#Ask divorced marshmallow children

[yeyinde]

baby blues

John Price + the panic of fatherhood x reader

pregnancy. babies. soft. sappy. angsty. slight allusions to rough sex. John being possessive and smitten. allusions to childhood trauma. the fear of children is somehow more potent than the fear of god. girl dad John. mentions of Price's divorce lmao

Most assume he'd take to fatherhood like he'd been born for the role; handcrafted to cradle a swaddled babe in his arms. The perfect father figure. But as he hovers over your sleeping form, the little bundle nestled in the sleepy bracket of your arms, he's overcome with a sense of dread that punches hard enough to shatter bone.

The reality is this: Price doesn't understand kids. He wants them. Covets them with a viciousness that almost immediately sets alarm bells off in the heads of those who were opposed to the idea of children, parenthood. Giving birth. But when it comes to being a dad, a role model, an effigy to siphon wisdom and knowledge off of, he flounders. Hesitates.

All he has as an idea of fatherhood is bruises laughed off by the neighbours as him being a clumsy boy. A man who drank in the living room, silent in his fury, his belligerence, until something—anything, really—set him off. He always seemed like he was itching for a reason to punish.

And god, was he ever fucking good at it.

If anger issues are hereditary, then Price picked up the generational slack of his seething ancestors. 

It's this, and the plethora of scars and burns that decorate his skin (well hidden, tucked away like a dirty secret because if Old Man Price was anything, it certainly wasn't stupid; he knows how to hide the ugliness of himself away, and how to turn a boy into a punching bag without causing too much damage, too much alarm) that make him ache something fierce when he sees his chubby little child for the first time. 

Price doesn't know how to be gentle. All he has are worn, rough hands and a constant stench of smoke. A voice that makes grown men tremble. An ire unmatched thus far in his life. 

Until you. Little spitfire. His hellion. You stood on the tips of your toes just to tell him off for being a stubborn pig! and then taught him how to hold you. How to be tender. But even now, he can see the wear on your skin from his bites. His propensity for violence that he morphs into desire. Into lust. 

How is he supposed to be a dad when he's this caustic? This mean? 

The answer doesn't come. All he gets is the rhythmic sigh of your breath as you sleep, well and truly exhausted after giving birth to their child. All alone. A constant in your lives, it seems. Aloneness. His work takes him away, throws him into dangerous situations. And you carry the brunt of it. 

It caused the rupture of his first marriage and is a needling fear he carried with him when you started pursuing him some odd years ago. To think that he'd be standing here now, gazing down at you with your heavy eyes and your soft cheeks, rounded with the additional weight you gained during your early trimesters. A plushness he's trying to keep on you for good—all softened edges, flesh that gives when he touches you, marshmallows out between his fingers when he squeezes.

You look good like this. Motherhood, despite your misgivings (it took three years of him hinting and hounding you before you'd relented with a sure, what's the worst that could happen? We're terrible parents and raise a terrible kid? Or we end up the catalyst for a list of psychological issues and get reamed out during their therapy sessions later on in life?), suits you. Fits you like a glove.

A fact you'd been quietly overwhelmed by in the first few months, grieving the loss of something he couldn't ever understand, or experience. A piece of yourself morphing into the mother that raised you. A kaleidoscope of feelings that you choke on when he asks, unable to render them into coherent words. 

But you're good at that, aren't you? Good at culling expectations, at superseding the limits others place on you. Even him. 

Especially him. 

When he'd said, don't know what you're gettin’ yourself into, love, you took it to the chin like he challenged you to a brawl, and set out to show him why you knew what this was, what he was, and why it didn't matter much. 

Even now—

Giving birth all alone. Overcoming the isolation of being shackled to a man who married his post first. Sisterwife to his career. Second in all things. 

Even this. 

He was in Iceland when he got the call. Laswell, of all people, was on the other line telling him his own wife was in the delivery room. Water broke. Baby is on the way. 

And you—

Don't worry, old man. Just do what needs to be done and we'll be waiting. Always. 

—well. You certainly are. Alone in a hospital room with the curtains drawn to blot out the sun as you sleep, cradling this thing he made with his fingers shoved deep into your mouth, uttering foul under his breath as he crushed you to the bed, rutting you like an animal—the most tender he could ever be—and he's suddenly all too aware of his own inadequacies. His shortcomings. Failures. 

He's not a dad. He's not the sort of man people think about when they think healthy father figure. He likes cigars and whiskey, and sometimes aches for a mission that will let him cut his knuckles on teeth—bloodletting; exorcising his demons out on the people he's sanctioned to kill. How is he supposed to guide a child when he threw a man over a railing without a second thought—

The bundle stirs. Wrinkled, red face scrunching up tight. Little thing is just like you, huh? All softness and give. All—

They cry, and it's shrill. Loud. It jars him.

Not the sound, but the anguish he feels piercing through his chest as they bellow out their confusion to the world, this lost little thing. Strapped with a father who was beaten black and blue and told to be a man when he cried. 

But right now—anger is the furthest thing on his mind. He can't fathom that emotion when his child is whimpering in your arms, chubby little fingers grasping at the air. Seeking comfort. 

Waking you feels cruel when you've spent the better part of two days awake. Four, really. You couldn't sleep when the contractions hit, wide-eyed and worried about everything. What if something went wrong? If they hated you? What if you hurt them—

Worries he tried to assuage, but couldn't deny he felt them, too. 

All he knows how to do is hurt. But as he reaches down for this little thing squirming in your arms, he tells himself to be tender. To be the man his dad never was. 

And they're soft. So fuckin’ soft. Tiny, too. His hands dwarf them, engulfing them completely. He tries to blame the way he trembles on the denial of nicotine for so long, but the mist in his eyes, and the burn in his throat, call him a liar. He doesn't know what to do. Even with all the hours spent thumbing through manuals and books and scoffing under his breath at the parenting courses you dragged him to (but paid rigid attention to every word the heavily bangled woman said to him), he feels lost. Unsure. The ground is shaky. Control slips. And that's maybe the crux of it all—

Babies can't be controlled. And it's the loss of this, what makes him whole, keeps him steady, that has him feeling rubber-limbed and fawn-like. 

“Quiet, now,” he murmurs, and then winces at the rough drag of his voice in the silence of the room. Too firm, too forceful. All the gentleness he has in his bones was devoured by your greedy mouth when you cracked him open like the legs of a snow crab, marrow slurped up until he was hollow. Empty. His tenderness rests inside your belly. What else does he have to give—

But the warm bundle in his awkward, clumsy hold stops their shrill cries. A girl, he remembers you saying. Crying. Sobbing into the phone when he called, all ugly and gross. He heard you sniffle, snot undoubtedly dribbling from your nose as you wept to him about how fucking cute their baby was. Their little girl. 

She's soft. Smells of a newborn, too—something powdery. Sweet. Warmed milk, fresh bread. The clinical books that made you squeamish, the ones that outlined every anatomical and chemical change to your body, mentioned that newborns smelled distinct to each parent. A phenomenon meant to encourage protection and bonding. 

It made you shiver, muttering my little parasite under your breath, even as your hand curved possessively over your bulging belly. 

He knows that's what this is. Chemical. His mind is evolving, shifting. Changing. And it's then that he feels something hot thicken in his throat. Something ugly, and bitter. The scars on his knuckles, the cigarette burns on his fingers are a sharp reminder of what his father felt and ignored. 

He scoffs, then, irritated at himself. He's a grown man and still—

Still thinks of him. 

“Won't be like that,” he says, still rough. Still firm. She blinks up at him, eyes rheumy and wide. “Not with you.” 

Never. Never. He pins the word to his pericardium, letting it rot his tissue. He'd rather die, he thinks, than ever hurt this little girl. But despite that, he knows he will. Inevitably. Just like he does everything good—or bad—in his life. Leaching from the goodness of others, sucking them dry and letting them moulder. A disappointment everywhere except the battlefield where he screams himself hollow and rents the air with his ire. Incorrigible. Immovable. An object of cruelty. Unforgiving in all aspects. A curse that follows him home, into his marital bed when he pins you down, and makes you profess your love for the beast inside of him. Never satiated, never quelled, until you're shackled at his side. Tucked away from the world he knows is too cruel to people like you who end up a corpse he has to step over on his way for empty retribution. 

He thinks, too, about all the ways he's going to ruin this chubby little thing in his arms, and wishes, suddenly, he was a better man. 

“Gonna hate my fuckin' guts when you're sixteen, aren't you?” In response, this little thing just opens its red maw and blows bubbles. He huffs. “You're gonna be nothin’ but trouble, mm? Steal my car. Crash it because your mum's gonna teach you how to drive and she backed into the garage six times already. Gonna gang up on me. Both of you. Little nightmares.” 

He's not sure what else to say, and thinks, already, that he said too much. Bared his belly to her too soon. She'll have this memory, buried down in the deep recesses of her psyche of her father falling to pieces while he held her. An impossibility, he knows, but can't shake the feeling that this, in itself, is an epoch. A marker for what's to come. All the ugly, the hate. The screaming matches that make him curl his hand into fists as she levels his failures at him. Not to hit. Never to hit. But to stop the tremble that won't stop. That has already started. The shake in his joints that tell him to run before he hurts. Before he ruins this precious mass of his blood and your tissue in his arms. 

“Gonna—” he isn't crying. Isn't. But there's a thickness in his throat as he thinks about how quickly she'll grow up. Age marked in the crows feet that gather around your eyes. The laugh lines. “Gonna be a fuckin' menace, and I'll—” he chokes, then, when she reaches up with a pudgy, red fist and snags the strap of his vest he didn't even bother taking off before he fled here. Fat, tiny fingers curling into the spot he grabs to ground himself from lashing out. “Fuck.”

He'd burn the world for her, he knows. Sacrifice everyone and everything just to keep her warm. Both of you. It begins and ends with this little thing that has your eyes and his nose. 

But he doesn't know how to translate that into love. Into affection. 

It comes out caustic. Abrasive. Possessive. 

And he is. 

Now that he has her in his hands he knows that nothing else will ever compare. That they'll never be empty because she'll always fit in his palms no matter how big she gets. There's only ever been enough space in his heart for you. Chiselled into with a fuckin’ pickaxe because you wouldn't wait for it to grow on its own. 

But there's give, he realises. This domicile you carved yourself has a room attached. A place for her. And she fits like a glove. Sliding inside. Cocooned against his pulse. 

He loves her. Endlessly. Forever. She deserves better. More. 

But when he tells her this, she makes a noise and it sounds like a giggle. 

“Laughin’ at me already, mm?”

She giggles again, and he likes that her laugh is a little ugly. A little mean. 

“Scarin’ the wits outta me,” he confesses, shifting her weight as she occupies herself with the clasp of his vest, disinterested in the man that breaks into pieces around her now. “I don't know—fuck, I don't—”

You come to in a panic. It starts as a slow roll to the side before your eyes flash open, wide and furious even as sleep congeals in the corners, pawing at the empty spot where the lingering warmth of your child presses into your chest. Anger, fury, darkens over your brow, and the apoplectic rage that simmers in the gaps of your dread, your fostering panic, softens him. Makes him melt. The burn of your ire, your fear, liquifying his bones. 

He falls in love with you a little bit more at that moment. When the snarl rucks your upper lip up, up, teeth bared to the world as you whip your head around in frantic, desperate dismay, searching for the little girl he knows you, too, will burn the world for. 

“I've got her,” he says, whisper-soft and low. Cadence even, clear. Tries to quell the howl he can see hammering its fists against your throat before it rips from your lips and scorches the world around you in a hail of horrifying anguish. “She's safe.”

It says something when you immediately go still at the sound of his voice, muscles going lax, slack, as you slowly turn your head toward him, blinking against the fog clotting your vision. Something that cuts him to the core. Rents his chest in halves. One side for you, and the other for her. Nothing left to spare. 

This feeling brimming in his chest sweetens when you startle at the sight of him, them, lashes shuttering like an old camera as if you were trying to sear the image in your head forever. Branded on the back of your eyelids. (A sentiment he knows all too well considering the stream of photos added to his camera roll of you and her nuzzled together.)

“You—” your voice catches, breaks from sleep. Fatigue. You swallow, slowly licking your lips. “When did you get in?”

Your eyes are glued to them. Unblinking. Widened with pure affection, the intensity of which makes him want to touch you, hold you.

“A few hours ago,” he murmurs, glancing down at his—

It cuts a jagged line through his chest. Knicks his bone with how deep it goes. False starts pressed tight to his heart. 

—his daughter. Fuck’s sake. 

He's choked. Strangled. Rendered mute, immobilised. It guts him, this. Daughter. The ring of it echoes in his head, filling the recesses of his mind. Embedding itself within his head. Congealed over. Fixed in place. 

“I have a fuckin’ daughter,” he breathes at length, the air knocked from his lungs. He's not sure why this is what breaks him, but it does. And it's you, then, holding the fracturing pieces together, hands reaching out—in a startling mimicry of his daughter, and fuck, doesn't that just eviscerate him—and curling against the heaving brackets of his ribs, boxing him in. 

“John,” you say, but your voice wobbles. Wavers. When he peels his eyes away from the sleepy yawn she lets out long enough to look at you, there's tears flooding your lashline. Threatening to break. “Fuck,” you say, crass and beautiful, and he's overcome with the urge to tuck you into his other arm, keep you both cradled in his hands. “Don't make me cry or my stitches will tug.” 

“We've got a daughter,” he says again, just to hear it uttered aloud. We. Yours. His. It messes with him. Bludgeons into his core. “We've—”

“She's beautiful, isn't she?” 

Your words shatter him, but the pinch of your hands on his waist keeps him from buckling. 

“Yeah,” he rasps, voice thick. Ugly. It's mangled in his throat. All fractured and raw. “Just like her mother.”

He shows his affection in the burn of his embrace. In the way he holds you tight, refusing to let go. Keeps his words callous and firm. Soft utterances, declarations of love, tucked away in the sure, greedy way he clings to you in his sleep. Yields to you like no one else. Lets you in. 

And he supposes he ought to say it more often if the way your face crinkles up just like his daughter when she cried, tears spilling over your rounded cheeks. 

“Don't,” you heave, ugly and brittle, and he thinks you're the prettiest thing he'd ever seen in his life. “Don't or I'll rip my stitches—”

He huffs. Nods only once, and then steps toward you. “Do you want—?”

“Keep her for a little while,” you mutter, leaning back into the bed, eyes lidded by fond. So in love with him, the picture they paint, it's almost sickening. “She likes you.”

He snorts. “She's only three hours old. Give her time.” 

You're quiet for a beat. Pensive. Mulling something over. It's never a good thing when you're silent, and the unease that grows in his belly is justified when you heave out a long, tired exhale through your nose. 

The way you look at him is raw. “You're not your father, John.” 

And isn't that just the worst lie he'd ever heard.

He scoffs, then. Shifts his weight, still cradling his daughter tight to his chest. “Mm, 'dunno about that.”

“I do.”

“Jus’—” leave it. Keep going. Keep feeding him lies as he stands here and pretends that he wasn't a horrible bastard for wanting this from you. From taking it. Strapping you with a man who's always, always, one foot out the door—

“No.” You say, soft and sure. “You're not him. I know you're not because you're still here.”

“So was he.” 

You don't acknowledge the interruption. Content, it seems, to rattle off lies and half-truths into the stifling air. Your eyes close, the curve of your lashes leonine. Breathtaking.

“Do you want me to take her?” You ask instead of the multitude of things he can see piling behind your eyes. Some of the ugly. Jagged glass. Others powder soft. 

He shakes his head. “You need your rest,” it's a half-truth. Fatigue clings to you still, swathed in the purpling of your skin. The slow, heavy blinks you take to try and fight the tug of an artificial sleep. 

But the real reason is this:

He's just not ready to let her go. 

Thinks, viciously, suddenly, that if he does, this moment built between them in budding, liquid blue will cease forever. Severed too soon. She'll carry the same resentment in her heart he feels for his own father, and he'll die in a shallow pit thinking about how badly he wanted just a second longer. 

