the time you’re back in the hallway with shades darker than the night sky, you find your feet melting and becoming one with the floor at the sight of a man with jet black hair standing at the reception.

and almost as though sensing the heat of your gaze through your ray bans, the man turns around to reveal a pair of doe brown eyes and the smile you’re so used to seeing now missing in action and replaced with a straight line.

“jungkook...”

“how’d you know i’d be here?” you start once you’ve both placed an order for your drinks at the counter.

“how long are you going to keep doing this?” instead of answering your question with a real answer, jungkook heaves out a sigh, eyebrows knitting together in vexation as he fixes you with one of those ‘i’m not telling mom and dad but this is our problem now’ kind of look.

“how ever long it takes,” is all you say, reverting your gaze to the smooth surface of the table.

“are those the divorce papers?” you refuse to look at him but you know he’s burning holes inside the beige colored folder sitting underneath your handbag on the seat between you and him.

“i don’t know,” you shrug, shoulders squared as you meet his eyes through your shades, “i haven’t opened it yet.”

but jungkook being jungkook, he takes that as a bare affirmation, choosing to interrogate you on a different topic, “have you seen what people have been saying about you?"

“i don’t really care about what people say,” is all you have to offer.

“you haven’t,” he nods in conclusion, “they’re saying you can’t have enough of your husband’s money... they’re saying you’re coming here everyday to grovel over his mother’s feet to let you stay married - that’s how i know you’d be here. and judging from the looks of it, they’re not too far off.”

it takes you a good solid minute to stomach the new found information. you haven’t been checking social media because of those same exact malicious comments but that was just the beginning of a downward spiral of your reputation - you never thought your efforts and hard work of burning your fingers on hot stoves and redoing dishes to get a perfect one would be met with an assumption of groveling over mrs. kim’s feet all for your husband’s money.

“god, i need a smoke,” jungkook huffs, receiving a look from the waiter that’s setting your drinks down. only after she’s gone does he present you with another set of questions. “was he the one that paid off dad’s debts? all of them? even the loan sharks?”

“that...” you nod once, failing to keep your head high as you twirl the straw of your frappe around but don’t even take a sip, “and the money i said i had saved up and lent you to start your company,” you quickly add,“- but taehyung doesn’t care about that - he wouldn’t accept it even if you wanted to pay him back twice the amount.”

“then why are you...” it’s the way his voice breaks at the end that makes you look up only to see a man whose eyes are a little sunken and cheeks a little hollow - almost as if he hasn’t been sleeping nor eating well because of his foolish sister, “why are you letting that woman trample all over you like this? wouldn’t it be easier to just get a divorce-”

“that woman is my mother in law, jungkook. at least, practice the same level of respect you’ve been preaching about,” you speak over him - it’s funny how taehyung once stood up against the same woman you’re standing up for, for you.

when all that follows is silence, you go on. this time, in a much demurred tone, “and it’s not about letting myself get trampled over... if mom found out you lied about something and she’s acting like mother does because she’s hurt, would you just go on with your life like nothing happened?”

it takes a moment for him to register what you said before taking on a much less hostile tone though still just as firm, “___, this is your life... i don’t know what kind of ‘happy family’ delusion you’ve been living in but i’m willing to bet all my money that it’s not taehyung that gave you those papers to sign and made you cry in the bathroom stall for thirty minutes-” he throws you look, “yeah, i saw you go into the washroom after coming out of her room. i was gonna call you but you looked like you had to take a huge dump so i waited but we know that’s not the case now.”

silence lapses between you for the umpteenth time before you stubbornly announce, “i could’ve been taking a dump - you don’t know.”

the sight of jungkook’s jaw dropping and hitting the ground is laughable, if not for the fact that he’s shaking his head five seconds later. vexed. irritated, “this is getting ridiculous - we’re going home. now.”

and he doesn’t mean the penthouse that you and taehyung shares.

shooting up, his hand grasps your wrist and he would have dragged you all the way to the car if you hadn’t protested.

“jungkook, no - i’m not going anywhere,” pulling your hand back, you stand a good one head shorter in front of your brother which doesn’t do much for your cause.

“___, if not for you then do it for mom and dad - they’re getting too old to be worrying about their one and only daughter’s marriage prospect,” he tries to coax, knowing full well your heart would wither like a flower at the mention of your parents worrisome nature - especially when your business is out in the open no matter how hard you try to hide it, “and you haven’t been answering their calls either.”

“i know, i just-” before you can even finish your sentence, a flash of garnet and bridal pink catches your eyes.

“____... jungkook, i didn’t think you’d be in korea. how are you?” taehyung’s warm baritone is laced with confusion as he stares at your brother and then at you for a sort of explanation but before you can even open your mouth, jungkook’s already has his hand wrapped tightly around your wrist, “yeah, well someone’s gotta clean up the mess you started. ___’s coming back home with me - back to her real home.”

“i’m not - stop saying that and let me go,” you tug on your wrist only to wince at the pressure of his grasp, “jungkook, you’re hurting me!”

“hey, let my wife go,” taehyung takes a peaceful step forward, “we can talk ab-”

“oh no,” the laugh tumbling out of jungkook’s mouth drips with malice, “no, see, you lost your knight in shining armor privilege after you quite literally lied to our faces about how you’ll take care of my sister until ‘death do you apart’ when all it took was mommy dearest pretending to get sick while everyone labels my sister a gold-digging wh-”

you taking a step forward with a balled fist, is completely instinctive and you would say taehyung prancing towards the dark haired man with a fist that actually hits the mark, was also instinct-driven. except that he probably has better aim and his punches hurt more than yours ever would.

the first one, you admit was satisfying but when your brother ends up on the ground with your husband throwing blow after blow, you have no choice but to intervene.

“taehyung, stop!” the shriek that echoes against the walls almost burst your eardrums. you would have believed it to be mrs. kim if not for the fact that she’s nowhere in sight and you’re the one with your hands grasping onto your husband’s arms, trying to hold him back from sending blow after blow onto your brother’s half-conscious face.

“taehyung, don’t stop,” you frown, taking a seat next to him while swiping the ice bag off his lap before gently pressing it to his darkened jawline, “seokjin said to keep the ice on the bruise for at least an hour.”

“ahhh - ow - ow-!” the man whines, eyes screwed shut as his grits his teeth together but doesn’t recoil from your touch.

“maybe you should’ve thought twice about throwing a punch at a trained boxer,” you shake your head, lips curling into an inevitable smile.

after taehyung’s had a round of punches in, jungkook managed to flip them over so that he’s the one pinning the elder man down. the events that unfolded after that were the least bit pretty. the nurses and doctors attending nearby patients rushed to the two struggling men and then there’s you, shifting the shouting to your brother to “god damn it, jungkook! stop being a dick!”

it took five men - doctors and just-arrived guards alike - to pry your brother off your husband who still tried to get a punch in and was held back by seokjin who finally arrived at the scenes with half a mind to knock the both of them out as he calmly orders for jungkook to be dragged into one of those empty rooms akin to the one mrs. kim is staying at.

because taehyung was the one who started the fight, seokjin decided that an ice pack would do for the taller man whilst he treats jungkook and orders the other doctors to go back to their post.

picking up the mixture of garnet and bridal pink roses, he stares at their wilted petals for the longest moment, face painted with dejection. they must have been specifically ordered for mrs. kim-

“these are for you,” your train of thoughts halts in its track at taehyung’s words. his hand levitating midair as though unsure of whether to hand the bouquet to you or toss them away, “or were,” then he captures your gaze and you don’t think you can ever find your way out of the maze he’s able to hold you captive in with just his eyes, “you deserve fresh flowers specifically plucked from its stalk - you deserve a whole garden, actually-”

“taehyung,” your free hand covers his as if to say, “they’re lovely, thank you.” placing the ice pack down, you cup both hands around the flowers, bringing them to your nose, “and they smell wonderful - i love pink roses.”

“i know,” the tiniest smile peeks from his lips, “you told me that.”

“i did?” you blink, surprised.

“at our wedding reception, you got a little tipsy and started sobbing because the roses were blush pink and not bridal pink,” the sound of his chuckles drums in your ears like hymns just like it did a year ago.

back when you were decked in an elegant off shoulder white gown after changing out of your wedding dress. you’d stood in the sidelines while your families and friends danced to their hearts’ content to the sound of the music. white champagne in your hand, the background beginning to turn fuzzy and your thoughts began to get louder.

it didn’t help that the object of your frustrations was smack dab covering every inch of the vicinity from the gargantuan rose covered backdrop, to the tiny vases in every single table.

the sob hits the air like the first raindrop. you had to clasp your hand to your mouth as if you were about to cough to hide your mouth stretching into your crying mouth - you don’t know how to explain it but your lips tend to morph into an unshapely sight whenever you cry and covering it when you feel the waterworks coming has always been second nature. as for the tears - they were concealable because the lights were dim enough.

but then there was someone next to you - he just popped up out of nowhere really and because you were standing in the darkest corner, you couldn’t pick out any defining features besides his height but you didn’t have much time to ponder on that as his question fills your eardrums, “so, how does saying goodbye to the bachelorette life feels like?”

“it’s terrible,” you’d wept some more and he shifted on his feet slightly, as though noticing the tear in your voice but luckily for him, he didn’t even have to ask because you were spilling your innermost thoughts out loud, “they- they gave me blush pink and garnet roses- i want bridal pink and garnet roses.”

“oh,” distinctively rang in your ears among the sound of instruments and joyful laughter.

then comes another input, “i didn’t know they messed up your request,” and you didn’t know why he’d sounded like he was about to murder someone.

“yeah and,” you sniffle, “- and i didn’t wanna say anything because- because i don’t wanna be that bratty bride who picks on every little detail.”

that morning, you woke up to a box full of roses and they were the lightest shade of pink. taehyung was already awake and offered to ring up breakfast for the both of you after he’d bid you a good morning and a “something came in for you.”

the gifts were prearranged to be sent to the penthouse instead of your suite but then again, there were chocolates and champagne bottles that made past the hotel doors because of its edible nature - the roses too... their fleeting livelihood seemed like you’d enjoy them better in your hotel room than a week later after you’d come back from your honeymoon.

the card didn’t even leave initials but had ‘roses for a rose’ playfully written in cursive black ink. your heart blooms a garden but your head is what makes you search for your newly wed husband, only to see him looking at you with a tender smile - one that you thought manifested because of your own involuntary smile when you’d read the note.

“i don’t think these are for us,” you could feel the frown setting into your features, causing taehyung’s own brows to furrow.

“i think these are for... me,” and so you told a tale of a woman with ambitions rather than stars in her eyes, who felt a compulsion to at least tell the truth to her husband and the stranger whom she met at her wedding. of course, omitting the teary eyed part and the blush and bridal pink roses part.

taehyung had easily chuckled while the staff set down plates of delicacies on the round meant-for-two-people-on-a-honeymoon table, saying, “he has fine taste - they’re from halls & tara,” after the staff left.

it didn’t occur to you that the h&t initials on the top right corner of the card stood for the most well known florist in seoul until he’d pointed it out, which could only mean he’d been suspicious enough to take longer than a glance at the flowers.

“do you mind if i keep them? at least, until they’re not as fresh anymore.” you quickly added the last part.

“you can keep them in a vase and have them live longer... why? are they not the shade of pink you wanted?” he blinked once, hand halting midair as he was about to take a mouthful of pancakes.

“well- no, they’re perfect actually - i love them,” you almost stutter in your haste to explain while trying to be casual about how devastated you would be if- “it’s just that... i really didn’t know him or who he was- but he obviously knew me because it’s hard not to know the lady of the day- i’m not breaching any terms-”

it’s the way the trickles of laughter filling the otherwise silent room that got you to clamp your mouth shut. the way kim taehyung looked so ethereal and majestic in the pristine black and white setting of the room.

“i don’t mind,” he’d clarified a moment later, eyes twinkling with the remnants of laughter, “i understand why he’d want to desperately send you these if only to see you smile softly like you did - you look beautiful when you smile, by the way.”

the compliment had caught you off guard and your heart might or might not have somersaulted but if there’s anything seven years of becoming a stewardess has taught you, it was to always prepare an adequate response to every situation - and at that time, kim taehyung was infamous for his quick wits and reputation with the ladies. of course, words sweet as honey would come easy for him.

“thank you,” and so were the words of gratitude on your part as you schooled a smile and dug into the pancakes your husband made.

but sitting on the black leather couch, holding onto a similar colored bouquet, you can’t help but blurt out, “that was you? i was bawling my eyes out because of some mismanagement to my husband who didn’t even recognize?” something between a disbelieving scoff and an irony-induced laugh escapes your mouth, “why didn’t you tell me?”

taehyung’s shoulder line shakes as he shrugs, hand going up to scratch the back of his head as he drops his gaze, as if searching for the answer only to look back up into your eyes with a, “i didn’t think you’d be as happy if you knew it was me,” his gaze falters, like a bud of fear blooming behind his irises,

“why wouldn’t i be?” you blink once, not quite understanding where he’s coming from.

that is, until a small smile slips onto his lips and it’s heartbreaking to witness and even more devastating to know you’re in no place to let your arms gather him into a hug like you wish. to kiss his forehead until his worries disappear.

he twines his fingers with yours, thumbing the diamond on your fourth finger, “i’m sorry that i took away your choice to marry for love - that’s a bit corny isn’t it?” he scrunches his nose and you can’t help but giggle, “it’s not just some short term contract since we both agreed divorce is never in the equation,” neither of you believe in tainting the sanctity of marriage - no matter what cause it was founded upon - with separation, “but god, the things you’re going through right now - i promise i’ll make things right.”

taehyung’s eyes tend to appear in different shades along with his emotions - though you know it’s most probably the lighting. dark brown is for when he’s scrutinizing the hollow smiles and empty compliments he gets at functions. but sometimes you find yourself catching hazel.

like right now, as they capture yours and look at you as if you’re the only one he sees.

“taehyung...” you thought you knew what you wanted to say when you said his name but as you get lost in the midnight dessert of his eyes, you’re not sure if you can even muster so much as a squeak without falling apart.

and that’s when a knock reverberates into the air like thunder, forcing you to jolt away from the man until no part of you is touching any part of him.

“hey,” a somber voice greets as jungkook leans against the doorframe, “so they fixed me up and the chairman wants me gone in,” he looks down at his wrist, “two minutes and fifty-three seconds.”

blinking away the remnants of the emotions away, you stand up, giving the man a once over. his button up is marred with a trickle of deep red a few inches over his chest, hair matted and face sporting different stages of bruising. the bleeding’s stopped for the most part.

“you’ve definitely seen better days,” you announce, walking around the couch to get to where the man is rolling his eyes at.

“sorry for calling you the w-word,” that’s definitely wasn’t what you were expecting which prompts the belated, almost suspicion induced,“...okay.”

“i did that because i needed to confirm something,” he goes on, eyes flitting over your shoulder where you know your husband is staring right back, burning holes inside your brother’s head before he looks back at you, taking a full 180 in attiude, “and don’t worry about mom and dad - i’ll take care of them.”

it takes you a moment to digest his proclamation, all the whilst hyperly aware of the hand that makes its way on your lower back as a familiar dior scent fills your senses, “so you’re not gonna drag me home?” as though disbelieving the words that came out of your mouth, you add, “that’s all it takes? a few punches to the face?”

the twitch of his eyebrow doesn’t go unnoticed by you. nor does the deep breath he forces himself to take at the blatant insult and insinuation of your future boxing lessons to which he warns, “don’t get any crazy ideas,” then he turns to the man next to you, “i let you hit me - let’s get that out of the way first.”

and before either you or taehyung manage to get a word in, jungkook hand comes flying to your forehead, a loud sound of skin smacking against skin echoing throughout the room as you tumble backwards with an audible “ow- hey!”, barely noticing the much larger hand that’s covering yours. inspecting the patch of skin where jungkook just flicked.

without even an apology for the uncalled for assault, he nods at something over your head, probably taehyung, “you take care of my sister, you hear me? cause there won’t be a second time.”

and then he’s gone like the wind - you would have tracked down that wind and give him a taste of his own medicine like you did when you were children. you’d jump on his back and attempt to bite a chunk of his head if your nannies didn’t pull you apart  - but right now, you couldn’t escape taehyung’s hand on your waist even if you wanted to.

“let me see,” he instructs, gently coaxing your hand to unclasp the patch of skin on your forehead so he could softly blow on it.

you stay like that, standing at the doorway with your bodies too close and taehyung refusing to unhand you until your cheeks are replaced with a different kind of heat than the anger you felt for your god forsaken brother.

“god he’s an ass - you should’ve messed up his face more,” you huff, and you don’t know why - maybe it’s the way you stomp your foot, maybe it’s the way your cheeks tend to puff when you’re feeling vindictive or maybe it’s a mystery locked in taehyung’s head that you’ll never know but his chuckles sound like hymns in your ears.

and you thought that was the end of the electrified sensation on your skin where his touch lingers until you feel a pair of the softest lips on your forehead, right where the flick was supposed to throb. a grinning taehyung looking back at you as if asking, “my nanny used to do this to me when i bump my knee against a furniture...” a flash of worry blooms in his eyes for the briefest moment before he voices his concerns, “hope the magic still works.

the sight is heartwarming. endearing even. and you can’t help smile, cheeks hot, “it does - it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

and just as you thought he’s about to release you from the torment of having your heart skip multiple beats at a time and step back, he presses another peck on your forehead. a smile gracing his features, “another one for good measure.”

it’s a surprise your legs are still holding you up with how jelly-like they’ve become.

“th-thank you.”

mrs. kim discharged herself a week after the fight but not without standing in front of the hospital with her frilly fur coat and gucci handbag while she looks at the camera and consequently straight into the screen, “i have yet received a publicly apology for what jeon jungkook did to mine by the jeons. my taehyung couldn’t even kill a fly, let alone start a fist fight-” she shivers uncontrollably as though overcome with chills, “such a barbaric, uncivilized act can only come from-”

“you’re watching that?” a smooth baritone fills the room as a figure struts in beige slacks and oversized creme sweater, “again?”

he sits on the edge the backrest of the couch, looking down at you with an expression that makes your stomach churn. with butterflies or guilt for breaking your promise to stop checking out these articles, you don’t know.

“sorry,” you mumble, placing the ipad down a few inches from your feet as you bring your legs up against your chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, “worrying about how the press twists mother’s words comes from the plentiful of time i have on my hands after being sacked, i guess.”

it’s been a week since you’ve received your new schedule. to which you received a call right after to head to the headquarters in the heart of seoul only to be told that-

“___, you gotta understand, this whole fiasco going on with your family... it’s giving the airline a bad rep,” mr. bang leaned back against his recliner, his eyes hiding behind the beam of his glasses, “people are leaving bad reviews on the website that has absolutely nothing to do with our services but has everything to do with you and your husband.”

he meant the growing dissatisfaction upon the revelation of the artificiality of you and taehyung’s marriage.

nobody’s caught jungkook and taehyung in a video but there’d been witnesses and ‘sources’ affirming the two getting into a fistfight at the hospital. and so another record has been made in your long list of family drama.

“sir, please,” you could feel your eyebrows joining together from the sheer frustration and reality anchoring into the pit of your stomach, “i’ve been working for korean air -for seven years now- check my reconds,” hope blooms in your chest as you suggest the idea to your superior, “i’ve never been late, never had a customer complain about me, never made any mistakes prior to this-”

“it doesn’t matter what you did before this, ___,” he cut you off, voice heavy with emphasis.

but you weren’t backing out that easy, “please, it’s not fair to lay me off for something i have zero control in.”

at your wording, the man physically flinched, almost as though struck by a spear before he shook his head, denying your claims.

“you’re not fired,” he corrected, “you’re on paid leave... until everything calms down.”

it took everything in you not to let the frown slip onto your face. first it’s paid leave and then it a one month notice before they officially sack you - you’ve seen how this played out one too many times.

so you smiled, “with all due respect, mr. bang, how long is ‘until everything calms down’?”

the man’s shoulder line jolted as he shrugged, lower lip jutted out in a nonchalant nature, “that depends on how you choose to solve it, ___... i assume you are working on a solution, yes?”

it was a trick question. if you answered the affirmative, it’d be admitting what mrs. kim and almost everyone have been demanding - a divorce. if you answered no, then you’re as good as jobless.

“my husband and i are working on it,”  was all you say.

when taehyung found out later that night - he was livid. he was a phone call away from calling up mr. ji to sue the airline for discrimination. it took you stealing his phone away and running around the penthouse until you made him promise that he’d listen to you first.

he did, and you’d wanted to wait it out and see because, “there isn’t any damage to build our ground on anyway because i’m not fired yet.”

“well, dinner’s ready ” taehyung’s soft as silk voice tears you apart from your memroies, hand levitating midair until you take it, hoisting yourself up.

taehyung pushes himself off the couch, walking on the other side with your hand in his. it’s comical but endearing all at once and you giggle at how neither of you are willing to let the other go even though you’ll have to once you reach the four-people dining table.

“thank you,” you say as you lower yourself on the seat while he pushes the chair in for you.

home cooked meals have become a norm for the both of you ever since that day taehyung punched jungkook in the face. at first, you insisted that you should be the one cooking since he was injured but he stayed with you in the kitchen and you talked about your day and reminisced about your childhood and how you similarly had nannies that forbade you from coming into the kitchen.

then there was the peck on the top of your forehead he started doing a few days ago after you were sat and before he went around the table to get to his seat that’s across from you.

“did you go shopping today?” he asks in between cutting up the steak which he stole a whole plate from you into mini slices.

“yeah, with hwasa,” you nod - the woman had been all too delighted to see you after mismatched schedules and ghostly texts because of life and work getting in the way.

“the friend from high school?” taehyung surprises you yet again as he places your plate back in front of you, this time with the pieces all cut into edible bites. you’ve never mentioned hwasa to him - but it’s not a lie that she’s your closest friend from high school who got accepted into the same training programme as you at the beginning of your career.

“thank you-” you shoot him a smile before picking up the fork and knife, “and yeah, that’s her. we haven’t seen each other for months so we kind of went a little crazy with the dresses.”

he doesn’t look up when he speaks his next words which is why you have a trouble digesting them as you involuntarily blurt out a, “sorry- what?”

“the dresses you bought,” he reiterates, an amused smile on his lips - possibly because of your almost-choked state, “- can i see them?”

“oh,” clear your throat once, sipping down the red wine before chuckling nervously, “hwasa bought dresses - didn’t.”

taehyung hums, head tilting to the side as though trying to capture your avoidant gaze, “then put on whatever you bought that i saw lying on your bed - the door was open when i passed your room.”

at that moment, to say your heart quite literally crash against the floor, would be an understatement. it takes you a minute to gather yourself, another to force out a laugh as you attempt to brush the thought of taehyung seeing the black and red laces from savage x fenty hwasa adamantly insited you get after a story time on why you decided to get married to how something has definitely shifted between you and taehyung.

but no amount of gushing and squealing about made up scenarios brewing from hwasa’s little head could prepare you for what’s happening right at this moment.

“oh those?” a chuckle, “those are aren’t even worth showing.”

and just as you thought he’ll let the matter go like he would when you dismissively mention something that he inquired about, taehyung takes a full 180, eyes clouded with a sort of emotion you don’t dare delve into, “that’s for me to decide,” he takes a sip of the wine, pushing his chair back as he stands up, “i’m done,” with that, he places his plate down where geom, your mixed breen papillion and silky terrier shouts out an appreciative woof at the pleasant surprise.

patting the canine briefly, he turns to you, those clouded eyes seeping into your soul, “put them on - i’ll be waiting in my room.”

his footsteps echo against the walls as he ascends the stairs and disappears into the hallway where his room lies across from yours. it is a whole solid minute later, once you hear the door of his room click shut, that you make a beeline for the couch where your phone lies lonely.

dialing up the only person you know you can hold accountable for, you quite literally scream at the ‘hell-’ with a “hwasa, he wants me to put the lingerie on and show him!”

while your voice drips with dread, the other woman, choosing to be willfully oblivious, screams into your ears, “oh my god - oh my god. then what are you doing calling me?! go put them on!”

and that’s how you end up holding in a breath while deliberately repeating hwasa’s not so helpful pep talk of ‘you’re the hottest’ and ‘kim taehyung will be wrapped around your fingers by the end of the night!’

“but it’s been over a year - i’m not sure if i even know how to moan!” you’d protested while pull the strap of the garter around your thigh.

that was half an hour ago.

now, you’re debating on whether to knock like you would have before you started cuddling into the other while watching tv. but before that, you’d never did anything together unless it was family dinners and gatherings.

so you opt for pushing down the handle. the sharp ‘click’ being the only announcement of your entrance. taehyung’s walls are a deep shade of maroon almost black with the lights on its lowest setting. the sound of music playing in the background barely registers in your mind as you focus your attention to the figure that’s pushing himself up from his laying down position.

you resist the temptation to run and hide under the comfort your covers - an opposed response compared to your confident stride, placing one foot after the other until you stand a good two feet away from the bed and taehyung.

“what do you think?” the smile brandished over your face is nothing like your racing heart whlist you do a little twirl- but then again, you’ve always been such an actress.

“if the world were made of diamonds, i’d choose the rose before me... because you’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever laid eyes on,” you wonder how he doesn’t even blink as those words pour out of his mouth, hand finding its way in the dip of your waist. staring. admiring.

“always the charmer,” you want to curse yourself for the unoriginal come back yet taehyung doesn’t seem to notice as he lets you push him to the bed whilst his eyes undress what little piece of clothing you have on as you crawl on top of him.

your toes curl at the sound of taehyung’s excruciatingly slow exhalation - almost as though he intends for it to caress your ears and seep into your pores before settling into the pit of your core.

the sharp charm of dior fills your senses as you place kisses on his neck, tucking his flesh between your teeth ever so gently, not expecting the delectable surprise that slips out of his mouth.

who would have thought kim taehyung was a moaner?

the giggle that trickles out of your mouth is blamelessly involuntary but catches his attention nonetheless, “what?”

“oh, nothing,” you nibble on his earlobe before whispering into his ears, “just thinking of how cute you’ll look moaning for me.”

and you’ve easily add to the long list of things you won’t forgive yourself in the morning. yet you still caress his growing size through his pants, giggling when the delicious sound hits the air for the second time.

“take it out,” he whimpers after one too many teases, “please.”

“only because you said please,” the way his chin tilts to follow your lips after you pecked them doesn’t go unnoticed by you but you clasp your hand against his chest, pinning him down with a shake of your head “uh-uh, you get up when i tell you to.”

the excruciating ‘fuck’ that leaves his lips is what truly lights up the flame in the pit of your stomach. you watch as his hand goes up to run through his hair in a sexually frustrated nature but doesn’t attempt to push himself up after that.

it only takes a few pumps for the clear fluid of precum to trickle over your hand, letting you smear all over his hardened dick and causing it to glisten underneath the luminescence of the room.

sparks shoot through your core and strike your heart into an erratic rhythm when you lower yourself over him, holding the slit of the black lace undergarment apart until he’s hitting every delicious inch inside of you.

you’ve barely even started to move when you break out into a cry, falling into his arms like a puppet whose strings got cut off. the arms around you are gentle as they hold you against him until you’ve come down from your high.

by the time you push yourself up, your knees are still trembling yet you nod when he cups your cheeks and forces you to look into those concern filled eyes, “are you good?”

“i’m fine,” the sniffle is probably the last thing you need to convince him, “i lost myself for a moment.”

this time, it’s his turn to chuckle, lips curling into a smirk, “it’s completely understandable to admit that you couldn’t hold out for more than a minute because i stretched you out so good.”

you want to protest - want to gain back the control you lost when he hit that sweet spot not even, yes, as he says, a minute into taking him in. but one single thrust right against that same exact spot and you’re whimpering in utter submission and devotion.

“that’s what i thought,” that damned smirk is the last thing you see before you succumb to his every wishes and command until you find yourself with a strong arm banded over your stomach, another arm reaching for a pillow and puffing it up before you feel yourself being gently lowered face flushed into it - the smallest gesture of tenderness that you didn’t expect to witness when you decided to tease him in the beginning.

the yelp when taehyung’s hands slip under the strap of the garter, doesn’t even manage to form fully when a moan replaces it as he yanks the garter and consequently, your ass against him, forcing you to swallow his entire length in one stroke.

“god, you’re so big,” if you were a little sober and a whole lot more conscious, you would have added that into the list of things you said that you would cringe at in the morning.

but you’re already one orgasm down in the foreseeable long list of orgasms that kim taehyung promises you as he sinks into you, moaning out your name like a holy mantra.

“i know you love it,” he agrees oh so innocently for someone who’s about to thrust into you like a godless being.

five strokes in and you’re cursing and screaming out in pleasure, hands gripping onto the duvet for dear life as you feel you convulse into a state of toe-curling euphoria. the way taehyung stops moving and trails down butterfly kisses down your back until the tensed muscles in your lower abdomen simmers down into pleasured twitches, doesn’t go by you.

“you can move now,” another sniffle, but this one has completely and irrevocably succumbed to your rawest desires.

it’s the soft chuckle and the one last peck on your left shoulder blade that has your heart stuttering. ungodly opposite to the way he moves his hips as he thrusts into you without so much as a warning - your last two orgasms were just preambles. ones out of the many that night that has you writhing and moaning in pleasure. some of which were incited by sides of you, you didn’t know existed.

the last thing you recall is taehyung gathering you in his arms like he couldn’t bear to be apart from you even in his sleep now that he’s had a taste. it’s endearing and daunting all at once. because for the first time since your marriage, you’re afraid of losing him.

a few days after that, you’re tying away on your macbook when taehyung comes home looking less like the man you knew. his hair, disheveled from having run his hand through them more than his hair gel allows. his eyes, carrying a sort of weight that latches onto him like parasites - or maybe that’s just the papparazzo that you noticed have been following you around. their numbers have decreased considerably after the rumor of taehyung hiring a team of lawyers which was no rumor at all.

it was the morning after you woke up with tingly legs barely able to function like it should and muscles sore but a sort of fullness in your chest when you noticed the man whose arms are wraped around you like a protective cocoon as he faintly snored away.

then came the muted sound of your phone from the other side of the hallway where your room door beckons you into its domain. it wasn’t as obnoxiously loud since it was at least twenty feet away and you would have ignored it and gone back to bed if not for the short interval signaling the person calling had finally reached the mailbox or hung up on their own. that was, before they hit call for the second time.

slipping out of taehyung’s arms, you trudged to your room with half a mind to give whoever this caller is a piece of your mind - god’s sake, the flashy red digits on your alarm clock stares at you at 5:23 in the morning.

“this better be good, hwasa or i swear-” before you can even finish the woman is already screaming into your ear like she’s being chased by an axe murderer.

“oh my god, oh my god - have you seen the news?!” except no woman chased by a murderer would sound this exhilarated, she went on before you could even get a “no one in their right mind would be checking the news at ass crack-” out.

“oh shoot, it’s still 5 something in korea, isn’t it?” she gasped - if you weren’t on paid leave, you’d be in hong kong, probably sharing rooms and getting tipsy in some club there, “but anyway, kadore’s chairman is suing insight, pullbbang and other websites for slander!” she shrieked.