Generational, right? Trickle down hatred. Ancestral rage. It's what your grandma talks about sometimes over tea and fried bread, half disbelieving you brought a white man into her home, and making a show, a facade, of wisdom even though he spotted the how to raise a child notebook she hastily shoved into the kitchen drawer when you arrived. Taking over in place of your own mother, stepping up. And yet—

She just doesn't get it, you said, rubbing your hands over your belly when she steps away after another long-winded conversation about traditions, spirits, and dead languages. Raising a child like yours in a world like this. She's just. I don't know. Ignore her. 

(He doesn't. But you don't have to know that.)

So. He clings to her a little tighter. Holds her a little firmer. Brings her close to his chest and hopes she can hear the echo of his heartbeat and know that this tired, old song is just for her. 

(The heart itself for you—)

And maybe—

Maybe he's not quite ready to see you be a mother. Some perverse part of him is already trembling at the promise of watching you nurture and feed her, the tantalising whisper is enough to make the air in his lungs turn humid, sticky. Tar, you remind him sometimes, having seen the ugly spatter of black in the grainy photos the doctor in Hereford likes to shove at him. Never too late to reverse the damage, John. 

Or maybe he wants you for himself just a moment longer. An hour. A day. When you're still you, shackled and bound to a man who reeks of stale tobacco, and started sneaking cigarettes in the dead of night like some pimply, awkward teenager when you first came to him, cheeks wet and eyes wild, and said:

“John, I'm—”

Pregnant. 

He did it, of course. Put that baby in you. Made it with his teeth buried into your throat and your hips canting up to meet him, taking everything he had to offer. Animal aggression. Nothing tender in the way he chewed you up, made you beg him for it. But still—

Wanting and having are worlds apart, aren't they? 

Faced with it, the consequences of his actions, he's at a standstill. 

You hum, and when your eyes slide open, he feels the mallet against his head. Cracked open. You fossick about until you find what you're looking for. Cheeky fuckin’ thing—

“Fine. Just pull up a chair before you keel over, old man.” 

“M’fine,” he grouses in that voice that serves as a dice roll between making you feel hot or homicidal depending on the mood he catches you in. Muttering something under your breath that sounds like a whispered plea for guidance (“tss, gimme strength.”)

But even with the waspish denial, he's inching closer to the spare chair left in the corner, looping his ankle around the leg to slide it closer. The squeal of rubber on aluminium makes him grimace, eyes darting down to his sleeping girl, nestled in his arms. Her brow pinches in the same way your grandma’s do when she's annoyed by the news. Her bingomates. The way he refuses her offering of burning tobacco and lemongrass whenever he goes away for a while, unable to really commit to this little, broken family that feels more like home than his own ever did. 

(“aint my place,” he says, and she scoffs. 

“fuck, s'matter wit’cha?” is her counter, the harsh line between her brows now perfectly superimposed on his daughter’s face. “tss. ain't yer place, eh. are you tryna piss me off? fuck, you make me mad—”)

He sees that spitting anger in you. Generational, he knows. The same inherited attitude his daughter will inevitably have. The one that singles him out as an outlier. Outnumbered. Three, now, to one—

There's got to be a reason why his chest bubbles, innervated by the thought of a Sunday dinner when she's old enough to watch her grandma make intricate bracelets, necklaces, earrings, and pins with thread and glass beads as you, her mother, cuss at the stove that doesn't burn as hot as it used to, flipping over golden dough in a sizzling pan. 

Orange juice in old cups your grandma kept since the nineties. Something soft playing on the radio. The peeling, waterlogged wallpaper flakes off the wall when you slam the pan down too hard. The way the spill of the sun through the rusting window rents the room in half. Pale yellow and oak. Little orange blossoms in soft pink above the speckled granite countertops. Everything awash in a gossamer of sleepy-eyed affection. 

Just like it is now. But—

He looks down at her, head full of lead. Cotton. 

Complete, maybe. 

“Don't know how to be a dad,” he confesses to you, and thinks of how much easier it is to slam a sledgehammer into a metal door than it is to peel back the veneer sometimes. “Don't want to mess up.” 

“You'll be fine.” 

The crinkle of the plastic mattress, the scratch of the sheets sliding across the bed is louder now than it was before. He cuts the gentle sounds with an abrading hum that clicks off his teeth. 

“Get some sleep,” he says again instead of the awful truth that buoys in his throat. Things like you don't know and I tricked you this whole time into thinking I'm a good man and look what you’ve let me do to you. “You need it.” 

Another noise. In his periphery, he watches you lean back against the upright pillows, lips parted on a soft sigh. He feels—

Small, then. An oxymoron considering he has to duck his head to get in and out of the room, towering over most he meets daily. But the inadequacies gut him. Vivisect him. He should be more comforting to you, he knows. This whole thing has been difficult. Tiresome. Cut into and having the life you grew inside of you cut out—

“Did good,” he rasps, still staring down at her even as he pulls the chair as close to your bed as he can get. “With her.” 

You snort. It's inelegant. Ugly. Brittle, like you're holding back tears. 

When he glances up, he finds that you are. “You're strong,” he adds, and knows he should have started with this first. “Doin’ this all on your own.” 

“I had help.”

It's awkward trying to adjust himself in the seat with his daughter perched in his arms, but he finds a way. Settled, then, with her still sleeping away, he lifts his hand from her back, keeping her cradled in his arm with the other, and reaches for you. 

The starchy sheets catch on the bramble of hair on his knuckles, the back of his hand, and the static jolts tickle against the rough scar tissue thickened over his knuckles, some still fresh, scabbed from the latest mission he'd been deployed to. You watch him, misty-eyed and tremulous, as he draws nearer, eyes flickering like a pendulum between the bundle nestled on the thick of his arm, to him, watching you back. Greedily taking in every spasm, every blink. 

Something inside of him cracks. Softens. He thinks, breathless, that you've never been as beautiful to him as you are right now. Bubbles of snot in your nose. Eyes reddened, dropping from exhaustion. A dizzying mess. The sort that speaks of tireless work, of physicality. Muted pain brimming in the backs of your eyes when you pull on your stitches. 

“Got a pretty wife,” he says, and it's not enough. He knows it isn't. Looks away before the fracture lilt to his tone breaks him in two. “And—” it's hard to say. He forces himself to. “And a beautiful daughter.” 

The tears stream down your face at this quiet, clumsy admission. 

“Don't—” you sniffle, hoarse. “Or I'll tear my stitches.”

“M’not doin' anythin’, love.” 

“Fuck you, John—”

He leans back in his chair with a hum, eyes slipping shut. A brief respite amid the panic still clinging tight to his ribcage. “Love you too.” 

It's quiet. Nothing but the soft drag of each breath his daughter takes, the tremulous sniffle you give as you try to dam the tears sliding down your cheeks. His heart hammering in his ears. He commits it all to memory. Glueing it to the fibrils of mind where it'll stay, embedded in tissue, for as long as he is of sound mind. 

Much like the grainy, black-and-white ultrasounds stuffed in his breast pocket. Tucked inside the drawer of his desk where he keeps the pictures of you. Keepsakes he's unnecessarily possessive over, elbowing the rowdier men who try to needle him for sparse information on the little wife he hides at home and the baby they'll never meet. Something just for him. Unshareable to the rest of the world because they don't deserve you. 

The feathered snores tell him you're finally asleep, and he thinks about resting for a moment as well—the bone-deep exhaustion he feels jetting from Iceland to home, to the hospital catches up to him with a vicious kick to temples—but the weight in his arm keeps him awake. Hyperviligent. 

There's this urge clawing at him, making ruins of his chest, and he answers its worried insistence by opening his eyes just a sliver to stare down at the little bundle in his arms only to find she's staring back at him. Eyes wide. Comically too big for her chubby face. 

She has your complexion, but his dark curls. Her eyes, though, are the perfect equilibrium between pools of sapphire, burnt blue, marbled with the dark gleam, that vibrant shade of yours that he's so fond of, the one that's often accompanied by a smart-ass remark. Seeing it gaze up at him with such incipient adoration knocks the air from his lungs. Has his heart shuddering in the brackets of his chest. 

It's love, he thinks first. Instantaneous. Apodictic. And then, cold, callous—

Chemical. 

Just to hurt himself, maybe. Just to let it cut deep. Scar. Because as he stares down at her, he knows it doesn't matter. No amount of hatred, of anger, will ever rip her away from him. His daughter. His family. His.

Like her mother. The root of it all. The catalyst. The start. 

Shackled to this gaping chasm that devours endlessly, never satiated. Always starving. 

Needy. Full of greed. 

Because even now he covets. Craves. Muses to himself about how he can convince you to have another the moment the opportunity arises and you're healed. Whole. Aching for it. 

He wasn't joking when he said he wanted a football team. 

But for now—

The soft sighs you make in your sleep, ones that almost sound like his name, and the comforting weight of his daughter in his arms are enough to make the beast inside purr. Preening under its own conquest, its own victory of successfully turning your body into a home he can rest his weary head on. Sacrosanct. 

He looks at her, then, and feels the dread ease into pride. Into elation. An emotion he knows should have come first, but it's here now, and that's all that really matters.

“Gonna be trouble,” he grouses, watching her pink mouth gape wide, blood-red maw grinning up at him in delirious glee only babies can imbue. Unhindered by the ruination of the world around them. Unfettered. 

Something he couldn't protect you from, but knows you're both on the same wavelength when it comes to her. At all costs, you'd said, hand against the burgeoning swell. And he kissed you until he couldn't feel his lips anymore. Until all he tasted, all he knew, was the taste of you.

“Of the best kind, though, mm?” 

In response, she coos. And he hews the sound into his chest where it sits beside the brand of when you first said, i love you, too, John. 

So, he relaxes. Whispers soft, conspiratorily. "Think you might need'a brother, mm? What'd you say about that?"

And she giggles.

[sissylittlefeather]

Baby, Let's Play House

A/N: I'm not sure how I feel about this one. Like I was so excited to write this idea and then I'm not sure it turned out very well. I don't know. If you like it, let me know because my confidence is slipping. If you read it, thanks as always. You're the reason I do this!

Warning: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, infidelity, domestic violence (happens "off screen", Elvis is not violent), mentions of infertility

Word count: ~3.8k

And a little song inspiration for this one. (I know it's not the title song but it inspired the fic lol)

******

You've been on Audubon Drive for several years when the Presleys move in next door. They seem like nice people: a husband, wife, and young adult son. They wave and smile when appropriate and you go on about your daily life.

You don't have children, so it's just you and your husband in your home. You try to convince yourself that he's not a bad man, but when he has a few too many, he has a tendency to make that a hard argument. But what choice do you have? It's 1956 and divorce isn't something anyone goes into lightly. Honestly, you probably just need to toughen up and realize that this is what you signed on for when you married George. Still, some small part of you hopes that there may be more to life.

One day, you decide to take it upon yourself to help George with the chores. Maybe this will reduce his stress and allow him to be kinder to you. You bring the lawnmower out of the garage with the grand idea to mow the lawn on your own. There's only one problem: you've never used a lawnmower before. You go to battle with it for about twenty minutes before you're so frustrated you want to cry. Finally, you sit down in the grass next to it and try to gather yourself. You're just about ready to give up entirely when you hear him. You look up into his face from your place on the ground.

"Ma'am, can I help you at all?" It's the neighbor boy from next door. You say boy, but he's easily in his early twenties. He's a man.

"Oh, well, I'm just, no I'm fine." He sits down next to you on the grass.

"I'll be honest. You don't look fine. Are you sure I can't help?" For the first time, you get a really good look at him. He's impossibly handsome. The lines of his face are like a Greek god and his lips look like they're soft as marshmallows. He kind of takes your breath away, but you're hesitant to let him know that.

"Well. I've never used one of these things before." He chuckles.

"I suspected as much. Can I do it for you?"

"Oh, my husband..."

"Is he here?" He turns to look up at your house.

"No."

"Then why don'tcha let me help? I'll be done before you can shake a stick." He smiles and you almost melt.

"Alright. If you insist."

"I do. I'm Elvis. Elvis Presley." He reaches a hand out to shake yours.

"Y/n. Y/f/n y/l/n. Thank you, Elvis."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Y/l/n." He pops up off the ground and takes the lawnmower. He skillfully maneuvers it around the yard and you watch from the porch for a bit. Then, it occurs to you that you should do something to thank him. You run inside to make some lemonade. When you come back out, he's taken his shirt off and is almost finished. A thin, sheer coating of sweat covers his skin and something inside you jumps. You stand on the porch with your tray trying not to stare at him as his arm muscles flex with the movement of the lawnmower. At one point, he looks up at you and you look away quickly. When you risk a glance back in his direction, he's smiling the dimpled smile again. Eventually, he finishes and parks the lawnmower in front of the porch. He walks up the steps, wet with sweat, and takes the glass of lemonade that you offer him.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Please don't call me ma'am. It makes me feel like I'm a hundred years old."

"Well, if you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"

"That's not a very nice question to ask a lady."

"Oh, I'm sorry-"

"I'm 33." He nods and smiles again.

"That's not old at all, honey." The switch from ma'am to honey is a subtle but deliberate one.

"How old are you?" He grins devilishly.

"Old enough." You feel your cheeks flush with his flirtatious answer. You're trying very hard not to notice how his tanned skin glistens in the sun. But the way he looks at you, like a puppy who hasn't eaten in a week, makes it hard to ignore how handsome he is. He looks out to your yard again.

"Looks like you need someone to sort out those flower beds. Can I come back this weekend?" You think to yourself that George wouldn't like it. But he's out of town for work this weekend and you do need help with the flower beds.

"Sure. Can you be here Saturday morning?"

"I can be here whenever you want, honey." He winks and hands you his empty glass. Then, he takes your hand and kisses the back of it. "I'll see you on Saturday."

"I'll be waiting." You try to hide your cringe after you say it. What on earth made you say that?! But he takes it in stride, grinning widely.

"It can't come soon enough." He walks back across the yard to his home and goes inside. Your chest is heaving and it feels like you can't breathe. No one has made you feel like this in years.

******

George doesn't even notice that the yard is mowed before he leaves for his business trip. You're torn between being disappointed that he doesn't notice your efforts and relieved that you didn't have to tell him about having the neighbor help.

When Saturday rolls around, you wake up early to make yourself presentable. You catch yourself as you're about to dab on your expensive perfume and look at yourself in the mirror disapprovingly. Why are you trying so hard to impress this young man? You put the perfume down and walk out of the bathroom. But before you make it to the living room you go back and dab on the perfume and swipe on your favorite lipstick. Does it really hurt anything to look and smell nice? No. At least that's what you're going to tell yourself.

He shows up around 10am and knocks on your front door. The butterflies in your stomach are embarrassing and you take a deep breath before opening the door.

"Hi Mrs. Y/l/n!" He smiles brightly and you actively try to calm yourself down.

"Hi Elvis. Thank you again for doing this."

"Oh, it's no trouble!" You walk outside with him and show him what you want done with the flower beds.

"I know that's a lot of work. If you don't finish today, it's okay." You look at him and try not to bat your eyes.

"I'll just come back again." He winks and your stomach flip flops.

"Well, I'll leave you to it." You smile awkwardly and he nods. As you walk away, he calls after you.

"I don't mind if you watch." You turn back to him with a shocked expression on your face. "Kidding. Mostly."

His smirk causes a physical response between your legs and you turn and walk away from him as quickly as possible.

A couple of hours later, you peek through the blinds to check his progress. He's taken his shirt off again and you watch as he wipes his brow. You don't even notice you're biting your lower lip until he looks up at you in the window. He smiles mischievously and you realize you might be in trouble.

After another hour, he knocks on the door. You swallow deeply and open it.

"I think I've done all I can do today. Do you mind if I take a break in here? Maybe have some more lemonade?"

"Oh, of course!" He follows you to the kitchen where you fix him another glass of lemonade. When you hand it to him, your fingers touch and you almost drop it. He takes a long drink and then looks around your house.

"Your husband isn't here?"

"No, he's away for work."

"You have kids?"

"No, no kids."

"Hm." He drinks more from his glass and you take the opportunity to look at him again. His hair has fallen from its perfect, slicked back style and the front pieces hang in his face. You become keenly aware of the fact that you're alone in your house with him and he's half naked. Your imagination begins to run wild and you clear your throat to try to get it to stop.

"How do you like the neighborhood?"

"Oh, it's really nice. It's the best place we've ever lived." You nod and he tells you a little bit about the place they came from and how his music career has allowed him to get something nicer for his family.

When his glass is empty, he looks down at it and then back up at you.

"Would you like some more?"

"No, I'm alright Mrs. Y/l/n."

"You know, you can call me y/n."

"Okay then, y/n." He looks into your eyes for a minute before he takes a step closer to you where you stand leaning against the kitchen counter. You look up at him in anticipation and he reaches behind you to set his glass down. He gets painfully close to you when he does so, close enough for you to catch the scent of his natural musk mixed with some other manly smell. He's absolutely intoxicating.

"I should probably get out of here. Thanks for the lemonade." You nod.

"Of course."

"I'll come back to finish those flower beds sometime this week."

"Okay. That sounds good." You're so discombobulated that you don't even think about what might happen if he shows up when George is home. He's got you so distracted that you almost forget George exists. Then, before he leaves, he leans in and whispers in your ear.

"I like your perfume." As he backs away, his lips graze your cheek and a shiver runs through you. "I'll see you soon."

He turns to walk toward the door and your heart pounds so loud you're pretty sure he can hear it.

******

Thankfully, when he shows up on Wednesday to finish up the flower beds, George is at work. You answer the door and he stands on your porch eagerly.

"Thought I'd come finish those beds, if you don't mind."

"Oh, not at all. Thank you for coming back."

"Well, maybe I missed you." He smiles and your heart turns over in your chest.

"Elvis, you don't know me well enough to miss me."

"Maybe I'd like to know you better, then." He's surprisingly serious when he says it. You open the door for him to walk inside and then close it gently behind him.

"I have a husband." You practically whisper it to him and look down at your feet.

"I know that." He tips your chin up so that you're looking up at him. "You just seem so lonely."

"I am." Your eyes fill with tears as you look at each other. A single tear escapes and slides down your cheek. He catches it and wipes it away with his thumb. Slowly, he leans in and kisses your cheek where the tear was. Electricity runs through you and you're overwhelmed with the need for him to kiss you more. Seemingly reading your mind, he leans in again and presses his lips to yours softly. When he pulls back, his eyes flick between yours and then down to your mouth. You can tell he's about to kiss you again, so you look back down at your feet.

"Elvis, I can't."

"Is he good to you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Like hell it doesn't!"

"Elvis, please." You look at him desperately and his heart breaks for you.

"Okay. I understand."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. I'll just get to work on those flower beds."

"You really don't have to."

"Y/n, I want to. Please let me help you." Your heart is warmed by his kindness. He seems to genuinely care about your wellbeing.

"Thank you." He nods and smiles and heads out the front door to the yard.

While he works, you sit in the living room and sob. You're not used to a man who actually cares.

******

"What happened to the flower beds?" George stands at the window on Friday afternoon with a glass of whiskey and a cigarette.

"What do you mean?" You ask innocently, trying to figure out how to answer him.

"They're weeded and there's new flowers."

"Oh, well, I did it. Or rather, I had a friend do them."

"A friend? What friends do you have?" His tone is scathing. He loves to bring up how alone you are.

"The neighbor boy."

"The one with the sideburns and squirrel shoes?"

"Stop, George, he's nice."

"Oh? He's nice? How many times has he been over here?"

"Just a couple of times to help with the yard work." A sickening feeling settles in your stomach as his mouth twists.

"Why is he so keen to help you?"

"He's just a nice kid, George."

"I'll bet he's nice. Men usually are when you fuck them."

"George! I have not!"

"I'm sure, you little whore. You'd give it up to anyone who smiles at you right." You feel the angry tears prick the corners of your eyes.

"George, please stop." He walks towards you menacingly and you cower, trying to avoid him. You close your eyes and pray that he'll get his fill of hurting you quickly.

******

On Saturday morning, George leaves for another business trip and you lay in your bed crying. That's where you are when you hear the soft knock on your door. You don't answer it. But then you hear another knock and Elvis calls to you from the porch.

"Y/n! I know you're in there." You walk to the door and talk to him through it, refusing to open it.

"What do you want, Elvis?"

"I don't know, I just. I wanted to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Your husband. He said something to me. Please let me in."

"What did he say?"

"He said 'she's all yours'. Now let me in. I have a bad feeling about this."

"No. Go home, Elvis. It's nothing."

"Alright, now I'm really coming in. You can open this door or I'm breaking it down."

"Elvis. Don't be ridiculous."

"Here I go! You better stay clear." You hear him back up like he's going to actually try to kick the door in, so you open it quickly.

"Stop!"

"There now that's... y/n..." He pushes his way into the room when he sees you, closing the door behind him. You stand and stare at each other. Then, he gently holds his hand up to your face, gingerly ghosting his thumb over the black and purple bruising on your eye.

"Did he do this to you?" His voice is strained and lower than you've ever heard it before.

"It doesn't matter."

"I'll kill him." You can feel the raging energy coming off of him in waves.

"Elvis, please." The desperation in your voice is the only thing that could calm him down.

"Did he do this because of me?" He practically whispers it. You look down at the floor. "Did he?!"

When he gets loud, you wince and move away from him out of habit.

"Oh, god, honey, I'm sorry." He softens again and wraps his arms around you. You don't hold back anymore, sobbing openly on his shoulder. He walks you to the couch and sits you down next to him, still holding you as you cry.

Eventually, you sit up and look into his face. He shakes his head when he sees your eye again.

"I know I'm ugly with this-" You put your hand up to cover it and he brings it back down.

"Stop. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I just wish I could've been here to protect you."

"Oh Elvis, it's not your-"

He cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours, his hand on the side of your neck. He pulls back a little and whispers, running his thumb gently across your cheek.

"He'll never hurt you again. Not as long as I live." Then he dives back in and kisses you deeply, parting your lips to let his tongue slide into your mouth. He kisses your cheek down to your neck and lays you down on the couch, situating himself beside you. You put your hands on his chest and melt into the closeness of his body. He might be young, but he's strong and for the first time in a long time you feel safe. His hand drifts up and down your back, finally settling on your hip, pulling you tight against him. His mouth finds yours again and your tongues dance against each other passionately.

You know you should stop him. You're married. But you don't. Instead, you let him reach behind you to the zipper on your dress.

"I'm going to take this off now, unless you say no." You're a little surprised at his confidence, but it's obvious he can tell how vulnerable you are. You nod yes and he slowly pulls the zipper down. Then, he sits up and uses both hands to pull your dress forward and down off of your body. He pulls his shirt over his head and kicks off his shoes, lying back down at your side. He rolls his hips into you and you feel his erection pressing against you. His hand slides up your body to your breast and he squeezes it lightly as he kisses your neck. You reach back and unclasp your bra, letting him pull it forward off of you. His mouth immediately goes to one of your nipples and he kisses and nibbles your chest affectionately. He slides his hand under your panties and teases your clit with his finger. Before too long, he slips a long finger into you and begins to pump it in and out. He adds a second finger and kisses your mouth again.

"Does that feel good, darlin'?" You moan softly and nod.

"Yes. Yes it does."

"Good. I just want to make you feel good, baby." He uses his thumb to rub circles on your clit and you whimper with pleasure.

"Oh, you like that?"

"Yes, don't stop!" He slows his fingers down and focuses instead on stimulating your sensitive bud. He drags his thumb over the top of it and moves faster and faster. He watches your body for cues and follows them to bring you the most pleasure. Your breathing picks up as you feel your climax approaching. He rubs a consistent pattern and your orgasm rushes toward you.

"Oh, God, Elvis, yes! Yes!" You cry out as you come hard on his hand. While you ride your body high, he goes back to pumping his fingers, crashing against your g-spot, and you come again, your release splashing out of you. Your legs shake as he pulls his hand away. He pulls your panties down and off and then stands up to remove his pants. They hit the floor and you're shocked to find that he isn't wearing underwear. His cock bounces free and the size of it takes your breath away. He climbs on top of you and aligns himself with your entrance, massaging your sensitive clit with his tip.

"Are you ready?" You look at him hovering above you and you can't believe this is your life. He's so beautiful and so kind. If you're not careful, you'll be in love with him. Finally, you whisper.

"Yes."

He nods and pushes into you, slowly sliding his cock inside. You moan softly as he fills you fully and you stretch around him.

"Oh fuck." He sighs and closes his eyes. You laugh a little at his reaction and he smiles, kissing your shoulder. Then, he picks up a steady pace of fucking into you.

"Is that good, honey?" He whispers in your ear as he pounds you.

"God, yes." You wrap your legs around his waist and he groans. He kisses your mouth with heavy tongue and slows his pace to long, deep strokes.

"Mmm, you feel so good, baby. I could do this forever." A big part of you wishes he would. "But I'm gonna come soon, darlin'. Where should I-?"

"You don't have to stop. I'm not... there won't be a baby." He stops momentarily and looks down into your face. You look away from him and he cups your chin and turns you back to look at him. He kisses your mouth, your cheek, and then your forehead.

"Okay, honey." You never thought you'd find a silver lining to your situation, but here it is. He rolls you on your side to face him with your leg over his hip and begins to pump in and out of you again slowly. Something changes slightly in the way he fucks you. He was gentle and deliberate from the beginning, but now he's even more affectionate, sweetly peppering you with kisses and running his hand over you gingerly. It dawns on you that you've gone from having sex to making love.

He moves his hand down to your hip and holds you tightly as he increases speed.

"Mmm. Baby. It's so good." He rolls his hips into you over and over as his climax approaches. His cock slides in and out quickly and he kisses your mouth one last time before he slams into you and shudders, filling you with warmth. He presses his forehead to yours and breathes heavily. "That was amazing."

You nod and kiss him softly on the lips. He rolls onto his back and rearranges you to lay on his chest. For a young man, he has no problem taking charge and you feel more and more comfortable in his arms. You spend the next few hours in this position, talking about anything and everything. When the sun starts to get low in the sky, he looks out the window.

"Do I need to leave?"

"It's up to you. George won't be home until Monday evening." You feel a lump form in your throat at the thought of spending the next few days alone.

"Then I'm staying. I have to leave on Monday to play a couple of shows, but I'll be back. I'll stay with you until I leave."

"Your parents won't worry about you?"

"I'm an adult. I'll call my mother and tell her I'm staying with a friend for a bit."

And he does. You spend the next two days together, laughing and talking and playing house. You've never been happier in your life. Neither of you thinks about what the future might hold for you. Instead, you revel in the time you have right now with each other. For the moment, you're happy, and no one can take that away from you.

******

Thoughts?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love

[prettyboisteveharrington]

Return To Sender

Next Chapter

Chapter one - With a little help

Drake Walker x Rose Thorne ( MC)

WC: 4,1K

Summery: When Rose Thorne gets a second chance to be back in Cordonia and be back with Drake- Will he be able to be with her or will the risk of hurting his best friend be too much for him to bare?

(Rewrite of the royal romance book two with a focus on the romance between Drake and Mc plus friendships)

While sitting at the Cordonian airport you looked out through the windows with your head in your hands and tears streaming down on your face. In the last eight months you had come to fall in love with Cordonia both it's people and the people you had met through your journey.

You were going to miss Hana – the beautiful and talented Hana who had truly become your bestest friend. You were going to miss sneaking down in the kitchen at 3 am with her to make hot chocolate filled with whipped cream and soo many delicious marshmallows.

You were going to miss Maxwell's high energy and jumping on the massive beds with him and Bertrand scolding you both. You were going to miss how gentle of a person Liam was, he was always good company and he had a lot of trust in him which was something you admired.

You remembered your mother's final words before she and you left your family home after her and your father had gone through a messy divorce.

Trust is not something you can ever give away freely Rosaline, It must be earned

But the person you were going to miss the very most out of everyone was Drake. Funny, sarcastic but underneath that harsh layer was a much softer side of Drake that he only showed to the people who really mattered. In the very beginning he had fascinated you and drew you in but you had really started to fall for him after he had let down his guard around you and you had spend more time together just the two of you.

You wish you had gotten a chance to explore the magnetism you both obviously felt for each other however you knew he was hesitant to fully be with you because of Liam.

Now boarding economy class for passengers of flight PB205 to New York City...

'Well I guess that's me... Goodbye Cordonia' you said and wishfully looked out the window one last time to say goodbye.

The palace guards who had escorted you to the airport were watching closely.

You look through your bag for your boarding pass when you hear a familiar voice

'Rose! Wait!'

you turn around to see Maxwell and Bertrand running towards you before they are stopped by the palace guards

'you will keep your hands to yourselves. I am the Duke of Ramsford!' Bertrand says clearly agitated

After hearing that Bertrand and Maxwell are noble the guards back off and they both rush over to you

'Rose!' Maxwell exclaims before pulling you into a strong embrace, you hug him back tenderly

'I hope you came here to help me?' you asks anxiously, but you are hopeful that there's still hope for you to go back to Cordonia, to your friends.

' Kind off? We don't have any concreate answers for you but we are both here for you and of course we both believe that you had nothing to do with the scandal' Maxwell says trying to reassure you.

'Really? Both of you believe me? Even Bertrand' you ask sceptically as you look over at Bertrand who doesn't look fully convinced of your innocence.

' Lady Rose ... Did you have a romantic relationship with Tariq behind close doors?'

'Bertrand of course she didn't! It was a set up' Maxwell says shocked at how his brother is behaving

Bertrand looks over at Maxwell then back at you

'Maxwell let her answer for herself. I need to hear the truth from her'

' Bertrand... I never had a romantic relationship with Tariq. But I think I'm falling in love with someone else..' You say and look down at the ground, you take a deep breath before you look back up and Maxwell mouths 'Drake?' you look at him with a different ray of emotions shock, fear then disbelief before you mouth back ' how did you know?' and Maxwell shrugs smugly.

'Now now children we have important things we must discuss' Bertrand scolds both of you.

' What do you suggest we do' you ask in a serious tone of voice

'We want to take you back to Cordonia'

' Well you were clearly set up. We will not take this laying down. No one smears the name of House Beaumont' Bertrand says with determination

'But Liam chose someone else'

'There's a constitutional provision that states the king can change his mind under certain circumstances. It it hard to change but it isn't impossible. Whoever is plotting against you wish you unwell and we must stop them immediately' .

'Really? You would do all of this for me?' you ask feeling both gratitude and a bit overwhelmed

' You aren't to blame Lady Rose. The Court shouldn't have reacted so harshly and those culprits who set you up need to pay for this. House Beaumont supports you unequivocally and we are on your side until the bitter end'

You pull Bertrand into a hug and Maxwell joins you before yelling 'GROUP HUG'

Maxwell and Bertrand inform you that clearing your name isn't going to be a piece of cake but that they will do anything they can to help you prove your innocence. They fill you in on the fact that for you to have the best chances to clear your name you must join Madeleine's engagement tour.

'What do you say Rose? You want to go back and clear your name and find the love of your life

that would otherwise be lost forever' Maxwell says overly dramatic for show and normally you would giggle but you need to think about this

You want to go back to court and clear your name more than anything, to see your friends again and see Drake more than anything, but you are scared.

What if it doesn't work? What if they are better off without you? Your fingers tremble as you put a bit of your hair behind your ear and you take a deep breath.

You got this. You can do it.

Final call for economy class passengers of flight PB205 to New York City... final call...

'Bertrand, take my bag!! let's get this show on the road'

Bertrand looks at you clearly flabbergasted.

'your b- your bag!!'

you give him your best puppy dog eyes.

'just this once? Pretty please? It is a very important occasion'

Bertrand rolls his eyes and reluctantly agrees before reminding you that it won't be a reoccurring thing.

'After what happened earlier I didn't think I would see any of you again let alone hear from you. I thought you had given up on me' you express sadly as you, Maxwell and Bertrand make your way towards the limo.

'We would never leave you behind!We came as soon as we could but security had split us up into separate holding rooms until Bertrand gave them a mouthful and demanded we were let go' Maxwell says and you crack a smile for the first time all night since arriving at the airport.