"what?” you could feel the muscles on your face pulling into a contorted confusion but

after hanging up and telling hwasa you were going to look into the matter some more, you’d come up with multiple articles stating a similar fact as your overly enthusiastic best friend did. still in denial, you’d confronted your husband about it- he was still sleeping soundly when you strutted in and shook him up to which he confessed, eyes droopy and face puffy. the sight was so foreign to you because you were used to seeing him fresh and suited up but you’d found yourself making a little space in your heart for barely-just-woken-up-taehyung to reside in.

first came anger - you didn’t ask for him to do this, “what would everyone think if i went to you crying about a little bit of criticism for something i did do?” then came confusion because what exactly did you do that was so horrendously heineous to warrant these websites to write such malicious statements about you?

taehyung had seen every flash of emotions that pooled in your eyes and tugged on your fingers - you weren’t sure if he’d meant it but it successfully pulled you from drowning in your own thoughts, “i told you i’d make things right - these people won’t be able to say another word about you unless it’s the truth- that you’re a hardworking, amazing woman who deserves everything she has and yes,” he fixed you the most tender, sleepy smile “that includes the money i make - what’s the point of working if i can’t even provide my wife with the best?”

taehyung tosses the beige tuxedo onto the handrest of the couch adjacent to where you’re sitting with one leg up in nothing but a loose fitted sweater that hangs off your left shoulder. the half empty wine glass lies untouched on the coffee table since you’d put it down.

with a thump, he sinks himself into the leather material of the couch, hands cupping his face, as though if he rubs it hard enough, the deadset frown would go away.

before you know it, you’re padding over to the couch he’s on, hands finding their ways onto his shoulders, massaging the noticeable tension in his muscles until a grateful sigh slips out of his mouth, hand guiding your own to his lips where he presses a kiss on your knuckles.

only when you go around to take the spot next to him, hand smoothing out his hair, do you finally say, “is it the board again?”

mina has been keeping you updated on the turbulence that was caused by your fraudulent marriage being exposed. the chairman seat became taehyung by default when he got married as per his father’s will. but the board members have been vocal about abrogating his rights to succeeding kadore.

“there’s talk about votes demoting me to director,” he’s never sound so fragile - in taehyung’s long list of fluctuating interest from women and men to art and sculptures and to yatches and sports cars, kadore is probably the only thing he’s ever taken seriously.

you would know - seeing him decked in armani with soft wavy hair contrasting his strong features, weren’t your only reason for accepting his proposal of marriage. it had more to do with the way he spoke about the company. in a dimly lit room just like now, with a wine glass in his hand and the cityscape underneath that gave an illusion of stilled fireflies scattered all across the city, taehyung had spoken of his unforgivable regrets. the deals he’d let pass by. the merges he’d settled with instead of aiming higher. the brands he didn’t reach out to.

those regrets birthed fears and those fears were what made him even entertain the notion of a beneficial marriage.

or as the board likes to call it, an atrociously wickedly schemed marriage.

“they won’t have a ground to depose you to a director’s position if they can’t provide a solid reason,” you say and he blinks, clueless, hopeless.

it’s almost as if you’re facing a whole different man.

“what do you mean?”

“i’m talking about us doing what we do best,” you fix him a smile - one that probably needs a little convincing and grounding but a smile nonetheless, “we show them that the kims aren’t to be messed with,” you pause, letting the silence settle into brimming suspense before finally saying, “it’s been awhile since we’ve made a public appearance together, hasn’t it? how does lunch sound like?”

and so goes your multiple appearances in the most top notch restaurant together. the lack of chauffeur wasn’t intentional but helpful nonetheless to prove that the chairman was hopeless and irrevocably mad for his wife that he’d drive all the way to wherever she was to pick her up and then drive them to the designated restaurant instead of the convenience of meeting at said restaurant from wherever you both were prior to that.

then there was the hand holding, hip grabbing and not going a minute without smiling and giggling about what the other said. to outsiders, it would have looked as if things hadn’t been all that different - except you’d finally came out of your 1 billion doller cave after the whole ‘fiasco’ with your families. but it was the little hand kisses and forehead pecks in between taehyung making mini runs to get to your side to open your car door.

and the ‘how was your day’s and which are followed by a ‘you’re still deadset on working, huh?’s each time you told him about your in-the-work resume since you’re ‘at the risk of getting a notice of resignation any time soon’.

“what if you started your own business? i could buy a whole building in nonhyeon-dong that you could make as your headquarters?” he offers in between twirling the pasta around his fork after you insisted that- “my job is the only thing that i’ve got going on for me to prove that i’m not a gold-digger that everyone thinks i am.”

“i was thinking more like travelling from place to place like...” you shoot him a ‘you know’ smile before adding, “a cabin crew.”

“one of korean air’s biggest shareholders are letting go of her stock because her color pencil business isn’t doing so well these days,” he nods, deeply contemplative, “they’re gonna be sacking a few employees if they don’t get buyers by the next two months,” he surmises with a concluding nod to which you end up laughing and almost choking on your food.

picking up the water on your right, you quickly gulp it down before clarifying as to why you found his statement so funny that you’d risk your esophagus in the process, “no, tae,” that nickname is also one of the little things that just happens - you don’t miss the tuck in the corners of his lips when it slips off your tongue, “it’s sweet of you to want to buy me a share of the airline i’m working for but that’s the thing, it’s your money,” you reach out for his hand, smiling when he meets yours halfway.

a warm pressure engulfs your hand as he squeezes briefly, “and i told you, what’s mine is yours.”

“likewise,” you fix him a grateful smile, “but i like flying. i like being a cabin crew - on top of holding onto my job to prove people wrong, of course.”

the longest pause hovers over you like a grey clouds with taehyung’s beautiful but contemplating eyes holding you captive. as though trying to take you out part by part, trying to figure you out.

“then, what would you like me to do?” the question catches you off guard, like being hit by a wild baseball even though you’re walking right next to a baseball field, “you’ve always been so good at taking care of yourself - when you broke down in front of me... at the hospital... i didn’t know what to do-” his lips quiver just the slightest bit, almost as though holding back invisible tears, “tell me what to do. because it feels like everything i do isn’t the slightest bit helpful. ”

all of a sudden, the sands of time seem to have stopped, levitating midair within the dip of the hourglass. it’s daunting but heartbreaking at the same time - the sight of raw fear and uncertainty that’s pooling within taehyung’d eyes like unmoving river - you never knew your attempts to hold up your values reflects as a declaration of nonessential to taehyung’s own attempts to reach out to you.

“i don’t need you - to fight my battles, to solve my problems for me - though i’m immensely grateful that you did,” you say after what feels like an eternity, “but i want you so... stay as you are, supporting me like you’re doing now.”

“i don’t know if that counts as support - i’m not doing anything,” he counters, eyes downcasted until you reach out your other hand to cover his that’s already holding your left hand.

“you are - you never invalidated my feelings of wanting to work, you encouraged me to do bigger things and that means you believe in me - maybe i will take up that offer in the future but right now, i want to keep doing what i always have been,” you fix him a smile, “and i want to do it with you by my side.”

the tiniest of smile that slips onto his face tells you that his heart is still in a state of unrest. unconvinced. but he’s trying as he nods, “if that’s what you want,” and you thought that’s the end of it. until the foreshadowing “but,” that comes a second later, “i’m not gonna stop worrying and trying to fix things - we’re married, your problems are my problems too.”

the chuckle escapes your mouth signifies the good natured jest of your next words as you summon your hands back, already missing the warmth of his much larger ones around you, “well we weren’t exactly on that term until just recently.”

a shadow casts itself over taehyung’s handsome face as he picks up his fork, “that’s something i’ll regret for the rest of my life - not getting to know you beyond the contract sooner.”

“everyone makes mistakes,” you shrug before taking a peek at his expression as you mention a certain free spirited woman, “besides, you were too caught up with jeongyeon on our first year of marriage.”

she had been one of the few people who’d managed to bring out a side of taehyung you never knew existed.

boyish. bratty. someone who actually bicker and whines about the littlest things and everything that was on the opposite spectrum the crisp, suit-wearing, slicked back hair, charming man you married. sometimes, when you go out to dinners or the little moments when you find yourselves alone while attending functions, you see glimpses of that playful, boyish side of him. the human side of him.

over time, you realize that that’s also part of what makes taehyung... well, taehyung. it’s just only recently that you start seeing more than glimpses of these sides behind closed doors.

the way his eyes widen is enough for you to know that you’ve hit the nail right on its head. if the incomprehensible stuttering isn’t, “that... i was... we didn’t-”

“i know,” you fix him a jesting smile, “you may be a certified charmer for the most part but you’re not a homewrecker, tae.”

lunch goes on with you talking about how your father and brother are thrilled to have you and taehyung over for your monthly dinner. to which the man was partly confused and partly shivered in his seat at the thought of sitting down at a table with two of your favorite men in the world no doubt shooting him daggers while you’re not watching - or pretend that you don’t notice.

“i can’t avoid father forever,” he laments, finally giving into his fate as you walk out the restaurant, “and i have a lot of owning up to do to your family.”

“as do i,” you hum in agreement once before murmuring a ‘thank you’ as he holds the car door open after tipping the valet.

it’s only five minutes into the ride, once the car rolls to a stop at a red light does he turn to you, “you know, you don’t have to... with mom, reconciliation is a two way thing and she...” you notice the way his grip tightens around the wheel, eyes darkening as he breathes in, grounding himself “- she even made you file for divorce.”

the papers she’d given you that day still lied in your drawer, hidden away from taehyung’s pyromaniac hands. you’d caught him almost setting them on fire when you he found it lying on the counter after he’d returned home. all because spent a good chunk of the afternoon staring at it before leaving it to take a hot bath, not realizing taehyung would be home any time soon. ever since then, he hadn’t been on speaking terms with mrs. kim. turned down offers for dinners and luncheons, as he had directly told her in front of you through a phone call, “...not until you apologize to ___ first.”

“tae, mother was hurt by our lies and i understand why, i can’t promise i’ll be as accepting if i found out the daughter-in-law i cherished so much didn’t marry my son for love like i thought they did,” you lightly pat his hand that’s on the gear but instead he captures your fingers between his and guide them to his lips as he traps you within those beautiful eyes.

“you’re too kind for your own good, you know that?” there they are again, hazel underneath the light. but clouded with a sort of emotion you can’t pinpoint.

but before you can even muster a word, his eyes are already focused on the road as the car propels itself forward. but he doesn’t let go of your hand. he keeps it twined with his between yours and the gear. almost as if he didn’t want to be apart from you if he could help it. and neither could did you as you rub tiny motions into the back of his hand.

in your defense, you’ve stolen a precious gem from her that no money or gold could ever replace. and no matter how much you cherish the bond that formed after hours spent on shopping, tea times and mother-daughter (in-law) vacations, you’re not kind enough to unwrap him from your little fingers.

a smile curls on your lips as you guide taehyung’s hand to yours, placing a kiss on his knuckles and watching as his own lips tuck at the corners.

you’ll just have to make it up to mother some other way.

x

note. if you enjoy this then please leave a comment either below or in my inbox! and check out the other members’ installments to the series filed under ‘verse’ on top!

[the-dragon-hearted]

I feel like we, as human beings should address the one overarching issue of not just the Dream smp fandom, but any place where people come together and discuss things they love. The issue: Debate. Discourse. Deliberation. Okay, that was three issues, but you get the picture. We, as a society (yes I'm throwing the 'S' word out there) need to get better at Debate. I get it, the four-year-olds on political stages have set a horrible example but I am here to give y'all a Tedd Talk on arguments, mostly pertaining to content creators but this can be used in any disagreement you ever hold. How to Properly Hold an Argument without being a Child in 4 Steps: Step 1: Never walk into a Debate expecting to change the other's mind This is a big one and it's one of the hardest to grasp. What? What do you mean? What's the purpose of argument if I don't convince the other they're wrong? The purpose of a debate is to offer your opinion and defend it against the world while you pick another's claim apart. Don't expect to change someone's mind. For your own benefit. If you see an opinion that is absolutely horrendus out there on social media, YouTube, Twitchchat, et cetera... and you click on it to refute it. You need to understand you're not refuting it to change that person's mind, but to display to the rest of your collegues why that opinion is, well... Bullshit. You live in a society where people are Ignorant, Misinformed, Sensationalists, or Trolls. Frankly, against certain people (namely trolls) you can't win. No matter what you say or how 'awesomely' constructed your argument is. You can not and will not win. All you can do is build up an opinion and post it and then suffer what 'deez nuts' jokes you get. Here, an example:

Troll: *insert terrible opinion here* Person A: No. That's wrong for reasons a, b, and c. You shouldn't believe that or spread it. Troll: lol, take a joke will you. You're so sensitive.

Naturally, this would upset you. I would be upset and it's okay if you are too. But you should not under any situation continue to feed the troll. Never expect to change someone's mind and never expect to win, especially against people like this. There is no winning in an argument, there's only hurt feelings and over-used claims. The best you can hope for is for your argument to sound and appear as the best option/opinion. Alright? Don't attack people and don't reply with pure emotion. Just breathe easier knowing you made a good argument, posted it, and the other is making a fool of themselves. Honestly, who's the fool? The informed person or the twelve year olds laughing about Bofa? Bofa what? Bofa deez - Aaand we're shutting it down there. So now you know what to walk in expecting in an argument. What do you do next? Step 2: Construct a solid Claim DON'T RUN! I SWEAT I'LL BE MORE CONCISE THAN THE ENGLISH TEACHERS OF HIGH SCHOOL! A claim is the core of your argument; the thing you're arguing about. It can be broad, it can be specific, but the most important part is that you stay on topic. Don't lose yourself to ranting. Always re-read what you type and delete any paragraphs that change the topic. For instance, if you're talking about the Dream speed-runs, you probably shouldn't go on a rant about the manhunts as they're two seperate catagegories and you'll look a bit confused. Step 3: Be mature, be concise, and do some research First things first: Don't deflect in an argument simply because you don't know something. Take your time, do research, form an opinion and come back to it. This will give you time to blow of steam AND stay informed. On the same note, absolutely do NOT use red herrings. Red herrings? Oh, that's when you deflect attention from the main topic with a shallow issue that's related. For instance, let's use discourse discusing a content creator's bias against... let's do something stupid like stuffed animals:

Person A: We need to talk about cc!So-and-So and they're Bias against stuffed animals. Person B: Sure, but there are so many children out there who are lacking connection and are never able to get stuffed animals due to strict parents. It feels wrong to only focus on one subject when there's a whole problem out there.

^^ This is a red herring. It's not always this obvious but for the love of all things good, don't do this. Second things second - this is SUPER important. Stop using Ad Hominem attacks in any and all debates. Ad Hominem attacks are the type that personally attacking your opponent instead of focusing on their position. I'm sure you can tell that politicians love that one - but it's actually an immature approach that cheapens your argument. To see it in practice:

Person A: I don't think it's a big deal that cc!So-and-So did blank and I don't see why everyone's making a big deal out of it. Person B: That's because you're a cc!So-and-So Stan. Person A: Well you're just a hater.

Right away you should be able to tell that there was no tangible argument against or for the content creator. Just a bunch of kids slinging mud on their opponents. Calling someone a 'hater' or a 'stan' shouldn't invalidate their opinion or bolster your own argument. Just because someone 'likes' or 'dislikes' something doesn't mean they can't talk about it, it just means they're likely to possess Implicit Bias or a subconcious bias towards something. Implicit Bias isn't a bad thing and it isn't something that invalidates an argument, it's something that should allow you to at least understand the reasoning for someone to hold a position. If you attack someone's personal standing instead of their opinion it only cheapens your argument because people now assume YOU have no idea what you're talking about and all you can do is hiss at your foe like a feral raccoon on drugs. No one wants to agree with a feral racoon on drugs, kind of how no one wants to agree with a politician. So, how can you better form an argument without mudslinging? It's a bit more complicated, but worth it. You research, you think before you type, you stay respectful, and... you listen to Step #4. Step 4: Sometimes. You have to accept that you were initially wrong. This one hurts. It hurts you and your confidence and all you can do is handle it best you can. I've taken debate and been in dozens or "professional arguments" (I hate that phrase) and I have been 'wrong' plenty of times. There's grace in that and it's an important lesson to learn. It is impossible to be right 100% of the time and it's impossible to be infallible. You have to accept that of yourself and those around you. If your opponent accepts they were wrong, do not continue to harp on them. That's cruel. Alternatively, if you realize you were wrong with your claim, you can admit you were mistaken and amend it. It takes a big person to do that and if your opponent has any decency, they'll recognize that. If they don't, congratulations, you've been arguing with a literal child. And now, you know everything about Debate. (That's a lie, but you know the basics and you can do a lot with the basics.) A good friend of mine once said that every opinion out there came from the mouth of both an asshole and an angel and we all have to be one of those things at some point in our lives. Debate, discourse, argument, all of that is hard and it can be straining or even toxic. Take a step back when necissary. Take a deep breath. Know that if you're feeling personally attacked, you're opponent is using immature methods to tear down your arguments. If you're argument is torn down and you don't know what to think, that's okay too. Take a breath, take a break, and allow yourself to mull it over. Forming your own opinion takes time and a clear mental space. You need both. So next time you see a troll, a jerk, an asshole, a hater, or a stan - don't let emotions get the better of you. Remember you are an intelligent person who is capable of forming your own opinions and NO ONE can take that away from you. Think, research, and then type.

TLDR: Don't expect to win every argument, don't expect to be always right, don't divert your opponents attention, don't personally attack your opponent, always be respectful, always do research, never do anything with pure emotion. Remember you're forming your own opinions and that takes time and space so give yourself that when you need it.

That's it! Best of luck Debating~

[kythed]

an age of miracles

synopsis: why do the most beautiful people always seem to get the short end of the stick? 

tagged: atsumu miya x reader, mentions of illness, mentions of god.  

commitment level: 3,617 words.

hospitals are liminal spaces. transitional, gateways between birth and death and the whole mess in between. (life.) they’re sites of both tragedy and miraculous recovery, and you’re not yet too old to stop praying for the latter. 

+

his name is atsumu. you skim the documents pinned to his door — atsumu miya. age 21. cirrhosis. 

cirrhosis is late stage liver scarring. nasty stuff. evidently, atsumu miya is in his third stage — portal hypertension. abdominal swelling. jaundice. 

for a bedridden guy with a serious illness, he’s not as justifiably depressed as one might assume. 

“hey, doc,” he says when you come in. he’s facing the window, letting the sunlight cast a saintly halo across his cheeks. blonde hair, an angular sort of face that’s been hollowed by illness. in another life, he might’ve been handsome. 

you clear your throat, and he glances back, surprised. “ah. you’re not my doctor.” 

“nope. nursing student.” you sit at the foot of his bed. “i’ll be monitoring you the next month or so as part of my studies.”

“monitoring,” he repeats drily. “you make it sound like i’m a lab specimen in a test tube.”

“means you’re special.” 

“sure. ‘specially fucked up.” he’s younger than you are, but there’s an aged weariness in his gaze. 

“aren’t we all, mr. miya?” 

he cracks a grin. “touche. call me atsumu, though. mr. miya’s my dad.”

“as you wish, mr. miya,” you say, biting back a smile. (there are those who say sarcasm has no place in hospitals. you do not fall into this category.)

+

atsumu likes to play chess. the second day of your clinical, he’s got a travel sized chess board set up on his bedside table. “been dying from boredom the past few hours. think you could take a break from ‘monitoring’ me to play a game?”

you set your clipboard down. “i could. i’d advise against it, though. i’m a pretty good player.”

atsumu grins. “not better than me.” 

he’s right. he beats you three games in a row before you finally snag a checkmate. (and you suspect this is only due to pity.) 

“what’d i tell you, baby?” he crows, and you shake your head, raising your arms in surrender.

“it was an off day. if i’d been on my game i could’ve swept the floor with you.”

“prove it,” atsumu says, leaning forward. he’s pale from a lack of sunshine, but you notice a faint pink glow in his cheeks now. “come back tomorrow.”

tomorrow’s a saturday, and you don’t have clinical. “of course i will.” 

you’re not one to back down from a challenge, no matter how trivial. plus, atsumu is fun. (and kind of cute.) 

+

“hi. brought you something.” you set a tupperware of cubed fruit on atsumu’s lap before pulling up a chair next to the bed. 

“did you make this?” he says, eyes wide. 

“i just chopped up a few apples and stuff,” you say, plucking a blueberry from the container and popping it into your mouth. 

atsumu shakes his head before biting into a chunk of pineapple. “you’d think it’d be hard to mess up fruit salad, but somehow this damn hospital can make a strawberry taste like cough medicine. everything they serve here tastes like cough medicine, actually.” 

“delicious.” 

“disgusting.” atsumu sets up the chess board. “so, like, thanks. for the fruit. can i keep the tupperware?”

you laugh. “why do you wanna keep the tupperware?” 

“it’s a reminder of normality.” atsumu shrugs. “i only ever eat off chipped hospital dishes here.” 

your chest throbs. “oh, atsumu.” 

“don’t you ‘oh, atsumu’ me,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

“sorry. yeah, you can keep it.”

(he wins at chess again.)

+

you’re only required to come in to the hospital three times a week, but you get into the habit of visiting atsumu every day. the first time you visit after class, you’re wearing a sweater and jeans. atsumu wolf whistles.

“damn. you look good when you’re not in scrubs.” 

“are you saying i don’t rock scrubs?” you press a hand to your chest in mock offense. 

“nobody looks good in scrubs,” atsumu says. “except for me, probably. i look good in anything.” 

you laugh. “i believe it.” 

“you’d better.” atsumu has a nice smile, you notice, wide and shiny. 

you plop yourself down beside him on the bed. “hey, you wanna see a picture i took on the way here? i found a stray cat near the convenience store.” 

“i’m a dog person,” atsumu says, but he nonetheless leans forward to get a look at your phone. “oh, cute.” 

“isn’t he?” you say, zooming in on the little orange cat. “i think i’m gonna name him after you.” 

“what?” atsumu huffs. “why?”

“because he’s good at chess,” you say. 

atsumu furrows his brow. “you played chess with a cat?”

“no, i just have a feeling,” you hum, and atsumu rolls his eyes with a small smile. 

“you’re stupid.” 

you slip your phone back into your pocket. “in a cute way, though.” 

“if you say so,” atsumu says, and you flick his shoulder. “ouch. way to bully a sick man.” 

“you deserved it,” you laugh, and he joins in.

“yeah, i did.” 

+

the next time you visit, atsumu’s family is there. his parents have kind, tired faces. 

“nice to meet you,” his mom says, grasping your hand warmly. “i’m glad atsumu has a friend here.”

“mom,” complains atsumu. “i have friends.” 

“none as cool as me, though,” you tease, and he smiles.

“you’re right,” he says, and his dad rumples his hair before turning to shake your hand. 

“it’s great to meet you, mr. miya,” you say, returning the shake. 

“the pleasure’s mine,” he says. he looks nearly identical to atsumu, just a little grayer. right next to him, there’s a boy who really does look exactly identical to atsumu, though his hair’s dyed dark and he’s a little more filled out. he has an air of begrudging maturity about him, the telltale sign of a young man who’s been forced to carry burdens that aren’t his. 

“i’m osamu,” he says. he’s sitting on the chair near atsumu’s bed. “this little asshole’s brother.”

“i don’t know why you keep calling me little,” atsumu says, lightly punching osamu’s forearm. “i’m the older twin.” 

“yeah, but you act like a baby.” osamu grins and leans out of reach when atsumu tries to swat at him. you chuckle behind a hand, leaning back against the wall as mr. and mrs. miya question you about your studies and hobbies. 

on your way out of the hospital a half hour later, you run into osamu at the lobby coffee shop. 

“so,” he says, sipping from a steaming cup. “you’re a nursing student?”

“mm,” you say, handing a fiver to the cashier to pay for your sandwich. “i’m in my fourth year at hyogo university. are you in college, too?”

“nah,” says osamu. “i play volleyball. professionally, i mean.”

“oh!” you notice the lettering on his sports jacket for the first time. msby black jackals. “that’s really cool.”

osamu shrugs. “sometimes it is. tsumu’s wanted to be a pro player since we were kids — but he won’t ever be able to do that now, of course. so that’s why i play. better to have one miya in the pro circuit than none at all.” 

your heart sinks. “you’re a great brother, osamu.”

osamu shakes his head. “i’m really not. it should’ve been me in that hospital bed.”

“osamu…” you trail off as osamu just shakes his head, giving you a sad smile. 

“it was nice meeting you,” he says before tossing his cup and heading back towards the elevators. 

+

“no,” atsumu says staunchly, crossing his arms. “definitely not. i don’t read.” 

“come on,” you wheedle, dangling the book in front of his face. “it’s one of my favorites, and i thought it might stave off some of that stifling boredom you always complain about.”

“i’m bored, but not that bored,” atsumu says, squinting at the book. “what is that about, anyways? the little prince? sounds lame.”

“it’s not lame,” you promise, bouncing slightly on the bed. atsumu sniffs. “okay, what if i read it to you? you don’t have to do anything but listen.”

“i’m not a child.” 

“you’re acting like one.”

atsumu throws his hands up in defeat. “alright, fine. you win. we can read the little prince.”

“excellent.” you beam. “scoot over?”

“what?” atsumu says, but he scoots to the side of his bed as you kick your shoes off and curl up next to him. you feel his breath hitch as he lightly lets his arm curve around your waist. 

you sigh, content, and flip to read the first page. “once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book…”

+

it takes three visits to finish the entire story. atsumu sniffles when you read the last line, rubbing his eyes furiously.

“did he die?”

you trace a light circle on atsumu’s palm, smiling slightly. “i don’t know. i think it’s up to the reader to decide. he left his body, but is that really death? or is it just… moving on?” 

“i think he just moved on,” insists atsumu. “he moved on and returned to the stars. he was just a kid. he was too young to have died.” 

“look at you,” you tease, and atsumu flushes. “waxing on poetic.”

“it was good,” atsumu says gruffly. “thank you.” 

“you’re welcome,” you breathe, and when atsumu buries his face in your neck, you realize he’s crying. 

+

he kisses you for the first time a week later. it’s late in the afternoon, and both your faces are tinged with gold. he slips a hand beneath your jaw, and you let him slowly guide your lips to meet his. they’re soft, hesitant, and sweet, pressing against yours with an uncharacteristic shyness. 

you sigh happily when he pulls you forward to straddle his lap, slipping your hands into his thick blonde hair, letting him press light kisses down the length of your neck. 

“hey, beautiful,” he breathes into your collarbone, and you laugh. 

“hey, pretty boy. nice to see you today.” 

+

atsumu’s discovered a newfound love for reading ever since you read the little prince outloud to him. you’ve been bringing him secondhand books from the thrift store near your house, and now there’s a sizeable stack of novels out on the table. 

“i think i’ve read more in the past couple months than i ever read in high school,” he admits, running a finger down the spine of treasure island. “you’ve turned me into a nerd.”

“you’re welcome,” you say, straightening his collar.

“it’s kind of nice, though,” he says thoughtfully, tossing the book back on the table. “to read about all these different people, all the things they do. all the stories i’m never gonna get to experience.”

“you’re getting to experience them through reading,” you correct. “that’s the beauty of fiction.”

atsumu laughs. “you’re such a sap.” 

“it’s true,” you insist. “god knows life is too short to live through everything we’d like to. that’s why he gave us imagination.”

“do you believe in god?” atsumu asks softly. his stare grows distant.

you think for a moment. “sometimes i do. do you?”

“same. sometimes.” he fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “sometimes i wonder, though… like, if there’s a god, why does he hate me?” 

you chew on your cheek. “why do you feel hated?” 

atsumu laughs a laugh tinged with slight bitterness. “sweetheart… i’m not going to live past twenty-five, if even that.” 

you swallow the knot in your throat, letting it sink deep into your stomach where it sits like a lump of copper. “well… the little prince is less than a hundred pages. sometimes the shortest books are the best reads.” 

atsumu nods silently. he’s not convinced. you’re not sure if you are, either. 

+

atsumu sleeps a lot these days. you spend as much time with him as you can, but more often than not, he’s in a half conscious daze, curled up beneath the white hospital comforter. during these times, you just set your backpack by the door the slip into bed next to him, wrapping yourself around his back and pressing your palms to his chest just to feel his heartbeat. it’s faint, but it’s steady and rhythmic. ba-dump. ba-dump. ba-dump. 

sometimes, atsumu’s his usual, lively self, cracking bad jokes and poking fun at you. his smiling face has come to be your favorite picture. on these days, you bring him a hot chocolate from the coffee shop and split it with him, kissing off the whipped cream that finds its way onto his lips. he still likes to play chess, and, though he won’t admit it, you’ve been getting better. one day, you beat him, two games to one. 

there are solemn, quiet times, and there are bright, cheerful times, but you savor all of them. every moment spent with atsumu is valuable in your book. occasionally, you’ll go with him out into the hospital garden, into the warmth of the sun. every so often he’ll stop, lean on you to catch his breath, but he never complains. 

“look,” he’ll say instead, pointing at a vine of jasmine, or a single daisy swaying in the breeze. “almost as pretty as you.” 

+

one day, as you’re leaving atsumu’s room, you run into his doctor in the hall. 

“keep your chin up,” she says, straightening her glasses. “it’s possible he could still recover. strong young men often do.” 

you nod slowly. “is he going to need a transplant?”

“well,” says the doctor, clicking on her pen absentmindedly. “if it gets any worse, yes. but i’m going to be honest with you — it’s unlikely we’ll find a donation with both a matching blood type and in good condition.”

“ah.”

“so just hope for the best.” she slips into his room before you can say another word, leaving you to lean heavily against the wall, staring at nothing in particular. miracles happen every day, you remind yourself. there’s no reason atsumu shouldn’t be the recipient of one. 

+

“hey,” atsumu says. he whispers your name with an unusual tenderness. “i have to talk to you.”

it’s been five months since you first met atsumu on a clinical, and it’s been three months since he began to call you his girlfriend. you lace your fingers between his, giving his hand a light squeeze. “yeah, ‘tsumu?”

he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “i don’t think i’m going to… be here much longer.” 

“no,” you say, chest tightening. “don’t say that. you’re gonna be fine.” 

“sweetheart,” he says, voice low. he takes your chin and firmly turns your head to look at him. “i’m sorry. you know i am. i just… i’m sick. it’s hard to think straight sometimes, so i just wanted to tell you before i can’t anymore.”

“tell me what?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. 

“tell you that i love you.” 

“atsumu,” you breathe. a frustrated tear finds its way down your cheek. “i… i love you, too. but please… just hang on. they’ll find a donor. they have to.”

“they might not,” he says, and he smiles, pulling you close. you knot your hands in the front of his t-shirt, pressing your face to his chest. “don’t cry. i’m just going to go live in the stars, right? like the little prince.” 

there’s so many things you want to say, like, you nerd, can’t believe you’re making literary allusions or shut up, asshole, or i’ll miss you if you do, but you say nothing, because if you open your mouth you’re sure you’ll just sob. 

“don’t cry,” he says again, but he’s crying, and you lift your face to see the tears streaming. “i love you.” 

your throat is too thick to say it back, but he sees it in your eyes. i love you, too. 

+

you spend the rest of the night with him before leaving at a little past 2am, and the next morning, you get a text from osamu. 

he’s gone. 

you don’t cry at the funeral. it’s small, just his family, a group of close friends, and you. you don’t look in the casket, either, because you want to remember his smile, and empty bodies don’t. you sip on a paper cup of water and lean against a wall, where osamu finds you. 