'No one treats the Duke of Ramsford or house Beaumont with anything less than respect.. Get in the limo. We have a lot of work to do before the welcome party at Madeleine's estate.

' Sr yes sir' you say playfully before you get into the limo.

The next six weeks is spent rebuilding your image and going over etiquette so you know how to describe food, learning to perfect your quickstep and what forks to use for which meals, you're missing everyone dearly but you have been told minimal contact with your friends is for the best at

the moment and no one has reached out to you and it hurts.

You miss Hana dearly but she must be home with her parents now and that must have taken a toll on her. Liam must be busy with his engagement and his princely duties. Drakes withdrawal hurts the most, there was something real between you and you cannot believe he hasn't sent as much as a text message. Do you not matter to him as much as he matters to you?

You also spend the next six weeks physically changing your image, new gowns are bought for the upcoming tour, Maxwell and Bertrand got a family friend who happened to be a stylist into the Beaumont estate and she gives your hair a transformation from red hair to black hair with blue ombre tips, you absolutely adore your new look, it feels like such a needed change, like a rebirth. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

The day of Madeleine's welcome party arrives and you are beyond nervous, why do you care so much what the people at court will think of you re-entering society?

You suppose the only opinions you actually care about is your friends, you didn't have the best up brining with a lot of friends and you absolute hated being in big crowds as it always triggered your social anxiety.

You look outside at Madeleine's estate from the windows you take in the beautiful fountain, the rose bushes and the lush green grass and sigh.

Maxwell knocks on your door later in the afternoon.

'Rose?' He asks gently when you look towards the door.

'come in' you say silently and look back out the window.

Maxwell senses your distress and goes over and sits down next to you.

'what's on your mind?' Maxwell asks you softly as he puts his hand lightly on top of yours.

'I really am that transparent aren't I?' you asks and sigh

' Only because I know my bestest friend'

' It's been almost two months since I've heard from anyone besides you and Bertrand.. I thought at least.. '

'Drake would have reached out?' Maxwell finishes the sentence for you and gives you a knowing look.

you nod and lean your head on his shoulder and avoid his gaze that you can feel lingering on you.

' To be fair, Drake usually keeps to himself.. sometimes months go by before we talk. You know how much nobles drain him'

' oh' is the best response you can muster at the moment as it feels like a knife has been twisted into your stomach.

What if you won't hear from Drake for months or ever again? Just thinking about it hurts so much. Before Maxwell has any time to reassure you Bertrand enters your room

' Lady Rose, you need to get ready for the welcome party. Remember this is your grand re-entrance to courtly society. You must look impeccable'

Bertrand hands you an elegant blue dress and you go to the bathroom and change into it. You take in yourself in the dress in the mirror, the dress accentuates your chest without being too lowcut and it hugs your curves in all the right places. The dress isn't something you would have ever chosen for yourself but it's very pretty, it's knee length, silk and it has beautiful sequins on the bottom of the dress.

As you walk out both Bertrand and Maxwell reassure you that you look absolutely gorgeous and you smile at them before thanking them for them dress before walking out of your room and towards the party.

Once the doors open to the grand hall of Madeleine's manor you can hear people gasping and whispering and they are staring at you. You notice the press looking at you as well. It's showtime.

You plaster a fake smile on your face as you enter the grand hall and you squeeze Maxwell's arm for support and he grins at you.

'You're doing well Rose'

'Thank you Max' you say thankfully and try to relax at least a little

you manage to curtsy and introduce yourself to Madeleine's mother, catch up with Penelope and Kiara and you find out they are part of Madeleine's bachelorette party. You congratulate Madeleine on her engagement with Liam and somehow you manage not to get frustrated too much by Madeleine's rude behaviour. You definitely don't care enough about her to care what she thinks of you.

As you turn around you see Liam for the first time in two months and while you don't harbour any romantic feelings for him, you still care about him and want to free him from Madeleine.

'Lady Rose I was not expecting to see you...' Liam says shocked

'Liam! I missed you'

'I've.. I've missed you too' he says and looks at you with a sad expression on his face.

'we need to --'

Liam is interrupted by Madeleine as she puts her hand on his arm and leans in to kiss his cheek before she guides him away.

You and Maxwell walk around the room and you lean in and say ' if Drake comes back at court then

I need to tell Liam the truth. He deserves to know that while I do care for him that I do not love him. He deserves that much. He doesn't deserve to be lead on'.

'I know you want to let him know and you should Rose but I think you should wait until you have spoken with Drake until you make up your mind'

'I don't want to hurt Liam or get his hopes up, but I do need to talk to Drake first'

Maxwell guides you over to the table Bertrand is sitting at and you all share your information that you have learned tonight, you learn that Tariq has left court and the best way to clear your name is to make him make a statement of what really happened the night he was tricked into your room under false pretences. Both of you were played and clearly whoever is behind this wanted him out of court so he couldn't tell everyone the truth.

As you lie in bed at night and stare at the ceiling you sigh, you just want this whole scandal thing to be over, you want to start over in Cordonia not as a queen but as one of the people. You wish Hana and Drake were here right now as you miss them dearly.

If things are real between you and Drake you want to find out in whatever shape it can take, all you know right now is that you long for more time with him.

You wonder when he will return to court and if at he will be back soon at all. As much as your heart yearns for him most of all you miss the group hangouts with him and his friendship.

You wake up the next morning to a soft knock on the door, you yawn and stretch before you go over to the door to open it

'Max.. isn't this kind of ear-'

'Rose!!'

You gawk at the person standing in the doorway, it isn't Maxwell it's Hana. You didn't think you would see her again. You thought she would be back home with her dreadful and controlling parents.

You have spent many nights worried for your best friend and her well being, now that she's standing in front of you it feels like an illusion or a dream.

You grab her waist gently and pull her into a bone crushing hug and she hugs you back just as fiercely.

'oh Hana! I missed you so much' you exclaim happily as you still hang onto her for dear life.

' I missed you too'

as you slowly let go of her you go to sit down on your bed and she follows you and sit down across from you.

' I was so worried that you weren't coming back'

' To be honest I didn't think I was either. '

'Does your parents know you're here?

'I'm here with their blessing actually. Countess Madeleine called my father and invited me to stay in Cordonia as part of the wedding party and she promised my parents she would help me find a match worthy of the family name'

'Oh Hana that's great! It is great right??...Wait.. Is this what you really want?'

You were so happy she was back but the pressure of her finding someone and her parents expectations for her were too much pressure. Plus it was highly unlikely they approved of the two of you being friends after the scandal and because you encouraged her to be free instead of caged in like some sort of bird.

Hana seems to think about her response for a minute.

' When I heard you were coming back I couldn't get back to Cordonia fast enough. You are the real reason I want to be here'

You put your hand on top of hers and smiled. It truly was good to see her.

'What made you decide to come back?'

' Well my decision to come back was threefold really, I want to clear my name and save Liam from Madeleine because he deserves better and I really want to spend more time with -'

'Drake?' Hana adds and nudges her shoulder into yours

' That obvious huh?'

' I mean it's the way you look at each other when you think no one is looking'

'Oh' you feel your cheeks get warm and you smile widely

'I want to help you clear your name Rose, I hate the idea of anyone scheming against you... anyway.. Have you seen Drake yet? He wouldn't stop talking about how we need to stop the people who are scheming against you'

Ohhh. So he did want to talk to you? You wondered why he hadn't reached out yet. Wondered if he was okay. You missed his grumpy face.

Before you can answer Hana there's a knock on the door and you open it to reveal Maxwell and he lights up when he sees Hana, he rushes over to her and pull her into a hug, you join them.

' I feared we wouldn't see you ever again! Bertrand was convinced you were gone for good'

' It's really good to see you as well Max' Hana says earnestly

Hana, you and Maxwell head to the estate's boutique together so both you and Hana can get ready for Madeleine's engagement party. Changing is for sure more fun when you are around your bestest friend. Maxwell leaves to prep things for later with Bertrand.

You look through the different dresses for something nice to wear.

' So... you've been here for the last day.. how has everything been?'

' Oh so much better now that you are here' you admit you have missed her so so very much

'I came just in time then' Hana smiles at you before squeezing your shoulder softly

' Promise me we will always keep in touch.. Hana, I can't do any of this without you near me' you admit shyly as Hana finds you a gorgeous pink dress for you to try on.

' I will do my very best to make sure that won't happen' she reassures you as you turn around and go into the changing room.

Once you have tried the dress on you show it to Hana, it's a white silk dress with pastel pink lace over it, it's knee length with short sleeves. Hana helps you sip up the dress

' Soo.. what do we think of the dress?' you say and twirl

' You look like you're ready to knock them all out with your beauty'

' Thank you Hana, you are far too kind.. I never got the chance to ask you but.. how does your parents feel about us being friends after everything that has happened recently?' you ask nervously, you hope Hana hasn't been upset because your friendship.

' they haven't been too happy I'm afraid'

' Should I keep my distance until the scandal dies down?' you ask in a wounded tone of voice

You don't want to stay away from your best friend but you also don't want to to cause her any more harm than your kindship has probably already caused her. You will stay away from her if you must but the thought saddens you deeply.

' my parents are dear to me.. But they cannot stop us from being close'

'I'm proud of you for standing your ground. I know how hard that can be'

Hana goes into the dressing room and comes out in a beautiful pink dress that's made out of silk, you lock elbows with each other and head out of the boutique.

Once you and Hana reach the lawn outside Madeleine's grounds Madeleine spots the two of you and she looks furious for a minute before her expression becomes stoic. Madeleine makes a toast thanking her mother, the king and queen and Liam. Madeleine is obviously trying to make you jealous as she kisses Liam's cheek but you just resist the urge to roll your eyes, if she only knew where your heart belonged...

Madeleine approaches you to remind you that because of her Hana is back and that you should both be grateful to her, you thank her in a sarcastic voice, if she ever hurts Hana you will pounce. No one gets to hurt her and you do not trust Madeleine, not around Liam and certainly not around Hana.

Liam comes over and join your conversation, he's happy to see Hana again, he mentions that it's good to see you as well and says that you're beautiful and you smile at him. Once he leaves Madeleine reminds you that he belongs to her especially when they are out in public.

You resist to roll your eyes at her and once she leaves you and Hana burst out laughing.

' If she only knew the truth' Hana comments and you giggle again.

Bertrand and Maxwell comes to escort you and Hana away from the crowd and into the ball room to talk to you. It seems very urgent so you agree and follow them, once you reach the ballroom you give them a serious look.

'what's the matter? You ask cautiously

' Tariq's not just out of court, it appears that he is out of the country so finding him will not be easy' Bertrand confirms what you had already feared. Clearing your name will be so much harder now.

'Madeleine doesn't seem to know were he is either.. If what she says is the truth.. what do we do now?'

' At the moment there isn't much for us to investigate... however our next stop is Applewood Manor where the photos were taken.. I believe there must be clues there. In fact we are going to head up there before the tour does. Once the festivities end we will go there'.

You and Hana head up to your bedroom with cinnamon, cups, chocolate powder, marshmallows, whipped cream and milk to make hot chocolate. While Hana makes you both a cup of hot chocolate you two catch up on lost time. It's good to be in her presence again.

Hana lets you know that her parents where disappointed with her performance during the courting season and that they limited her access to the outside world after, you feel angry on her behalf and upset that it might have been because of your influence. You let Hana know that if she ever needs anything that you have her back and you apologize if your actions hurt her but she reassures you that it was not your fault. The two of you decide to talk about happier things but the guilt you feel for how she was treated hurts your heart deeply.

'What qualities do you look for in a future partner.. And what drew you in particular to Drake?' Hana asks you shyly

you look at her for a moment taking in her expression. You wonder if she has ever had many boyfriends or even girlfriends before her previous engagement.

You have dated a few men and women and you have been attacked to different looks and different personalities. But there has always been one common personality trait that's drawn you in the most.

' I take it you haven't dated much?' you ask softly

'Only my ex finance really and that didn't end very successfully' Hana says earnestly.

' I've been attracted to different things in the past but the one common trait they all had was that they were kind. Drake is -despite being very grumpy at times – very kind, he's funny, fiercely loyal and overall he's just a total softy' you say and look at her warmly

' When it comes to dating Hana go for the person who makes you happy, who values you and treasures your connection'

' I shall think of that next time someone catches my eye'

'And Hana?' you ask as you put your hand on hers and squeezes it gently

'Yes Rose?'

'Don't settle for less than you deserve, you are funny, sweet, extremely talented and you deserve the world... Don't ever forget that'

Hana seems speechless so she nods and puts her head on your shoulder.

In the evening you decide to go for an evening walk around the grounds, you spot someone in the darkness, he's dark haired, tall and in a jean jacket -

'Dr- Drake!' you exclaim and as the person turns around you see that is Drake.

[variantoutcast]

sending you a list of characters that i think have the best potential for unhinged responses: castiel, grogu, and uuuuh lestat iwtv? you watched that right? :^)

YESS CHAOS YESS

Castiel: See I actually find Cas to be embarrassingly relatable so it's a good thing you sent this ask today when I have not thought about Cas more than passingly each day, rather than a year or more ago when I was thinking only about Cas at all times. Then you would have gotten an essay. Perhaps that's what you wanted as it would definitely be incoherent. But I do not want to open that door fully so instead I will crack it just enough to let this answer seep through. A) Like him I'm autistic, and this can lead to miscommunications both hilarious and tragic. B) I would sit, filled with love for somebody, for years and never tell them or act on it. And people around me would notice. I have done this twice in my life. C) I'm also very strongly motivated by wanting to understand and do right by the people around me, but this is, with embarrassing frequency, interrupted by my own arrogance. That is like a quintessential Cas trait although it looks different on him than it does on me. In ways that we are different, well, funniest, if not foremost is that A) I have never been pregnant, even allegorically. Cas has been allegorically pregnant twice. B) I would not allow for somebody I love to be treated by my partner the way Cas allowed Dean to treat Jack. and then C) I have never been divorced. Cas did allegorically divorce Dean over the way he treated Jack. I would have done it far sooner though.

Grogu... this is going to be so fun. Well obviously A) I really enjoy causing problems on purpose B) I often make snap judgements on people C) The very sight of me sparks strong emotions in people. Except unlike Grogu people aren't going awww they're more like jesus fucking christ what is that thing. For example when I eat marshmallows or cream cheese that emotion is strong. Ok ways that we are different... A) I am actually much younger than Grogu B) I would not have gone with Luke Skywalker if he tried to baby snatch me like that C) I would not eat my friends children under most circumstances

Lestat. ok. Well A) The flare for the dramatic. Whenever Lestat is prancing about like a cartoon pony on amphetamines I was hooting and hollering at my screen because sometimes you have to be annoyingly homosexual. You just have to. B) His sense of alienation from the world around him. Perhaps it's my nature as an autistic dyke but I often feel very powerfully that I move through the world and experience it quite differently than most people. I don't commit murders about it though. C) His temper, although again not the violence of it per se. I don't know I have a tendency towards all powerful anger myself and it can be difficult for me to wrestle it down without saying something hurtful. Ok ways I am not like Lestat A) Well see the thing is he is kind of a psychopath and I am not. B) I have seen a psychiatrist in my lifetime and he has not. C) If I could fly I would be doing it all the damn time power imbalance or not because that's arguably the coolest power any of the vampires have shown and he doesn't even seem to care. Lame.

Sorry this got so long asdlkjf this was a lot of fun!

Send me asks!

[rjdavies]

Inspirational April! How A Marshmallow Predict Your Success!

For the month of April, I’m sharing inspirational quotes and a video a day. My two favourite resources are GoalCast and TedTalks

It’s also CampNanowrimo Month! Get your word count in.

If you are offered a marshmallow now, or two marshmallows in two hours, which would you take?

Book: “The Marshmallow Test: Mastering Self-Control” by Walter Mischel

How Marshmallows Predict Your Success | Michio Kaku | Goalcast

How Marshmallows Predict Your Success | Michio Kaku | Goalcast - YouTube

We have a lot of high-IQ people who are marginalized citizens in society. It’s not about how smart you are but intelligence is important. 

Michio Kaku has come up with this test, if you ask a child if he wants a marshmallow now or two marshmallows in two hours from now? 

The kids that want the marshmallow now, are kids that want the shortcuts, the quick fixes, they grab that quick kill. They don’t want to wait. 

The kids that wait are not into shortcuts, if you track these children decades later they are generally more successful, have lower divorce rates, higher incomes, and higher status in society,  they don’t want that quick payoff now but will delay gratification for into the future. (There are children that will have self-discipline and may only want one marshmallow because too much sugar isn’t good for you - they would be exceptions to this test)

Can this be taught? Micho believes that part of this, is our personalities that are formed when we are very young and he believes it can be taught.

“We constantly day dream, we constantly create worlds that don’t exist. And to me, that’s what intelligence is.” - Michio Kaku.

R. J. Davies

A Riveting Jacked-In Dreamy Mind-Bender

RJ Davies - Science Fiction Author, Maddox Files, Novels

[pitaparka]

when you sleep with him for the first time headcanons

note—it gets a little suggestive during oberyn's part, but nothing too crazy. i use sleep here in it's purest form by the way, so enjoy! let me know if you have any ideas for the next one! me and the boys are open to suggestions ;)

MANDO

- mando has always allowed you his bunk to sleep, whenever you like

- when you stayed with him on the razor crest and watched the kid, he was always more than willing to give it up anytime you needed sleep

- he didn't sleep much anyway, and usually your sleeping schedules didn't overlap

- but boba fett's ship doesn't have much space to begin with, let alone enough space for all of the crew mates he's happened to find recently

- which mean's you and mando, having already been living together and already know each other, were sleeping together, in the same small bunk, at the same time

- he offered to sleep on the floor, or pressed up against the wall

- but you got mad at him for even suggesting such a thing

- there was more than enough space for the two of you to sleep, you argued, though there was barely enough room for one

- it was comical, trying to press up against him, and find a spot comfortable enough for the both of you to lay

- it was jarring to you when he removed a single pauldron for you to rest your head on his clothed shoulder

- you felt like you had violated him in some way, seeing him just the lightest bit more bare than usual

- though you were slightly uncomfortable from the rest of the beskar pressing up into your body, you were lulled to sleep in minutes from the sound of his steady heartbeat

EZRA

- the cots had never been a long term solution

- that you knew

- so when the morning comes around, and your cot drops your ass on the floor, you wish you gotten new sleeping arrangements the last time you were in town

- you were just wishing it had taken longer for them to fall apart the way they had

- there wasn't much on the green, in terms of furnishing markets

- the cots had been the only barrier between you and the floor, and now, there was nothing protecting you from the frigid, uninsulated ground of your broken down ship

- it was ezra who offered up the idea: put one blanket down on the floor, and use the other one to cover the both of you with

- you took a second to ponder it, thinking of any idea, any reason that could be used to save you from having to sleep next to ezra, the man who had been so warm and kind to you, but you had frozen him out, because of your ridiculous crush on him

- you offered up the idea of just disassembling the cots and using the cloths as protection from the cold

- but this wiseass pulls out the cloth from the cot and his blanket and compares the two, and there's no way the cloth is going to have any integrity making contact with the ground

- so you agree, and when nightfall comes, you're too exhausted from harvesting all day to fight with him

- he puts his blanket down as protection, and you all but collapse on top of in

- ezra does you the service of tucking you in, before climbing in next to you, and you're soothed by his warmth

- not soothed enough that you fall asleep immediately, still unnerved by the idea of sleeping so close to him, hearing him breathe, feeling him move

- but he throws his good arm over your body and pulls you into him, muttering something about the cold

- and your heart melts just a little bit as you fall asleep, pressed up against his chest

FRANKIE

- frankie had been upset for weeks after his divorce, which was to be expected

- but everything had been so stressful on him, and you were getting worried for his mental health

- he hadn't been answering calls, he'd cancelled plans with you last minute, which is something he never did, and he hadn't been doing anything for himself, just living in a rut of paperwork, sleeping, eating, and going to work

- so when he calls you up to ask you to go camping with him, you obviously say yes

- it's almost a two hour drive to the campsite, and frankie is fairly quite, which isn't usual, but you get some good music going and some good conversation going, and soon enough, you and frankie are laughing and singing your heads off on your way there

- it's getting dark when you arrive, and you make quick work of getting everything out of his car when he realizes something is off

- "oh no" he exclaims, and you fear the worst

- "what? what's wrong?"

- "I brought the small tent."

- "how small is the small tent?"

- "i brought the four-person tent, not the ten person tent."

- "are you kidding frankie? i'm sure we'll fit in a four-person—“

- "i'm telling you, it's not as big as you think it is, trust me."

- when the tent is complete, four-person is an exaggeration

- it's a four-person tent if the four-people were sardine packed and the size of children

- it's going to be just enough room for both you and frankie to lie down in with your sleeping bags

- but that's for a later time, because frankie has marshmallows to roast and lots of things to tell you after he's been ignoring you for a whole week

- he apologizes and you sit next to him at the firepit on your site, and you listen to him talk, and give him advice, and rest your head on his shoulder

- and when it's late into the night and you two go to retreat to bed, you have to squish up against his broad shoulders that seem so much broader in the small tent

- and when he wakes with nightmares of his fighting buddies and far too many sleepless nights, he pulls you close to him, and falls asleep again, until the sunlight streams through the front flap of the tent far too early in the morning

WHISKEY

- that day’s mission was harsh

- it had you spent, not only physically, but mentally as well

- as you lie awake in your bed, you realize you’re not getting to sleep tonight, whether or not you had another important mission that morning

- the hotel bed was creaky and entirely not your bed from home and the air conditioner was broken so it was freezing

- you figure there’s no better time than the present, and you’re well aware whiskey is right next door

- if he’s awake, you’ll ask him to have a drink with you, and if he’s asleep, you can just hop into bed with him

- he’s a deep sleeper anyway

- you’re careful turning the knob into his room, just in case he’s asleep, and you spot him in his bed, on his side, breathing softly, room cloaked in darkness

- you come around on his side of the bed and you whisper his name

- he stirs a little

- you debate going back to your room and just toughing it out, but he doesn’t give you the chance

- he’s up, groggy and hair tousled and in just a plain t-shirt

- “sweetheart? what are you doin’ here? what’s goin’ on?”

- you tell him you didn’t want to sleep alone tonight, and he wipes the sleep from his eyes and squints at you, using only the moonlight to help him see

- “what kind of gentleman would i be if i refused you my bed?”

- this makes you smile, and he lifts the covers for you to get in with him

- you plant your head on his shoulder and drape an arm over his chest, cozying up to him as close as possible

- his hand rests comfortably on your back, and he breathes rhythmically

- and you’re silently grateful he doesn’t ask questions, just lets you curl up into his side ands lets you fall asleep with him there

JAVIER PEÑA

- it happened in a flurry of passion and kisses, hands roaming his body and yours after a far too close dance with death

- if it had not been for his bulletproof vest, he'd be lying in a hospital or a morgue

- but he wasn't

- his body was warm and so was yours and the ride to his apartment was far too quiet for your liking and his

- it was only appropriate you accompanied him for a drink after such a great victory for the DEA, but it had taken a toll on both of you, mentally

- you more so than him, which is why you ended up drinking much more than you normally would have when you drank with javi

- he tried to laugh away the stress, complaining about his sore and bruised ribs, but the room was still tense

- emotions ran rampant through your body, and when he brings it up, tears start to pool in your eyes at the thought seeing him for the last time, in a suit, at his own funeral he wouldn't attend if he had the choice

- he sets his drink down and pulls you into his arms, holding your waist and cupping the back of your neck, stroking behind your ear as he listens to you cry softly in his shoulder

- he reassures you he's fine, nothing happened to him, and you pull away from him, grab his face, and stare into his eyes

- he smiles kindly at your own red ringed eyes, irritated from crying, as you try to memorize each streak of brown in his own

- it's too much for the both of you, and you pull him into a kiss

- his mouth is surprisingly soft compared to your own drunk passion, and as much as he'd love to take you right then and there on his couch, he knows he'd regret it if you woke up the next morning and regretted it too

- so he entertains the kiss, not that he minds, and leads you to his bedroom

- where the silk sheets and heavy comforter that smell so strongly of javier peña pull you to sleep next to him, faster than you'd like to admit

MARCUS MORENO

- missy and your daughter had always gotten along very well

- you were very familiar with marcus, and could even call yourselves friends to an extent

- your daughters were very intelligent little girls, and knew that if they got the two of you talking when you came to pick your daughter from his house, they would have at least another hour to play while you two chatted endlessly about boring adult things

- for missy's birthday party, she had wanted all of her friends over for a huge sleepover, and of course her father caved

- he couldn't say no to her no matter how much he tried

- marcus, the genius he was, figured that if the kids were all under one roof having fun, why not let the adults have fun too?

- everyone was invited

- the kids would have lots of different fun activities to choose from, from swimming, to games in the backyard, and a movie night under the stars outside

- and the adults were welcome to stay, chat, drink, and play adult card games marcus had saved for special occasions

- the night of the sleepover, a dozen children and adults were packed into his backyard, watching some new movie he had rented the missy was excited about

- but it was freezing, and you hadn't expected to be outside for so long

- marcus realizes this and he leans over quietly, so not to disturb the movie

- "are you cold?"

- "oh! no, it's okay, i'll be fine—“ you try to excuse yourself, but he gets up without a word, and returns with a sweatshirt of his

- it fits snugly over your head, and completely eliminated the chill in your bones

- it doesn't take long for your eyes to start getting heavy, and soon enough, you're passed out on marcus' shoulder

- "what if we camp out here for the night?" he suggests, and the kids are more than excited

- the adults know what he's up to

- but they let him anyway

- it'll be great to tease him about later, and besides, you guys are adorable together

MARCUS PIKE

- working together with marcus was always a joy

- he was always very respectful and funny

- you knew he had his heart broken more than once in the past, so even though you dropped hints that you'd want something more with marcus, you let him take it at his own pace

- when you dropped by his place that night, with important new documents you had received right before you left work and chinese food, you're ecstatic when he lets you in

- you spend hours pouring over the documents, making sure every single detail was covered and examined, when you realize how tired you are, and how loud the rain is coming down outside his window

- "it's getting really late. i should leave," you say, but marcus stops you

- "you could always, y'know, stay the night if you wanted. i'd let you have my bed."

- you smiled at him, but politely decline, as you wouldn't want to kick him out of his bed, but you yawn again

- "look, you're exhausted, and it's pouring" he points out, "you know most accidents happen by people falling asleep behind the wheel when it's raining?"

- you laugh at him

- "you just made that up,"

- "i did, but you should stay. if you don't want to i totally understand, but you'd be missing out. my bed is really comfortable."

- "is that why you're always late to work?" you quip, and close the files

- he gasps in mock shock

- "that was one time, and my alarm didn't go off," he claims, smiling at you

- he lends you a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and you pretend to not see a slight blush on his face when you walk out into his bedroom with them on

- marcus was right when he said his bed was really comfortable

- somehow, in the middle of the night, you two find each other, his face pressed into your shoulder, your arms wrapped around him, and the rain comes down even harder

MAX PHILLIPS

- "i just need some space from him, is all."

- that's all you had to tell him for max phillips to be on your side, rubbing your shoulder and telling you that all men suck anyway, you didn't need that jerk of a boyfriend to be happy

- well, now ex-boyfriend

- of course he had ulterior motives, and you knew this, but you didn’t care

- your heart wanted someone to watch movies with and eat a pint of ice cream out of the tub with you, and if max was the one who would do that, you’d settle with him for the night

- the way he pulled you into his arms, and pressed his body up against yours, was more than comforting

- he made funny jokes, tried tickling you, anything he could think of to get you to smile for him

- and for the most part, you did

- you were sick of your ex bringing the mood down the way he did, no matter how much you missed him

- the movie has gotten boring a long time ago, but you listened to max’s breathing, and felt his chest rise and fall behind you, and it was enough to lull you to sleep

- and he would’ve woken you up, to take you to his bed, but he was scared you’d leave to go home if he did

- so he took his couch throw, pulled it over the two of you, turned off the television, and settled back as you got comfortable on his chest

- this was a side of max phillips you’d never seen before, and you didn’t expect to see any time soon

- so you relished in it, and let sleep pull you in

MAXWELL LORD

- his head aches, and his eye is still bleeding on the plane back to washington d.c.

- the ride back is silent, save for the rumbling of the engine

- he rests his head against the wall of the airplane for most of the ride there, and you take comfort in knowing while he’s asleep, he’s not in pain

- when he starts getting restless, having what you think is a nightmare, you start holding his hand, stroking your thumb up and down his soft skin

- it takes him a minute, but he calms down, and you don’t let go of his hand

- with nothing to do but watch him sleep, you decide taking a nap too would be your best option

- which is when the plane hits a particularly rough patch of turbulence

- he bounces awake, nervous and alert, and you tell him it’s just the plane, everything’s fine

- when you pull him into your shoulder, he takes the opportunity to fall back asleep

- you can feel the tension in his neck just by having him rest his head on your shoulder

- you keep a firm grip on his hand, when your own eyes start to get heavy

- your head rests on his, and the rest of the ride there is smooth and painless

OBERYN MARTELL

- he had been pursuing you for quite some time

- as the second son of a king, he was more than accustomed to people saying yes to appease him

- he was forward with you, and you were forward back with him, and he liked that

- it was your words that told him you weren't looking for anything long term, that if he were to pleasure you, and you him, he would be nothing more than a simple one night stand

- boy did he prove you wrong

- your legs were so weak afterward, you couldn't bare to get up

- he took incredibly good care of you, squeezing your sore thighs and rubbing your aching muscles, pressing kisses up and down your back, brushing the hair out of your face

- it only increased your attraction to him when he brought in more people, caring for them and having them care for you, and by the time you had finished, you felt as though you couldn't physically go another round that night

- he purred in your ear that every night with him would be a night like this, and you whined back, making him grin and capture your mouth in a passionate kiss

- you didn't mean to fall sleep with him, but all the nibbling bites at your ear and the serotonin coursing through your veins had you spent for the night

- he let you sleep, and even stayed for a while before being summoned for an important meeting

- you made a mental note that eventually, you two would need to do that again, because you slept like a baby the whole night through

PERO TOVAR

- it's below freezing when you settle down for sleep that night

- no matter how much wind the tent tried to keep out, it just wasn't enough

- you're bundled up in all the clothes you had brought with you, the only blanket that could be spared, anything that could try to keep you warm, but nothing’s working

- the cold just bleeds through the blanket and your clothes, into your legs and chest and bones so that you can’t fall asleep if you tried

- you figure the only way you’ll be able to get any rest to be ready for the next day, is to go find a warmer place to sleep

- if the fire’s still going, you’ll rest there

- you shiver as you pick up your things, but your interrupted by tovar, who comes in with a thick fur blanket wrapped around his shoulders

- “where are you going?”

- “i was just going to sleep next to the fire,” you say, trying to keep the chill out of your voice

- “it’s going to be cold tonight. lay down.” he instructs, and you oblige

- he lays the blanket down over you and climbs underneath it next to you, so that your shoulders touch and watch him for a second before he turns over and tries to go to sleep without a word

- you pull the blanket up to your shoulders and you feel ten times warmer already, but it’s the heat from tovar that really entices you

- so you push back against him, your back against his, and fall asleep with the warmth of his muscles against yours

[vivilove-jonsa]

Starry night for jonsa? 😊

Thank you for the prompt, my dear! Hope you enjoy some Christmas meet-cute magic :)

**

Whenever people down south had asked of Sansa’s hometown, quaint was the word she often heard them use in reaction to her description. There’s nothing inherently wrong with the word or its meaning but she knew most of her acquaintances hadn’t intended it in a flattering manner.

She’s feels rather sorry for people like that as she walks through Winterfell’s open-air Christmas market tonight despite the cold that nips her nose and makes her glad of her wooly cap.