“hey,” he says, and you nod in return. “he left this for you.” 

you take the letter from him, and after he gives your shoulder a squeeze and heads back to his parents, you tear it open. 

hey, you. i’m writing this two months after you first came into my room in that god-awful set of scrubs. right now, you’re napping in the chair near my bed. you look cute. we had our first kiss last week, and i’m still walking on air. fuck, that sounds dorky. oh, well. guess i’m a dork. only for you, though. 

anyways, if you’re reading this, it’s because i’ve died. whoop-dee-doo. i’ve moved on to the great beyond. i’ve fallen past the veil. whatever it is you nerds like to say. there are probably things i’m going to say to you in the next few months that are a little more… intimate, i guess? but i wanted to tell you this while it’s still fresh in my mind: you’ve honest-to-goodness saved my life. i mean, it might not go on for much longer, sure, but you really have, in a way. being sick is weird. it makes you a lot more sensitive to miracles. 

you start. you don’t remember ever talking to atsumu about miracles.

someone from the outside might look at me and call me unlucky, but i feel pretty damn lucky right now. meeting you was without a doubt a miracle, and if i never got sick, it never would’ve happened. take that as you will, i guess. all i know is i’m not angry at god, even though maybe i should be. i mean, i’m still not sure he’s even out there. but there’s gotta be something, or someone, because how the fuck else could i have possibly recieved something so… great? i sure as hell never did something to deserve it. (god, i sound stupid. but it’s just hard to chalk up to coincidence.) 

anyways, i love you. not sure i’ll ever get the guts to say that out loud, so i’m saying it here. i love you, and i hope you love me, too. 

- atsumu

“i do,” you whisper. “i do.” 

+

on your way home, you stop at the convenience store for a bottled water, and the little orange cat comes out and winds itself around your leg, purring. 

“hey, ‘tsumu,” you say, squatting down to scratch its head. “fancy a game of chess?”

it meows back. 

“yeah?” your eyes grow wet, and you wipe them on the sleeve of your sweater. “wanna come home with me?”

it meows again, and this time, you break out into full scale crying. you’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but you think you can see a tear in the cat’s eye, too. 

he follows you home, and the next day, you purchase a water dish, a big bag of cat food, and a blue collar. (blue was atsumu’s favorite color.)

+

three years later. 

“honey?” 

“yeah?”

your husband comes out from the hall, buttoning up his shirt. “you almost ready to go?” 

“almost, ‘samu,” you say, slipping on a bracelet. your hands are shaking, and he notices it, too. today’s the third anniversary of atsumu’s death, and it’s also the date of osamu’s first big press conference. “he’d be so proud of you, you know.” 

osamu smiles. “he would. he’d be proud of you, too.”

you laugh. “what for? for marrying his little brother?”

“no, he’d probably be kind of pissed at me,” osamu jokes, before coming to stand behind you. he wraps his hands around your waist. “he’d be proud of you for finding happiness, i think.” 

“i am happy,” you say, tilting your head as osamu presses a kiss to your temples. there’s a beat of silence. “but i miss him.”

“i do, too.” osamu rests his chin on your head. “he probably misses us.”

“mm,” you say. “i think he might be having too much fun for that, actually.” 

“maybe,” says osamu, and he leans forward to grab the keys from the counter. “i’m gonna go heat up the car, okay?” 

“sounds good,” you say, as the cat dashes into the room with a meow. a nameplate that reads ‘tsumu’ dangles from his collar. “oh, hey kitty. i forgot to feed you. i’ll be out in a minute!” 

after you fill the cat’s dish and pull on a cardigan over your dress, you slip outside, shivering in the night air. the sky is clear and full of stars, and as you walk to the car, you crane your neck up to see. 

“hope you’re doing well, ‘tsumu,” you whisper to the gleaming constellations. 

you still have things you want to say to him, even after all these years. you want to ask him how the weather in the cosmos is, and if the fruit salad is better up there. you want to ask if he’s read any good books lately, or if he’s seen how great osamu’s serve has gotten recently. you want to laugh with him. 

most of all, though, you want to let him know that he was your miracle, too.

[chaoticpuff17]

Suga, We’re Going Down

Part 1

masterlist

Because, my darlings, I have no impulse control and Yoongi demanded to be written. I’m going to see if I can balance between SW and this, alternate releasing chapters for each story, but we’ll see. The title is a working title. don’t know if I’ll stick with it. I’m open to suggestions. Enjoy, my lovlies! It was a blast to write!-- Chaotic puff

here’s a link to the song the MC plays in this chapter!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qrKjywjo7Q 

Yoongi didn’t go to events like this. He was a professional, but even professionals got blocks sometimes, and he was having a block. He couldn’t seem to produce anything new. He had spent hours in his studio trying to come up with something, but the muse had abandoned him. He needed to get out of his head, to get out of the studio for a while.

That was how he ended up sitting through a university showcase watching young, aspiring musicians present their skills. It was a far more classical feel than he used in his music. He was a rap god. He didn’t really use Debussy and Mozart in his work. But there was something amusing about watching all the fresh faced youths taking their showcase so seriously. Most of them would never be serious musicians. They would never play for a national symphony, but the way they all looked it was as if they were playing for some great orchestra or symphony instead of a small college showcase was amusing. It was all so serious, all so insignificant.

He was bored with it. Bored with the overly perfect renditions of the same songs that people had been playing for decades. Where was the feeling? Where was the passion? They were all just clinically passing through the motions for a grade. None of them would make serious musicians, not playing the way they did.

He was about to leave when the first strains of the cello caught his attention. It was the first real emotion he had heard from any of them. His eyes snapped to the stage to see a pair of girls. One was seated at the piano while the other was sat on a solitary chair with a cello before her. Both of them were as perfectly put together as every other student that had gone before them had been, black dresses and not a hair out of place.

He ignored the pianist in the favor of the cellist. Her eyes were closed as she played the rest of her face serene. She was completely at peace even though the song she played showed a deep sorrow. The song was just as recognizable as every other piece that had been played that night. The only difference was the musician.

She was lovely, pale and fragile under the stage lights, but there was also something almost unbearably sad about her, and it showed in her playing. The piece itself was already melancholy, but the way she played it was nearly heartbreaking. Her hair was pulled back in a neat updo that left her face clear for his perusal. Even with her eyes closed her face was filled with emotion. The simple string of pearls around her neck highlighted its curve, its swan like quality. Everything about her was simple, classic, graceful as she played.

He looked through the program he had been given when he’d first arrived searching for the song, searching for a name, her name. There is it was. The Swan composed by Camille Saint-Saens played by Kang Y/N and accompanied by Guem Nina. Kang Y/N. The name rang through his head carried by the melody she played. Beautiful. Beautiful and sad just like the song she played, just like her.

The song passed by too quickly for his liking. Before he knew it she was pulling her bow across the strings for the final time. Both musicians bowed to the audience before disappearing backstage and out of his sight. The spell was broken, but Yoongi still wanted to know more. Who was she? Why was she so sad? Why had she chosen that song? Yoongi wanted to know it all. The thought of her sent inspiration running through him. The fire was lit again telling him to create, to compose, for her.

He wanted to know what she would think of his music. Did she listen to rap? More specifically, did she listen to him? Or did she prefer classical music like the kind she had just played? Did she play any other instruments? Did she sing? How would the cello sound intertwined with his own style of music? He wanted to know the answer to all of these questions and so many more, but first he had to find her. Kang Y/N. His new muse.

So he sent out a bodyguard to find out everything about her that he could. Perhaps he should have felt guilty sending out a man to practically stalk the girl and bring him information on her, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty about the invasion of her privacy. She consumed him, filling his thoughts. He wanted her near him. He wanted to hear her play, wanted to wipe the sadness from her features, and he was determined to do just that. She was meant to be his, and he wouldn’t rest until she was.  

Y/N was unaware of the thoughts coursing through his head as she was backstage tucked into a broom closet peeling herself out of her dress and the uncomfortable heels in favor of a pair of ripped jeans and a comfy sweater. She let her hair down from its tight confines and secured it in a loose pony tail. She loved playing, but stepping out on stage was always nerve wracking for her. The dresses and the perfectly put together faces never seemed like her. She wasn’t fancy or elegant. She was just… her. She didn’t even own the cello she had just played. She could never afford such a beautiful instrument. It belonged to the school.

She had had the cello on loan so long as she participated in the university orchestra, but that deal could no longer be upheld on her end. Family and financial obligations would no longer allow it. They were barely making ends meet as it was. She didn’t have the time to spend at rehearsals and practices when she needed to be focusing on her studies and working. Even her studies would have to take a back seat if their fortunes didn’t take a turn for the better soon.

It was just her, her grandmother, and her baby nephew, well no longer quite a baby. He was going to be three before she knew it. Her mother had taken off years ago. She flew in and out of their lives whenever it suited her usually when she wanted someone from them. Her father, bless him, couldn’t hold down a job to save his life. He was a dreamer. He sat at home most days contemplating the great questions of life like some sort of great philosopher. Most times he was drunk when he did this. She thanked god that he wasn’t violent drunk. His head was in the clouds more than else when he was drunk. Her sister, well no one really knew where Ha Jin was. She had taken off after the baby was born. She’d left Eun Jae with her and their grandmother, and she’d disappeared into the wind just like their mother had.

Part of her wanted to blame her little sister, to scream to the high heavens that it wasn’t fair that she was too young to be responsible for a child, but so was Ha Jin. She had been a child when she’d gotten pregnant, just seventeen when the baby was born. She was far too young to be a mother. Y/N couldn’t blame her for not being ready to raise a child, but she could blame her for abandoning Eun Jae.

Eun Jae didn’t know his mother. As far as he was concerned Y/N was his mother. She and Halmeoni were his whole world, his whole family. Her father couldn’t be counted as any sort of parental figure. He couldn’t be counted as one for his own daughters much less for his grandson. She’d heard her grandmother curse on more than one occasion that the gods had given her such a useless son.  Y/N had cursed on more than one occasion that the gods had given her such a useless father. But they had to work with what they were given, and this was the hand that fate had played them.

She had been eight when she’d figured out that both of her parents were useless. She’d been sixteen when she’d gotten her first part time job to help support the family. She’d been nineteen when she’d had to become a mother for her nephew. It was a shitty life, but it was hers.

Despite all the chaos Eun Jae had brought into the world, she wouldn’t trade him for anything. She loved that little boy more than life. He was her little angel, her light, the reason she was willing to sacrifice anything, to sacrifice everything. She may not have birthed him, but he was her son. He was the reason that she was sitting in a chicken place late in the evening a few days after the showcase with Nina. The pair of them were huddled over a phone making a profile on an app called sugarbebe.

“Are you sure about this?” Nina asked as they finalized her profile. “Maybe you could get another job.”

“I’m already working two jobs, along with school and practice, and Eun Jae. I can’t take on anything else.” She shook her head tiredly, glaring down at her phone in distaste. “We need the money.”

“What are you going to tell Halmeoni?” Nina questioned brows furrowed worriedly.

“I’m not going to tell Halmeoni anything. She thinks I’m looking for another job to take the place of orchestra.”

“And she’s okay with that?”

“No.” She laughed recalling the look on her grandmother’s face when she had told her that she was quitting orchestra. “She’s pissed at me. Says I’m wasting my God given talent, and that I’ll end up like my mom and my father and my sister if I’m not careful.”

“Harsh.” The other girl cringed knowing full well just how scary Y/N’s grandmother could be. “I still can’t believe it was your last concert.”

“It was only a showcase. Forget orchestra. Halmeoni said all that, and I haven’t even mentioned the possibility of giving up school to help with the bills.”

Nina’s eyes widened almost comically. “She’s going to kill you.”

“Yeah. I know.” She shuddered thinking of what her grandmother would do to her if she did quit school to help. It would not be a pretty picture. “I think she’d beat me black and blue with her favorite soup ladle.”

“Then let’s hope she doesn’t find out, and let’s hope you find yourself a rich sugar daddy.” Nina raised her glass in a mock toast, and Y/N raised hers as well.

“Here’s hoping.”

They pressed the button submitting her profile on the app. It was too late to back out now. If she was lucky whoever chose her wouldn’t be too old or perverted. With any luck he wouldn’t be ugly either, but that was asking a lot and she didn’t hold that much hope.  She’d be lucky if the guy wasn’t too much of a creep.

They both stared down at the phone in shock as it chimed, the banner announcing that she had a match on sugarbebe. Neither of them had expected anything quite that soon.

“Well, open it! What does it say? Who did you match with?” Nina asked excitedly eyes taking up almost the whole of her face with how wide they were.

She tapped on her phone opening the profile. MYG. No picture. Age twenty-seven. A producer. There wasn’t much information, but there was a message from the man asking to meet in person.

Nina looked over her shoulder frowning as she examined the profile as well. “He doesn’t have much information does he?”

“He wants to meet.”

“When?”

“Friday.” She gulped suddenly filled with nerves. It was all becoming so real. “He’s wants to meet on Friday at D-2.”

They both knew D-2. Every young person in the city knew it. It was the hottest club in Seoul at the moment, made even hotter by the fact it was owned by the king of rap himself, Agust D. To get into D-2 you either had to be rich, famous, or willing to wait in atrociously long lines and tipping the bouncer an outrageous amount of money wouldn’t hurt your chances either.

“D-2?” Nina gasped practically ripping the phone out of her hand to read the message herself. “Are you sure?”

“That’s what it says.”

“Do you have anything to wear?”

It was a good question. She really didn’t have anything that could be considered worthy of a place like D-2. Nothing she owned was really sexy. It was mostly comfy sweaters, jeans, and cute skirts. Things she could wear to school and work and were comfortable enough to chase a toddler around in. None of those would be appropriate for the club. Neither would any of the dresses she used for concerts. And the look on her face clearly conveyed that to Nina.

“You can borrow something of mine.” She assured gently patting her friend’s arm. “Maybe he won’t be so bad?”

“Maybe.” She agreed nervously.

“You can borrow that purple dress of mine. I can lend you some earrings too.” Nina offered sending her a reassuring smile. “At least you know if he’s meeting you at D-2 he’s gotta be rich.”

Y/N smiled back nervously. “I’m just hoping he’s not too much of a creep. Eun Jae is supposed to be with me at the apartment on Friday. Do you think you could babysit? If I ask Halmeoni to keep him at the restaurant she’ll ask questions.”

She had a small apartment close to campus that she stayed at normally. Eun Jae would bounce between the apartment and the family home with Halmeoni. It was good for him to be out of the house and away from her father sometimes, and it allowed her to keep Eun Jae close. She saw him often enough as she worked at Halmeoni’s restaurant, but on the weekends he would stay with her at the apartment. She’d take him back to Halmeoni’s on Sunday evening, and they’d both stay the night. Halmeoni would watch him during the week while she had classes, practice, and work, and Halmeoni lived closer to the preschool they were sending him to. She hated being away from him so much, but it was the best they could do for the moment.

“Of course I’ll watch Jae-ah.” Nina smiled. “You know I love the little guy. I’m his favorite auntie.”

“You’re his only auntie.”

“Technically, you’re his aunt.”

“Well unless Ha Jin suddenly shows up with a maternal instinct, I’m all he’s got in the mom department.”

“Poor kid.” Nina cringed teasingly.

“Hey.”  Y/N shoved her shoulder playfully. “I’m a great mom.”

“You’re okay at it.” The other girl dodged another hit. “I mean, he does have a sugar baby for a mom.”

“First of all, rude. Second, it’s only until we get our heads above water again, and then never again. This will all be a bad memory.”

Nina squeezed her arm sympathetically. “Maybe you’ll actually have a good time.”

“I really don’t think so, but how bad could it be?” It wasn’t going to be forever, and she could put up with anything to help her family, for Eun Jae.  

part 2

[morganaspendragonss]

´till death do us part

@911lonestarangstweek day 4 - m is for...mcd, mourning

if you saw my posts about the 'crying fic'... this is it

thanks to liz and @halsteadmarchs for the beta!

ao3 | 5.5k | major character death, hurt/comfort, mourning, non-linear narrative, car accidents, hopeful ending

This is a mistake.

It’s been a long time since Carlos last did this, but not long enough at the same time. His friends would disagree with him—they tell him he needs to get back in the game, and it’s well-meaning, but they don’t get it. They don’t know how hard these past few years have been for him.

They don’t know what it’s like to lose the person you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with; they don’t know what it’s like to go from being engaged one day to alone the next. In fact, there’s only one person Carlos knows who even has a hope of understanding, and he really doesn’t appreciate the irony that it’s the one person he’s guaranteed to never see again.

It’s not that he meant to turn himself into a recluse after it happened; he knows that’s not what he would want for him.

Thing is, Carlos isn't sure that he gets to have an opinion anymore, since he was the one who left. Carlos doesn’t blame him for what happened—that would be stupid—but sometimes, sometimes, he just gets so damn angry at him.

(he always feels guilty for it after, which is equally as stupid as the anger. there’s no one left for him to direct it at, after all)

Carlos sighs, shaking his head as he steps into the bar. He doesn’t want to be here—he wouldn’t be here, but Michelle had threatened to make a special trip back to Austin specifically to kick his ass if he didn’t at least give this a try.

This, being the blind date his friends had insisted he go on. Technically, he could leave and still not be lying when he tells Michelle he went—he is in the bar, after all—but Carlos has never liked the idea of standing someone up, no matter the circumstances.

So here he is. Alone at a bar, nursing a lukewarm beer, and wishing he were anywhere else.

Someone slides into the seat next to him, and Carlos barely gets a second to prepare himself before he’s met with a winning smile and sparkling green eyes.

God, why did they have to be green?

“Hey,” the guy says, still smiling. “Carlos, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Domenic.”

*

Carlos is still trying to catch his breath, his head thumping back against the wall of the bathroom stall they’ve ended up in, when lips brush his ear, hot breath sending electricity down his spine.

“I’m TK, by the way.” The whisper is rough, a smirk laced into it, like TK knows exactly what he’s done to him.

And Carlos is so far from fully-functioning that the only response he can come up with is a breathy, “I know.”

TK pulls back, his brows furrowing though there’s a wry quirk to his lips. “Didn’t take you for a Star Wars fan, but okay.”

Now it’s Carlos’s turn to frown as his addled brain struggles to put together TK’s thought process there. “What?”

“Never mind.”

Well. This took a turn. Carlos has no idea what’s going on, but there is something in the back of his mind that tells him he must have sounded like a creep, telling this guy he’s pretty much only just met that he already knows his name. He gestures lamely towards TK in explanation. “Your turn-out coat at the scene the other night. I thought it probably stood for something but then one of your team—Marwani, I think?—called you. So.”

Carlos shrugs, embarrassment quickly catching up with him, which seems absurd given what they just did. Then again, it’s been a long time since he’s done anything like this; he’s more of a wine-and-dine kind of guy than the type to make out with a near stranger in a less-than-sanitary bathroom.

But there’s something about TK Strand that has Carlos wanting to know everything about him.

And if everything starts here, well. He’s more than happy to take it.

Thankfully, TK seems to pick up on the sudden awkwardness in the stall. He takes a couple of steps back until he’s leaning against the opposite wall, which doesn’t really put that much space between them, but Carlos appreciates it all the same.

“So, do I get a name, or…?”

The question has Carlos flushing all over again, turning a bright red when he sees TK’s smile. He clears his throat and smiles, trying not to wince. “Carlos.”

“Carlos,” TK repeats, dragging the syllables out like he’s testing the sound of them on his tongue. Carlos shivers a little, his breath catching in his throat at the small smile that spreads across TK’s face.

Then a phone is being thrust in his hand, unlocked and opened on the Add contact page. “Put your number in,” TK says. “In case you ever, you know. Feel like doing this again.”

A thrill runs down Carlos’s spine at the thought that TK wants to do this again. Maybe he’s not the only one who feels this connection. Maybe…

Well. It’s too soon for that. But as he types in his number, Carlos can’t help but wonder where, exactly, this road might lead.

*

His house is quiet when he gets home. It’s a familiar kind of quiet, one that’s lain over the place like a blanket ever since that day three years ago. Carlos has gotten used to it over time, and he thinks that maybe it’s eased a little—but only a little.

Things haven’t changed much over the years. TK’s stuff still decorates the house, not as much as it used to, but Carlos hadn’t been able to bring himself to remove the stuffed bear that sits on the chair by their bed, or the plastic duck TK had insisted they have in the bathroom for ‘the vibes’, or the hand-sewn heart a little girl whose parents TK had saved had gifted him, which hangs proudly in their front window.

And the pictures; Carlos refuses to take the pictures down. The one sitting on his nightstand had been turned over for a long time after the accident, but now he can’t imagine going to bed each night without seeing it. It’s from their engagement party, a candid captured by Evie, a professional photographer in the making according to Tommy.

Carlos is inclined to agree—the photo, showing him and TK looking at each other, wide smiles on both their faces, is his favourite thing in the world.

His phone rings, making him jump. Carlos sighs heavily when he sees Michelle’s name flash up on FaceTime and he briefly considers declining, but there’s no way she’d be deterred so easily.

He takes a second to get himself together, then answers, plastering a smile on his face. “Hey chica.”

Michelle doesn’t waste a second in getting to the point. “So,” she says, leaning forward and grinning, “how’d it go?”

“It went.”

Her smile falters and she frowns, scrutinising him. “Did you even go?”

“Yes.” Carlos purses his lips, not wanting to get into it anymore, but Michelle is insistent and he’s too tired to make excuses right now. “His name is Domenic, he’s nice, I’m not seeing him again.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Carlos.” Michelle sighs, her voice going quiet. “It’s been three years.”

“That’s not a long time.”

“I know.”

“I still dream about him, ‘Chelle,” Carlos cuts in, sudden tears overwhelming him. “I still—I still think about what I could have done differently to save him, I still imagine the future we could have had. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop. I don’t know if I can stop.”

“When Iris disappeared—”

“It’s not the same,” he snaps, harsher than he means to. “You always had that hope, right? Everyone was telling you Iris was dead, but you always believed that she would come back. And she did, and I am so happy about that, I am, but guess what, Michelle? TK is dead. He’s dead. I’m never gonna see him again—in fact, the last time I did see him, it was when his body was lying in a morgue, and he was so cold and so still and so—so not TK that I could barely believe it was him.

“But it was, because he’s dead. It’s not the same.”

He’s properly crying by the time he finishes his speech, and Michelle has tears in her eyes too. Carlos feels a little guilty now, but he can’t bring himself to be fully sorry for what he said. Still, Michelle looks crushed, and Carlos can’t lose his best friend.

One more loss would kill him, he thinks.

“Michelle, listen—”

“It’s fine, Carlos,” she interrupts, swiping a hand under her eyes. “You… You’re right. It’s not the same. I’ll just. I’ll leave you alone now. I’m sorry the date didn’t work out.”

Then she’s gone, and Carlos is alone again, the weight of it settling uncomfortably on his shoulders.

*

Their first real date is painfully awkward, reminiscent of covert high school meet-ups with boys in the nearby diners, or like that one time Carlos tried using a dating app. That had been an experience he’d wanted to forget, but now he finds himself recalling it in horrific detail as he and TK sit on opposite sides of a table, a plate of limp fries slowly cooling between them.

“So—”

“I was thinking—”

They both speak at the same time, and an embarrassed flush rises on Carlos’s cheeks. He swallows past the lump in his throat and gestures to TK, barely able to look him in the eyes. “You should go first.”

TK laughs and shakes his head. “I was about to tell you the same thing. Since when have things been this awkward between us? We fucked on the floor of your front room about a week after meeting, surely we should be well past this stage by now.”

He has a point.

Carlos laughs too and finally works up the courage to meet TK’s gaze. “I mean, it’s not like we were doing much talking back then.”

“Things are a lot simpler without clothes,” TK agrees, a suggestive lilt to his tone and, somehow, it’s all that’s needed to break the tense silence they’d previously been suffering in. Carlos grabs a fry, grimacing at the grease that instantly coats his fingers, and points it at TK.

“Cool it, Strand,” he warns. “You aren’t going to find it that easy to seduce me anymore.”

TK grins, his eyes sparkling. “Oh, we’ll see about that, Officer.”

*

Carlos is surprised when he wakes up the next morning to a text from Domenic.

Hey, it reads. Sorry about last night. I know that you’re not into me or whatever and that’s cool, but I like you. Do you think we could maybe still be friends?

He sighs and drops his phone onto his bare chest, arm flopping onto the other side of the bed. It’s funny, he thinks idly; before TK, he’d tended to sleep closer to the middle and it had never bothered him. Now, it feels weird to break from the way things used to be—in Carlos’s head, the left side is still TK’s, and the right his.

He knows what Domenic’s text implies. ‘Let’s be friends and then we can see how it goes’. Carlos could tell him now that it’s not going anywhere and save them both the trouble, but he kind of...wants a friend.

It sounds pathetic, even to his own ears, but all his friends are either fellow cops, the 126, or Michelle, who’s in another state. And Domenic was nice. So, really, what’s the harm?

Twenty minutes later, they have plans to meet at a coffee shop.

Ten minutes after that, Carlos arrives.

*

Carlos startles as TK’s arms suddenly slip around his waist, his chin pressing into Carlos’s shoulder. He quickly relaxes into the hold, covering TK’s hands with his own, but TK isn’t fooled.

“Where did you go?” he murmurs, breath tickling Carlos’s neck.

“Nowhere,” Carlos answers. “I was just...thinking.”

“About what?”

“Well…” He hesitates, biting his lip, then spins to face TK, letting their still-joined hands swing in the minute space between them. “This is crazy, right? Not, like, bad crazy—well, a little bit bad crazy; our last place did burn down—but all of this. Getting a house together. Three bedrooms. All of it. It’s crazy.”

TK grins, the little frown that had emerged at Carlos’s first words quickly melting away. “Completely,” he agrees. He kisses Carlos briefly, then steps away, breaking their hands apart to tread a slow circuit around their new front room. Carlos watches him fondly, somehow falling even more in love with him.

“You know,” TK says suddenly, his eyes roving around the empty space, “I’ve never actually done this before.”

“What do you mean?”

He waves his hands, gesturing at the flaking paint on the walls and the lack of furniture. “Decorated a house. I had an apartment in New York but that came fully-furnished and I didn’t exactly have a ton of stuff to add. And then when I moved here with my dad, I didn’t care too much about how the house looked, and you know how my dad is about interior design. It’s a little...scary, thinking about doing it now, with you.”

Carlos’s eyes widen, his heart clenching at the words. “Do you… Do you not want to do this?” he asks, half-dreading the answer. He’d thought they were both on the same page here, but what if… What if…

“What?” TK frowns, crossing the room in three quick strides to meet Carlos. “Babe, no, of course I want to. It’s a good kind of scary, I promise.”

“You sure?” Carlos scans his boyfriend’s face, searching for any hint of doubt or anxiety. But there is none, and TK just smiles, kissing Carlos’s cheek.

“A thousand percent,” he says. “It’ll be fun.”

(‘Fun’ isn’t the word Carlos would give to what came next. ‘Frustrating’, possibly. Or ‘exhausting’. Maybe even ‘interminable’.)

(But, at the end of it all, they have a home. Their home. And Carlos can see their future taking shape before his very eyes.)

*

Domenic grins when he sees Carlos approaching him, and a part of Carlos regrets even agreeing to come. But he can hardly turn around now, so he forces a smile and slides into the chair next to him, extending a hand to shake. Domenic sends him a strange look at that, but obliges anyway, shaking Carlos’s hand with a surprising firmness.

“Hey,” he says, still smiling.

“Hey.” Carlos sighs, taking in Domenic’s bright eyes and warm, hopeful face, and decides, fuck it. “Look, before you say anything, I just want you to know that I’m not looking for anything right now. My friends set me up on that date with you—and it’s not that I don’t think you’re a good guy, I honestly do, but—”

“Carlos.” Domenic appears to be fighting off laughter, though he’s not entirely successful in it, a brief chuckle slipping past his lips. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I know it sounds hard to believe, but I really am okay with being friends. Not that I wouldn’t mind seeing where it goes, but…”

He trails off, seeing what must be obvious doubt on Carlos’s face. “Look, I’m kind of new in town, alright? I don’t really know many people around here, and I’m just...fuck, man. I’m lonely. So if you wanna be friends, then that’s incredible and more than enough for me. I swear.”

And Domenic is looking at him so earnestly that Carlos really has no choice but to believe him. He feels himself flushing a bright red, embarrassed at how self-centred and narcissistic he must have seemed, and a stammered apology is halfway out of his mouth when Domenic reaches over and lays a firm hand on his arm.

“It’s no big deal,” he says, patting once before drawing back. “I do want to ask, though, if you don’t mind? Why did you come on the date if you didn’t want to? Not many guys would.”

Carlos huffs a laugh. “My friends think I’m turning into a hermit. It’s an assessment that I...wouldn’t disagree with. Let’s just say you’re not the only one looking for a friend.”

Domenic’s eyebrows quirk up in interest. “Oh? Anything to do with your unwillingness to date? I mean, a guy like you—it’s hard to imagine that you don’t have men practically throwing themselves at you. Maybe even literally. How come you’re still single? Is there...someone else?”

Carlos’s whole body tenses at the question, his gaze dropping to his hands and his heart in his shoes. Tension lies thick in the air, and he feels the sudden urge to flee, but he’s rooted to his chair, stuck under Domenic’s scrutiny.

“Shit,” Domenic says, voice hushed. “Carlos, I—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to… Fuck, forget I said anythin—”

“I was engaged.”

Carlos hadn’t meant to say it. He doesn’t know why he did. It’s just… He hasn’t really talked about TK properly with anyone in the three years since; his friends were all TK’s friends too, and they all knew him—knew them.

This is the first time he’s actually spending time with someone who didn’t know, and it’s not freeing exactly, but it’s the first time he feels free to speak about TK the way he wants to, without anyone else’s memories looming over it.

“I’m not anymore, obviously,” he laughs wryly, finally managing to look back up at Domenic, finding shock on his face. “It was… It ended.”

Domenic’s mouth opens and closes several times before he’s able to pull himself together enough to speak. “Who called it off?” he asks—which was not what Carlos was expecting. “Because if it was him, man. He really missed out there.”

Carlos hesitates a moment, then answers, “It was him. But it wasn’t on purpose.” He breathes out shakily, swallowing hard. “He died a month before the wedding.”

*

Carlos smirks as he hears a groan at his back, glancing over his shoulder to find TK pretending to bang his head on the table. “Having fun, babe?”

Another groan. “Let’s just elope. Let’s get married in some random courthouse by some random Texas official. That way we wouldn’t have to figure out stuff like a seating plan or—or what kind of cake knife to use. I mean, babe.” TK sends a pleading look in Carlos’s direction, and Carlos can’t help but laugh, cruel though it feels when TK’s wounded expression just gets worse.

“I’m pretty sure my mother and your dad would kill us if we did that,” he points out, causing TK’s mouth to twist.

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“No, you don’t.” Grinning, Carlos turns back to his chopping, except, when he reaches out for the next ingredient, he only meets empty space. “Mierda. TK, babe, can you run to the store? I forgot the chilis.”

“Can’t you just leave them out?”

There’s a hopeful note to TK’s tone, but Carlos stands firm—his cooking is the one thing he’s able to resist TK for. “You’d think you’d be used to spices by now,” he comments. “And the answer is no; go on. You’ll barely even taste them.”

TK mutters his disagreement, but he gets up and leaves anyway. Carlos watches him go, shaking his head fondly before returning to dinner. Technically, he could leave the chilis out, but he’s been brought up to consider even the mere suggestion as sacrilege, and he’s not planning on letting TK persuade him otherwise any time soon.

Twenty minutes later, he’ll regret that decision more than anything else in the world.