The stars twinkle above and, closer to earth, lights are strung around every tree on the town square. Would-be customers keep their feet warm by milling about the various booths offering homemade gifts and goodies. There’s a small ice-skating rink kept open throughout winter at the center. Nearby, a fire pit pops and crackles while rosy-cheeked children wearing mittens and hats roast marshmallows and sip hot cocoa.

This always felt magical to Sansa when she was as young as those children. Unlike the department stores playing stale pop covers of Christmas songs on an never-ending loop or putting up decorations before Halloween was even properly over, the market is only for here for a handful of days each year and that makes it all the more special.

Even now, when childhood magic has altered from belief to nostalgia, she will still proclaim the Christmas market magically picturesque and is happy to be here.

Except…

“Oh Sansa, we should go inside Poole’s for a bit and warm up, don’t you think?! Arya!”

Her mother’s panicked look combined with the way Arya’s grabbed her by the arm and is literally towing her in that direction has Sansa digging in her heels and looking around suspiciously.

Oh.

At the town square’s little stage, there’s a couple standing under an archway covered in holly and tinsel, surrounded by family and waving to some well-wishers from the market. The woman is dressed in a gorgeous white coat and she’s got a bouquet in her gloved hands. They’re newlyweds.

It’s a tradition of sorts ‘round town that those married during the market time make an appearance at it. Sansa, who had adored any tradition that involved romance, had done that, too.

Had she looked as happy as that bride? Even now, she recalls the icy chill of foreboding she’d felt when her groom had stood on that stage next to her looking bored and subsequently declared Winterfell’s Christmas market lame. Deep down, she wonders if she’d known even then how it would go.

It would probably be very wrong of her to go up to that bride tonight, shake her by the shoulders and ask if she’s sure she’s not making a terrible mistake, wouldn’t it?

Yes, it would. They look happy. She hopes they are and will be for many years to come.

“It’s fine, Mum. Arya, stop yanking on my arm.”

A creased brow on one face and a stubborn jut of the other’s chin. They mean well but it’s been a bit smothering at times since she’s come home. She’s not made of porcelain.

They separated over a year ago and the divorce has been final for several months. She’s gone on a couple of dates this year. It’s been alright. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to feel about it now. Were those butterflies in her stomach and stars in her eyes something she’d just imagined when she was younger? Or maybe you outgrow that.

“I’ll pop in at Poole’s in a bit. I think I want some cocoa. Do either of you want me to grab you one?”

Both are astute enough to take the hint that she’s not necessarily inviting them to walk to the booth with her. She needs a little space is all. They shake their heads and say they’ll be in Poole’s when she’s ready to find them.

They head towards the homey general store and she heads the other way but she doesn’t really want hot cocoa. Not enough to wait in a long line anyway. She wants some fresh air.

Fresh air in an open-air market, huh?

She heads to the far side of the square where the town’s fairgrounds lie mostly empty waiting for spring’s festivals, smalltown summer concerts and autumn’s bonfire nights to return.

Away from the hustle and bustle of the market, she finds the big red sleigh lacking its reindeer where a jolly old elf usually poses for pictures with the little ones. Why is it deserted this year?

Looking around and deciding she’s quite alone, she takes a seat and looks up at the sky. There, the stars await her.

Here’s another thing those people down south might not understand in their big city with its bright lights - how magical the night sky looks in places like Winterfell where you can really see them in all their glory.

They shine down from above on this clear night and the pangs from Sansa’s old memories fade. She can lose herself in wonder again. How long have those stars been there really? What all have they seen? How long will they burn after her cares and concerns on this planet have passed along with her? She’s feeling quite philosophical tonight, you see.

And just then, to fully complete the moment, she sees a shooting star. She gasps, clasps her hands together and smiles so wide her frozen cheeks ache. She wishes now that her mother and Arya were here and could see it with her.

But no, this is her star. There it goes! She’ll make a wish on it. What does she wish for? She’ll wish for-

“Are you one of his helpers? I wasn’t sure where they wanted this for…”

The stranger trails off as she turns to glare at him. She was startled by the unexpected voice when she’d thought she was alone and annoyed that her ‘big thoughts’ about the stars have been interrupted.

But her glare dies a quick death, no real reason for it, when she sees a man with an evergreen tree hoisted over one shoulder. He’s just doing his job and, besides, she’s really seeing him now and…wow.

She’s aware that ruggedly handsome is a thing but she’s never seen such a prime example of it. Beard, jeans, boots, leather gloves. Dark eyes, sinful mouth. He smiles at her and she can’t help smiling back. His eyes crinkle up at the corners in the most pleasing way when he smiles. Jingle, jingle, tingle.

“I’m sorry if I-”

“No, no! I’ll move. It’s not my ride,” she quips of the sleigh. She thinks it’s a quip anyway. Maybe that was dumb.

But he chuckles and nods. “I saw you from behind and your cap with the pompon and thought…but you’re not one of the teenagers they usually have helping out here.”

She laughs at the idea. She’d considered volunteering one year when she’d been fifteen but then Rickon would’ve thought she had intel to share about the big guy. “No, I’m no teenager. Not in a good while.”

She’d almost swear he mutters something along the lines of ‘Thank God,’ before his eyes make another quick sweep of her sitting in the sleigh. She suddenly feels warmer than she’d expect considering the weather.

He looks a little flustered about what to say next and she doesn’t want him to feel uncomfortable. “Did you need to set that down?” she asks him of the tree.

“Uh…yeah. I’ve been carrying it up from the woods.” He jerks his chin to the trees beyond the fair grounds. Quite a haul with that good-sized tree. Quite a strapping specimen of manly-

“Would you want to take a break?” she asks next, patting the seat of the sleigh.

It’s roomy. Practically like sharing a park bench with a stranger. They wouldn’t even have to touch. Unless we wanted to.

Leaning the tree against the back of the sleigh, he agrees, wiping his brow with the back of one of those leather gloves. “Yeah, I’d…if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind. I’m Sansa.”

“Pretty name. I’m Jon.”

He climbs in, smelling of fresh pine and making her head spin. They smile at each other a little shyly once he’s seated.

“You’ve got some pine needles on your…”

She gestures and, blushing slightly, he allows her to pluck them off his brow. His eyes don’t leave hers as she carefully removes them one by one, wishing she might discover how soft his hair might feel if she weren’t wearing gloves and if his beard would be pleasantly prickly if she were to rub her palm along it.

“If I’d known we’d be meeting like this, I would’ve got that cocoa after all.”

“Huh?”

Damn, she said that out loud. At least, he’d been too distracted by something else to catch it.

She points at the sleigh and the empty booth where the workers usually take your money for the photos. “Where’s the big guy? There’s usually a queue waiting to see him by now.”

“Running late, I suppose. I’m just supposed to bring them the tree. Were you hoping to get your picture made with him?” His grin is playful, irresistible. Hello, butterflies.

“Not really. I was just admiring the starry night.”

“I like the sound of that more than getting my picture made.”

“There was a shooting star a bit ago actually.”

“There was? Shame I missed it.”

“Yes, a shame.”

But after it passed, you appeared.

They talk and laugh quietly together. There’s nothing quite like hitting it off with someone new. She wonders if those stars in her eyes are shining through yet.

When the real deal shows up with his entourage of helpers, twenty more minutes have passed. Her phone has texts from her sister and a missed call from her mother. Yikes. She hadn’t meant to worry them.

A stand has been brought for the tree and Jon’s helping set it up. He’d said he was going to check out the market next since delivering the tree was his only assignment tonight. She’s going to ask him to get some hot cocoa with her if he’d like.

She opens the last text from Arya- Where the hell are you? Do I need to put out a bulletin?

She quickly pulls off a glove to type her reply- I’m so sorry to worry you both! I’m fine. I’ll come back to the square and find you. I might have someone with me.

She sends the text and then considers the fact it’s Arya she’s sending it to.

He’s nice. There is no need to show off your marital arts expertise at this time.

Her sister is great. She is also very protective and a little extra at times.

Their shoulders bump occasionally as they walk back towards the market, making her equally breathless and gleeful. He keeps smiling like he can’t help himself. She’s the same.

There’s the newlywed couple she spied earlier still holding court at the archway and getting pictures made.

“What do you think of that tradition?”

He gazes at the couple before turning back to face her. “I think it’s great. I wouldn’t want to stand there all night but I like it.”

“Truly?”

“Yeah. Especially if it meant I’d get to kiss my new bride under the stars during the Christmas market. It’d be almost magical, don’t you think?”

She does not imagine his eyes dropping to her mouth or the way he shifts towards her. She mimics his movement and murmurs, “That’s a good answer, Jon,” as their lips draw closer together.

[jaedreaminn]

Desperate Much?

Pairings: Ten x Reader.

Theme: fluff, angst, hurt, comfort, family, sad, happy ending. (Life is still going on)

Characters: Ten, Taeyong, Mark, Donghyuck, Jeno.

Word Count: 2k

~~~

Ten wasn't like his 'brothers'. Infact he wasn't ever their brother, he was their cousin. His dad was the one who inherited the family business and had settled with him and his mother in Thailand to branch out.

He had a happy and perfect life with both of his parents, but that was untill they both died unexpectedly in a car accident when he was eleven. And suddenly everything in his life was changing. He had to move to Korea to live with his uncle and his children, his father's buisness was now his uncle's buisness until Ten was old enough to take over. Until he could legally take over. He had to learn a different language, make new friends and start his life all over again in a very dysfunctional family.

He remembered the constant yelling between Mr.Lee and Mrs.Lee, having to sit by himself during those times when Taeyong would take his younger brothers Mark and Jeno and hide in his room, he remembered how Donghyuck would cry under the scrutinizing gaze of Mrs.Lee as she fought with Mr.Lee and the boy was stuck there not able to escape, the loss of the joys of family dinners that he was used to, the loneliness he felt. That was when he met you. You were his only friend in this country and even though he could barely talk to people you tried your best to talk to him despite the language barrier.

You were cheerful and jovial and very very clingy but he didn't mind that. You ate lunch with him and helped him with his Korean. You even made sure to stick by his side with the excuse of him being new here so he wouldn't get lost months after he arrived.

You were a blessing in disguise to him especially since it was so awkward with his cousin Taeyong at home and at school.

Time flew fast and a year had passed and he could speak and write Korean way better than before and lucky for him you were still stuck to his side.

In those trying times you were his only semblance of joy. The times in which Mark wouldn't talk at all, the times in which Taeyong would go around at the ripe age of twelve and hurt people with words so sharp that they would leave the school, when all Jeno did was look upto Taeyong and when Donghyuck started to act out getting himself in trouble so bad that he could have almost lost his life but no one cared.

It hurt Ten to watch all this happen but not being able to do anything about it because no matter how well he got along with the youger two, Taeyong would always pull his brothers away from him and take them to his room and well Donghyuck, he wouldn't talk to anyone at home.

But unfortunately all he could do was get used to this awful life, glad that you would quietly listen to him rant and then lighten his mood up with something silly.

He was mid rant one day when he spoke about how much he missed 'family dinners' that you interrupted him, "Why don't you have a dinner with your cousin's?" Ten scoffed at you and shut that idea down immediately but when he came home and saw how far apart everyone was he decided there and then that's what was needed.

So he forced Mark out of his room and away from his books, he pryed Donghyuck away from his bed, he bribed Taeyong and Jeno just followed his eldest brother and thats how he found himself at the diner table for the first time ever since his parents passed away.

"I used to eat dinner like this with my parents" he spoked but Taeyong glared at him, "I don't care"

"Look you want to be a brat be a brat but at the dinner table all feuds are forgotten and all hatred is gone, food is supposed to be consumed happy"

"What did your parents say that?" Taeyong asked, rolling his eyes.

"Nope y/n did!" Ten said with a cheeky smile, "Now c'mon dig in"

And so there started their first meal together with everyone silently serving themselves, "So we usually talk about our day at the dinner table" Ten smiled his eyes crinkling into two half moons. "I know none of you will say anything so I'll start, Teacher Park yelled at me for correcting him on his Korean today. I was so pissed" Taeyong snorted at that, "Yea that old geezer is weird"

"I know I don't like him either" Donghyuck spoke and Taeyong glared at him but Ten cleared his throat loudly and Taeyong sighed muttering an inaudible apology.

"I placed a fart cushion on his chair today" Donhyuck grinned proudly and collective snorts were heard across the table and Jeno chocked on his food as Taeyong patted the younger boys back. Mark was still eating quietly. Then Donghyuck frowned, "But he didn't like that..." He then put out his hands showing everyones his palms, "So he took me out of the classroom and hit me" Tens heart sank at the red bruises on the boys hands and Taeyong was glaring again but this time it wasn't at Donghyuck, "How dare that old rat hit a seven year old child like that" the eldest growled. But Donghyuck only smiled, "It's okay I'm used to it" he said and Tens heart broke at that statement and by the looks of it so did Taeyongs.

Something shifted between the boys that night and they all knew it. Ten came to school the next day boasting to you about the success of his first family dinner and how excited he was for the next one tomorrow.

He even told you the story Donghyuck had told him not knowing what to do and that very day you got detention for throwing your thick Oxford Dictionary at Mr.Parks face.

Ten still smiles at that memory, a tiny you standing on your bench, yelling out a swear word and launching the book right at the unsuspecting teachers face, nevertheless what you did got the principal's attention. And without making a big deal of it she started an investigation on the teacher.

You chatted excitedly the next day about how exhilarating it was for you to throw a book at that man's face and Ten smiled listening to you talk with animated gestures.

That night he was greeted by the sight of Taeyong silently treating their youngest brothers wounded hands while avoiding the younger boys adoring gaze.

And so life moved forward and Ten had new friends and family here in Korea. And of course you. At this point he wasn't sure if you were his friend or family or both. But you were you.

You were known in school as- The y/n. The y/n who had all of Ten's attention leaving zero for his admirers.

To Ten you were the y/n who made him happy, the y/n who made him laugh, the y/n with a beautiful smile, the y/n who held him as he cried, the y/n who would nag him endlessly when he didn't eat properly, the y/n who would latch pinkies with him and walk everywhere, the y/n who was exceptionally smart and savy.

His life was finally looking up, with you by his side helping him through it all. And slowly he was making new happy memories, like the day he got you all flustered for the first time, or the day Taeyong had put his foot down and finally dragged Donghyuck away from the fighting couple into his room along with Ten, the day he took you to the amusement park you wanted to go to so badly that you kissed his cheek and went running off to the roller coaster, the day Jeno who only looked upto Taeyong had asked him for help, the day he snuck out of the house at night to watch the stars with you, the day Mark spoke at the diner table for the first time, the day you tripped and fell and he got it on camera, the day Taeyong called him his brother, the day of their class picnic and many more.

But there were also bad days like they day he had his first big fight with you or the day Donghyuck had come to him crying and crying without ever telling him why or the day where both the adult Lee's decided to join the family diner and ruined it.

But even those didnt last because his fight with you ended with the two of your crying in each other's arms promising to never have a fight this big again, because the day Donghyuck cried so bitterly that it shook the entire house Taeyong, Mark and Jeno rushed in and it turned into a mini sleepover as they took care of the youngest who soon forgot why he was crying and promised to make sure he only laughs in the future. And the day that Mr. And Mrs. Lee ruined the family diner was the day all five of the boys snuck out to eat marshmallows and chocolate in the park. The initial idea was to make smores but none of them knew how to make a fire and they were all out of crackers.

Those were just a few happy moments with many more to come like the day he asked you out, or the day he and his brothers went camping together, or the day Donghyuck smiled a smile so pure as his eyes shone with genuine happiness or the day Jeno started to think for himself and made friends who were a good influence on him. And the day Mark started dating someone. (Ten genuinely thought by how quite the boy was he would have to force him to talk to people let alone date someone), the day he got his father's company back and the day he proposed to you on the banks of the Han river, under the stars with his family and closest friends there to witness the moment.

"Why are you smiling so big?" your voice interrupted his thoughts and his smiled widened even more at the sight of you. "Did you fart?" You asked him and he chuckled grabbing onto your arm and and pulling you down to sit on his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Nothing I'm just happy"

"Ten Lee I swear to god if you're on drugs then I want a divorce even before I marry you" you scolded playfully and Ten chuckled, "My only drug is you baby" he cooed and you gaged "Eww gross get a room" you said and he deadpanned.

"You're weird you know that y/n?" He asked with a small chuckle.

"Clearly you knew what you were getting into" You smiled, teeth on full display with how wide your grin was.

"Obviously"

"Oh by the way, I handled your little mishap at work today and got a few things you were supposed to do tomorrow scheduled for later and the rest got done today so your free tomorrow the entire day" you said and he smiled at you looking at you so lovingly. He doesn't remember that one moment he realised he was in love with you, maybe there wasn't just one lightbulb moment where her realised he loved you. Maybe he always knew or maybe he gradually figured it out. But that didn't matter all that matters is that he loves you and you love him.

"Ahh what would I do without you?" he asked snuggling into your neck and you chuckled, "Let's never have an answer to that question okay" you said and he nodded, you were right. You were there through evey step of the way after his life turned upside down and he's sure as hell he doesn't want to find out what it would be like without you so Ten grinned placing a small peck on you neck, "I'm gonna take you on the best date of your entire life tomorrow"

"Desperate much?"

"Y/n I'm literally engaged to you!"

~~~

Lee brother's- A mini series

Previous Part: Lee Mark

Next Part: Lee Donghyuck

[unitchiefs-blackbirdphoenix]

It’s Not Christmas Without You

Summary: Emily and JJ are divorced, and their children try to bring them back together for the holidays.

Read on AO3

It was about two weeks before Christmas. JJ had asked Penelope to help watch Maggie, Henry, and Michael at home, while she was out buying gifts. They had found some time off work, so JJ decided to do a semi-last-minute Christmas shopping for her kids. Fortunately for her, Penelope is a great distraction as she tries to keep up the Christmas spirit for them. JJ hadn’t been too excited about the holidays as much as before, and everyone knew that, even her own children knew that.

Once JJ got back home, she received a call and answered it. She was surprised that the person on the other end had voluntarily called her.

“Yeah… yeah, sure. I’ll tell them. Ok, bye,” JJ hung up and sighed to herself, closing the front door. One of her kids passed by and noticed her staring at her phone before she put it away.

“Hey, mom. Are you ok?” Henry asks. “Who was that?”

JJ looks up at her son and shakes her head with a reassuring smile. “Hey. Um, you know what? I’ll tell you later.”

“Is it important?”

“Yep,” she sighs and looks around the living room. “Where are the others?”

Henry tilts his head toward the kitchen before frowning at his mom again. “They’re making hot cocoa. Are you sure everything’s fine, mom?”

“Yeah. It’s nothing too serious, Henry, don’t worry,” JJ said. “I’m going to check up on them, ok?”

Henry’s lips pulled to the side in thought for a second before nodding. Out of the three children (most likely because he was the oldest), he was often the first to notice something off about his mom. “Ok.”

“...You can’t go wrong with marshmallows,” Penelope says, dumping a few in each cup.

“Aunty Penelope, could I get mine with whipped cream and sprinkles? Please,” Michael asks, holding out his cup to her.

“Ah, way ahead of you,” she grins and grabs a can of whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles from her bag. Leaning over the counter to Maggie and Michael, she whispers, “I know your mom wouldn’t allow me to give too much sugar, so how about we just keep this between us?”

“Deal!” Both children agreed with smiles.

“Hey,” JJ made her presence known, tossing her keys into a bowl and playfully gasping at the scene in front of her. “You guys made hot cocoa without me?”

Penelope and the two kids greeted JJ, and Penelope gestured for her to get her mug, already made for her. Maggie and Michael hopped off their seats to go to the living room with their mugs. “Don’t worry, I saved you a cup,” she hands JJ hers and they raise them, clinking their mugs together.

“We made gingerbread houses, mom! Do you want to see mine?” Michael asked JJ.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be right there.” She put her mug down on the counter and Penelope nodded for her to go.

Following her son into the living room, JJ saw gingerbread houses on the floor and table, some unfinished and some already made. Michael gestures over to his, and JJ gets on her knees to get a better look at the house, placing both palms on her thighs.

“Aunty Penelope brought them over with some games,” he said and pointed at his gingerbread house. “I’m still working on mine.”

Taking a good look at it, JJ loved how creative he was with it, seeing the intricate and ornate patterns on the roof and walls of the house. She knew art was more of his strong suit (even though he also enjoyed playing soccer sometimes). Then when she looked at the front of the house, she saw five gingerbread people. Three little ones and two bigger ones, most likely, the parents. It took a second to realize Michael made a house with her, Emily, and their kids together, all with big smiles on their faces.

The kids, at first, had a hard time dealing with Emily leaving the house, thinking that she didn’t love them anymore. That wasn’t true. So, Emily and JJ agreed that she would video chat with them whenever they can, that way she would still be able to connect with them.

“You like it?” Michael asked with a hopeful smile.

JJ blinks a few times and nods at him. “Uh, yeah. I love it. It’s beautiful, Mikey.”

“I want to take a picture of it to show it to mama.” He began to stand up to retrieve his phone he got for his birthday this year.

JJ softly chuckles, then looks at the floor in melancholy, hoping her son wouldn’t notice. “I’m sure she’ll love it, too.”

————

Penelope saw JJ was staring straight ahead of her, focused on the wall across from her at the dining table. The tips of JJ’s four fingers only tapped on each side of the mug and Penelope realized she was lost in thought.

“Jayje? You’ve barely touched your hot cocoa,” Penelope points at the mug in JJ’s hands. “What’s wrong?”

JJ’s head shot up at her voice as she gave a small and quick smile. “Um, Emily just called me and asked if she could take the kids for the holidays. Up in the French Alps.”

“Oh.” Penelope’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, wow. You guys haven’t talked in, like, two years.”

Emily and JJ had been married for almost six years before they decided to divorce. Everyone was shocked when they heard the news. They thought their love was too strong to be broken, and that they would stay together until death parted them, possibly even beyond that. JJ and Emily thought the same, too, but after a series of complications from their job and personal life, they figured they would be better off solving things on their own.

The French Alps was where Emily had been staying since their divorce. Despite being more of an indoors person, Emily had a great appreciation for nature every now and then. While they were still married, she had told JJ she’s always wanted to take their family there after they retired from the FBI. Even though they weren’t together anymore, Emily still wanted to see her kids again for the holidays and bring them to the mountainside.

“It was mutual, Pen,” JJ shrugs. “It’s for the best. We just needed some time to really discover ourselves a lot more first. The kids still video chat with her. I wanted them to still see their other mom.”

“And what about you?”

“I just… help set up their iPads and phones to talk to her,” JJ hesitantly answers, scratching the back of her neck. “We don’t really talk that much, unless it’s about the kids, but it’s not too often as before.”

Penelope puts a sympathetic hand on top of JJ’s free hand to comfort her. She guesses it might have become too awkward between them now, which was still strange to her. JJ and Emily usually talked a lot from what she remembered, especially when they were just friends.

“I don’t even know what she’s up to now,” JJ quietly adds. “What if she’s decided to stay out of the States for a long time? What if she’s getting married to someone else and wants to introduce them to our kids? What if-”

“JJ,” Penelope sharply cuts her off. “You’re dwelling too much on the ‘what-ifs’.” She earns a light chuckle from the other blonde.

“I know, but… well, you know, I’m not huge on surprises. I like expecting them before it actually happens.”

“Oh, I know the feeling. Which is why I have a ‘knock before you enter’ policy.” Penelope and JJ smile at that. “Just keep an open mind, and everything will run smoothly. I hope.”

JJ nods and pats her hand twice. “Thanks, Penelope.”

“Anything for my best friend,” Penelope widely smiles at her. “How do you think the kids are going to react?”

JJ took a deep breath and shrugged. “I’m not sure. I guess they might like it. I mean, they really miss their other mom. Might be good for them to see each other again. You know, that’s the last thing I ever want for them, to never see Emily ever again. They love her too much for that to happen.” She went back to staring at the one spot on the wall before continuing. “I think Michael is still having a bit of a hard time with it.”

“What do you mean?”

JJ nods her head towards the living room. “The gingerbread house. He had a couple and three kids in it.”

“He’s a creative kid, that one,” Penelope comments before tilting her head to the side. “Hey. You know it’s not your fault, right?”

JJ quietly sighs and runs a hand down her face. “I feel like it is. Emily and I made that decision together, and we tried to figure out how they were going to react. Michael was 7 when we divorced. Maggie kept some of Emily’s books before she left, and Henry’s going through another split between his parents. Pen, do you think we made the wrong choice to…?”

Penelope quickly opened her mouth to respond with a head shake. “Oh, oh no. No one’s forcing you or Emily to stay together forever. You felt that was best for the both of you, but you two are willing to try for Henry, Maggie, and Michael.”

JJ’s eyebrows raised in acknowledgment before she looked down, her thumb sliding over one side of the rim of her cup. “I just want them to be happy,” she softly admits. “I don’t want them to think Emily and I don’t love them as much as before anymore.”

“That’s not true, JJ. I know you still love them, everyone does. Emily still loves them, right? Or else, she wouldn’t have asked you if she could see them again for the holidays,” Penelope assures.

JJ smiles before finally taking a sip of her drink, finding a sense of comfort in her words. “Thanks again.”

————

“Ok, family meeting,” JJ announces, waiting for her kids to gather in the living room.

“Is everything good, mom?” Maggie asks with concern. They knew this had to be super important and, probably a real emergency, knowing what their mom does for a living.

“Yeah, no, everything’s good. I just, uh, need to talk to you about something.”

“This isn’t about school, right?”

JJ chuckles and shakes her head. “No, it’s about Christmas. Alright, we’re doing something a little different this year.”

“What do you mean?” Michael asks.

JJ looks at her children. “Well, your other mom called me earlier and invited us to go spend Christmas with her in the French Alps.” She saw each of their faces turn into surprises, for a couple of different reasons, and heard gasps throughout the room.

Maggie and Michael jumped up from their seats on the couch while Henry slowly stood up. “We’re going to see Mama!” they shouted before they began talking about what they were going to do when they see her in person.

Henry looks at his mom, who was busy gauging their reactions. “We are?” His eyebrows were furrowed. This was the second time he had witnessed his parents separating and deciding to talk to each other after a little while, so he was afraid of what was going to happen between Emily and his mom.

“Yes, we are,” JJ said, wringing her hands together nervously, already beginning to sense Henry’s worries. “And we’re going to be leaving in two days, so we better start packing.”

————

“What time are we leaving, mom?” Henry asks, looking through his closet as he packs for their trip with Emily.

JJ was helping her children pack their things and chose to do hers after. She tried to do the math in her head. “Uh, let’s see. Your mama wants us to get there in the morning, so most likely in the evening.”

Once Henry had found one of his favorite jackets, he turned around to fold it and put it in his luggage. He glances up at his mom and asks, “Do you miss her?”

JJ chews on her bottom lip before answering with a shrug. “I don’t know. We haven’t really talked in a while.”

“I know.” Henry frowns. If he was being honest, he missed Emily. He missed seeing Emily and his mom together, and that had been when JJ was the happiest. He loved seeing his mom happy, both of them happy.

“Hey, come here.” JJ motions for him to come closer and puts her hands on both sides of his face. “You know this doesn’t mean we don’t love you or your brother and sister, right?”

He nods. “Yeah. It’s just- are things going to be ok with you and mama?”

“I can’t lie to you and say it will,” JJ says truthfully. “Listen, we both want you guys to have a good time during the holidays. And she’s always wanted to take you three to the French Alps. Are you going to be ok with that?”

Henry sighs and nods. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just worried about how things are going to go.”

“I know you are. You’re starting to become like me and your mama,” JJ smiles and kisses his cheek, bringing him into a hug. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, mom,” Henry says with a small smile.

[youllallriseintheink]

A Worthwhile Investment, chapter 2

Please enjoy this Shawn x Grant story. It is a part of my canon.

Thankfully, Shawn and Grant were able to sneak out undetected. Shawn knew the warehouse Norman had told them to meet at- the one Lacie worked in, roughly two blocks from the studio and not visible from it. From there, they called a cab to take them to a bar (as Norman had promised and Shawn had reminded him) and declared themselves safe.

“Uh, sorry the raid was a bust,” Shawn said.

“It wasn’t.” Norman held up a set of keys. “I can go anywhere I want in the studio now, whenever. And I saw Sammy Lawrence wearing a Bendy mask. I knew it. I knew he was a part of this. I’m gonna crack this if it kills me.”

“Sure you will,” Lacie drawled. “Mind telling us why this is your choice of hobby? Like, why are you like this?” Shawn could tell that she was using her friendly cold, judgmental tone, which was different from her genuinely cold, judgmental tone. He hoped Norman could, too.

“Like I’d tell you. What, you think I’d ask for your life story just like that?”

“I’ll tell it. I ain’t got nothing to hide. I was born to two crack-addicted pieces of shit, so I learned to rely on the parents of neighbourhood kids on days they decided not to care for me. It was like that basically my entire life before my sister sorted herself out and I moved in with her. But it taught me I could take care of myself, so I didn’t mind moving with Bertrum wherever he went, and I didn’t cry when he retired.”

“And it’s a good thing he retired, or I might not’ve met Lacie when ah did. Bein’ an immigrant, away from home for the first time an’ barely speaking teh language- it woulda been real lonely otherwise. Of course, Ah make friends easy, but I’m still glad she was one'a them.”

Lacie’s sharp eyes landed on Grant. They’d only met once before and neither had been too comfortable with the other. “And what about you, Grant? Anything interesting in your past?”

“Oh, no. Normal upbringing. Parents who loved me. Nothing special.” It was lame, but it was the truth.

The four of them kept chatting for about an hour.

How did I end up surrounded by the three strongest people I know? Grant wondered. Most of his friends growing up had been cousins or kids of family friends, and his social circle hadn’t diversified much since, until he met Shawn and Norman. Comparatively, these three were freaks. But they were all so respectable, and honestly, Shawn and Norman were some of the best friends he’d ever had.

Life in general had given Grant a lot to be thankful for as of late. The early thirties had been hard on him- after the stock market crashed, he’d gone through a job loss, the collapse of his marriage, some domestic abuse, his divorce, and losing custody of his children. But now? Things were alright. He had a new job, and the studio was, generally speaking at least, holding steady financially. Against all odds, his daughters seemed to be fine living with their mother- maybe she had been serious about working on herself for them. Grant cherished the time he did have with them, and though he hated to admit it, he was much happier divorced. And of course, now he had these two. It was while he was there, listening to the three of them talk, that he realized that he was currently the most content he’d been in years.

Shawn had had a few drinks by that point, and leaned on Grant as though he intended to fall asleep on him.

“I think I should take Shawn home. Norman, can we talk about something tomorrow? In the projector booth.”

“Of course,” Norman said. Something in the way he said it told Grant that he already knew what it would be about.

---

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” Norman asked, as if he didn’t already know.

“It’s about Shawn,” Grant started. How much to say? He figured that Norman knew he was gay- very little escaped Norman’s notice, after all- but maybe Norman was only okay with that because he didn’t act on it.

“You know Sammy Lawrence?” Norman mused, looking through the window into the music room. “For a long time, he was dating his- very much male, I should mention- lyricist. I saw them making out once- this gorgeous pretty boy and this middle-aged marshmallow- I guess love is blind and all that. I’ve got no damning evidence of it, but I’d bet anything that Joey Drew is gay as well. And I could go on! This studio has more queer people than you would believe, and my powers tell me about more than just existential dreads.” There was a pause. Norman turned back to look at Grant. “So. As a living lie-detector, one of the best gaydars you’ll ever see on a straight man, and your best friend of over half a decade who would never betray you... you can tell me anything about what’s going on with him.”

Grant gave a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you’re okay with this. And yes, I’m considering dating Shawn.”

“Great. He likes you- I could tell.”

“Thanks. But I already knew- he kissed me suddenly about ten days ago. I didn’t know how to react, and I kind of froze up, and I told him that I liked him, but I needed to think about whether we could be together. Up until last night, I thought I’d tell him ‘no-’ I just hadn’t had the willpower to yet. And then I had an epiphany.”

“What was the epiphany?”