*

“Carlos, I’m so sorry. You don’t have to—”

“I want to. As long as you’re okay with it; I don’t want to just unload all over you.”

“It’s okay, I promise. What are friends for?”

*

Carlos frowns, checking the clock. TK should have been back by now; the store is only a five minute drive from their place, and surely he would have texted if he was going to be delayed. He’s about to call him himself when his phone starts ringing, TK’s name flashing up on the screen.

He sighs in relief, answering the call. “Did you get lost or something?”

Silence.

“TK?”

Nothing again, and Carlos’s panic starts to skyrocket. “TK!”

And, this time, he gets an answer.

“C-Carlos.”

Carlos’s heart drops into his stomach at the rasp of TK’s voice. He sounds like he can barely breathe—in fact, if Carlos strains to listen, he can hear stilted, ragged breaths coming through the phone’s speakers. TK is hurt, probably seriously, and, fuck, it was Carlos who sent him out in the first place, this is his fault, he—

“Carlos, please.”

He breaks out of his spiral and clutches his phone tight to his ear, racing around the house to get his shoes on and grab his keys. “TK, where are you? I’ll find you, I promise I will, and you’re gonna be just fine, okay?”

TK doesn’t speak for a few seconds, before, “No.”

Carlos screeches to a halt. “What?”

“I don’t—I can’t tell you where I am. I don’t know. And there’s—there’s no time. No— Someone found me, they called 9-1-1, but they won’t—there’s no time.”

“TK, don’t you dare give up, okay, don’t you dare talk like that. You just need to focus on my voice and stay awake for a little while longer and then they’ll get you to a hospital where they’ll fix you up. You’ll be good as new right in time for the wedding.”

“The wedding. Carlos, I—”

“And if this is your way of getting out of making all the decisions, then it’s a little bit over the top, you know? I mean, point proven and all that, but you could have just told me.” He’s getting hysterical now, he can feel it, standing in the middle of his front room trying to keep his fiancé alive and talking when he’s god-knows-where in god-knows-what condition.

But, as always, TK is there to centre him again. “Carlos, stop, please.”

Carlos doesn’t know if it’s the way TK’s voice is getting quieter and quieter, his energy obviously flagging, or if it’s his pleading tone, but he’s suddenly struck completely still. He can’t move a muscle, every sense tuned into whatever is happening on the other end of the phone.

“I don’t—I don’t want to spend the time we have left lying to each other,” TK eventually says, his words riding on broken breaths now. “I don’t want to leave you, but I think… No, I know that I have to now. I’m s-so sorry. I wish… I wish we…” A gasp, and a horrific cough that sounds like it’s tearing TK apart. “I love you.”

Carlos doesn’t get a chance to reply before there’s a loud thud, and it doesn’t take him long to figure out what caused it.

TK dropped the phone.

TK passed out.

It’s salt in the wound when, seconds later, Carlos hears the wail of sirens approaching the scene.

*

There are tears dripping down his face as he tells Domenic of the sheer, gut-wrenching panic and fear of those next few minutes.

How he’d been unable to put the phone down, instead listening as the screech of machinery and the raised voices of firefighters and paramedics drifted through the speakers.

How the noises had dimmed when they extracted TK, and how Carlos had strained to listen as the paramedics began to work on him.

And how, when he’d heard those final words, his world had come crashing down.

“I’m calling it. McRae, radio it in to the ME’s office.”

*

This isn’t happening.

Carlos cannot be sitting in his parents’ backyard, at his fiancé’s wake, in the same place and wearing the same suit that he was supposed to be getting married in a month from now.

He—

Fuck.

Carlos presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and curls in on himself, barely suppressing a moan of agony at the pain in his chest. He’s distantly aware of everyone’s gazes on him, but he can’t stop this tidal wave of emotion anymore than he can turn back time and change the fact that TK is dead and that Carlos failed him.

TK died all alone, and Carlos didn’t get the chance to say goodbye or tell him that he loved him. He couldn’t even bring himself to speak at the funeral—the one thing, the last thing he could do for the love of his life.

Instead, when it was his turn to speak, he’d been frozen in his chair, eyes locked on the coffin—(and, fuck, TK was in there, that was TK, fuckfuckfuck)—and Judd had had to take over.

Carlos hadn’t heard a word he'd said, though he’s sure it was beautiful, and everything that TK deserved.

Everything that Carlos couldn’t give him.

He failed him, he failed, he—

“No,” a hushed voice says, warm arms pulling him into a tight hug, and Carlos must have been talking aloud without realising because the voice keeps reassuring him. “You didn’t fail, sweetheart, you didn’t, I promise. You were there for him at the end and that’s all that matters; that he wasn’t alone when it happened. I know it hurts but it’s okay, it’s all going to be okay.”

Carlos tenses, wanting to scream at whoever’s holding him because how could anything possibly be okay? But when he pulls out of their grip, he sees that it’s Gwyn, her eyes red and cheeks tear-stained, and all Carlos can do is fall apart in his not-quite-mother-in-law’s arms.

She keeps whispering that it’s okay, and Carlos knows that it’s as much for her own benefit as for his.

*

“Hey sweetheart,” Carlos whispers, getting out of his car and leaning against the closed door. He always comes here when he wants to remember TK; it is where they said goodbye to him after all. And it’s the place where they had so many important moments—it’s where they became official, and where they finally spoke openly and completely with each other for the first time, and where they got engaged.

It’s their place, ridiculous as it might sound.

“Remember that night?” he asks, even now feeling a little self-conscious talking to the air. “I made you a picnic and we came out here to eat it and you somehow managed to get chocolate on your nose from the chocolate-covered strawberries.” Carlos chuckles, then sighs wistfully. “You were so beautiful. I had this whole plan to propose to you, but one look at your face and that damn bit of chocolate and I forgot the entire thing.

“I just blurted it out, right there and then. ‘Marry me, Tyler Kennedy’, and you said yes, and it was perfect.”

He blinks furiously, tears beginning to blur his vision. “I thought… But it was too perfect, I guess. Perfect things never last, and since I was never going to leave you, the universe forced you to leave me.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. It’s nothing you don’t already know, and I’m not sure if I even believe that you can hear me. I never used to, back when we were together, but things change when suddenly the one who’s gone is someone you love. I’d give anything, Ty, anything to talk to you again, so I’m here.

“You know… Just in case.”

His hands tremble and he swallows reflexively against the pain and grief crawling up his throat. He reaches inside the car through the window and grabs the bouquet of flowers he brought with him off the passenger seat.

It’s the same one he always brings whenever he comes out here—red camellias, hydrangeas, blue salvias, and forget-me-nots—all flowers that have meaning to them and their relationship. Hydrangeas for understanding; it had been the first flower TK had given him, his way of saying thanks for sticking around even after their disastrous beginnings.

The camellia, Carlos had gifted TK one anniversary. It means ‘you’re a flame in my heart’, which TK always was, always, and Carlos had found it a little funny too, given TK’s background. TK had loved it, and had made sure to tell Carlos in as many ways as he could think of that he felt the same.

The salvias were something they both did, often and at random, sometimes with no particular reason. Just whenever they wanted each other to know they were thinking of them—though, that was something they knew anyway.

Carlos had added the forget-me-nots himself after… After it had happened. It’s a reassurance, both to him and to TK, that he’s not forgetting; that he never will.

That he can’t, even now, three years down the line.

On shaky legs, he walks over to the tree a little distance away, laying the bouquet between the roots almost reverently. Carlos stares down at them long after he’s straightened back up, leaning against the tree, and he allows the memories and the pain to overwhelm him for a moment.

“Can you believe it’s been three years?” he asks the empty air, shaking his head. “I swear, I still miss you like it was yesterday; it doesn’t seem real that I haven’t seen you or kissed you or heard your voice in three whole years.

“I’m going to see your dad later. He’s… He’s doing okay, all things considered. He misses you—we all do—but I think he tries to hide it, like he has to be the strong one for everyone else. Don’t worry though, Ty, we’re looking after him. Making sure he doesn’t, you know. Do anything stupid.

“Your mom helps out a lot too, her and Enzo and Isaac. God, TK you’d be so proud of Isaac now—he’s started school, making loads of friends, and he’s just… He’s such a good kid. I wish you could see him; he was so young when you— You’d be amazed at how big he’s getting. And, hey, we’re making sure that he knows who his big brother was, so...so don’t worry about that either.”

Carlos hesitates before continuing; it feels weird to talk about Domenic here. He doesn’t need to, he knows—technically, there’s nothing even going on between them, though Carlos couldn’t deny how good it had felt when Domenic had hugged him when they parted ways after coffee. But there’s been a weird lump of guilt sitting in his stomach since that first date at the bar, and Carlos figures that TK deserves to know about it.

Even if he’s three years dead and probably can’t hear any of this.

“I met someone, you know,” he says, trying to keep his tone light. “It’s not like that, we’re just friends, but I think… I think maybe it could be like that? Maybe? I don’t know, Ty. I thought I’d never be able to love anyone in that way ever again, but Domenic is so kind and sweet and he makes me wonder if there’s a chance.

“I’m terrified. It’s—It’s stupid and selfish, but I’m so scared of getting hurt again, of having to go through what I went through with you again. Not that I blame you for the accident, it’s just… I can’t do it again. I can’t.

“God, even considering this feels like I’m betraying you. I do hate you a little for that; you still own so much of my heart and I’m never getting it back, whereas all I have of you are your hoodies and your mugs and that goddamn stuffed bear. Why did you have to go and ruin me like that, huh? Why, TK?”

He’s almost shouting now, but the question fades unanswered into the air, and Carlos’s anger vanishes with it. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t… I don’t hate you. I love you so much, and I always will, but I think maybe it’s time for me to let some of that go. I can’t carry on like this for much longer; you understand that, right?”

And maybe he’s imagining it, or maybe it’s just a coincidence, but the breeze picks up a little then, gently ruffling Carlos’s curls, and it feels like… It feels like peace.

He closes his eyes, and for a moment, it’s like he can feel TK there, like he never left at all.

I know, it feels like, his voice ringing loud and clear in Carlos’s head. I love you.

“I love you, too,” Carlos whispers, opening his eyes. TK isn’t there, of course, but, somehow, he doesn’t feel so empty anymore.

Then, with one final glance at the flowers, Carlos turns and walks away, his heart feeling lighter than it has in three years.

[fanartfunart]

Fly Away

Episode 3: Despair Bear

Ao3 - First - 2

(Féline Sombre & Paon Lilas designs)

Summery: An AU where Adrien never went to in-person school, not getting the cat miraculous, and found the peacock miraculous. -Chloé, determined to be allowed back to visit Adrien’s house, and discovering Adrien is visiting Marinette, sets up a party to showcase just how nice she can be. (posted in full for tumblr while I have power/internet on my computer :P)

-

Duusu was sitting on top of Adrien’s shoulder when he pressed play on the virtual hello from the class he was almost able to join. Adrien handed him a dried mango chip and he happily munched on it.

 Chloé, of course, was the first person to show up on the video, “Adrikins Hiii! I miss you already~”

 The camera turned around to show Sabrina, who must’ve been recording. She waved “Hi!”

 “Sabrinaaa, camera focused on me. Meee.”

 “Oh, right!”

 Chloé spent at least a third of the video showing him the building as if she owned it. ...Adrien was surprised it didn’t last longer.

 It shifted from the single-take style into more professionally edited together clips of various classmates. Adrien assumed this was where the boy interested in filmmaking had taken over.

 “Yo, I’m Nino, hope you get to hang out outside of school one of these days dude. If you ever need a DJ I’m your man! See you around someday!”

 “Hi, I’m Alya, investigative journalist-”

 Chloé scoffed offscreen, “You wish.”

 “Chloé I will-” the video cut out whatever happened after that. Alya stood a bit prouder, “I run the Ladyblog and am the head of the school blog! If you ever have any curiosity about the school news or superhero news, just check those out! Leave some comments if you want and I’ll get back to you asap! Keep it classy."

 The rest of the class’s videos went about the same, until the very last one. The girl from the bakery frowned at someone off to the side out of sight from the camera.

 “Come on girl, before Chloé comes back.”

 “Hi, I’m er, Marinette. I’m uh, an aspiring fashion designer and my parents own Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie. I suggest trying out the macaroons! I brought some on the first day, uh, but I tripped so there weren't many left anyway so you probably didn’t miss anything!” She giggled awkwardly. She trailed off, giving a pleading look towards someone behind the camera. “Alya, I don’t know what else to say.”

 “Whatever you’d say to a new kid!”

 “Uhg, get better friends than Chloé?” She covered her mouth as Alya and Nino laughed from behind the camera. “I- mean whatttt Chloé's er, Chloé. Great evil-er friend… to er, to be setting up this videooo….ohmygosh. Can you edit that out?”

 “I would’ve, but now I’m keeping it.” Nino said. Marinette gasped in offence while Alya and Nino giggled more.

 “What are you all giggling over?” Chloé complained off-screen. Marinette gave a pointed look to the camera, and the video faded into a written message.

 “Sorry I couldn’t properly finish my message. I wish you a wonderful year, and hope you can build great friendships, even without going to school. At least you don’t have to worry about being late! Good luck Adrien -Signed, Marinette.”

 “Awwwwwwww, that’s sweet,” Duusu cried.

 “Yeah, it was.” He got out his phone to text Chloé a thank you. He sighed as he looked at her many, many, many messages of upset about no longer being allowed over anymore. He was just glad she didn’t get akumatized over it….

 He got up, glancing at Duusu. "How about we go visit the bakery and see if Marinette is open to hanging out. My father can't ban me from bakeries, right?"

 Duusu giggled, "Sounds like fun!" He frowned, "Are you only choosing to visit Marinette because she has a good place to tell your father you're going to?"

 "...No… She's just the only person in that video who mentioned a place I can visit at all."

 Duusu just giggled like he knew something Adrien didn't. He shook his head with a smile and grabbed his bag. "Come on, let's go."

-

"Marinette," Sabine called, opening the trap door to Marinette's room. She waved to the group of girls doing a miniature fashion show there. "Your friend's here."

 Marinette looked up from the blog post Alya was showing her, as the other girls continued to put on various jewelry pieces. "Who? I didn't ask anyone else to come over?"

 "A boy named Adrien. I can tell him you're busy if you want me to."

 "Adrien… Agreste?" Marinette tilted her head. He was Chloé's friend. The one that visited the bakery and fell/she pushed. Wait… he was also the guy who she made a feathered hat for who had a feather allergy wasn't he?! Why on earth would he want to visit her? Did he have some sort of ulterior motive? Was he Chloé's spy? Did he want revenge for the feathers?! "Er."

 Alya, Rose, Juleka, and Myléne all oooh-ed at the same time.

 "Oh hush. What uh, do you all think?"

 Alya grinned "Good with me, girl. I wanna see how this plays out."

 Rose nodded enthusiastically and Juleka gave a thumbs up.

 Myléne smiled, adjusting her hat, "He's a professional model right? He probably could give us some tips!"

 Marinette rolled her eyes, lowering her voice to a harsh stage-whisper, "He's Chloé’s friend."

 "The one we made the video for, yep," Alya nodded, "Exactly my point. You said it yourself, he needs better friends than her." ….On the other hand, instead of a revenge-seeking spy, he could simply be that lonely sounding boy they made a video for, trying to escape the clutches of the evil Chloé. Marinette could be the only non-Chloé & minions person he knows! Marinette sighed heavily.

 Sabine sighed softly, "Marinette… he's waiting downstairs. Yes or no."

 "Okay! Okay. I'll go down and bring him up, I guess." Marinette trudged down, ignoring the giggling girls.

-

 Adrien was wandering curiously around the bakery, hands politely behind his back. He noticed the door open and waved enthusiastically to Marinette. She squeaked and closed the door. Sabine raised a brow.

 "You can always tell him you're busy."

 "Nooo, it's fine." Marinette sighed and entered the room. Adrien’s confused head tilt turned into a smile. Like a… puppy. An incredibly patient puppy waiting for someone to play with him.

 "Hi Marinette. I watched that video today! Thank you, it was really sweet of you guys to do that. I hope you don't mind me kinda just… showing up."

 "Oh er… you're welcome. I was actually hanging out with some of the girls who helped make that."

 "Oh! If you're busy-" He gestured awkwardly to the door.

 "No, no, uh, we were just hanging out, you can join us."

 He immediately perked up, "Cool! That sounds like fun!"

 Marinette stared at him in his enthusiasm and nodded. "Come on up."

 Adrien climbed up into the room, Marinette shortly after him. The group of girls all immediately hushed their conversation upon noticing them and dissolved into giggles.

 He chuckled and waved, "Well hello. You all are wearing some lovely hats, is this a fashion show?"

 "We're helping Marinette take photos for her Instagram." Myléne said.

 "And future blog!" Alya added.

 "They've been great models for me," Marinette smiled.

 "Oh really? May I see some of the photos?" Alya handed him a phone immediately. He scrolled through some of the photos, nodding."These are great," he smiled and glanced at Marinette, "You made all these hats?"

 Marinette nodded, giggling. Rose bounced over to Adrien, showcasing a necklace. "She makes jewelry too!"

 "Those are lovely! You're really talented!" He gave Marinette a dazzling smile. She giggled and stuttered something, which was almost a thanks?

 "Hey, you're like, a pro model, right?" Alya asked, "Do you mind helping us? Got some insider tips?"

 "Oh, uh, sure!" Adrien smiled. It would be fun to help them. Probably more so than a regular photo shoot.

-

 Chloé gasped at her phone. Her Adrien in a picture on Marinette's Instagram post? All squished in a group photo with her little squad?! Why is he hanging out with her!?

 She called Adrien, anxiously tapping her nails against the back of the phone.

 Adrien picked up and Chloé did not waste a precious minute. "Why are you at Dupain-Chang's?"

 "Hello to you too, Chloé. I'm just hanging out. Marinette and her friends wanted some help with modeling her fashions."

 "Humph, that ugly stuff? Far too kind of you to do that for her."

 He sighed, "Maybe you could benefit from being a bit kinder, Chloé. It's not that hard."

 She heard a few hushed whispers in the background over the line. She balked. "I- But why would your father let you visit her and not let me, your oldest friend, over!"

 "Marinette didn't steal a book from my father's safe and get him upset enough to get akumatized." Adrien's voice was level. Gentle even. Chloé felt that was probably worse than any direct anger.

 Marinette's voice in the background squeaked out "Chloé’s book belonged to your dad?!"

 "Oh." Chloé muttered. "But actually Sabrina-"

 "I don't care if you got Sabrina to do it or not. I care if you learn from this kind of stuff and become a bit more considerate," Adrien sighed, "Maybe if you showcase some better behavior my father might let you come back over more again. But until then, I can't do anything about it. Sorry."

 "I…" Any defences or retorts died on her tongue.

 Adrien waited a moment, "I gotta go Chloé. Talk to you later, okay? Goodbye."

 "Goodbye...Adrien."

 Adrien hung up and she plopped onto the couch, staring at the earlier text messages between her and Adrien.

 Chloé blinked away tears.

-

 Adrien sighed, turning towards the group of girls, "Sorry. My father kinda banned Chloé from coming over to my house and she's still… very upset about it…"

 "She…" Marinette coughed, "Um. What was that about a book?"

 "Chloé and Sabrina came over and uh, Sabrina got caught taking my father's book. It was important to him. Apparently they lost it… I was hoping they could find and return it and they'd be allowed back but…" He glanced at the floor and shrugged.

 "Right. Right. And where did your dad get this book? Er… Maybe we can get a replacement?" She giggled awkwardly.

 "I don't know. He didn't explain much about it." He waved a hand dismissively, "Anyway, you were uh, suggesting food?"

 "Right!" Marinette cheered, "Shall we raid the kitchen? Maybe dad can teach us a good recipe and we can bake something like we were supposed to at school today." She opened the door and gestured for the group to file out downstairs.

 "Yeah, before the fire alarm interfered," Alya said, walking down.

 Rose took Julika's hand and they made their way down, Meline and Adrien not far behind.

 Marinette waited for them to get out of earshot before whispering for Tiki to come out. She zipped out as Marinette grabbed her purse. "If Chloé got the book from Adrien's house, why did Adrien's father have the spellbook? He was akumatized so he can't be Hawkmoth right?"

 Tiki shrugged helplessly, "You'll have to go over and ask him."

 "Ugh, why is tracing down who had this book like a game of evil telephone?" Marinette groaned.

 "Marinette, are you coming?" Myléne called.

 "Oop! Be right there!" She opened her purse for Tiki to zip into it. She raced down the steps to catch up to her friends.

-

 Jean-Claude arrived with chocolates and Chloé tearfully popped them into her mouth. He lingered despite his job being complete. "May I ask what has upset Mademoiselle?"

 "Adrien doesn't wanna be my friend anymoreeee," She whined, "He's making new friends with other girls. How can he do this to me, Jean-Michel?"

 "Uh, my name is- nevermind. Perhaps Mademoiselle can see comfort with Mr. Cuddly?" He offered the stuffed bear with a light flourish.

 She gasped and grabbed the teddy bear, cuddling it close.

 "If you don't mind my asking Mademoiselle, did he say why?"

 "Something, something kindness and consideration." She waved a hand. She pouted. "What do I do Jean-Yves?"

 "Perhaps Mademoiselle remembers Mr. Cuddly when she was a little girl and how he was always nice to Mademoiselle when she was a child?"

 Chloé pursed her lips, eyes shiny, and nodded.

 "Mr. Cuddly is always kind, even when it doesn't directly benefit him. But that has made him a very good friend. Perhaps, Mademoiselle can follow Mr. Cuddly's example and Adrien  will see how good a friend Mademoiselle can be."

 "Oh you're right Jean-Jacque, Adrien wanted me to show his dad I'm considerate, so I'll show him! Then I'll get my Adrikins back and he'll stop hanging out with Dupain-Chang! Er…. How...should I do that?" She giggled awkwardly.

 Jean-Pierre sighed heavily, looking exhausted already.

-

 Adrien was covered in flour and giggling about it. Juleka wasn't even halfway through a mumbled apology before he was forgiving her. Marinette wasn't sure how he was supposedly friends with Chloé in the first place. Was he mind controlled or something by her?

 Alya slid next to Marinette and grinned "So, are we thinking friendly boy or boyfriend here?"

 Marinette rolled her eyes and shook her head "I am not competing with Chloé over her infamous 'Adrikins'. Blegh."

 "That wasn't a 'ew no' though~ You can't deny he's cute."

 Marinette huffed, "Like, in a cute puppy way."

 Alya snorted and nodded, "Fair enough."

 The group's phones all pinged with the exception of Marinette's.

 They each got out their phones. Adrien raised a brow. "Chloé's hosting a party?"

 "Did you all get one?" Juleka asked, looking around at them.

 Myléne nodded, "It looks like it. Maybe she's taking Adrien's advice and is gonna try to be nicer."

 Marinette scoffed, "Please, it's probably some sort of joke or prank."

 "Did you get an invite?"

 Marinette looked at her phone and shook her head, "No…"

 Alya chuckled, "Well that means it's real and not a joke, doesn't it, hm?

 Marinette made a disgruntled face. Then her phone pinged, "Eeew! I got invited!" She threw her phone, then stumbled to catch it before it landed in the batter. Adrien stumbled and caught it for her. They crashed into each other, pinning Adrien between the counter and Marinette. She immediately backpedaled. He giggled awkwardly and handed the phone to her, stepping back out of her space.

 "This is gonna be so much fun! There's gonna be dancing!" Rose looked up, smiling at Juleka.

 "Wait, you guys aren't seriously considering going, are you?" Marinette squeaked.

 "Why not?" Myléne muttered, shrugging, "Maybe she's really trying to be nice."

 "Chloé? Nice?" She shook her head, "Eugh, whatever, you guys can go but count me out."

 Adrien shrugged, idly fiddling with the dough. "I've known Chloé for a long time. She can be cool, sometimes, really." He looked up. ...Wait, did he have baby-doll eyes like Manon or something?! What is this sorcery? He smiled softly. "Maybe give her a chance, Marinette."

 Marinette pursed her lips and sighed "Yeah, yeah, fine, I guess." Alya’s teasing smirk didn't help at all though.

-

 Chloé had it all planned. She had set up a section for adults as well, having sent invites for some of the teens' parents. Namely, she needed Adrien’s father to see how great of a person she could be. Unfortunately the main person she wanted there...was not. But hey maybe this could work with word-of-mouth…. Parents talk to other parents about how nice random kids are, right?

 So while the adults mostly stayed around the tables talking, the teens danced and played in the ball pit. Jean-Paul had been practically following her around with Mr. Cuddly, reminding her what Mr. Cuddly would do. But, Adrien was there! And! Adrien smiled at her! Every time she was nice! So the plan seemed to be working.

Until he left the dance floor to talk to Marinette and her friends. She barely contained her rage. Actually, she didn't contain it at all. Chloé abandoned her dance with Kim and started marching toward them.

 "Oh, I do need to get some of your guys' phone numbers or something so I don't have to make surprise visits all the time," Adrien said, giggling awkwardly.

 Alya nodded, "Yeah for sure, I'll give you Nino's number too, he's DJing-"

 Chloé was so close to pulling Adrien away until Jean-George blocked her path.

 "Mademoiselle if you-"

 "Move, Jean-Marc!"

 He pulled out Mr Cuddly, and spoke in a squeaky voice, "Oh, Chloé dear, Mr Cuddly is very proud of you-" Chloé gasped and tried to bat the teddy bear away.

 "Is that your teddy bear Chloé?" Kim laughed, leading the traitorous group of teens.

 Chloé gasped and pulled Jean-Louis into the kitchens.

 "I've had it with you and your stupid advice! Ive had it with you, Jean-whatever your stupid name is!"

 "Mademoiselle I was only trying to help."

 "No more Mademoiselle, no more help, no more anything! You're fired!" She marched out, leaving Jean-??? clutching the teddy bear. Somewhere, a very patient Hawkmoth (who purposefully declined an invitation in a subtle attempt to make a teenage girl more frustrated and anxious and make a villain at her party eventually) grinned to himself.

-

 Sabrina was just chilling, really. She'd helped set up the entire thing and now they'd much rather just sit and drink her juice. Just as content as Plagg with an extra piece of cheese.

 Until a teddy bear clamped onto her leg.

-

 Chloé utilized her excess frustration to pull Adrien away from Marinette. "Come on, we should dance."

 "Right now? But, I was talking to-" Adrien half heartedly protested, already stumbling along.

 "He doesn't have to go with you if he doesn't want to, you can't just drag him around," Marinette interrupted, grabbing Adrien's other arm.

 "Chloeee," Sabrina called, brandishing a hair brush like a weapon, "Come here. Let me brush your hair. It won't hurt I promise."

 "Don't you see I'm busy?" Chloé huffed. She tugged on Adrien's arm, except this time she got resistance. Adrien pulled his arm away, frowning at Sabrina.

 "Uh, something's… wrong with Sabrina," he said.

 Sabrina smiled, and leapt toward Chloé.

 Marinette intercepted Sabrina, brows furrowed in determination and flipped her onto the ground. Adrien stared at her.

 "Oh. Wow," He breathed out.

 Sabrina blinked and sat up, "Huh? Why am I on the floor?"

 Marinette frowned, looking around the room, "Er… you were… trying to attack Chloé."

 Sabrina gasped and scrambled to a stand. "Ohno, I… I uh, I need to go." Sabrina anxiously smiled and then ran off.

 "Me too actually… I, uh ...too much orange juice." Marinette ran off, leaving Adrien with- ….Where did Chloé go?

 He glanced around, and found her swatting away… some kid Adrien didn't know. He was pretty sure they were in the video somewhere.

 He frowned and glanced around, before running off to the stairwell.

-

 Marinette shook her head as she hid in the bathroom stall, "Looks like Chloé upset someone. Guess it was only a matter of time. Tiki, Spots on!"

-

 Sabrina raced into the kitchen, "Oh I can't believe I was just mind controlled by an Akuma. Poor Chloé!"

 Plagg cackled in laughter, "You have the power of destruction and you were about to chase Chloé with a hair brush. I can't believe it."

 They rolled their eyes, "That's definitely a good thing. Plagg, Claws out!"

-

 Adrien closed the door to the stairwell, checking that no one was there. Duusu zipped out with a cheer, "You love Marinette!"

 "I- what? I er-" He blushed and glanced to the side, "No I don't," his voice came out squeaky.

 "Yes you do, I know it!" Duusu giggled, gesturing to himself, "      Emotion     Kwami." Duusu tilted his head, "Do you intend to tell her? How? Maybe a cute letter or something? Oh you two would be just so cute together! And we could have more fresh pastries!"

 He sputtered and shook his head. "Focus Duusu. We need to help Chloé," Adrien said, fixing the brooch to the front of his shirt.

 Duusu giggled more.

 Adrien took in a deep breath, trying to calm his own blush. "Duusu, Spread my feathers!"

-

 Ladybug and Féline Sombre were already there… Well that was fast.

 "You finally showed up! What took so long!?" Chloé cried towards the two superheros, as she peered from her hiding spot behind a pillar. ...Or maybe it wasn't fast? Did Chloé call them or something? She has mentioned being their friend. Often. By the annoyance from Ladybug, he guessed she wasn't a very good friend if that was the case.

 "What, not excited to see me?" Paon Lilas asked with a grin.

 "Oh yeah you too." Chloé waved a hand, apparently having just noticed him. ...Paon really needed to work on some dramatic entrances.

 Nino threw a CD disc towards Chloé and she shrieked.

 Ladybug wrapped her yoyo around Chloé's leg, pulling her back and into the ball pit. Féline Sombre leaped up to restrain Nino.

 Nino blinked in confusion, "Huh?"

 "Oh, sorry," Féline Sombre let him go, looking for the teddy bear controlling people.

 Another boy threw a chair towards Ladybug. "How about a game of flying chairs?" He taunted.

 "Love to but," Paon kicked the chair away, landing in a wall, "shouldn't music be involved?"

 Ladybug was grabbed from behind and she pushed Alya off, spinning around to find the teen reporter blinking in confusion.

 A boy raised a table above his head, and Féline Sombre extended her staff to knock it out of his hands. Paon grabbed the table before it flew into any civilians and dropped it on the floor. "Careful kitty."

 "Whoops... But, where'd he go?" Féline asked, turning around.

 Ladybug looked around frantically, trying to find someone who was acting off. Paon Lilas grabbed her hand.

 "What are you doing?" Ladybug tugged away. Paon pulled back, making her stumble forward. "Oh no."

 "Ooo, pretty earrings." He made a swipe towards her earrings and she shoved him back, making him stumble.

 "Knock it off, bird brain!" She exclaimed.

 He growled and tried again with a punch. Féline Sombre vaulted in on her staff and kicked him back into a table.

 Paon Lilas plucked a feather and grabbed a plastic spoon from the table.

 A floating marionette rod was summoned. The strings wrapped Féline Sombre's arms and legs. They gasped as they were dragged forward towards Ladybug.

 "Hey!" Ladybug cried, "What are you doing?"

 "I'm not doing this!" Féline shrieked. She threw a punch towards Ladybug, "Sorry!"

 "Paws off kitty cat!" Chloé called, pushing Féline over.

 "Thanks!" Ladybug called, "Lucky Charm!" And… got an over large crochet hook.

 Paon Lilas growled and motioned his head, the senti-marrionetted Féline being flung back towards Chloé. He charged toward Ladybug.

 Ladybug glanced between the marionette rod and the teddy bear. She grabbed a marionette string with the crochet hook Féline passed her and twirling the hook to properly tangle the string, threw it into a wall. The string snapped, giving Féline control of one of her hands.

 "Féline," Ladybug called. Paon kicked her and she jumped back, "I need you to cut some strings soon!" Ladybug and Paon Lilas fought. She shielded, he swept her legs. He went in for a strike, she blocked.

 "Sure thing, Bug," Féline raised a hand, summoning her destructive power, "Cataclysm!"

 "Now, Chloé if you could be so kind-” She gestured to the captured marionette strings.

 Chloé nodded, taking up the hook and diving for the teddy bear, catching a loop on its back. She tugged and threw it back to Féline Sombre. They touched the Akuma string with their Cataclysm.

 Paon blinked as the Akuma was destroyed, halting a punch. He took in heavy breaths, stumbling back as a wave of fear hit him over the receding fog of mind control. "Ladybug? What are you doing?"

 Fear was quickly replaced with relief and pride. Ladybug grinned, "Just saving your feathery hide with our new sidekick." She looked at Chloé.

 "You haven't defeated me yet!" A small voice squeaked and kicked Paon Lilas in the chin.

 "Watch your step!" Ladybug readied her yoyo to capture and purify the butterfly that was fluttering away.

 "Can someone help me out here!?" Féline Sombre yelled. Paon glanced at the senti-monster strings attached to her feet and hand and then at the spoon he was carrying. His miraculous beeped. He snapped his fingers, pulling the amok from the spoon and dropping it.

 Ladybug threw her crochet hook into the air, "Miraculous Ladybug!" The swarm of ladybugs returned everything in the room to normal. Ladybug and Féline Sombe high fived. Paon Lilas ran. Before either of them turned to look his way.

 Ladybug turned, finding the other miraculous wielder missing. She sighed, "He flew off again."

 Chloé cleared her throat.

 Ladybug blinked and looked at her. "Oh. Er, thanks for helping me back there…. It was very nice of you."

 Chloé smiled, dusting off her jacket, "It was, wasn't it? Did you hear that, Jean-Pascal?! If Ladybug says I'm nice then Adrien and his dad have to believe it!"

 "...Mademoiselle I must admit I have no memory of what just happened."

 "Basically you turned evil and I saved you. Without me the superheros probably never would have succeeded." Chloé explained.

 Both Ladybug's and Féline Sombre's miraculous' beeped.

 "Gotta go," Ladybug said, running up the stairwell to the roof.

 "Same here," Féline said, giving a polite nod to Chloé and Jean-Something. She ran out the doors.

 "Hm. Maybe some of this nice-stuff of yours makes some sense….. Jean-Baptiste, I've decided to keep you on. Don't let the guests all run away, they don't wanna miss what's next!"

 Jean-Pierre nodded "Thank you, Mademoiselle, I will Mademoiselle."

-

 Adrien sighed as he watched Marinette finish her macaroons. He was too tired to make his own. He sat in a chair to avoid any sudden dizzy spells, resting his head on the table.

 Chloé slid next to him, looping her arms around his shoulders. "Sooo Adrikins, I'm really nice now, did you notice? I even let Marinette's dad finish teaching everyone how to make those messy macaroons."

 He pulled his attention from Marinette and nodded. "Yes, it's very nice of you." He smiled a little. She frowned…. Usually smiling causes the opposite response.

 "Ugh, what's wrong? You're not like, super happy. I did everythingggg."

 "Oh uh," he glanced at Marinette again, before looking back at Chloé, "It's nothing."

 Chloé followed his glance and pouted, "Did she say mean things to you? Do I need to tell her her macaroons are appalling or something?"

 "No! No. Please no. We just talked about being nice."

 "Oops! Right…. Wait. You don't like her do you?"

 He blushed and looked away, shrugging.

 Chloé gasped, "Nooo! Ughhh, why couldn't you fall in love with someone unattainable? Like Ladybug or somebody."

 "Huh?" Adrien crinkled his nose, "What?"

 "Nothing~ Fine, fine. We're still best friends forever right though?"

 He huffed a smile and nodded, "Yeah, Chloé, best friends forever."

 "Pinky swear?" She held out her pinky in front of him and he linked their fingers.

 "Pinky swear."

 She let out an exhale of relief, "Okay, make sure to tell your dad I'm the best influence ever now."

 Adrien giggled and nodded, "Sure. I'll try."

 "Perfect. You promised," She grinned and waltzed over to the bakers and began listing off what was wrong with their goods. Pausing at Marinette, she glanced at Adrien and simply passed her by without a word…. Marinette seemed offended anyway.

 Adrien shook his head. Oh, that didn't cause spots in his vision. Good. Satisfied with the conclusion the worst of the battle weariness had passed, he got up to see if Marinette might share some of those cookies. Then, if he had the energy, repair some of Chloé’s emotional damage.

[teamhook]

Hello! Finally and update!! I want to thank everyone for their patience, the @captainswanmoviemarathon, the Discord shipmates, and my lovely Beta @ultraluckycatnd and my talented artist @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713

|AO3|

|FFN|

Emma had been so disappointed after her idea was shot down. It had been a long day at work, so she only stops to get a quick snack at a 24-hour diner before heading to get some sleep. She opens the door to the hotel room she has rented for the week only to find it tossed. Her heart sinks as she runs to check for the money she had been saving to rent an apartment. The money was gone, all of it. They didn’t leave a single dollar behind. Her eyes water as she wonders what the hell she is going to do now?

Killian finally arrives home after a small detour. He is parking his motorcycle when he notices a body huddled on his steps. He removes his helmet and walks slowly to his door. The hoodie falls from the head revealing golden hair. Emma. 

“Swan, is everything okay?” Killian asks as he helps her to her feet and opens the door to the apartment. 

Emma sniffles as she follows close behind. She still doesn’t know why she came here. Lies. He is her closest friend, her only friend. 

“Sit down, make yourself comfortable. How about a drink?” Killian asks as he pours a drink for himself and one for her. 

“Yeah, I really need one.” Emma takes the offered drink and bottoms it. 

Killian asks, “Do you need anything else? Swan, how can I help?”

Emma’s tears run down her face. 

Bloody hell, he made her cry. “I’m sorry, lass, can you tell me what happened?”

“Someone went into my room and robbed me. I talked to the manager but he said they weren’t responsible. That I should have taken the money with me or hid it better,” Emma says. She can’t seem to stop crying. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Kilian says and adds rapidly, “you can stay here.” The words are out of his mouth before he can think about it. Milah is going to kill him if she ever comes home.  

“Really?” Her hopeful green eyes devoid of tears confirm this is a really good idea. “Aye, you can stay here.” 

“I promise it won’t be for long, one night tops. I just need to sleep on it and figure some things out,” she smiles. 

After a few drinks and a few arguments on who should take the bed, Emma is tucked in, stretched out on the daybed he has as a couch. He plays a song on the piano as she relaxes for the night. 

She smiles, the music very soothing. “Killian, that is beautiful. Who wrote it?”

He smiles back. “I did.” 

“That is really, really good. Do you have more?” she asks as she sits up.

“Aye, but they’re not ready to be heard,” he says as he finishes the song. 

“Killian, why did you leave Boston?”

“Emma, why did you leave Maine?” 

She sighs. “Well, because it didn’t feel like home anymore, and I wanted to follow my dreams.” 

He smiled. “Exactly.”

“Killian, I’m really happy I don’t have to be alone tonight,” Emma said as she yawned. 

“Get some sleep, love,” Killian says as he leaves the piano and closes the door to his room.  

The next day, the sound of rain hitting the window wakes him up. The smell of bacon mixed with the scent of fresh-brewed coffee hits him and for a second, he is startled because he is the one that normally makes breakfast; Milah didn’t like to cook. He gets up and makes sure he is presentable. 

The vision that greets him is perfect. He shakes his head as he approaches his guest. He scratches behind his ear when he notices her clothes, or lack of. She is lost in what she is doing to notice him ogling her as she simply wears a long, sleeveless shirt that barely covers her arse, her long legs on display. He was mesmerized for a minute, then clears his throat to get her attention. “Good morning, love.”

“Oh, good morning. I hope you don’t mind. It’s the least I can do,” she says, smiling. 

Killian returns her smile. “It smells delicious.”

“How do you like your coffee?” she asks as she pours the liquid. 

“Black, like my soul,” he answers as he takes a seat. 

They start eating their food while enjoying some small talk. 

Emma’s eyes drift around the room and land on one of the pictured frames. “She’s very pretty, your sister?”

Killian looks up from his food. He doesn’t need to figure out which photo she’s talking about. “Ah, that would be Milah, my fiance.”

“Wait a minute, you’re straight?” Emma stands. 

“What, you thought I was gay?” Killian asks. 

“Yeah, I mean you wear more eyeliner than I do. You own a daybed. What kind of guy owns one?”  Emma states.

“In my defense, the eyeliner is a very straight look. Cora loves it and it works at the club,” he shrugs. “The daybed was Milah’s idea.”

“I should really put some pants on.” Emma goes to her bag to look for some jeans to put on.

“That’s probably a good idea.” He pouts as he watches her pulling on her pants. 

“So where is she, your fiance?” Emma wonders.

“She’s in New York doing a play,” Killian says as he clears off the table.  

“Well, since you’re not only straight but engaged, it is really weird I came to you. I should leave. I’m sorry I came here,” Emma says. 

“Swan, you don’t have to go.” 

 “Killian, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“Emma, it’s pouring outside.” He blocks the front door to prevent her from leaving.  

“It’s okay, I got a plan. Could you please get the door for me?” Emma says, determinedly.

He hesitantly opens the door.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, love.” 

“See you at the club.”

She steps outside, the rain coming down hard and the thundering is loud. She grabs a newspaper from the wooden chair next to the door, covers her head, and walks down the steps.

Killian looks out of his window, sighing. Bloody hell. Emma looks like a wet cat doing a poor job at staying dry. He runs out and before Emma can object, he picks her up bridal style and turns back to his place. They’re both drenched once they’re back inside. 

Emma screams as soon as he puts her down. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“You have nowhere to go, Swan. I have an empty couch.”

“It's just water. A little water never hurt anyone.”

“Swan, it’s a lot more than a little water, it’s pouring.”

“Killian, you’ve done enough.”

“I don’t care what you bloody say. You’re going to stay here for a few more days.” Knowing that she isn’t going to win this argument, Emma nods her agreement.

The phone rings and he smiles as he answers., “Hello, Milah. That sounds great.” He walks to his room and closes the door.

Days later at the club, the restroom is quiet until the sound of someone throwing up shatters the illusion. Cora looks underneath the stall door to see who has dared break her out of her spell. One look of the glass heels tells her she knows who it is. “Ashley, darling are you alright?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” she sniffles as she comes out of the stall. 

Cora studies the girl in front of her and sighs. “Tell me you don’t have the flu.”

Ashley starts sobbing. “No, I’m pregnant.”

“Have you told Sean?” 

“I haven’t, I’ve been so scared. What if he doesn’t want it? What am I going to do?” Ashley starts rambling.

“We will figure it out, but you have to tell him,” Cora says, trying to comfort the poor girl.

“Okay.” Ashley gives her boss a weak smile. 

Emma continues to practice the dance routines every free moment she has because she knows a chance will come up. Her parents had always told her to have hope; that’s the only reason she is following her dream. For now, she will be the best waitress the club has ever seen.

Killian had proven to be such a good friend because he was letting her stay with him for a couple of weeks. The only problem with that is that she is enjoying his company too much. He is sweet and funny. Some days, she had to remind herself that he was taken because she was starting to yearn for something that couldn’t be. 

Days later after Ashley's revelation, Cora decides to be prepared. Henry and Cora hold tryouts for a new dancer. 

Emma walks in to find the stage full of potential candidates. Music is heard throughout the club; high kicks flying, hips gyrating to the music, hair flowing with each head twirl, all followed with a spiral roll into a final fan kick. 

After the girls are dismissed, Cora turns to Henry with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t love any of them. Where did all the best dancers go?” she sighs.

Henry is flipping through the portfolios for the club’s best match. He turns his attention to Cora and smiles. “They’re all Dancing with the Stars.” 

The blaring of sexy music disrupts their conversation. They turn to the stage to find Emma moving her hips sensually to the music, her head flipping right and left. She is moving as if her life depends on it. Sadly she is putting her all into an unappreciated display until her intended audience dismisses her with barely a glance in her direction, followed by a disgusted flick of her wrist, halting her dance before it really even gets started.

Cora cuts the music off and starts to walk away. 

“Wait a minute! I can do this, just tell me what you want!” Emma’s panicked scream halts Cora’s movement.

“It’s really sweet that you think you can. I know I don’t want someone that thinks auditioning for me is the same as a common strip club. All my dancers are professionals. What was that?” Cora said as she placed her hands on her hips.

“I know all the dance routines. I have practiced them in my spare time.”

“You have to make me believe that you belong on that stage and that no one will take it from you.”

“Alright, which number do you want to see?”

Cora stares at Emma. “You know all the numbers? Okay. Merlin, play Wagon Wheel Watusi.”

Zee, Ashley, and Tiana arrive just in time to see the audition.

The music starts and Emma moves as if her life depends on it. She twirls, shimmies her breasts, and when the music ends she stands breathless waiting for the verdict. 

Cora and Henry are talking in whispers. 

“You were off the last half,” Cora finally says. 

“I can do better. I’ll practice every single free moment I have. I really want this. Please, I know I can do this. Didn’t anyone ever give you a chance?”

“Fine! You’ve got the job.”

Emma jumps up and down in excitement while several things happen at once. 

Cora and Henry share a look. 

Ashley claps excitedly. 

Zee turns to Ashley. “You know she’s replacing you, right?”

Henry walks up to Emma. “Meet me in the dressing room in five minutes.”

The girls leave for lunch. 

Before she can head to the dressing room, loud claps catch Emma’s attention. 

Killian meets her eye and smiles. “Congratulations, love.”

“With my raise, I will be off of your couch before you know it!” She squeals in excitement as she rushes to the dressing room. 

She misses the disappointment on his face.

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[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze Pt.10/25

Previous

The flat was filled with the melodic sounds of sitar strings, or more accurately, the screeching sounds of sitar strings.

Jaskier still hadn’t gotten the hang of his new baby.

It was a truly beautiful instrument but completely different to his usual stringed instruments. The long neck of the sitar had way more pegs than he used to and he just couldn’t get it to sing like he wanted. He was struggling to play with the microtones that the sitar music was famous for. He would probably have to see if he could find a teacher to help him. That wasn’t going to be easy.

He gently put the instrument back in its case and sat down at his piano instead. His flat wasn’t really big enough to house his baby grand piano but he just hadn’t been able to leave the beautiful instrument behind in the shop. It had called out to him like a siren and he’d been helpless to resist its call.

Of course, he’d probably be able to afford a bigger flat if he managed to stop buying instruments.

He laughed. “But where’s the fun in that?”

His fingers idly pressed the keys without him putting much effort in. He closed his eyes and let the music free from his heart.

School was starting back the next day and he’d been up almost all weekend trying to finish up his lesson plans. He hadn’t meant to leave it to the last minute but time had just gotten away from him and suddenly it was Saturday and he’d not done any work. Luckily coffee and cat naps were his bestest friends in the whole wide world and he’d finally managed to get it all done. Just in time to enjoy his last evening before the kids took over his life once more. His kids were amazing but full of energy and it took a lot out of him to be so switched on all day long. He’d already drafted his email to the parents to send out on Friday evening based on his lesson plans for the week, but he still had Geralt’s left to write.

Not that Geralt received any special treatment or anything.

It was just that he needed to be mindful of Ciri’s special circumstances.

Or at least that was the lie he’d told himself all term.

But at least he still personalised each of the emails a little before sending them out!

And so what he he wrote Geralt handwritten letters more frequently than the other parents.

It wasn’t a crime.

The only crime was Geralt’s ass.

It was to die for.

He groaned and shook his head to try and clear out the thoughts of his love, his fingers slipping on the keys of the piano, but there was really nothing he could do to stop the barrage of Geralt thoughts. Since parents’ evening he’d developed a blooming friendship with Geralt and it was making him feel all sorts of things that he really shouldn’t be feeling if he wanted to keep his job.

They had managed to meet up a few of times over the last half of the school term to discuss Ciri’s progress at school, although Jaskier could count on one hand how many times Ciri’s classwork had actually come up in conversation. Jaskier could never resist flirting with the firefighter which Geralt took in his stride. Although Jaskier wasn’t entirely certain that Geralt even realised he was flirting.

Jaskier was ninety-five percent sure that Geralt was interested in men, and in him specifically. He’d never explicitly said it and there was nothing about their meetings that really screamed anything more than friendship, but every so often Geralt would seemingly flirt back and it floored Jaskier every single time. How was he supposed to handle that? This tall muscular amber-eyed God was actually paying him attention. The small smiles that Geralt gave him made his heart sing, and to the gods when Geralt laughed, he felt his insides turn to mush. Geralt was usually happy to let Jaskier hold most of the conversation, talking about his new instrumental conquests, books he was reading, the beautiful birds he’d seen on the walk to work, but the white-hair man was beginning to open up.

Jaskier had learnt more about Roach, who he’d mistaken for a large dog in Ciri’s drawing. He had, of course teased Geralt over his choice of name but that hadn’t lasted long when Geralt had turned the table on him and asked what Jaskier would call a horse and the only name he could think of was Greg. Geralt offered up a little information about his teammates but notably avoided talking about his childhood. Jaskier couldn’t blame him for that. He had avoided that topic himself.

He knew that Geralt struggled to find time to cook but always made an effort to cook something from scratch with Ciri’s help at least once a week. Their favourite thing to make was pizza, it was also their favourite take-away. He’d learnt that Geralt tended not to watch much tv unless it was with Ciri and the man could tell you far too much about Ciri’s favourite cartoons, which explained his Apple Jack lunchbox. Geralt preferred to read in his free time instead, normally fantasy books, anything with a dragon in. Geralt’s favourite colour was blue which Jaskier adored. He could pretend that the reason was because his eyes were blue. He had filed that information away to fuel several romantic daydreams which ended in a summer wedding.

His fingers began to dance over the keys in a previously unheard melody.

It was beautiful.

“Ah fuck!” He cursed and scrambled to find manuscript paper as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

It was buried in between his lute and his computer. There was barely a spare page in the notebook but he managed to find one in the middle. Once he’d got the melody captured he would copy it over into a fresher, more organised book that held his complete compositions.

He closed his eyes again as he tried to remember precisely what he’d played before but it was missing something. The chords weren’t quite right and it left the piece sounding almost empty and dead.

“Bollocks!”

The moment had passed and his muse had left him.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his recents calls until he found the number he wanted. The phone rang twice before the sweet dulcet tones of his younger cousin sounded in his ears.

“What do you want?” Essi asked wearily.

“Lovely to speak to you too.” Jaskier shot back.

Essi sighed. “I’m working, Dandelion.”

“This late?” He double checked the clock. It was almost nine in the evening but then again she was a professional singer. If she had a gig then it was likely to be later on in the day, and now that he paid more attention he could hear the sounds of a bar in the background of the call.

“Not all of us work nine til five, Dandy.” The old nickname slipped out.

“Essi!” He groaned. “I stopped calling myself Dandelion years ago”

“Says the man that realised an album last spring under the alias of Dandelion.”

“It’s a stage name.” He pouted before he remembered she couldn’t see him.

He heard someone calling her name in the background and she yelled back. He winced as the shout hurt his ears. “I gotta go, did you need something?”

He sighed as he ran his fingers over the keys of his piano without making a sound. He could still hear the notes in his head as he desperately tried to recall the tune he had played before. “I just lost another composition to the cruel winds of time.”

“Who were you thinking about?” She asked and he could picture her easily. One hand on her hip, guitar case slung around her shoulder, long blonde hair falling in front of one of her cornflour blue eyes, eyes they had both inherited from their shared grandfather.

He frowned as he considered her question. “Who said I was thinking about anyone?”

She laughed before shouting again at whoever was trying to get her attention. Jaskier held the phone away from his ear this time. Essi really did have a set of lungs on her. “Dearest cousin. Your first album was all about your failed relationship with Pris. The second album was your failed relationship with Stella, and Valdo’s betrayal by stealing away your true love.”

“Wow. Geez. Thanks Essi. You really know how to build a man up.”

“So what failed relationship is it this time?”

“There is no relationship.” He spat back through gritted teeth, wondering why he even bothered with his cousin sometimes. In many ways she was like his little sister and she never hesitated in telling him exactly what she thought of him.

“Sure, sure. That’s why it’s failed. Look I really have to go. They need me on stage. Don’t be a stranger Dandelion!”

The phone line cut off and Jaskier stared at the phone in his hands.

“Oh cock!” He cursed as he realised she was completely right.

He’d been thinking about Geralt.

He closed the lid of the piano with more force than necessary and moved to sit back down on the sofa. He hadn’t meant to think about Geralt. He’d just been thinking about the work he needed to do for school and his thoughts had drifted to his infatuation on their own accord.

As if reading his thoughts, his phone buzzed signalling he had an email.

From Geralt.

“Oh no. No no no. Can’t do this right now.” He moaned and put his head in his hands, knocking his glasses half off his face. “Can’t I have a moment in peace?!” He asked the ceiling.

It was Sunday. He didn’t have to worry about what to say to Geralt until Friday. That was the rules… unless they had a catch up about Ciri but they hadn’t organised another meeting yet. Yes he missed Geralt desperately but he was aware that that was borderline clingy and he didn’t want to scare the man off, and yet here he was emailing Jaskier out of the blue.

It was probably about the present he’d bought Geralt. It wasn’t much, just a voucher for one of the outdoor activity shops in town and a poem he’d written about Roach.

It was terrible.

He hated it.

“Oh fuck off.” Jaskier groaned at his own thoughts and clicked on the email.

 Jaskier,

 Sorry for bothering you. I know you’re busy.

 I wanted to say thank you for my present. I read Roach the poem. She was very impressed.

Jaskier grabbed a pillow from his sofa and hugged it tightly as he continued to read, feeling very proud of himself.

 I am sorry I didn’t think to get you anything from me but hopefully you liked Ciri’s gift.

He had. Ciri had bought him a brand new travel mug. It was covered in music notes just like his mug from the staffroom at school. There had also been a little photo of Roach tucked into the card because Jaskier hadn’t stopped asking Geralt about her.

 I need to ask you something. It would probably be better in person or over the phone. I’m not good at emails.

 - Geralt.

Jaskier re read the last paragraph twice before hitting the reply button.

He sent Geralt his number before he could change his mind and then threw his phone onto the sofa. The phone barely managed to bounce on the cushions before it started ringing and Jaskier lunged to pick it up.

He clicked to accept the call and all at once he felt lighter than he had in weeks.

“Geralt!” He cried happily. “Hi!”

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s gruff voice answered. Jaskier felt like he’d turned to goo. The way Geralt said his name never failed to make him feel weak at the knees.

Pull yourself together Jaskier! He chided at himself.

“So, my dear, what was it that you wanted to ask me?” He kept his voice light like his fingers on his lute strings, not betraying the way his heart thundered in his chest.

Geralt grunted on the other end of the line and Jaskier rolled his eyes and smiled. How was it that he even missed Geralt’s ineloquent grunts?

“It’s not a stupid question, Geralt.” He replied. “If you don’t know something then you should ask.”

“I’m not one of your kids, Jaskier.” Geralt huffed.

He laughed at that and put the phone on speaker. His fingers were itching to move and he was getting restless not being able to play whilst holding the phone.

“Yes yes. I know that.” He hummed as he let his fingers trail across the many different instrument cases that were stacked up against the wall. They landed on his lute, an instrument long forgotten to many but one that remained so dear to him. He’d originally started to play the lute because it was different and he liked to stand out. Every musician in the folk scene played guitar or violin or piano.

He didn’t want to be like every other musician.

He wanted to be the best.

So he’d pick up the lute and never looked back. It was an expensive and delicate instrument so he tended not to bring it into school that often but he often found himself playing it at home.

It was also a reminder as to why he’d begun teaching full time. At first he’d only taught guitar and piano whilst he was at university in Oxenfurt to help finance his music career and pay for his rent after he had had a disagreement with his parents. The lute was the first instrument he’d bought for himself after the argument, to celebrate having enough students to finally make it through the month without begging his friends for cash and managing to save for the first time.

Soon after he realised how much he really enjoyed teaching and after graduating with a degree in music, he went on to study teaching. He’d worked as a teaching assistant in Oxenfurt before moving to Upper Posada where he finally had his own class, the Buttercups.

“Have you put me on speaker?” Geralt asked.

“Don’t you have sharp ears?” Jaskier teased his friend, he was sure they were friends. “It’s just me here, I just needed my hands.”

“You needed your hands.” Geralt replied and Jaskier could practically hear the smirk in his tone.

“Not like that!” He cried. “Honestly, Geralt, is that really what you think of me?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. I just wanted to grab my lute.”

Geralt laughed. “Is that what they call it these days?”

“Geralt Rivia!” Jaskier exclaimed.

Geralt just laughed in response. It was infectious and soon enough Jaskier was laughing along. Once they’d calmed down he began to strum the strings of his beloved instrument gently, fiddling with the pegs to make sure it was in tune.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you changing the subject, Geralt.” Jaskier spoke softly as Geralt’s laughter faded away.

“Right.”

“Geralt!” He all but whined. “You said you needed to ask me something. Come on! The suspense is killing me.”

Geralt hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll finally get some peace.”

“Now hang on!” Jaskier gasped in offence. “You rang me!”

“Regretting it already.”

“I’ll hang up!” Jaskier warned.

“No. You won’t.”

Jaskier sighed. “No. I won’t, but honestly Geralt. Is something wrong? Not that I’m not delighted to be talking to you, but…”

“But you’re Ciri’s teacher.” Geralt finished.

“Yes.”

It was a topic that had come up a few times. They weren’t doing anything wrong exactly. The friendship that had sparked up between them came as natural as breathing. They argued as if they’d known each other their whole lives, an easy banter that was unpracticed and yet almost flawless. Jaskier was fighting his attraction to Geralt the whole time, and he was sure the other man was doing the same with him but there was still this cloud looming over them. The line between professional and appropriate behaviour between parent and teacher.

He knew teachers and parents had hooked up before. It was scandalous and often the topic of vicious rumours in the staffroom. If it was reported to the headmaster and proven those teachers got in a lot of trouble, some of them were often asked to resign. Jaskier knew his professional relationship with Stregobor was rocky at best. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

But he was falling in love with Geralt, hard and fast.

It had moved beyond infatuation the moment he’d sat in the fire engine and they’d began to talk. The more he learnt about the man, the more he fell in love. Geralt was a complex man. He struggled to express himself and he constantly worried about being a good father to Ciri, but he was kind and loyal to his family. He had a surprisingly quick tongue that never failed to make Jaskier cackle. He wasn’t a pushover either, he was strong-willed and relentless in sticking to his own morals.

His determination to be a good man made Jaskier feel all fuzzy inside.

This strong and handsome man was just a gentle giant, one that could absolutely kill him given the chance, but there was just something about Geralt that made Jaskier trust him.

It was probably those eyes.

He adored Geralt’s eyes.

They were so unusual, like swirling pools of amber brought to life by bright beams of dazzling sunlight.

And that was why it was so important that their calls and meetings had to remain professional.

Without the guise of Ciri or work then their friendship was ruined. Jaskier would fall head over heels in love with Geralt and then…

and then…

He’d have to break it off.

He couldn’t risk it.

Even if there was a chance that Geralt fancied him back.

So he constantly reminded himself that they were friends and managed to frame every meeting or conversation they had as a work based thing. It was imperative that he didn’t forget that.

Friends only, and even then he really should be careful. Tissaia was right. Stregobor was just looking for an excuse to get rid of him and if he was shown to be favouring Geralt ,and in turn Ciri, too much then he might as well start looking for a new job.

He closed his eyes and mentally chastised himself for being a fool.

“So talk to me Geralt.” Jaskier pleaded. “What did you need? Did Ciri say something?”

Geralt just grunted again.

“I told you it’s not stupid.” Jaskier sighed. “It was obviously important to you.”

“It’s for Ciri.” Geralt stated bluntly. All traces of their easy laughter was now gone from his voice.

“Good. I am her teacher, what does she need? Did she say something?” Jaskier’s mind instantly recalled every interaction he’d had with the young ashen-haired girl over the last few days, looking for moments where he might have upset her or said something wrong. He couldn’t think of anything but he could have easily misread the situation.

“We went to Lambert’s for Solstice.” Geralt added.

Jaskier frowned trying to follow Geralt’s train of thought and failing. He stayed silent, waiting for Geralt to find the right words.

“He likes this band and Ciri just started screaming.”

Jaskier felt his heart skip a beat in his chest.

A band.

It wouldn’t be.

It couldn’t be.

Barely anyone even listened to his band. They barely had a thousand views online for their most popular song.

“She swears to the gods it’s you, Jask.” Geralt finished.

Jask.

It wasn’t the first time Geralt had called him that. He hated it. It made his heart do weird things in his chest that was not appropriate when talking to a friend.

He took a page out of Geralt’s book and hummed noncommittally. “Right.”

“And then Lambert pointed out Ciri’s Ukulele teacher is called Priscilla just like Dandelion’s bandmate. I thought it was all just a coincidence, but then I realised, Jaskier, Buttercups.” Geralt added, sounding weary. “Dandelions. All flowers.”

“Ah.”

“Jaskier?”

His fingers stilled on the lute strings. He pressed down with the palm of his hand to dampen the resonating sound. “It’s, well, it’s sort of a hobby?”

“You’re Dandelion?” Geralt stammered.

“Hello?” He tried to joke. “Nice to meet you.”

“Fuck.” Geralt swore loudly. “We all told Ciri she was wrong.”

“And now you’ll have to tell her she was right. That’s embarrassing for you.”

“Shut up, Jaskier.”

Jaskier scowled. “Hey! None of that grumpy firefighter stuff. It’s not my fault you didn’t trust your daughter!”

Geralt growled and hung up the phone.

Jaskier gaped at the blank screen.

“Oh no you don’t!” He rang Geralt straight back and to his surprise, he actually picked up.

“I’m sorry!” Jaskier said before Geralt could say anything. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Hmm.”

“Well. I did mean that’s it not my fault and I don’t know why you’re cross that I have a band, but I shouldn’t have said that about Ciri.” He rambled on.

Geralt still didn’t answer. Jaskier had to check the screen to make sure he was still on the line, quickly putting it back onto speaker. “So I’m sorry. I can explain to her tomorrow at school, about the band. Although, you really should be able to admit your mistakes. I know it’s not always easy.”

“Hold on.” Geralt said and then was a thud. Jaskier assumed that was Geralt putting the phone down. He could hear footsteps and the sound of a door opening. He held his breath whilst Geralt did whatever Geralt needed to do.

He picked his lute back up again and began to play. The notes flowed easily this time, the same tune as before. He grinned and scribbled the notes down onto the coffee stained page of manuscript. He got so caught up in the music he didn’t hear Geralt enter the room on the other side of the line, and this time he wasn’t alone.

“Mr Jaskier?” Ciri sounded exhausted. Geralt had probably just woken her up given the time.

Jaskier blushed and thanked Freya that the young girl couldn’t see him.

Ciri wasn’t supposed to know they’d been talking more outside of school in case she got confused or the wrong idea. Why was Geralt involving her?

Unless the wrong idea… was the right idea?

He swallowed nervously.

“Hello Buttercup!” He put on his best teacher voice, smiling brightly even though she couldn’t see him.

“Dad said you needed to tell me something. That it couldn’t wait.” Ciri asked in a small voice. “Did I do something wrong, Mr Jaskier?”

“Of course not Ciri!” Jaskier reassured her. “Geralt just wanted to ask me about the band your Uncle Lambert likes.”

“In the middle of the night?” Ciri groaned.

“Well…” Jaskier searched for a good explanation.

“It’s not as late for adults.” Geralt suggested.

Which wasn’t entirely true. Jaskier had to be up early for work and he was exhausted from his late night the day before. Geralt would have to up early too to get Ciri to school on time. They both needed to get to bed soon but there wasn’t a better explanation.

“Hmm.” Ciri hummed starting to pick up on some of Geralt’s mannerisms.

“Your father said you thought that Dandelion sounded like me?” Jaskier asked cautiously.

Ciri gasped and squealed excitably. “It sounded exactly like you Mr Jaskier! But everyone else said it was impossible and then Dad said my guitar teacher was called Priscilla and Uncle Lambert said a naughty word and apparently you are Dandelion, which I already knew because I’d already told them it was you and then Dad said a naughty word!”

Jaskier chuckled. “I am, indeed, Dandelion.”

“Of course you are!” Ciri answered completely certain in her assessment.

“But I need you to keep that quiet. Have you told any of your friends yet?” Jaskier asked.

“You have to speak, Ciri, he can’t see you.” Geralt answered softly.

“Nope.”

Jaskier sighed in relief, his band wasn’t exactly child friendly and he didn’t want it getting out that he’d inadvertently taught his whole class how to swear like a sailor. “Can you keep it to yourself, Ciri?”

“Yes, but why?” Ciri asked.

Jaskier ran his hand through his hair as he tried to think of a good way to explain. “Umm….”

“The band is something Mr Jaskier does outside of school. It’s good to keep work and play separate, Princess.” Geralt answered for him.

“Will you still play for us?” Ciri asked.

Jaskier laughed. “Of course I will, Ciri. It wouldn’t be Buttercups without song time!”

Ciri seemed to consider that. “Good. Dara likes it. Everyone else assumes he can’t listen to music but he can. Dara said he can hear it through the vibe…vibe—”

“Vibrations?” Jaskier suggested.

“Vibrations!” Ciri agreed “and he can still understand the words. He likes that you don’t treat him differently.”

Jaskier almost sobbed. That was probably one of the sweetest things his kids had ever said to him.

“I’m tired now. I’m going back to bed. Goodnight Mr Jaskier, Goodnight Dad!” He heard Ciri’s footsteps patter away.

“Fuck me.” Jaskier sighed and Geralt chuckled. “She’s a good kid.”

“The best.” Geralt agreed. “I should go too.”

“No hanging up this time?” Jaskier teased.

Geralt hummed in response.

“Goodnight, Geralt. Sleep well.”

“Night, Jaskier.”

Jaskier hit the end call button, his hands shaking in his lap.

“Fuck me…” He repeated under his breath and rubbed his eyes, smearing his glasses.

Geralt Rivia was going to be the death of him, and he would die happy.

______

Next

[mental-health-advice]

hey, i need some advice. a few months ago, i made a friend online. we sped through the stages of friendship in a few days, but i had an underlying anxious feeling the whole time. looking back, it was probably because he was very clingy (i felt like i had to be there for him 24/7) and rude to me. he would call me dumb or stupid as a joke, but they still hurt my feelings, and he made sexual comments about me that made me really uncomfortable. i wanted to ask him to stop, but i didn't have any other friends in my life and i was scared of losing him, even though i was somewhat aware that he wasn't good for me.

r eally soon after we started talking, he told me he liked me romantically. i did not feel the same way, but i was so scared of making him upset i had that i lied to him and convinced myself i did. i felt constantly sick after that, and soon i told him that i was wrong and i didn't feel the same way. he was understandably upset, it made talking to him even more uncomfortable for me.

i was still feeling really anxious all the time as a result of talking to him, and i told him that i was going to stop being so active online to focus on other things, as i had been neglecting nearly everything in my life to be there for him. he was upset about that too and would send messages like "i miss you" and "i wish we could talk more" that made me feel guilty when i was doing anything other than talking to him. i told him that, but he didn't stop.

i wished i had never become his friend and wanted to cut him off completely. i wasn't sleeping much and was feeling horrible this whole time, and really wanted to just disappear and be forgotten. eventually, i decided to just do it, and i blocked him and deleted any accounts that he could contact me on and haven't heard from him since.

i had hoped that i could just forget about it and move on, i feel like i'm overreacting when i have panic attacks over this. i feel like i was the problem, and like i was making a big deal out of nothing because he was well-intentioned. i hate the idea that he knows i exist and might mention me to other people. i overshared a lot while we were still talking and he knows way more about me than i'm comfortable with, and i'm paranoid he might share that information with people, even if i'd never find out about it and he couldn't effectively link it to me as he only knows my first name. we also video called a few times, and the idea that he could have pictures of my face really upsets me.

i feel like i shouldn't care, but i worry that i made him sad, and that by disappearing i impacted his mental health. i'm not sure if i made the right decision. talking to him wasn't good for me, i know that, but he wasn't mean all the time. we had fun together at some points, but i think overall it was a negative experience for me, but a positive one for him, as i was so desperate for approval that i would basically do anything he wanted and completely formed my schedule around him.

i'm really caught up in what i feel like i should have done. i think the right thing to do would have been to tell him some of these things before disappearing, but i wasn't really thinking sensibly at the time and instead panicked and disappeared. i've seen a lot of posts about how ghosting someone is terrible and never the right thing to do, which just makes me feel even worse.

i don't have anyone to talk to about this, my parents have specifically told me to never make friends online and i don't have any close friends in real life. even if i did have someone to talk to, i'd be embarrassed about it because i got myself into this situation in the first place and handled it horribly, and it's a dumb thing to be so worked up about.

in general, i don't know how to handle my feelings about the situation and feel better again. i know i can't live life constantly upset about something that happened several months ago, with someone who lives thousands of miles away who i'll hopefully never hear from again, but i don't know how to stop.

i feel so anxious that i am in a lot of physical pain and feel really nauseous. i can't sleep, and am exhausted to the point that i can't do anything. i've tried everything i know, regulated breathing, grounding exercises, distracting myself with things i like, etc but nothing has worked. i made a lot of bad decisions and i don't know how to move on from them.

Hey lovely,

Making friends online can be wonderful, but I’ve also had the experience that it can become quite dependent and therefore not healthy anymore. As with any other friendship, online friendships can go both ways!

It sounds like your friendship turned unhealthy. Having to be there for someone 24/7 isn’t healthy and isn’t good for the friendship, or for you! And jokes like that are only hurtful and not funny whatsoever. I’m sorry that you didn’t feel like you could stand up for yourself at that time. You definitely deserved to have stood up, but I really do understand why you didn’t feel like you could.

I think it’s really good that you eventually told him you weren’t romantically interested in him. It might have upset him, but it had to come out eventually and the sooner the better. It wasn’t fair on either of you to have kept things going. So well done!

I also think it’s really good that you tried to set a boundary by telling him that you wouldn’t be online as much anymore. That’s honestly a great step. He should have respected that boundary and shouldn’t have made you feel bad about it.

And I think you made a good call in blocking him and deleting those accounts. Like I said, your friendship sounds like it wasn’t healthy and setting boundaries hadn’t helped before, so this was a good next step to take.

I don’t think you’re overreacting at all! This was a difficult time for you and it’s bound to have its effects on you. But please take it from me: you weren’t the problem! From what you’ve outlined, he was very clingy and dependent and that can take its toll on a friendship.

Unfortunately you can’t change him knowing you and knowing information about you. I think that’s something that will take some time getting used to, but I believe you can get there! Since it is affecting you a lot, I do think it would be helpful to speak to a counsellor or other mental health professional about.

You are not responsible for his mental health. Maybe it upset him, you don’t know that. But in the end, you are your first priority. Staying in this friendship would have hurt you, and that is not okay and should be prevented! You need to take care of yourself first and foremost.

Did you find it helpful to type this out and write to us? I can imagine that it might have felt like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. Maybe you could try something like this more often? It doesn’t have to be an ask to us, but can also be a journal entry, or something you write down and then tear up or burn. Whatever feels best for you!

I hope this helped. Let us know if there’s anything else we can be of help with.

Sometimes what seems impossible, is just hard. Love Pauline

[ivystjamess]

WHEN IVY RECEIVED THE EMAIL that the spring show would be spring awakening, her gut told her ‘i can’t do this show.’ eventually, her brain kicked in and told her that was a stupid thought, and she settled on the idea of playing martha. she had a couple of great moments and an emotional story ivy knew she could pull off. additionally, martha’s story was one she could portray without risking her own emotional well being. . .like she might with lead roles such as wendla. as far as ivy was concerned, it was a pretty great plan! that was until she called to share it with her dad. first, he laughed. then, when jesse st.james realized his youngest co-production was being serious, he had no hesitations reminding her just what her last name was. jesse dismissed ivy’s fabricated excuse of girls like molly pearce, margot stanley, or kenna giardi going for the lead and assured her that going for wendla was the right choice. or the only one. between the sting of disappointing her parents or directly causing herself distress, in a heartbeat, ivy would take the latter. so it was settled. come wednesday, ivy would walk into the tibideaux theater, chin held high, resume in hand, and eye on the prize that was wendla bergmann.

auditioning, to ivy, was a science that began long before stepping on stage in front of a director. step one was research of the show and material selection. and step two was rehearsal. typically, ivy would tirelessly run through her song and monologue with her parents or friends, but considering her parents were busy in new york with hello dolly! rehearsals and most of her relationships were currently on the rocks, it looked a little different for this show. this go around, she opted to recording herself on her phone and picking apart her performance, facetiming her parents when they had a free moment to give limited feedback, and insisting eli give harsher criticisms after running her audition materials for her. despite these hurdles, ivy arrived at her audition wednesday feeling comfortable and confident with her selections. 

step three was focus. although waiting room etiquette was often debated, ivy didn’t bother chatting with the other auditioners like many advised one should do. she needed to keep a level head and maintain her precision before stepping into the “arena.” in fact, the entire day leading up to an audition or big performances, ivy rested her voice and hydrated to the extreme. today was no exception. she only broke that rule for vocal adrenaline rehearsal, which she had just left, and to do some vocal warm ups in the car before entering the building. by now, the regular circuit of auditioners knew not to bug ivy as she sat quietly in her chair, drank lots of water, and reviewed her song and monologue in her head. book open in her lap, ivy ran her finger over a line in hopelessly devoted to you (just in case she was asked to sing it) when the audition facilitator called her name. with a deep breath out, ivy rose to her feet, rolled her shoulders back, clutched her black binder to her chest, and entered through the doors. 

this was step four. the moment she stepped inside, she flashed a bright smile in bryan ryan’s direction as she made her way to the stage. “good evening.” she greeted, pausing only when she reached him to pull out her resume and headshot to give him. it was an entirely unnecessary precaution, but one that ivy always practiced. it was only professional! what wasn’t professional though, was bryan ryan musing about how she had been a joy to work with during into the woods as she walked down the rest of the ramp, and up the steps to the stage. sure, ivy loved the compliment, but did mr.ryan have no tact? still, she thanked him with another picture perfect smile and began her slate.

“hello, i’m ivy st.james, and today i will be performing say the word by kerrigan and lowdermilk, from their groundbreaking first album, our first mistake.” it had been an easy choice once ivy had dug it out from her mom’s sheet music collection in the basement. the song musically sounded enough like some of the softer moments in the show, but lyrically it was easy to envision wendla singing about melchior, how much he taught her, how she thought of him, and how deep her love truly was. there was a lingering queasiness ivy had when thinking about stepping into wendla’s shoes like that, but there was definitely a couple of boys she could think of who had taught her a couple of things. 

carrying on with her slate, ivy announced, “i will also be performing juliet’s monologue from act two, scene two. written by william shakespeare.” a charming smile, and then, “obviously.” of course ivy knew shakespearean monologues were often hit or miss, but she had a decent grasp on the material, and while the spring awakening musical was rather progressive, it’s time period was not. if all went as planned (which it should) it would showcase her ability to convey one of the most tragic love stories of all time, and wendla shared a love with melchior that was nothing if not tragic. 

as she moved to the final portion of her slate, ivy faltered as a rare pit of nerves pooled in her stomach. was she suddenly agitated at the notion of solidifying her grab for wendla or was it the idea of embodying her for the course of her actual audition that left her thrown off? nevertheless, ivy was quick to shake away the feeling and conclude her slate, “i would like to be placed in any role, but i would love it for you to consider me as wendla. thank you.” and with that, she was moving to provide sheet music for the accompaniment while bryan ryan looked over her audition information. now onto what she had been brought up to do: perform.

reaching center stage, ivy looked over to the accompaniment and nodded when she was ready. as soon as the instrumentals began, the lights around her dimmed to dark, leaving her standing in a single spotlight with her feet solidly planted and a series of emotions playing across her face: gratitude, longing, love, and loss. 

“sometimes when i look at you, i don't know why you’d wait. school girl in a little world, who learns everything late.”

ivy sang gently, not daring to move her feet a single step. this song would be one where she communicated feelings through her face, vocals, and sparing hand gestures. it wasn’t hidden that ivy could thrash around outrageously like some numbers in the show required, but this song wasn’t a moment like that. it was tender, soul baring, and not to be overdone. hands now rested delicately over her chest, the next lyrics slipped off her tongue in a soft stream that floated down to mr.ryan’s ears and hopefully tickled whatever he was looking for in a wendla. “i turn the light out under the covers all I think of is you. just you.”

“say the word and i just might listen. say the word, and you might get your way. loving you should be easier, but say the word, and i might have to stay.”

at the chorus, ivy revealed the faintest of smiles and continued singing with her heart as she tilted her head sideways up towards the spotlight, acting as if it’s beam were the sunny warmth of love. fully in her zone now, fleeting thoughts of the boys she’d loved raced through her mind and added a realistic quality to her performance before she reached the second verse and snapped her eyes open for the first time since she began. making eye contact with the “audience” from the second verse onward, ivy became more generous with belting and vocal runs as she tried to capture the essence of the doe eyed and naive wendla bergmann. there weren’t many roles ivy couldn’t pull off, but it was relatively easy to get in touch with this one. after all, at one point she’d been a similar type of girl as wendla. 

reflecting on that time built a tightness in her chest, but only fueled her performance to be all the more powerful. was she stronger with or without that part of her in tact? as she sang, she seemed to be trying to find the answer to that question. ivy came up empty handed, emotionally and physically. all she had now was a regionals trophy and a laundry list of things that made her sad. but what was it that she really wanted? if ivy really thought about it, it was simple...

“i want to be the girl there by your side. just tell me when, just tell me how. tell me i’m ready now. today. say…”

by the emotional climax of the song, ivy was still center stage as she belted out with everything she had. with outstretched arms and tears rolling down her cheek, she utilized her vibrato and used her voice to try and push all the non-character related feelings she was currently having from her mind. it wasn’t exactly successful in the way she wanted it to be, but it certainly enhanced her performance. reaching the final set of lyrics, ivy skillfully pulled all of that energy back in and slowly brought her arms in with it as she concluded on stay. 

ivy gave bryan ryan a moment to sit with the song before transitioning into her monologue. following say the word, ivy felt like she had emotional whiplash, but also, an odd sense of clarity. shortly after, she made it through the monologue as juliet with expert delivery and all the necessary elements to make it relatable to her desired role. and if anything, it was easier for ivy to get through. she was able to have fun with it. not often was it that one got to revisit a role they played in middle school!

truth be told, when all was concluded, ivy might have turned to mr.ryan with that same rehearsed smile, but she was ready to get off stage and breathe after that taxing performance. it left her a lot to sit with. fortunately, he dismissed her with an excellent job and a you’ll hear back by friday. so again, ivy thanked him, grabbed her book from the accompanist and hurried out so the next individual could head in. 

now came step five, the waiting.

THE END.

[cosmiclatte28]

Fate and Destiny (Kai x you, soulmate au!)

Short fic of KAI X YOU! 

soulmate AU!

-- enjoy --

Ever since your seventeenth birthday, you notice something wrong with your body. Now it was not pimple, nor wrinkles, and not any other puberty stuffs. You wake up to random bruises and scratches on your skin. You’re pretty sure you never have a bruise on your knee when you go to bed last night, but oh well you almost broke your cup of cocoa this morning when you saw your reflection on the mirror. You’re not a clumsy person who might stub their knee upon going to bed, nor falling off a stair. That being the reason why you’re always creeped up when you found yet another fresh bruise on your skins. 

You decided to shrug it off since there was no pain or bothering sensation there. It’s only annoying to see a fresh new bruise. You shake your head and head to change your clothes to get ready for a class. 

The scorching heat in summer makes it impossible for you to wear a training pants just to cover the bruise, no you’ll need a pair of shorts for the sake of your sanity. You prepare your heart as you head out your small rented apartment room, today will be a long day. 

Sure enough five minutes into the building, your friends are all questioning you where did you get your bruise. 

“Did you fall from the stairs? Again?” 

“You must be kidding, that is a nasty bruise… you probably fell when you sleepwalk … you sure you’re okay?” 

“Oh admit it.. do you have a rough night with someone?” one of your friend winked 

You roll your eyes, you live alone. There was no way someone caused this. 

“I live alone okay, and I do not have any abusive boyfriend… let alone a boyfriend. You know I’m single.” You said while taking your favorite seat.

Lecture went well and so is life. 

 It was not until your 20th birthday when you finally found the answer to your surprising bruises and scars. You discover the truth after meeting a specialist who told you “That is a special sign from your soulmate! Different people have different signs for finding their soulmates. It will begin from your 17th birthday until the day you meet your soulmate!” 

You don’t want to believe her at first, thinking this $200 session was a scam, you decided to surf the internet and look for people who have the same symptoms as yours.

Turns out there were many people like you out there who’s looking for their soulmates too. One thing for sure caught your attention that there is a website for you to look for your soulmate. Because he or she might be on the other side of the hemisphere. And that significant others of yours, might have different signs to find you.

You chose to make a move and signed up for an account. Every day you post the pictures of the bruises and scars, with some glint of hope a random clumsy person will finally find you and maybe the two of you can work it out and you’re finally free from the random bruises.

For one and a half year you posted pictures and went to meet several people who thought you’re their soulmates. But until today, you still wake up to more random bruises. Gosh just how abusive is this significant others of yours living with?!

You bare with the situation until one day, you’re attending a concert. A SuperM concert in LA. 

You were going through the concert like any other fans  and right as you queue yourself to leave the venue, someone actually tapped your shoulder and asked you politely to follow them. 

You’re confused but you decided to follow him and he brings you to a room. Feeling nervous, you fiddle with the small tattoo you’ve also had since born! Yeah you also struggle with that small rose tattoo on your inner wrist. Your teachers always thought your parents were crazy in letting their child have a tattoo before her legal age. But truth is you’re born with it. You used to hide it with bandages, watches, bracelets, and long sleeves. However, as you age, you can finally show it to the world like it is a tattoo done in an expensive professional parlor. Why? Because damn those thin lines engraving rose on your skin are very exquisite. A lot of people asked you where did you get such a beautiful job done.

You wait in the room nervously, did they caught you for don’t know maybe you unknowingly threw a glance to the members and they feel violated… or maybe someone reported you of something. 

“Sorry to take your time,” A breath-taking man stood in front of you. You shoot your head from your palm to the man across you. He still has his make ups and stage hair on, only that his clothes are changed to a comfortable tee shirt.

 “You probably have tons of questions in your head, but please let me just make this quick.” He goes forward to you and suddenly takes your left hand, he softly turns your hand to face up and a big smile appears on his face. 

“This!” He wiped his thumb over the glowing tattoo, hey since when did it glow? 

Your eyes widen as your brain tries to process the situation. 

“No way,” you gasp and you glance one more time to his wrist and yours. There located on the same exact position, the same glowing tattoo. 

“Kai?!” you exclaimed in surprise. Is Kai your soulmate!!!!

“You… gosh now that explains all of the bruises!” you raise your hand to make a “mind blown” action with your hands. 

Kai giggles, “What did I do to you?” 

“You make it hard for me to wake up with random bruises on my body! I almost thought my soulmate lives with someone abusive! Turns out it was you and your hard work…” you giggled.

“Whoop I’m sorry, yes I have a lot of bruises and scars from the dance practices… but I’m glad I finally found you! You did not know how hard was it for me to hide this tattoo when I go to school and the fans! Gosh they all knew about this and made a matching one!” kai frustratedly speaks his heart out.

“Well are you sure I’m the one?” you ask after hearing his reasoning. 

Kai smiles softly and reaches for your hands, “Because I’ve met lots of girls who tried to fake the tattoo and whenever I saw that mark during fan signs, I knew it’s different. No one can make this perfect mark! Plus I’ve never seen any unusual thing until tonight. Amidst the darkness and the crowds, when you raise your light stick and I happen to pass by you. That’s when I saw your rose glows and quickly I checked mine,” he turns his wrist over and mine too. 

“See, when I meet the true owner the rose will glow. Then there’s this I don’t know tingling sensation … don’t you?” Kai cocks his head 

A crisp laugh erupts between you two, “Kai I’m going here to attend a concert of my favorite band … of course I’m nervous and excited. The butterflies in my stomach is crazy right now, moreover you came here and told me I am your soul mate.” 

“You know… I’ve traveled around the world, meet different people and finally! Finally I found you!” Kai holds your hands tighter 

“So, would you like to know me more or am I going to leave like nothing happened?” You tease him. 

“Not so fast miss, Tell me how does wine and cheese sounds to you?” Kai smirks

“That’s an okay from me,” You smile politely

“Great! Wait for me here, what’s your name?” he asked before leaving the door to change his attire. 

You raise your head to face him, “(y/n)… nice to finally meet you mr bruises and scars.” You taunt at him 

He laughs, knowing he will love you, “Great miss rose. Let me grab my things and I’ll come back here.” 

You sit down when the door closes and you let our a small squeal. Your soul mate happens to be Kai… you don’t know you’re this lucky. 

After all, fate and destiny did bring the two of you together. He traveled around the world, saw a lot of girls with that artificial rose, but amidst all of that he did find you, the real owner of the rose mark. And you, you’ll finally live in peace without worrying any more bruises! 

Life is great and love is magical. 

[lukatheselkie]

FrUk Week Day Six - FACE

@frukweek2020

Uh. This got INCREDIBLY out of hand. The characters took over and they didn’t want me to stop writing until this was finished. Even though that was roughly 6,600 words long. Human AU. Alfred and Matthieu are elementary schoolers, and they each have a single dad. This is the story of how the boys met, and dragged their fathers into a relationship.

High key I love writing child Alfred, he’s adorable. And Matthieu.

Warnings: Cussing. There’s a blowjob at the end, BUT I’ve marked where to stop reading if you want to read to that point. The sheer freaking length of this thing deserves a warning, though it’s not technically needed.

    Alfred and Matthieu literally run into each other on the playground at school. As they stand and look at each other, their similarities stick out to one another almost immediately. Alfred is the first to react. “You have my face!” He screams, pointing at the shy boy. Matthieu flinches back, bringing his hands up to cover his ears. Why did he have to run into potentially the loudest boy in the entire elementary school on his first day? And where are his glasses!? He drops to the ground, and runs his hands over the soft, slightly bouncy pad meant to keep kids from hurting themselves too much. The strange boy sits next to him, and holds out his hand. “Here. These are yours, right?” He reaches out carefully and grabs the thing offered to him. To his relief, it is his glasses. He slips them on and scowls at the boy. Apparently this is an invitation for him to start talking.

    “What’s your name? Mine’s Alfred! Are you new here? I’ve never seen you here before! I think I would have noticed someone that looks so similar to me. How old are you? I’m ten! Do you think we could be brothers? I’m adopted! Dad says he doesn’t like keeping secrets from me, so I know that, but others that are adopted might not. It’s okay if you don’t know! I can ask your parent...s!? Do you have one parent, like me, or two? Hey, we should switch places! You’ll really love dad! He’s kind and caring and he makes the best scones! Though everyone else seems to dislike them, I’m not sure why. I think he’s the best cook in the whole wide world. If you don’t want to switch, you should come over after school! I know my address, so I don’t get lost. Do you know yours? No, probably not, if you just moved here. But we should totally have a sleepover! Then dad can bring us both to school tomorrow. Or we can have a weekend sleepover! Tomorrow’s Friday, after all! How does that sound? I’m excited! I made a new friend that looks just like me! Well, almost. What’s this?” He reaches out and tugs on Matthieu’s curl. He shoves his hands away quickly, cheeks flushed.

    “Don’t touch that please. It’s really hard to get it to stay how I like it!” Alfred scrunches up his nose at him.

    “You’re too quiet. I can barely hear you! Try speaking louder. It’s so much fun when you can be heard! And why didn’t you answer any of my questions? Oh, your glasses are different from mine! We’d have to take each other’s if we want to switch. And I’d have to get this stupid cowlick into a curl.” Alfred starts rocking back and forth happily. “You’d have to make your curl a cowlick! I think you’d look cute with one. Hmm, you have purple eyes though. I don’t. Mine are blue! I’m sure dad won’t notice though. He’s not exactly the most observant. I love him, but he’s sometimes wrapped up in his own stuff. It must be hard, being an adult. Say, why haven’t you answered my questions again?”

    “Because you won’t be quiet long enough for me to speak!” He narrows his eyes at the boy. “You’re obnoxious.” He sighs heavily.

    “What’s that mean? Is it a compliment? I’m going to take it as a compliment! Dad says those are nice things people say about you, to you sometimes.” He pauses long enough to take a breath. Finally.  “I miss dad. Maybe we shouldn’t switch. I want to see him when I go home. Not that I think your parents won’t be loving!” He stops rocking, and frowns deeply at his new friend. “Hey, should I stop talking to give you a chance to talk back?” A nod, then silence.

    “Alright. Now that you’re done. My name is Matthieu, I’m also ten. Daddy and I just moved here last week. It took a bit for me to get into the school system. I don’t want to switch places, or have a sleepover with you. I don’t know you.” He answers the bare minimum, despite knowing every question that was asked. He’s not adopted. He would have already been told that! ...Right? Now he’s not so sure. He looks over Alfred, frowning. He looks like my twin. It can’t be. Can it?

    “Pfffft! You still call your Dad ‘Daddy’! We’re too old for that, dude! We’re big boys now! Men.” He hops up, placing his hands on his hips in a superhero pose. “See? Men! Little men. We don’t need to call them that anymore!” Matthieu hugs himself. He doesn’t like this loud boy. He’s too energetic. He plops back down next to him, and lays his head on his shoulder. He hopes he doesn’t have head lice. “Though it would be nice to be able to call him that again. I might try it. I miss it. Thanks! Oh! Here!” He pulls something out of his pocket. “I’ll share my scone with you for that! You’ll love it.” Alfred feels the boy next to him shudder, and wraps an arm around him tightly. “It’s not cold out here. Why are you cold? Are you sick? Do you need to go to the nurse? Want me to walk with you? I will! I’ll even ask if we can go. You’re too quiet to be heard by them. Hey, that’s a good idea! I’ll be your voice from now on! Tell me what you want to say as quiet as you want, and I’ll say it as loud as I want! That’ll be great! I can’t wait to do that!”

    “I’m alright,” he mumbles, staring at his fingers. He very much dislikes that he likes having someone his age hug him. Sure, cuddles and hugs and kisses from his father are nice, but he always feels too big. “If I ask Daddy about sleeping over and he says yes, will you hold me like this the entire time?”

    “Mmhmm!” He nods his head dramatically. “I will! Anything to make my new friend happy!”

    “Then your father isn’t cooking. I’ll ask Daddy if he can make us something. He’s a professional chef.” Normally, he wouldn’t gloat about that. But he has to do something to stage this kid up. He’s got so much confidence, and courage, and everything Matthieu has ever wanted. It feels like the only thing he has on him is his father’s job.

    “Profes… What’s that word mean?”

    “He’s very good at it.” Well, and maybe his vocabulary. But that’s nothing to brag about. That makes him a nerd. Prime picking on material. That’s part of the reason he stays so quiet and  to himself. He doesn’t want to be picked on again.

    “Ooooooh yes! Please! I wanna eat something he makes! Dad isn’t a chef, but he’s still the bestest cook to me! I have to say that though, he’s my dad. And I love him very much. Don’t worry though! I’ll be honest about your dad’s food. I can’t wait!” Alfred hugs his new friend tighter. “Do you live with anyone else? If not, we should totally have a mega sleepover! You and I, and our dads! I’m sure they’d love to get to know each other. What parent doesn’t want to get to know their child’s best friend’s parent?” Matthieu shrugs, not knowing what else to do. He’s never really had a friend before now. “Here!” He shoves a piece of paper into his hand. “It’s my dad’s number. I’m supposed to keep that paper in my pocket for safety reasons, but I want your dad to call him! I’ve got it memorized, I’ll write another one when we go back in. Please have him call when you get home! I want to be able to do this sleepover tomorrow! And let’s go all weekend!” He looks up, and frowns deeply. “Awwww man! It’s time to go in. You know what to do, right? I’ll talk to you later!” He stands and runs off. What a strange boy. He glances down at the paper in his hand. This is going to be interesting.

~

    Alfred bursts into his father’s classroom, a million things to say about his new friend. Arthur has to take both of his hands, squeeze, and tell him to breathe. He closes his eyes to do so, and takes maybe ten deep breaths. “Do you think you can answer my questions without getting off topic now?” He nods frantically, and his dad smiles at him. “Thank you. What’s your new friend’s name?”

    “Matthew! No, that’s not right. He said it really weird, I think it’s another language.”

    “Perhaps. I’ll ask his father when he calls. You said he was going to do that, right?”

    “Mmhmm! Can we have a sleepover tomorrow?” Arthur sighs.

    “We’ll have to see. I’ve got a test tomorrow, and I might need extra time grading. I can’t watch the two of you and grade at the same time.”

    “His dad can watch us! He’s coming over too, I think. He’s cooking for us. He’s a profesonel chef! And then he’s going to stay the night with you, if that’s okay? That way we can have a mega sleepover! Matthew and I, and you and his dad! We should watch movies and cuddle!” Arthur takes in the information without struggle. He’s assuming Alfred meant professional chef. He’ll have to help him with his pronunciation on that. As for the sleepover…

    “I would very much like to have a sleepover with him as well, but I’m sure he has to work. I don’t mind watching the two of you if I can get my grading done. I will speak with him about that. If he doesn’t mind staying until I’m finished, you two can have your sleepover.”

    “Yay!” He sticks his bottom lip out in a pout, and crosses his arms over his chest. “I wanna tell him now though. Can he hurry and call!?”

    “Alfred. You know not everyone works here. His dad might not even be home when he gets there. Or he might stay somewhere else until he can be picked up. Give it a little bit, alright? Here. Why don’t you draw me a picture of Matthew?” He hands him a pile of printer paper and some crayons. “That way I can know how similar you two truly are.” He runs over to one of the desks excitedly. Thank goodness that distraction worked.

~

    “Daddy!” Matthieu runs toward Francis. He picks him up, and hugs him close. The boy buries his nose in his hair, smiling brightly.

    “Oh? I see that smile. What brought that on? Did something good happen on your first day at your new school?” He nods, giggling quietly.

    “It did! I made a new friend! I think. He looks a lot like me, Daddy. Do you know if I have a brother? We’re the same age, so he’d be my twin. He says he’s adopted, too, so I… I thought it might be possible. He said something about me being adopted? It made me think. I’ve never heard you talk about mom.” Francis sighs heavily.

    “I didn’t want you to find out this way. And I’m so sorry for not telling you earlier. I just… I didn’t want you to love me any less, I suppose. You are adopted. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see you as my perfect little boy. I love you very much. You know that, right?”

    “Mm, I do!” He giggles again as he nods, wrapping his arms as far around Francis’ shoulders as he can. “I sort of figured I was adopted after he said that. It’s okay! I love you exactly the same. No! Actually, I love you more now! You chose me. You didn’t have to, but you did.” He kisses his cheek. “So don’t feel bad for it, okay, Daddy? I promise it doesn’t hurt! And I’m sure there’s a reason you didn’t get Alfred, if he’s my twin.”

    “He is. I desperately wanted him as well, but he had already been adopted. I’m guessing by his dad now. I was told he wanted both of you, too, but was denied. He couldn’t bear to leave both of you though, so he adopted your brother. Not that there was anything wrong with you! Alfred would cry without him. He adopted the one that seemed hurt more by his absence. You’ve always been my sweet independent boy, so that makes sense. I’m glad you two have found each other though. Who knew we would move to the same area?” He laughs softly.

    “It’s like fate wanted us together! All four of us.” He squeezes his shoulders lightly. “Alfred wants us to spend the night with him and his dad. Both of us. He called it a mega sleepover. You’re supposed to call to talk to him, when we get home. I got his number!” He tugs the paper out of his pocket and hands it to his father.

    “Alright. I can at least call. But let’s go home first, oui?” He walks toward the vehicle, smiling at his son’s excited nod.

~

    Alfred perks up when he hears Arthur’s phone ringing. That must be Matthew’s dad! “Hello, Arthur speaking.” There’s a quiet laugh from the other end that makes him blush a bit.

    “Hello, Arthur. Are you Alfred’s father? I’m Matthieu’s father, Francis. He told me to call you?” So that’s how it’s pronounced.

    “Ah, yes! It’s nice to speak with you. Alfred tells me he met your son today and made plans with him. I apologize. He can get carried away. He shouldn’t have decided on anything without our input.” He gives his son a pointed look.

    “It’s alright! I don’t mind. I’d do anything for Matthieu’s first friend. So he mentioned the mega sleepover?”

    “That he did. I told him we might have to work. But if you’re off tomorrow afternoon, they can have their sleepover. I may have to grade papers and I can’t watch them without help while I do that. If you’re okay with helping.” There’s a playful scoff.

    “I’m not hearing the part where I stay all night, like they have planned.”

    “I- You can! Please don’t think you aren’t welcome! I thought you would have to work is all.” His cheeks flush crimson.

    “You’re forgiven. For now. I make sure I have the weekends off to spend time with Matthieu. If he wants that time to be with Alfred and you as well, then I’ll gladly go with him.”

    “I would do the same for Alfred.” A comfortable silence falls between them. After a moment, he remembers something. “Oh! Alfred said they planned for us to sleep together.” He lowers his voice so his son can’t hear. “They don’t realize we aren’t as carefree as them. We can discuss sleeping arrangements when you arrive. I’ll send you the address. What time should I expect you?”

    “Around five. I have something important to talk to you about as well.”

    “Alright. We will eagerly await your arrival tomorrow.”

    “Thank you. Have a wonderful rest of your day.” This makes Arthur blush even more.

~

    Francis looks back at Matthieu when he pulls up to Arthur and Alfred’s house. “You ready for your first sleepover, kiddo?” He hugs his stuffed polar bear tighter to his chest.

    “I-I think so! But my legs are all wobbly. Can you carry me in?”

    “Of course I will. Anything for my sweet little boy.” He hops out, and opens Matthieu’s door. He unbuckles him from his carseat, and picks him up. He grabs hold of his overnight bag as well, then closes the door, making sure to lock up the vehicle. He kisses Matthieu’s hair reassuringly, and walks up to the door. “Do you want to knock?”

    “Yes please!” He reaches out and taps the door. Apparently Arthur is waiting for them to arrive, because the door swings open a second later.

    “Hello, and welcome to our home.” Matthieu wiggles to be let down before they even get inside, and Francis places him down carefully.

    “Thank you very much! Alfred! Where are you!?” He runs into the house.

    “He’s usually very shy. I’m glad he’s found a friend that he feels comfortable around.” He looks at Arthur, who’s got a shocked expression on his face. “What?”

    “He and Alfred look almost exactly alike,” he whispers.

    “Oui, they do. But you know why.”

    “He’s the twin I couldn’t adopt,” his voice is louder now, though barely. Francis nods.

    “He is. I’m happy they found each other. But what are the chances we would move to the same area?” He laughs heartily. “It’s like fate wanted them together again. I’m glad.”

    “How are we going to tell them that?”

    “I’ve already told Matthieu. I hadn’t realized you didn’t tell Alfred yet.”

    “I didn’t think they looked as similar as he said. Alfred has a tendency to hyperbolize everything.” Francis snorts quietly. Arthur scoffs. “What? Did you not expect an English teacher to use that word?”

    “An English teacher, hmm? That only slightly explains your inability to cook. Alfred offered Matthieu some of the scone you made him, and he told me he feared for his life.” Arthur snaps his head around, ready to chew him out. His heart skips a beat. It’s the first time he’s looked at Francis, and he feels light headed. He’s beautiful. Shit! This isn’t good! His house guest is super fucking attractive!

    “Not all of us can be professional chefs,” he settles on, looking away again.

    “Oui, that is true. Though I can teach you, if you would like to learn?” He shouldn’t take the offer. That’s torturing himself. But he finds himself nodding. “Great! We can start tonight. After you’re done grading, of course. I’ll go watch the boys until then. Where might I find them?” Arthur steps back, and points at the door to Alfred’s room silently. He smiles at him, and walks toward it. Well shit. He’s royally fucked. ~

    “You have a stuffed polar bear?” Matthieu nods sheepishly. “Cool! Are they a comfort item? I have one of those! His name is Toni. He’s an alien!” He crawls up on his bed, and grabs Toni. “See? I sleep with him every night. Does yours have a name?” He nods once. “Nice! You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I know it can be personal.” He shrugs, and slides back down to the floor, holding Toni close. “What do you wanna do first? Dad’s still got to grade some, but we can start on the fun! They can join later. We’ll get the ball rolling. Whatever that means. I’ve heard dad use it a few times, so I know I’m using it right!” Matthieu giggles quietly. He really likes his brother. They’re each other’s opposite. Perfect for completing each other. He wraps his arms around him, giving him a big hug. “What’s this for?”

    “To show you how much I love you.” Alfred brings his arms up to hug him back.

    “I love you too! So much. And we’re going to love each other even more, as the night continues! I can’t wait for it.” Someone opens his door, and he turns his head to it. “Oh! Hello there! You must be Matthew’s dad! You’re very pretty, you know. Prettier than most women I know!” He chuckles softly.

    “Thank you. I’m glad to see you two getting along. Matthieu, do you want to change into your night clothes?”

    “Please!” Francis smiles fondly, and hands him his overnight bag.

    “Oh! Of course! You can change in my bathroom!” Alfred points at a door inside his room. “It’s over there!” How sweet of Arthur to give him the ensuite room. Though he did the same for Matthieu. They must think similarly. He watches his son walk into the room after pulling out his clothes. “Hey! You should change into your night clothes too! Jeans are uncomfortable.” He sticks his bottom lip out in a pout.

    “I have to cook first. But I will when I’m finished, alright?”

    “Pinky promise?” He holds out his hand.

    “Pinky promise.” He kneels, and grabs Alfred’s pinky with his own. The boy grins, and throws his arms around him. “Aren’t you quite the hugger?” He laughs. “I’m glad Matthieu made friends with someone so friendly.”

    “Matthew’s great! I love him already. He loves me, too! He told me so.” He pulls away to cross his arms over his chest proudly. “But I’m sure he loves you still! Just like I love my dad still.”

    “I’m sure he does. Love isn’t a limited feeling. The more it’s needed, the more it shows up.” Alfred furrows his brows slightly.

    “Matthew and I don’t love you both any less, but we love each other more than we did. Does that mean if you and dad come to love each other, you will still love us the same you already do?” Francis feels his cheeks heat up slightly in embarrassment. He picks Alfred up and brushes his nose against his cheek.

    “That’s right. We might love you both even more by then. If that happens. I’m not going to promise it will. But it could.” Alfred’s eyes light up.

    “Then you would move in together and Matthew and I would never have to be apart! Except for at school, but everywhere else we could be together!” He gasps. “We could have sleepovers every night!” He wiggles out of Francis’ arms and runs over to Matthieu, who’s just come out of the bathroom. “We have to get our dads together! We’d be able to have a sleepover every night! We’d live in the same house! Let’s get them together, pleeeeeeeeeeeease!”

    “Daddy says love isn’t something you can force. And they’d have to be in love for that to happen.” Alfred’s bottom lip trembles, and he starts crying. “Hey! Okay! Alright! We can try. Just stop crying. Please.” He wipes at his tears. “I don’t want to see someone I love crying.” He hugs him tightly. “Just don’t be disappointed if they don’t wind up loving each other, okay?” Alfred nods, hiccuping slightly from his outburst of tears. “Shh. I’m right here. I’ll soothe you.” He glances up at his father, who’s standing in the doorway with an amused expression. “Go find Arthur, Daddy! We’ll be fine!”

    “Yeah! We’ve got to plot! Shew! Go! You can’t hear any of this!” He laughs, and leaves the room without protest. He finds Arthur, and leans against the wall next to him.

    “Just thought you should know, our sons are plotting ways to get us together currently. They want a sleepover every night.” Arthur groans quietly, but doesn’t look up from his grading.

    “It was Alfred’s idea, wasn’t it? No need to answer, I know it was. I’d hate to disappoint them. Should we just let them plot for now?” Francis raises a brow.

    “Don’t you think we should stop it before it becomes something serious?”

    “I’ve never seen him this happy. I want to enjoy it a bit more before I tell him anything.” He sighs softly. “I knew it would come back to bite me in the ass when I told him boys could love boys, and girls could love girls. And everyone in between.”

    “I wondered why he used a neutral term for Matthieu’s polar bear. Now I know. He’s got a wonderful father.” He notices Arthur’s cheeks turn red.

    “I’m only teaching him love and acceptance. That shouldn’t mean I’m a wonderful father. It should be the norm.”

    “But it isn’t. And that’s what makes you wonderful for doing it. I’m teaching Matthieu the same things.” Arthur looks up at him. “It’s relieving, knowing I can make a friend with the same views I have about that.”

    “I suppose it is. But are we friends? We aren’t their age anymore. Looking at each other doesn’t make us friends.”

    “Maybe not. But I would say trusting me to watch your child, and trusting me to be in your house, counts as friendship. I view us as friends. Don’t you?” Arthur rolls his eyes, and goes back to grading.

    “I know you wouldn’t do anything. You’ve got a child as well. We aren’t friends because we don’t know much about each other.” Francis scoffs.

    “Then let’s change that. You’re an English teacher. I’m a chef. Your name is Arthur. Mine is Francis. We both have beautiful little boys that are actually twins. That alone should be enough for us to be friends.”

    “I really must finish grading. Please, leave me be. We can speak when we cook. Feel free to sit on the couch and watch something. I have a feeling Alfred and Matthieu will come out if they hear the television going.” Not wanting to push anything, Francis does as he’s told. Arthur was right; the two boys come out less than a minute after he turns on the television, and cuddle up to him and each other.

~

    “Well, good to see you three getting along.” Arthur smiles at them. Alfred launches himself into his arms, hugging him tightly.

    “You’re finished! Yay! Can we have macaroni and cheese tonight? And chicken nuggets!”

    “Some corn, too?” Comes Matthieu’s quiet voice. Before he can respond, Francis is speaking.

    “Of course you can.” He kisses both of them on the forehead, then looks at Arthur. “But I won’t stand for boxed food. Can you watch after Matthieu for a bit? I’m going to get ingredients.” He nods slowly. “Merci!” He pulls his car keys out of his pocket, and is out the door before Arthur can comprehend what happened.

    “Ooooooh! Chef food!” Matthieu lets out a snort of laughter. It reminds both of the people with him of his father’s amused laugh.

~

    “Sorry I ran out so fast. I was inspired. Can you put on a movie for the boys? Then meet me in the kitchen!” He hurries to the room, washing his hands while he waits on Arthur. He grins at him when he comes into the room a few minutes later. “Great! Wash your hands.” He does so silently. “Do you know how to make corn on the cob?”

    “Boil some water, right?”

    “Okay. Can you get some bowls for the chicken? I’m going to bread it.”

    “What? Is that not how you make corn?” Francis smiles sweetly at him.

    “It’s better in the oven.” Arthur blushes slightly. He feels silly now. Why has he never thought of that? “It’s alright. I don’t expect you to know all of my tricks. That’s why I’m teaching you. If you knew them already, there wouldn’t be a point in doing this.” Arthur nods slowly. That makes sense! He hurries to pull out some bowls for Francis. “You can boil some water for the macaroni though. After we make the noodles.” Make the noodles!? What on Earth!

    “Are we doing everything from scratch?”

    “Absolutely.” This is going to be a long prep. “Let’s see… Noodles first. They have to rest for a bit. I can cut the chicken while that happens.” He pulls out some ingredients, and starts whisking them together. He explains exactly what he’s doing to Arthur, smiling the entire time. Once the pasta is resting, he washes his hands again, and shifts to cutting the chicken into cubed pieces. He covers them in a flour, season salt, salt, and pepper mix, dips them in egg, then in breadcrumbs. He places each one carefully on a pan, placing them in the oven when he’s finished. Arthur’s stomach knots up nervously when he leans close to him to wash his hands. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” He shakes his head quickly.

    “I think I can do that in the future.”

    “Good. They’re much healthier than anything store bought. And tastier. I’m sure Alfred will appreciate it.” He pulls away, and Arthur lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “On to the pasta!” He starts folding it delicately. Arthur… tries. And very miserably fails. “Here. Like this.” He takes his hands and moves them carefully, showing him how to do it. He can feel his heart beating fast. Francis is stunning. He feels special, having him here to teach him all of this. “Try on your own?” He does, focusing hard on the dough in front of him. He actually manages to make one.

    “I did it!” He smiles brightly, laughing a bit. “I didn’t think it was possible! Thank you!” He turns to hug him, and freezes. Right. They’re not close enough for that. He goes back to making pasta, head bowed and cheeks flushed. When they’re finished, Francis places them aside, washes his hands again, and fills a pot with water to boil it. Arthur washes his hands, and starts shucking the corn. At least he can do that! Francis watches him curiously, but doesn’t comment. Hopefully that means he’s doing good? He hands them off to the man when they’re clean, and he places them on a sheet to be buttered.

    “It’s sweet corn, so it’s better to only butter them. Other types you want to prepare differently.” Arthur nods. He’s actually understanding this! “Would you like to put them in?” He carefully takes the pan, and slides them into the oven, next to the chicken nuggets. He trusts that Francis knows what he’s doing. “Now for the macaroni.” He pushes them into the boiling water, and stares intently at them. He drains them way sooner than Arthur expected. Seeing his confusion, Francis explains it to him. “Fresh pasta cooks a lot faster.”     “Ah.” He bows his head again, blushing more. He glances up just in time to see his companion adding shredded cheese and milk to the noodles. “Even the cheese has to be made like this?”

    “It’s better this way, trust me.” He bites his bottom lip, and measures out some breadcrumbs. He tosses those into the macaroni and cheese, and stirs them in. That’s… interesting. “They’re really good. I promise.” He gives him a reassuring smile, then checks on the items in the oven. He pulls out the corn, but leaves the chicken nuggets. Maybe three minutes pass before he deems them done. He turns to grin at Arthur. “Doesn’t that feel better? Oh, by the way, you’re covered in flour from the pasta.” He brushes his shirt off lightly. Fuck. His hand is warm, and gentle, and Arthur steadfastly ignores the pleasure that comes from him touching his chest.

    “I should probably go change. You should, too.” He gives him a polite, slightly concerned smile. “You must be hot in that. I don’t know how you cook with sleeves.”

    “I guess I’m used to it. But oui, I’ll change too. Then we can all eat!”

~     Did Arthur already mention he’s royally fucked? Because he is. He’s been staring at Francis for the past two and a half hours. He only knows it’s been that long because that’s the length of the movie that just ended. He didn’t watch a second of it. “I’m glad we were able to tell the boys they’re actually twins. I think they took it well. Don’t you?” He looks at the two between them. They’re snuggled up to each other, asleep. Matthieu is beside Francis, and Alfred is beside him.

    “I think they’re happy to have each other in any way. Being brothers just makes it better.” Francis nods thoughtfully.

    “I’ve been thinking a lot about their plan to get us together.” Not this. Anything but this. “I don’t think we should ruin their fun.”

    “We have to. We can’t let them think there’s a possibility of moving in together sometime soon.” Francis looks him dead in the eyes.

    “Who’s to say there isn’t a possibility? I know you’ve been staring at me. For the entire length of the movie. Do you even know what we just watched?” His face turns crimson, and he jerks his head to the side. “I thought so. Don’t worry though.” He carefully reaches over the boys to grab Arthur’s hand and squeeze, causing him to look at him again. “The only reason I know you’ve been staring at me is because I’ve been staring at you. More discreetly, of course, but I have. You’re cute. And I love your eagerness to learn. I hope that exists in every category.” He winks at him, then runs his tongue along his teeth. Arthur shudders at the implications.

    “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he huffs out indignantly. Francis raises a brow at him. It’s a challenge. Are you sure this is the route you want to take? It is. “Besides, I’m only eager to learn because there’s so much I don’t know yet.”

    “I can teach you something right now, if you want.” He squeezes his hand again. “I know I want to.” He licks his lips.

    “That depends on what it is. And where our relationship stands if it’s what I think it is.”

    “It’s definitely not as bad as what you’re thinking it is. But I won’t do it if you aren’t willing. As for our relationship… Will you be my boyfriend?” There’s the word. That darn word that has Arthur’s face practically on fire from the embarrassment! He nods, feeling too shy to say anything. “Good. Now I want to teach you something.” He releases his hand, and carefully stands, making sure not to wake the boys. He picks Arthur up, still being cautious. “Where’s your room?”

This is your stopping point if you’re not reading the blowjob part

    “U-upstairs. First door on the right.” He clings to Francis tightly, stomach twisting nervously. He makes his way to the room, and sets Arthur down on the bed. To his relief, he doesn’t get over him. Instead, he kneels by the bed after locking the door. “Oh! You want to do that!” He covers his face. Wearing sweatpants wasn’t the best idea. It’s super easy to tell he’s horny.

    “Only if you’re okay with it.” He nods nervously.

    “I am.” Francis grabs both of his thighs from behind and squeezes reassuringly.

    “I promise to be gentle.” He presses a heated kiss to his bulge. Shit that feels good! It’s been too long since someone else touched him. He lets out a quiet whine.

    “More. Please.”

    “Non, not until you’re completely hard.” He kisses it again. Arthur’s breath hitches, and he tilts his head back. “You’re very sensitive. This will be fun.” He tightens his grip on his thighs, and sucks lightly. Arthur squirms a bit. This will be really fun. “Try not to wake Alfred and Matthieu,” he mumbles before tugging at his pants. He lifts his hips up, letting him slip them off easily. He can’t help but smile when he sees his underwear. “Superman.”

    “Shush. Alfred picked them out. He wanted me to know I’m his hero. Now continue. Please.” Francis nods, and sucks on his bulge again. He jerks slightly, letting out a faint squeak. He breathes out through his mouth to tease him, and is surprised to feel hands in his hair.

    “That’s how you want to play?” Arthur nods. Francis smirks, and bites down lightly on the fabric. His hair gets tugged on, and Arthur jolts slightly.

    “Fuck,” he breathes out. He reaches for his pillow, and brings it to his mouth so he can bite down on it. He’s not going to be able to keep himself silent. Francis bites down again, and he moans heartily into the fabric. His erection is already nearly as hard as it can be. “You’re good with your mouth,” he mumbles into the pillow.

    “I know I am~” He nips at it lightly, then tugs on his underwear. Arthur lifts himself up, letting him take them. He presses a kiss to the head with a smirk. “Beautiful,” he whispers before taking all of it into his mouth. Arthur is definitely going to take advantage of him seemingly not having a gag reflex. He bucks his hips, reveling in the quiet noise of surprise Francis makes. He pulls on his hair, guiding him up his shaft a bit. He pulls away from his pillow to talk.

    “It’s really hard to resist doing what I want, so I’m going to ask if it’s okay. I won’t do it if you say no, but I really want to fuck your mouth. Can I?” Francis’ eyes widen slightly. Arthur smirks, knowing that’s not what he expected. “What? I like being in control~” He watches the man shudder, then nod. Immediately, he starts moving his hips. Slowly at first, then a bit faster. Francis tightens his jaw slightly, causing him to drag his teeth along the top. Arthur shoves his pillow back in his mouth and moans loudly. He tries to make eye contact, but he tightens his jaw again. Arthur tosses his head back in pleasure as his teeth rake along the top and bottom. Francis brings a hand up, running it along his thigh. He pauses to fondle him for a moment, then continues back more. He pushes one finger into Arthur, and he screams into the pillow. He’s close! And coming undone.

    He tugs harder on his hair, now guiding his head back and forth, in time with his hip thrusts. “Oh God!” it’s loud enough to hear through the pillow. He lets himself enjoy it for a few more moments, before deciding he’s too close to tempt fate. He releases Francis’ hair and scoots back, but he comes with. “You want me to…?” He nods. Arthur flushes crimson, but grabs his hair again. He gives a few smaller thrusts, then a big one that pulls a scream-moan from his lips and lets him reach his release. He rides it out, thrusting a few more times, before releasing Francis’ hair for the night. He feels the finger slip out of him and shudders. They both pant heavily, not looking at each other. Just as he parts his lips to ask Francis if he wants the same done to him, he moans loudly, trembling with pleasure. “Did you just…?”

    “Masturbate while I was sucking you off and finish while I was swallowing down your release? Yes.” Arthur shoves his face into the pillow, completely embarrassed. He peeks out when he feels a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to clean up a bit. Then we should put the boys to bed. Can we sleep together tonight?”

    “You don’t need to ask,” he mumbles out shyly. He hugs the pillow to his chest, and sticks his tongue out at Francis. “I want you to sleep with me.” He smiles brightly. “And I’m happy to report you taught me some very valuable information that I will be using in the future. Hopefully the near future.” He winks at him. “Oh, and the bathroom is across the hall. Towels are in the linen closet.” He blows him a kiss as he opens the door. “Have fun, sexy.” His ears turn red and he leaves the room quickly. Arthur stands, stretching himself out. He’s not got any mess to clean up, so he pulls his clothes back on and wanders out into the hall. He meets up with Francis, who kisses him deeply. He doesn’t even mind not knowing if he brushed his teeth or not.

    “Let’s put those two to bed and make out until we fall asleep.”

    “That sounds wonderful.”

[punkscowardschampions]

James & Ava

James: Good morning

James: how are you, darling?

Ava: Sleepy 🥱

Ava: but all the better starting my day with you, of course

Ava: how about you? 😊

James: hopeful that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, because likewise

James: & my cautious optimism doesn’t extend to the viewing I’m currently heading to

Ava: Oh, how have they oversold this one, I wonder

Ava: the adverts are nothing short of epic fiction

Ava: there should be awards for how they can spin any - into like +++

Ava: Where are you headed?

James: it would be inspirational if I were solely doing research for the novel but alas I need a suitable study first

James: [somewhere that’s one of the places we discounted]

Ava: I can believe estate agents are all unfulfilled creatives, definitely

Ava: I’ll 🤞 all my fingers and toes that it’s the one

Ava: though I could tell you more pubs and clubs in that area than nurseries…

James: absolutely up there with the teaching profession in terms of both dashed dreams setting them on that path & a litany of thankless tasks once they get there

James: thank you though

James: I’ll let you know if it constitutes enough of a disaster to warrant theoretically drowning my sorrows, after all, there isn’t a huge difference between some of the clubs Teddy frequents & soft play so I’ve no doubt my aide for today would be thrilled to hear every suggestion

Ava: You cannot make me feel bad for teachers today

Ava: not when Mr Hawthorne has beat you to it with the against argument in the form of his 🥱 inducing lectures

Ava: 😅 I don’t think foam parties are safe for anyone, 1-year-olds especially so though

James: there’s an argument to be made that I possess the ability to do so, however, if I’m going to use my powers of persuasion for anything 😈 I would argue it is indeed wasted on Mr Hawthorne

James: oh well in that case, the hunt for my sister’s baby shower venue also continues

Ava: If you used your powers of persuasions on Mr Hawthorne, I might be a tiny bit jealous

Ava: not to mention almost as confused as he would undoubtedly be

Ava: Joy of joys

Ava: it would be typical for that to be added to your to-do list as well, but at least a place for grown women to eat chocolate bars out of nappies isn’t as much like gold dust as a decent place in central

James: I’m jealous that he’s spending time with you right now, despite your attention being less than rapt & therefore promise to do nothing that benefits him in any way whatsoever

James: including, but not limited to, refusing to assist you in the homework he intends to set by being as distracting as I can later as well as now

James: you’re not wrong, but she is her belief that to this day I remain blacklisted by an extremely high percentage of clubs, thus sparing me being delegated the role even in these hypothetical planning stages

Ava: That would be a wild rumour, even for this place

Ava: and what can I say? You’re more worthy of my time and attention

Ava: as you’ve just proved 😍

Ava: Definite blessing in disguise

Ava: Will it be a women-only event?

James: I’d be lying if I didn’t say I miss you & am always willing to prove how much at every given opportunity

James: god, I hope so, even a foam party isn’t enough of an incentive to get me there if I am expected

Ava: I miss you too

Ava: I can come see you tonight though, if you’re free

Ava: sadly, I don’t think I can make a soft-play date so that’ll have to be just you two

Ava: and you’re lucky, I’ve been to so many baby showers it’s not even funny

James: I’m supposed to work late to make up the time I’ve taken off this morning but I can do that when you’re busy

James: that’s a shame, I’ll have to throw myself in the ball pit

James: time will tell if you have an invite to Diana’s, what’s incredibly lucky is that she won’t expect you to actually attend regardless of how you RSVP

Ava: Only if you’re sure

Ava: my plans can always be more fluid than yours

Ava: Ugh 😞 I’d LOVE to push you into a ball pit right now, life is unfair

Ava: I don’t think she was impressed with my party-planning skills enough to put in that call

James: I am very sure that I want to spend tonight with you instead of at the office

James: & I’m also suddenly determined to create our very own ball pit in the new place

James: [pictures like which room do you think we should fill with plastic balls lol but let’s say it’s all really small]

James: having to forgo a traditional master bedroom isn’t at all unfair, I’ll obviously sleep like a baby among the balls

Ava: 🥰

Ava: An absolute must

Ava: why brag of a ‘cosy’ third bedroom when you can boast a gigantic ball pit

Ava: I bet the girls would be more than willing for you to do that too

Ava: Party house has a whole new meaning 🥳

James: indeed

Ava: I hope there’s not too many people there this time though, really

James: I think there are more people here than at the last viewing we went to, impossible as that sounds

Ava: 😫 How, where do all these people spring from?!

Ava: At least you’re far more eligible than most young professionals

Ava: If I was looking for a model renter

James: what a pity you aren't, your rooftop garden has much greater appeal for this particular young professional, not least because I've seen its existence with my own eyes

Ava: If my landlords weren’t so involved…

Ava: This place is far too big for us now

James: hopefully they won't drag you along on yet more insufferable viewings if, or when, they decide to downsize since you're an undeniable pro now, because for that, there would only so many apologies I can offer you

Ava: I’m sure mum’s already getting the planning permission sorted for if and when

Ava: Sadly their portfolio doesn’t extend to a reasonable price range, I did ask

Ava: but if it isn’t something that would get her in Architect Digest, or whatever, she’s not interested so

Ava: As you said, it would be fun in a way, if all this looking didn’t mean you were still without your perfect family home

Ava: It takes people watching to a new level, and seeing the landlord’s ‘decor’ choices is also as revealing

James: it's okay, being indebted to my own parents is quite enough

James: it's becoming clear if my father visualizes me living here it's because he's done a drastic rewrite of the type of young professional I am

James: I could see you here, for instance, in a draft where I don't exist as your love interest, but in terms of a family home, perfect of otherwise, where we'd put Frank & the children is anyone's guess

James: perhaps some of these people are imagining wild architecture projects the likes of which your mother would have to act undaunted by, who's to say

Ava: I don’t love that rewrite

Ava: Frank is particularly demanding with how much space he needs to recline, relax, snooze and sleep…

Ava: You’ll find somewhere soon, I know it

Ava: If nothing else, this dull lesson is giving me all the time to refresh and refresh and repeat every listing I can find

James: cautious optimism as ever for our 2nd attempt

James: [deets because I'm gonna say that this is one he ends up loving that falls through somehow at some stage because how real and frustrating and then she can be the one who finds their forever home and they can look at it together]

Ava: Okay, I can picture that one

Ava: light and airy isn’t actually a lie this time, what a concept

Ava: 😍

Ava: All the rooms are a good size so you wouldn’t feel as if either girl was getting the short straw, and you won’t have to settle for sleeping amongst the balls either

James: I do have a genuinely good feeling about it, terrifying as that is to admit in our present surroundings where it feels as though someone will sense it & immediately swoop in, but yes

Ava: I know

Ava: It’s one of those things

Ava: You have to be cautious, because so many roadblocks are between you and the end goal

Ava: but similarly, how can you be, when it’s such a big life thing

Ava: You can be as honest and optimistic as you like with me, it doesn’t need to go any further, shark-like buyers and the girls alike

James: we aren’t anywhere close to the stressful moving in stage & I’m already acutely aware that I wouldn’t have survived up until now without your help, so I will, as long as you know the continued support is appreciated beyond words or any other measure

Ava: Stressful, but fun

Ava: you get to pick what colour your new room is 😌

Ava: It’ll be reward enough, to see you get the fresh start you deserve

James: [whatever her fave colour is] of course

James: then you won’t mind seeing me covered from head to toe in it, potentially indefinitely, when we discover I can’t fit in the tub at the new place either

Ava: Oh, I don’t think I would mind that no matter the colour

Ava: but I also would not mind you having an amazing shower so we could take care of that

James: if there isn’t I won’t mind adding it to my renovations to-do list

Ava: As long as I’m on that list too I’m happy

James: the top of any list I write is where I’m happy to put you

Ava: If you put in a bid, you should do it at/even over asking price, so they’ll take attention of you and then you can make a list of repairs/quality checks etc you want done before you agree to move in, then if they do them, they’re done for you, but more likely, they’ll not want to, and you can say take that cost off my offer then

Ava: one of the 💡 tips I’ve picked up and you’d undoubtedly thought of yourself but there we go

James: here’s where I could nod & keep up the pretense to avoid giving away what a total novice I am, but there’s very little point given than you know I’ve never done this, & a list of countless other things as long as my arm, for myself before

James: instead I’ll just take your advice & thank you accordingly

Ava: There’s so much we don’t get prepared for

Ava: even under normal circumstances

Ava: It isn’t as if I was told that at school, or I get told anything vaguely useful on the day-to-day by Hawthorne or any of the others worse or marginally better than him

Ava: You shouldn’t feel like you’re alone in feeling unprepared, is what I’m failing to say

Ava: Lots of people feel it, that’s why I could never just stay here, in the bubble of SW forever

James: don’t worry, you aren’t failing at anything where this conversation is concerned & whilst it is somewhat overwhelming at times, I don’t feel alone because I’ve got you to talk it through with

James: what that school taught me, all that living here has taught me, was how to avoid facing up to situations by lying & name dropping, which probably would assist me in climbing the property ladder but I’d rather be honest, if the bubble bursts as a result, I’m prepared for that from now on

Ava: I’m proud of you

Ava: and the girls will be too

Ava: It can be fun, and there are some good people here, just as there are everywhere

Ava: but outside of the postcode, the currency of who you know and where you went to school, it’s just not real, irrelevant

Ava: I don’t want to rely on my parents’ hard work, let alone someone else’s father knowing the crest on my blazer, you know

James: yes, I know exactly what having to rely on my father feels like, it isn’t fun or something to be proud of & it definitely isn’t a precedent I’d like to keep setting for my daughters

James: the stark reality & contrast of this fresh start needs to happen soon, while I still have Jay here to teach

Ava: She’s not going anywhere

James: she’s going to have to meet him eventually even if that’s under the guise of him being one of my old friends or your brother

Ava: And I understand that that’s fair

Ava: to him, I don’t know how to feel about it in regards to Jay, and it’s not even my job to so I know how hard this must be for you

Ava: but that doesn’t mean he should get to ‘keep’ her, for God’s sake, she has had no idea who he is until now, you’re her dad

James: I have to hope that he’ll understand that too, he’s not the villain here, as much as it would make my life easier to paint him as such

Ava: I hope so too

James: it’ll be okay, for her, I don’t know if I can make the same promise for us but I want to be able to

Ava: Don’t put yourself down like that

Ava: It wouldn’t be okay if she lost you

James: she isn’t going to lose me whatever Buster decides to do next, things may have to change but never that drastically, I’ll always be in her life

Ava: Providing he plays that nicely

Ava: I’m just scared he’ll do something that drastic, and stupid

James: if he doesn’t I won’t, I’m not afraid to fight fire with fire should that be the only option he leaves me with

Ava: Good

Ava: I wish I could promise it won’t be

Ava: but I don’t know what he will be prepared to do, so you should be prepared for any and all eventualities too

James: I am, my marriage made sure I was equipped to anticipate the unexpected & not to expect rational responses

Ava: Yeah, of course

Ava: Still no word from Chloe?

James: no & no trace of a belated birthday card

Ava: Typical

Ava: Good thing Mattie got spoiled by you and had a great party already

James: Jay is devastated she has to wait so long for you to throw one for her though, maybe we can find a way to cater the housewarming party to her

Ava: Awh, bless her

Ava: If there’s one thing Chelsea HAS taught me, is that you only need a vague notion of an idea to have a party and celebrate

Ava: Does she like fireworks?

James: she LOVES fireworks, if you weren’t in Dublin she’d have insisted you come with us to [wherever we’re gonna go see some on the night]

Ava: I am pretty gutted I can’t

Ava: but I’ll have to get some sparklers, probably not Catherine Wheels or Roman Candles, and do a belated bonfire themed do for her

Ava: smores are a good idea any night

James: I wonder if she’ll expect us to dye her hair red, orange or yellow this time

Ava: 😬 accidentally set a precedent

Ava: thank god for washouts

James: I’ll do what I can to have her convinced that face paint is a much better idea by the time you get back but she’s no Mr Hawthorne so

Ava: I admire a girl who requires more than a persuasive essay

Ava: you’ll have a great time

Ava: 🤞 the endless family drama doesn’t get in the way of me having one too

James: no amount of Catherine Wheels or Roman Candles could prevent me from being on the end of the phone whether you aren’t having a great time or simply want to tell me how much fun it is

Ava: You’re the best ❤️

Ava: It should be fine

Ava: If anything, hopefully someone else is bringing more drama than my parents or siblings could accuse me of, then it’ll really give them a bit of perspective 🤫

James: if your family resembles the dynamic of mine even slightly I won’t have to keep anything crossed in order to make that happen for you, but of course I will nevertheless, just in case

Ava: How soon is too soon to clue you in on my mad family dynamic 🤔😅

Ava: Maybe when you’re in your new home, so you have a door to politely shut in my face

James: having never kept an air of mystery there I can understand why you’d want to, but I would never christen my new front door like that

Ava: It was like an unspoken rule, when Buster was here too

Ava: I don’t really care that much, and anyway, he broke it big time

Ava: Every family has struggles and secrets, or are long overdue their share if not

James: I couldn’t agree more, my mother acts as though nobody else has skeletons hung up next to their hideously expensive coats & we must stay silent come what may, but she’s the last person to feign shock when any of said secrets inevitably come out

Ava: It’s such a waste of time and energy

Ava: not to mention resolves precisely (0) of said troubles, if and when they can be

Ava: I’m so glad you don’t want to keep up pretenses together

Ava: wouldn’t make for a very interesting story

James: exactly, if I adhered to her code of silence I wouldn’t have gone to rehab or spent any time & energy on recovery, god knows what trouble I’d be in right now in that instance, but we certainly wouldn’t have this plotline to delight in

Ava: Being dubious about the potential results, maybe

Ava: but the idea your own mum would rather you suffer in silence, literally, is beyond me

James: it’s an attitude worthy of an outdated classic novel, for sure, that we can all take ourselves in hand & address our flaws with a firm word or two but she isn’t alone in her 'you don't need outside help, you just need to learn and then follow through with setting your own limits' mentality

James: in my parents' defence I was still young, despite the baby I wasn't looking after properly or the wedding I don't remember very much of at all, & I know they'd argue, if pressed, that was the main reason for their anti-rehab stance

James: therefore, I'd like to believe, however naively perhaps, on this occasion it isn't entirely about saving face with yet more pretense but rather a glimpse at some character development for both of them, if only so the novel isn't doomed by one dimensional subplots, naturally

Ava: I can see that too, again, a lot of people’s problems go unaddressed or at least are allowed to get worse because the person is ‘too young’ for it to either be a problem, or it is something they will ‘bounce back’ from once they ‘calm down’ and mature

Ava: It doesn’t make your parents the devil, I wouldn’t suggest as much, nor the first people to fall into that trap

Ava: There are definitely instances of the exact same mindset I can point to within my own family

Ava: We’d all like to see the best in people, and sometimes, that desire lets us down

James: regardless this viewing has yet to let me down unlike the previous

James: I wish you were here

Ava: With any luck, I’ll be able to come see it with you next time

Ava: The pictures look great, trying to keep the optimism at the cautious level still but 🤞🤞😌

James: need I remind you I like your optimism as unabashed as your excitement

Ava: You don’t need to

Ava: but I wouldn’t be opposed

James: [tell her about whatever cute and romantic plans you've sorted for you two tonight so she'll be happy and excited]

Ava: How have you managed to sort that whilst at these viewings and also with Mattie 😍

James: it appears I’m guilty of similarly high levels of enthusiasm & so the greater crime would be letting it go to waste

Ava: AND being an excellent multi-tasker AND AND an even greater romantic

James: Mattie can & will take full credit for the former but the romanticism is a newly acquired skill that I’m still trying to find my feet with, & entirely down to you

Ava: I should feel bad for keeping it all for myself

James: I disagree but I’ll happily rush through the book’s publication if sharing will make you feel better

Ava: Should doesn’t mean would or could

Ava: because I don’t

Ava: It’s nice not being secret, but I’m still happy keeping you to myself for a while longer

James: oh good, because I’d rather continue to multitask like this than on a novel deadline

Ava: Being anything but a reprieve from all the other drains on your time is not very romantic heroine of me, so never

Ava: what would the readers think

James: you’ve got me there, by evoking how fickle our readers are more than likely to prove themselves to be, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about

Ava: You either think the protagonist is ‘relatable’ or you hate her because you deserve the love interest far more than her

James: nobody deserves me more than you, they’ll have no choice but to appreciate you

Ava: James

James: Ava

Ava: I can’t wait to see you later

James: can I pick you up from school or do you need to go home first?

Ava: I don’t need to go home 😊

James: I’ll see you there then, unfortunately, I have work to get back to & I’ve kept you from yours for longer than I responsibly should have, lest you end up at Kings after all

Ava: 🙄 I’m sure my career’s officer would tell me they’re higher in the rankings or something else that isn’t going to change my mind more than your experience and my own, however brief

Ava: If I were rating them on chance, perfect meetings, however

Ava: A++

Ava: I’ll see you later then, try not to get TOO exhausted by soft play 😏❤️

James: I’ll be certain to tell them now that’s not a secret, it wouldn’t surprise me if they used us a ringing endorsement for some kind of meet-cute society to take place weekly in The Vault

James: the allure of soft play meanwhile needs no advertising, with or without any single mothers trying to engineer romantic entanglements of their own

Ava: I’ll square that with my conscience and you run that gauntlet, love

James: I’ll do my best

[xellshun]

Feeding The Beast

I stand firm when supporting one of my favorite quotes: Evil is never born, it is created. All things were once good in the beginning, even Satan.

With the developement of my disorder and my descent into becoming a sociopath came many dark traits that I’ve used countless times to calm my urges and impulses. Most of them are fairly common among those with ASPD. But one quality has always stood above all the others.

My desire to victimize as many women as possible.

This post will focus on this trait rather than HOW it came to be but I will share a little bit of my past just to give you a general idea of it’s origins.

Over the course of the last 7 years I went through 3 very traumatic relationships. But before I did, I was a very kind hearted, ambitious, compassionate person with a huge dream of some day finding the love of my life, building a family, and living out the same fairy tale ending that my parents and their parents had before them. I had this perfect image of how my love life would work out and I based it off of what I watched my family build as I grew up. I grew up with a very close, caring, and loving family. So going into adulthood that’s just how I thought things were supposed to be.

I didn’t realize how fucking wrong I truly was and I was no where near prepared for the 7 year long nightmare I was about to go through...

The first of the three stages was when I lost my first true love - the mother of my beloved son. Not only did I loose her along with all my hopes and dreams of having that fairy tale ending. But I lost her while she was still pregnant with my son... So along with the initial pain, my first experience of pregnancy and my introduction to being a father were stripped from me and left me in a state of mind that pushed me into making my FIRST step down the dark I would eventually get lost in. She was what I would eventually call “The First Heartache”

The second stage happened with my next serious girlfriend. She would not only be my second love but would also end up being the girl who would eventually become extremely abusive. Physically, emotionally, mentally - she tortured me. She ultimately become what I called “The Abuser”

At this point, my disorder was born and rapidly growing. Coupled with emotional distress and a newly developed addiction to drugs and alcohol, my next relationship would only escalate the problems. She was a drinker, a drug user, and eventually a cheater. Her betrayal lead me down a path filled with an unending urge to stay intoxicated to cure the pain. And even though I should have left both her and the last girl, I didn’t. I was constantly trying to fill the void in my heart left by the first girl. But this third girl was no better than the last. She eventually became what I called “The Drunk Cheater”

By this point, my son was 5 years old. My relationship with him and my family was greatly damaged. I had come off my ADHD medication, struggled to stay employed, struggled with money, wrecked and totaled my vehicle, got into trouble with the law, did time in jail, struggled on and off with addiction to both drugs and alcohol, lost many of my friends... And above all else...

I lost myself...

And I forgot the feeling of remorse... Of empathy... And love...

The person I became and am now is the total opposite of who and what I was 7 years ago. Me then and me now wouldn’t even recognize each other if they met...

And thus, the sociopath was born... And within the dark pit of inhumane emotions, impulses, and urges.. The strongest one was my unending thirst for revenge...

And with that, the player mentality became supreme. And with it every aspect of my life would shift, change, and become centered around an unending cycle of chasing women. It started out as me just having fun and enjoying the single life and eventually evolved to what I do now.

So what do I do? For starters, I supress the monster underneath, I go out and I hunt women. I will often create several dating profiles, all of which with the same pictures, the same information about myself, and it has quickly turned into a game of seeing how many women I can sleep with in the shortest amount of time.

People would probably tell me “You sound like every other typical asshole player.” And it’s partially true, but in my mind I am a hunter. But I don’t hunt with the goal to kill (or hurt these women). I hunt with the goal of capturing and retaining them. I go out with my sociopathic mask, looking friendly, nice, and emotional. I play the part of a good honest man who just wants to settle down. For each individual girl I would learn her, everything about her, I would research her and read her like a book. I would figure out exactly what she wants and needs in a partner and I’d become that to the best of my ability. Once they are lured in I deceieve and manipulate every situation. Slowly and pateintly I shift the mood and create a large amount of sexual tension. I never come off as the creep, I never make them uncomfortable, and I always wait for THEM to make the first move. Why? Because it makes me feel powerful. And when we finally reach the point of having sex the sexual side of my sociopathic tendencies comes out. You see, I don’t care about finishing. It’s not what I look forward to and I don’t need to finish to be happy. The only thing that matters is HER pleasure. In those moments of intercourse I do everything in my physical ability to fuck them in every way they fantasize about. The porn star comes out and my one and only goal is to fuck them to the point where they are physically sore and trembling from orgasms. I want them to have issues walking the next day, I want to rearange their insides, and turn their intestines into soup. It almost never fails and this newly found dark skill has increased my body count from a pathetic 5 (my son’s mom) to a body count of 52 as of this last weekend.

But do I stop there and leave them in the dust? Hell no! I keep them around, I drag them around, and am constantly looking for new targets daily. I keep them around for many reasons - sex, money, drugs, alcohol, transportation, parties, new friends... And some times I’ll keep them around and create friendships with them so I always have someone to talk to or hang out with.

This way I am never bored and can always feed whatever hunger comes into my darkened heart...

I have done so many messed up things. Slept with more than one girl in a single day, slept with a new girl every day of the week, fucked a girl and then fucked her best friend. I’ve made women cheat on their boyfriends and then turned around and hung out with their boyfriends. I’ve made wives cheat on their poor unknowing husbands. Some would find out and their wives would leave them for me. Others would simply ask me to never mention it. Do I respect their wishes? Of course! Like I said. I never purposely treat any of these women poorly. I do this so that I can retain my image as a good and normal man. But more often than not, it’s the sex that makes them come back. I can’t tell you how many girls I’ve dicked down. I’ve been with all kinds of girls. Blondes, redheads, burnettes, thick girls, thin girls, small boobs, huge boobs, some who could be porn stars, some who were covered in tattoos and peircings, some were cam girls, some were strippers, some were partiers, drinkers, some were moms, some were church girls, some were younger, some were older... I think the only type of girl I have yet to be with is an Asian... Gunna have to change that...

I’ve been all over the place too. I can’t go to ANY surrounding town from where I live without knowing a girl I’ve fucked there. It’s hard enough when I’m out running errands too, can’t go fucking anywhere without the chance of seeing one of my victims.

All in all, it’s the thrill of the chase, it’s the thrill of knowing what lurks beneath the mask while they remain clueless, it’s the feeling of being so cold and heartless yet have the ability to bring them so many emotions I can’t feel, it’s about giving them the best sex of their lives, it’s about the satisfaction of leashing them along like pets, it’s about POWER and CONTROL. The two fucking things I had so little of when this all started during those 3 toxic and traumatizing relationships.

And in the deepest, darkest corners of my sick mind... In these many moments of deception and manipulation... I trick myself into believing that these poor girls I victimize are my exes.. In an attempt to feel some type or form of revenge to dowse the neverending burning fires of PURE HATRED that have turned my entire world into a place of devastation that is now just as dark as my heart...

For me, women as a whole, are my newly developed drug addiction. When I see them, I don’t see people, I see prey that I can use for whatever benefit I see fit. And if those benefits run out I simply take them to the slaughter house and use them one last time. Rejection doesn’t faze me either. If a single sheep manages to escape my fenced in prison it doesn’t bother me, the herde always consists of between 10-20 women at all times. It’s as easy as a simple hunting trip, which I honestly enjoy. After all, it’s always good to get out every once in a while.

This is what my life has turned into. A never ending sickening cycle of trying to fill in the void within my heart that they left behind those years ago. But in the end that ONE thing that can fill this whole is the one thing I avoid the most - Love...

Yes, my therapist knows about all of this. It’s great because my therapist is a female so it’s nice to be able to share my stories and brag to a girl who’s job is to help me. She probably thinks I’m a fucking piece of shit and I don’t blame her. But she’s a professional and has to help people like me.

We’ve discussed goals throughout therapy on ways for me to relearn the feelings of empathy, remorse, love, and so on... It’s one of many goals and this is the one I have the most trouble with... Part of me wants to change and go back to being normal. But the other part of me wants to keep doing what I do best because it’s just so much damn fun.

So will this part of me ever change? I think so. I hope so. The only other times I went from being a total man whore to a faithful loving man was every time a girl would come into my life who was strong enough to snap me out of dark ways... So far it’s only happened twice. My body count is at 52 and going up more quickly than ever. I’ve spoken to thousands of women, met hundreds, recieved thousands of numbers, thousands of X rated pictures and videos of these women, I’ve had sex thousands of times, and it’s getting to the point where these women just seem to blur together...

There’s little hope of finding a girl strong enough to pull me from the darkness this time. And honestly, I’m okay with it. I am at a point where the darkness is comforting and feels like home...

So this time around.. Not only does she need to be strong enough to pull me out... She needs to be brave enough to venture into a world of total darkness...

[cynicalrainbows]

The Next Best Thing Chapter 16

Catalina and Cathy look through some old pictures. **

It just looks like any normal old shoebox, and not very interesting at all, but when she takes off the battered lid, Cathy sees it's full of photos and letters, folded up flyers, shells and all sorts of little bits and pieces.

‘It’s my special keepsake box.’ Catalina’s cheeks are tinged pink. ‘I thought maybe you'd like to have a look at it together, because there's a lot of stuff, a lot of photos and things from your Mum in it. Even some from your Dad too.’ 

Looking at it makes her stomach clench because it reminds her that she doesn't have anything like this- Mum was her Mum but what does she have to remember her by?

But then Catalina goes on to say that maybe Cathy would like to start making her own one- only if she wants to of course, but if she does, she’s welcome to pick out some pictures if there are any she likes.

And that's an interesting idea.

She picks up the box, so she can tip everything out and see it at once but stops herself just in time- but when she glances up, catalina smiles and nods encouragingly. 

‘Have a little look through mija, if you’d like.You can tip them out if it makes it easier- it wont hurt them. I'm going to wash up quickly and then I'll come back.’

Photos spill out onto the carpet, a rainbow of colours until she starts to focus on them individually. Her mum and dad stare out at her from a hundred tiny windows into the past.

*

She sifts through the slippery prints and then stops suddenly and holds it up for Catalina to see.

‘Look!’

Her Mum looks younger in this picture but very tired too- slightly crumpled. Her hair is a tousled halo around her head.

‘Is that me?’

She stabs her finger at the tiny bundle in her Mum’s arms and Catalina nods.

‘It’s you. I think I actually took this picture- or maybe I was just in the room. No, that’s right, it was me because your Daddy couldn’t get the camera to work.’

‘Dad couldn’t ever get the video recorder to work. Mum always had to do it for him.’

‘That sounds like Thomas.’

Mum is looking down at her baby-self, smiling tiredly. She doesn’t seem to even know that the camera is pointed at her at all.

‘How old was I?’

‘Not very old- maybe a couple of weeks. Still very tiny.’

‘I’m like a doll.’

‘That was what everyone said- like a little doll.’ Catalina laughs. ‘Everyone said how good and sweet and quiet you looked- until you cried, and then they would be surprised someone so small could be that loud. Your Mum said you were practising for karaoke.’

‘What’s karaoke?’

‘Singing, with a microphone. Your Mum and I used to do it a lot when we were at university. Maria was much better at it than I was though.’

‘Mum used to sing all the time. She’d sing me songs instead of telling me stories at bedtime sometimes.’

‘She used to say how all that karaoke practise would be handy when she had children. Sometimes, we just sang in the streets, when we were coming home from parties- the streets would be all quiet and your Mum would say it was like a stage and we’d sing as we walked home, Especially if it was cold. Once we passed by some boys, and they started howling-’

‘Why?’

‘Oh they were just being silly, they didn’t like our singing much- or my singing anyway.’

‘Were you sad?’

‘I didn’t really have time to be sad honestly mija because before they’d even finished, your Mum threw her cone of chips at them, grabbed my hand and we ran all the way home so they couldn’t catch us- we were laughing so hard i nearly fell off my high heels!’

‘When we were in Nursery, someone made fun of Anne and I threw my paintbrush at them.’

‘There you are. Like mother, like daughter. You’re brave like her.’

‘Was Dad brave?’

‘I think so. Maybe a bit different to your Mum though- he was brave because he did what he wanted to do and he didn’t let anyone tell him different. You know he was reading History of Art at University?’

She nods.

‘Lots of people thought that it wasn’t….the sort of thing a man should be doing. His parents wanted him to become a doctor or a lawyer- they thought he was wasting his time, but he stuck it out, worked so hard to put himself through the course- and he never got angry. Never, in all the time that I knew him, did I ever see him get cross or shout or anything at all. He just kept on doing what he wanted.’

‘Dad liked going to art galleries.’

‘Yes.’

‘I liked them too sometimes. Sometimes I got bored.’ It makes her feel bad to admit this, like a better daughter would have listened attentively and never ever whined or had to be bribed with the promise of sweets from the museum gift shop.

When she tells Catalina this though, she just laughs. ‘Oh that sounds just like Maria- she liked going to the galleries with him, up to a point….but she lost patience much more quickly than he did.’

‘Sometimes he’d make up stories about the people in the pictures for me.I used to want to do it too but i could never think of anything.’

‘Maybe you were just a bit too young for the Muses, mija.’

‘Maybe. Do you think I’d be better at it now?’

‘I think after your success as ghost story in chief last night, you’d be wonderful at it.’

She brightens then stops. ‘Except Dad isn’t here to take me to the gallery any more.’

Catalina squeezes her hand. ‘I know mija. But if you’d like, I could take you to the gallery.’

‘Can we?’

‘Of course.’

‘Can we be like proper grown ups? I won’t get bored or ask for sweets or anything.’

‘If you like, mija. Although-’ Catalina lowers her voice. ‘I can’t promise I won’t want to get some sweets. But I’ll try not to whine too much….’

*

There are pictures of her parents going out and pictures of them at home, pictures of them in parks and pictures of them in restaurants. There are older, faded photos, some bearing the imprints of sticky rings from long ago drinks; there are small square white edged pictures from photos booths.

And there are photos of Catalina too: arms linked with her Mum, the way that she and Anne do sometimes. They’re smiling in nearly all of them.

‘You used to have different hair!’

Catalina strokes the long, rope-like braids of her past-self fondly. ‘Oh it was such a wrench when I cut off my dreads. But my Madre said I would find it harder trying to find work with them and she was right. Sadly.’

‘Why was it harder?’

‘Because some people have very silly ideas about what a professional hair style is, mija.’

‘That doesn't make any sense. Your hair doesn't change how you work.’

‘Exactly mija. Exactly.’

She’d ask more but Catalina is looking sad so she doesn’t. Instead she says ‘I like them. You look pretty.’

‘Thank you, mi vida. I rather liked them too.’

‘Did Mum ever have her hair like that?’

‘I don’t think so. If she did, it was before I knew her.’

‘Oh. Can I have my hair like that?’

‘If you want it. But you have to think carefully about it mija because it’s a hairstyle you can’t change. If you decide you want it different, it’s not as easy as just brushing it out.’

‘Oh.’ 

‘But if you do decide that’s what you want, then yes, you can.’

‘Really?’

‘It’s your hair not mine, mija.’

‘What if I did it and didn’t like it?’

‘Well, then you’d know not to do your hair like that again.’

It’s interesting, when Catalina puts it like that. Because her hair is her own, of course it is- but it doesn’t always feel like it, when it’s something that grown ups seem to be forever fussing over- washing it and brushing or not brushing it, reminding her to tie it back or put it down.

‘Oh I’d forgotten this one!’

Catalina holds out another picture: a closeup of her own face, and of Cathy’s- very small and squishy and young looking- pressed close to it, with her eyes squeezed shut. There’s a little puff of brown fur and a tiny paw at the edge of the photo that looks oddly familiar-

‘Tarkar!’

‘Yes, in his prime. And me in mine. I don’t think he was even Tarkar then, I don’t think you’d had him very long-’

‘Mum and Dad said he was the first toy they bought for me after I was born.’

‘That’s right. They took it very seriously.’

Cathay nods- she knows this story. ‘They couldn’t agree on what to get me because there were so many and they didn’t want to get me one I didn’t like.’

‘Well, it was a very important decision.’

‘Mum wanted to get a bear and Dad said that was a waste because there were so many more options, and then he wanted to get me an octopus but Mum said it was too scary-’

‘Yes, I remember how she screamed when we’d go to the beach together- if anything touched her legs while she was swimming, she was always sure it was a giant squid or a shark…’

‘Mum said you laughed once and then something touched YOUR leg and you screamed even louder-’

Catalina shakes her head, laughing. ‘Oh I should have known she’d have told you the whole story….in my defence, mija, it was a very tentacle-y bit of seaweed…’

Cathay doesn’t understand all the fuss- she always HOPES that she’ll get to see a squid or an octopus or even a little shark when she’s swimming in the sea. She’s seen Finding Nemo, she knows sharks aren’t all scary, and she’s a good swimmer- she knows she could probably get away if she needed to make a quick escape.

‘Dad taught me to swim in the sea. On holiday when I was five. He said the salt water made us more floaty.’

‘He was right. That sounds like a nice holiday, mija.’

‘It was. Mum didn’t come in but she waved to us. She made Tarkar wave too. She looked after the picnic things. Dad said I could have a candyfloss for every time that I went under and didn’t cry.’

Catalina smiles. ‘I remember talking to you on the telephone when you came back and you telling me you’d learned to swim. I don’t think you mentioned the candyfloss though.’

‘I started going under on purpose and Mum said that Dad was silly to promise something like that and that I could have one candyfloss and that would cover all the times.’ She still feels mildly resentful at how the bargain had changed last minute. ‘I was up to six candyflosses but I only got one. But Dad let me have a bit of his as well as mine because he said I’d been brave enough to have earned more than one candyfloss.’

‘Your Daddy was always generous like that.’ Catalina shuffles photos absently like they’re playing cards. ‘He’d give people the shirt off his back if they asked.’

‘Is that why you told Mum to marry him?’

Catalina looks amused. ‘What did she tell you mija?’

‘She said that she called you on the phone after they met each other and you told her to marry him so she did. She’d say it was all down to you and laugh, and Dad would always say it was lucky for him.’ She remembers it because she’s heard it so many times- she remembers, too, being surprised when Anne said she had no idea how her Mummy and Daddy had met, that she’d never been told. There’s more to the story too though, bits that Mum and Dad didn’t used to say in public, that she alone was allowed to hear.

‘She said that Dad made her a cup of tea at his flat and that he put in the milk first like she did and that she called you and told you and you said she should marry him because he was the only other person in the world apart from her who did it.’

‘I stand by it, mija. It is very odd to put in the milk first and Maria deserved to know. I think she mostly did it to annoy me and then it became a habit.’

She nods. ‘Yes.’

‘What do you mean, yes?’

She isn’t sure what Catalina is confused about. ‘Mummy said that one day, she put in the milk first and you kept saying it was weird so she kept doing it because you got really annoyed, and then she couldn’t stop.’

Catalina’s eyes are wide with disbelief. ‘That little liar- she told me she liked it better that way!’

Cathay starts to giggle and shakes her head. ‘No. She just told you she did.’

‘You think you know someone…’ Catalina shakes her head, smiling. ‘Well I’m glad she told you the truth, mija. And I’m glad that me being bothered by it helped her and your Daddy to get to know one another

‘Mum said that when she told you she was getting married, you said I told you so.’

‘I did! And I was right…’ Catalina smiles but it’s a sad smile too. ‘I never in my life saw two people as well suited to each other as Maria and Thomas- I never thought I’d ever have liked one of Maria’s boyfriends either, I used to make fun of them mercilessly in the past- Not that that’s a nice thing to do, mija-’ She adds hurriedly.

She’s heard this too. ‘Mum said you used to not like any of them but then you did like Dad and that was how she knew he was special.’

Catalina looks very sad all of a sudden and her eyes are shiny. ‘He was. And your mother- oh, she was the best person I ever knew, the very, very best-’ Catalina presses her hand to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, mija-’

It makes her feel funny to hear Catalina talk about her Mum like that- it’s nice but it’s sad too because it reminds her that Mum wasn’t just Mum, Mum was also someone who Catalina misses in a whole different way. It makes her feel a bit uncomfortable to see Catalina cry too, because she’s not used to seeing grown ups cry- but she knows to say all the things that Catalina says to her when she cries.

‘It’s ok to cry. You will feel better. Everything will be alright.’ She doesn’t think she has forgotten anything. She even gets up and fetches a glass of water from the kitchen like Catalina does for her, and doesn’t spill even a drop.

Catalina looks surprised when she brings it back- she’s dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

‘Oh querida, thank you so much- you are such a thoughtful girl.’ She takes a long sip and then puts it down. ‘I’m sorry mija, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m alright now.’

‘I wasn’t scared.’ It’s true- she knows what it feels like to be scared and although she doesn’t enjoy seeing Catalina upset, it didn’t frighten her.

‘Ok.’ Catalina takes another drink. ‘You know, you are so very much like Maria. And Thomas. You have all of their best qualities.’ She’s just wondering how she feels about that- about being a mix of Mum and Dad, whether it’s a good thing because she’s like them, or a bad thing because if she’s them, then does that mean she isn’t herself?- when Catalina adds ‘Of course, some of you is neither. Some of you is just you.’

They sit and Catalina sips her water, and she leans against Catalina with her head on her shoulder.

She doesn’t pick up any more of the photos- she thinks she’s had enough, for now at least.

‘I think I want to stop now.’

Catalina’s voice is nearly entirely back to normal now. ‘That’s alright. I’ll leave the box out here, on the bookshelf, and then you can look through them whenever you like. You can look at them on your own too, you don’t have to wait til I’m with you unless you want to.’

‘Really?’

That’s a surprise- Catalina is usually quite clear about which of her things Cathy is welcome to use or touch whenever she wants, and which she is meant to leave alone, and usually, anything private falls into the second category, and these photos definitely seem like they’d be private….but Catalina nods. 

‘They’re your parents, mija, Just be careful with the pictures, alright?’

‘Ok.’

‘Good girl.’ Catalina finishes her water and then stretches. ‘You know, I’ve gotten stiff from sitting on the floor like this. Shall we get up and do something else for a bit?’

That sounds like a good idea. ‘Will you read me my library book- but make it so there’s a cat like you did before?’

Catalina nods. ‘I think I could do that, yes.’

‘Will you make it interesting like last time?’

‘Tell you what-’ Catalina gets to her feet, shaking the pins and needles from her feet. ‘I’ll do my best and you can tell me if I managed it. Ok?’

‘Ok.’

*

An hour later, Catalina closes Five Have A Mystery To Solve and looks at Cathy.

‘What’s the verdict mija? Did I do alright?’

Cathy gives her a hug- it’s a bit hard because she’s curled up Catalina’s lap again and there isn’t much room to move but she manages it.

‘You did really good. Especially the bits with Timmy the Cat.’

Catalina looks very, very pleased.