“I realized that I respect a bunch of very unconventional people- yourself included- so it’s okay that I’m not perfectly conventional. But... even if it’s not inherently wrong, the idea of acting on it still scares me. If my mother ever found out, it would break her heart. My father would be humiliated if anyone else knew about it, and he might not want to speak to me again. And if it got to my ex-wife, she’d do anything she could to keep me away from my kids- she might even report me. I don’t have to worry about any of that if I don’t act on it. I don’t know... is it even responsible to risk it? These are people I have obligations to. Is it worth it?”

“Well, only you can choose that. But don’t you want a chance at actual love? I mean, I sure like having a loving partner. Why give that up over the risk that someone else might find out?”

“I guess you’re right. Shawn could be my only opportunity for a while. I really don’t know if I want to get involved in whatever culture gay men have going on. If the stereotypes are true, I’d be walking into a group of dangerous people looking to take advantage of a naïve outsider. Of course, they might not be true, but I don’t want to just walk in without knowing. And anyhow, I wouldn’t know how to find anything like that if I tried.”

Norman nodded, taking some time to process everything he’d said. “Alright. Look- you’re overcomplicating a bunch of simple problems by rolling them together into one big problem. Just take it one issue at a time. You want your family to be happy? Make them happy, and don’t worry about something that won’t hurt them. Any partner you might have will know that this kind of thing has to be kept secret, and New York is a big city- you can hide it. You want to date Shawn? Date Shawn. I can tell he makes you happy. You don’t want to get into gay culture without knowing what it’s like? Then don’t. I don’t know anything about their culture, but you have no idea how many gay men are here at Joey Drew Studios. Plenty of people you can ask about it to decide if it’s your thing.”

“Wow. Thank you. You really made that all sound so simple.” Norman had a way of cutting straight to the point.

“Yeah. You’re gonna be okay. Heck, even if you decide not to have a love life after Shawn, I’m glad you’ll be doing it because you’re risk-adverse and not because you’re still ashamed.”

“Thanks again. Now I need to go find Shawn.”

In the end, Grant couldn’t find Shawn before it was time to get back to work, so the next day he left a note in his locker with some flowers. Like a schoolboy. Ridiculous. But that was how Shawn made him feel.

Over the next few years, their relationship went on, and off, and on again. They fought, probably more than the average couple. But overall, they were glad to have each other. It was worth it.    

[yanderepuck]

What if we call him Dracula

You getting some headcanons for Vlad even though we barely know this boi

First off

Hot

Second

He’s actually a hella softie

He’s still having a hard time dealing with his divorce

He wasn’t able to keep the house

So he got a better house and some kids to show off

He is mom friend

Will not hesitate to kill if driven to the point

His children are chaotic and needy.

Charles needs to be in the same room as someone or he screams 

not really but that mental image is funny 

Sometimes Vlad will stumble into Faust’s lab and ask him what he’s doing.

He doesn’t thing when he’s really board and ends up becoming annoying to Faust

He is well aware that Faust has drugged him at times, but nothing harmful has come out of it.

However one time Faust accidentally put Vlad in a three day coma

No more experiments 

He wants to destroy the human race, but good luck getting him out of bed

His love for flowers????  It’s beautiful.

The castle probably has a really nice garden and he knows a lot about plants and flowers

Speaking of the castle.  I feel like it is either absolutely gorgeous and has constant upkeep, or it looks like it has withstood countless wars and is basically that creepy castle people make up stories about and you’re not sure how it hasn’t crumbled.  There’s no in between.

I feel like Vlad likes to stick to candles for lighting.  No like electricity.  

Grumpy old man who doesn’t want to keep up with the times

Vincent comes into the flower shop and that is how Vlad knows some of the things he knows.  Other than that he gets his info from Will.

Marshmallow is his queen and he would die for her

At night they sit by a fire and he brushes her.

Bipolar vibes

Also very manipulative.

Using mind control or not he is very manipulative  and is good at twisting other peoples words

I have a feeling Charles is under his control quite often with just how he is about violence anymore.

Gotta convince that boi to start some trouble instead of acting like a Disney Princess in the backyard

The three Edge Lord’s in this castle are more chaotic than the 12 idiots in the mansion

This man has many furs

Watches Comte from afar wondering when his love will leave Leonardo and return to him

This man won’t admit it but he wants cuddles

He also sees Will as his child.

Will is that child who had to go through his parents getting divorced

He decided to just not live with any of them.

No like his step-siblings

Vlad going to Will’s plays???

Please

Comte trying to get custody of Faust and Charles bc Vlad isn’t fit to be a mother.

Vlad is a better mother to Marshmallow than those two lbr

Masterlist

[cordonian-literature]

The Aftermath - Ch. 29

Outside the Bakery

Summary: Drake tags along with Liam and the kids during the country jamboree. The day after, he has to babysit.

Word Count: ~2.7k 

Warnings: none

*All characters belong to Pixelberry, except those that are unique to my story (I’ve also used some characters and fictional instances from Donna Tartt’s book “The Goldfinch”)*

Catch up here!

Tags: @captain-kingliamsqueen @gkittylove99 @lovablegranny @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @mom2000aggie @kingliam2019 @queenrileyrose @shanzay44 @cordonianroyalty @hopefulmoonobject @hopelessromanticmonie @cinnamonspongecake @kuladekiwi @twinkle-320 @charlotteg234 @amandablink @texaskitten30 @tinkie1973 @queencatherynerhys @pens-girl-87 @ladyangel70 @sanchita012 @cordonianprincess @liamandneca @cordonia-gothqueen @pink-diamond13 @queenwalton @yourmajesty09 @alj4890​

I’m not sure if the tags are working or not, but I hope I got everyone down! I’ve removed people who haven’t interacted with my posts in a while. If you would like to be added/removed, please let me know :)

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

- Drake -

Since he was worried about Jessica, Drake had decided to skip the fox hunt and spend the day with her. He planned on bringing her to lunch, then a movie, but instead she dragged him to set up the wedding registry. The bridal consultant walked Jessica through her choices while Drake stalled behind. Whenever she asked for his opinion, Drake would just say to choose whatever she wanted. 

“Chinois?” she would persist, asking for his opinion when really, he didn’t know what to choose and didn’t care that much. “Or Birds of the Nile? Do say, Drake, I know you must prefer one of the two.” 

“You can’t go wrong with either,” the consultant said helpfully. “Both are fun and fancy. And this one is simple, for everyday.” 

“It’s fine,” Drake said, his tone more curtly than he intended. Both Jessica and the consultant were blinking up at him, waiting for his decision. 

“China—” the consultant started up again, staring down at a plate on display. “The way I like to think of it is that it’s the end-of-day ritual. It’s wine, fun, family, togetherness. It’s a great way to put some permanent style and romance in your marriage.” 

Eventually, Jessica made a decision, and they were able to return to Applewood.

But the morning of the country jamboree, she said she had to go back to the capital but promised to attend the Beaumont Bash. Drake wondered what she was leaving for, but didn’t ask her to explain. He knew she must have been emotionally distressed by her father’s passing, even though she never hinted a tear. He kissed her, let her leave, then joined the court on the lawn. 

Drake decides to join Liam, who stands with Gabriel and Eleanor. Both children look around the lawn, figuring out what they want to do. Liam spots Drake and waves him over. 

“Dad, could we do archery?” Gabriel asks his father. 

“Of course,” Liam says. A flash of worry crosses his face as he follows the children across the lawn. “No Jessica today?” Liam asks Drake as the two friends walk side-by-side. 

“Nope,” Drake responds. “She’s at the capital. Had something to do.”

“I see,” Liam responds, turning back to the children. 

“Where’s Riley?” Drake looks around the lawn for her, wondering what was keeping her occupied. He notices Neville’s son running around the lawn, along with some other children.

“With Countess Hana. Riley spoke with Rashad, who hold her that Hana is hesitant to file for divorce.” 

“Do I hold it like this?” Eleanor asks Liam, referring to the bow that was in her hand and too far from her face. 

Liam kneels down to the girl and corrects her form, then goes to his son and does the same thing. Once he tells the children how to hold the arrow, he lets them hit the target. 

Eleanor’s arrow lands on the ground in front of the target, while Gabriel’s arrow hits the target at an odd angle and lands behind it. The children laugh at each other’s mistakes, and Liam chuckles at them. 

They hit a few more shots while Liam observes them, making sure there was no chance of injury. 

“Do you think we could all go camping tonight?” Liam asks Drake, his eyes focused on the children. “I can have someone get the supplies together and we can surprise everyone.”

“Sounds like a plan.” 

“What are you two doing?” Olivia asks, walking up to them. 

“Hello to you, too,” Drake greets her. 

“Yes, yes. Enjoying the jamboree with your fiancée?”

“She’s not here.” 

“She got tired of you? It’s about time.”

“Did you come all the way over here to talk about my love life? If so, I’d like to take a minute to discuss your’s—”

“Alright, you two,” Liam interrupts them. “Duchess, I hope you have news about the investigation?” 

Olivia sighs. “No. There were no fingerprints on the painting, nor anywhere in Gabriel’s room.” Her shoulders fall. “I don’t know where else to look. There’s... nothing.” 

Liam’s brow furrows, a dark shadow coming over his face. “Let’s not lose hope yet. Keep looking, and let me know if you find anything. And also,” Liam brings her attention back to him. “I think Riley could use your help convincing Countess Hana to divorce the Earl.” 

“On it,” Olivia states, then walks towards the two women.

Drake and Liam follow the children around the lawn, watching them enjoy different activities. Liam suggests ring toss to Eleanor, who refuses, saying that she knows she’ll lose. 

“Nonsense,” Liam says, then leads them over to the booth. 

Her brother grabs three rings, and Eleanor’s shoulders fall. 

"Here.” Liam lifts Eleanor over his shoulders, then hands her the rings. 

“I feel like a giant!” she cries. 

Gabriel lets her go first, and Eleanor throws her ring in a swift arch onto an outer peg. Gabe throws it onto a center peg, and when Eleanor goes again, she hits it onto the outer peg. 

When it’s time for Eleanor’s final throw, Gabriel has more points than her. Liam secretly grabs the ring from Eleanor, and throws it onto the center peg. Gabriel looks back at his father and sister suspiciously. 

Even though Gabriel won the game, Eleanor still laughed along with her brother and Liam. 

They walk around for a few more moments, enjoying the view of colorful booths that had been put up. They reach the entrance of the maze, and Gabriel turns to his father. “Can we do something else?” 

“What would you like to do?” Liam asks.

“How about maze-tag?” Drake suggests. 

Both kids violently shake their heads. He remembers the time when Eleanor got stuck in the maze, and curses himself for not remembering. 

“Can we play soccer again?” Gabriel requests.

“Of course.” Liam leads the group towards the orchard, but one of his guards approaches them and says his attention is needed elsewhere. 

Drake says that he’ll keep the kids occupied until Liam gets back, and a servant brings out a soccer ball for them to use. 

“Do you guys wanna make teams, or...?” Drake attempts to ask them. 

“No,” Gabriel answers. “We can just choose positions and play.”

“I’m fine with that. I’ve played defense.”

“I’m usually midfield.” 

“I wanna be goalie!” Eleanor cries. 

“Well, Eleanor,” Drake says, focusing on Gabriel and the ball. “Guess I’m defending you.” 

“Don’t lose,” the girl demands. 

The three of them play for hours, oblivious of the sun falling and the air getting colder. Drake was surprised at how agile Gabriel was, and had to push himself to keep up. 

Soon, Liam returns and tells them that it’s time for dinner. The children race towards the tables while Drake and Liam stay back. 

“Everything okay?” Drake asks his friend. “You were gone for a while.” 

“Yes,” Liam huffs. “Madeleine wished to speak to me.” 

“What did she want?” 

“She was concerned that the Anointing Ceremony would be held for an heir whose mother is not married to the king, or at least engaged.”

“You’re no closer to proposing?” Drake asks him. 

“I’m not too sure. I... I’m waiting for the right moment.”

Relief washes over Drake, but in the next second he feels guilty for it. His feelings for Riley were beginning to fade, and he was engaged to another woman, why was he jealous of his friend? 

At the dinner, Drake takes his seat. He sees the children sit with Leo’s kids. Riley, Hana, Maxwell, and Rowan sit near Drake. The court goes quiet when Liam clinks his glass. 

“If I may have everyone’s attention, please, I’d like to say a few words before the evening comes to a close. Firstly, I would like to thank all of you for joining us at the country estate, your company has been a pleasure. The next time we meet, it will be the last event of the Social Season. Per tradition, it will be hosted at the distinguished Beaumont House.”

As Maxwell begins to cheer and Liam brings his speech to a close, the court finishes their meals and heads back to the estate. 

When Riley stands, Liam offers her his arm. She takes it with a smile, and the two of them lead the group back towards the front of the manor. 

As the house comes into view, they see a limo waiting. Riley asks who it’s for, and Liam tells her that it’s waiting for them. 

As they get in, Drake quickly convinces Savannah to let Bartie come along. When they’re all in the car, questions are being thrown at Liam. 

“I thought we could all enjoy a night under the stars,” he tells them. 

After a short drive, they exit onto a campsite. There are tents already up for everyone: Liam, Drake, Riley, Hana, Maxwell, Rowan, Bartie, Gabriel, and Eleanor. 

The children rush forward, claiming their tents. Drake goes into his tent, and comes out with a bag of sticks, marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate.

While the kids chase each other around, Drake gets to work starting a fire. He hands everyone sticks and marshmallows. Liam calls the children over and gives them directions on how to make s’mores. 

The group sits in silence, watching their marshmallows cook. As a joke, Eleanor lowers her stick into the fire, and her marshmallow comes back up in flames. 

“Spicy s’more,” she states. Gabriel and his sister laugh, while Drake takes the stick from her and puts out the fire. 

Liam, chuckling, gives Eleanor his own s’more. While she eats it, she watches her brother cook his marshmallow. Once she’s done eating, Eleanor holds out her hand to her brother. “Can I have s’more?” 

“Of course you can have s’more s’mores,” Gabriel responds. The children and Maxwell burst out into laughter, clutching their stomachs. 

“Did you teach them how to make puns?” Drake asks Riley. 

“Nope! Must be in the genes.” She laughs, and Drake rolls his eyes.

Maxwell grabs the group’s attention next, saying that he wanted to tell them a ghost story. The children lean forward, childish fear on their faces. Riley rests her head on Liam’s shoulder as they listen. Hana and Rowan talk quietly.

Drake looks at his group of friends. It had been so long since they were together, that the feeling of companionship felt new. There was peace and comfort, something he hadn’t felt for a long time. He wishes Jessica were here, but allows her to slip from his mind as he retreats into his tent and falls asleep.

... 

Upon Liam’s suggestion that they go to Ramsford early, their morning is spent driving through the countryside. When they arrive, Bertrand greets them at the door and servants take their luggage inside.

Before they enter the manor, Liam turns to speak to Maxwell and Drake. 

“Do you both think you can watch over the children today?” Liam asks. “I want to take Riley out on a date.” 

“Definitely!” Maxwell cries. “Don’t worry about them, we’ve got it covered. You two go have fun!”

Liam thanks them, then goes into the manor. Drake tries to follow, but Maxwell blocks his path. 

“What is it, Maxwell?” Drake asks, irritated. 

“Okay so I know I told Liam I’d watch over the kids with you, but Rowan and I kinda have a date tonight.” 

“Then why’d you say yes?”

“I don’t know!” Maxwell’s shoulders jump up. “I wanna hang out with the baby blossoms, but I also wanna spend time with Rowan! I’d ask Hana to take care of it but her dinner with Rashad is tonight, too.”

Drake pats his friend on the arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of the kids.” 

“Thank you!” Maxwell cries, then pulls Drake into a hug. 

After a few awkward seconds, Maxwell pulls back and rushes into the house.

When it’s time for Liam and Riley to leave, they hug the children goodbye and step out. Maxwell waits a few moments, looking out the window to see if their car had left yet, then links his arm through Rowan’s and heads out the door. 

Drake turns to the children, wondering if they’d just go do something or if he had to be with them at all times. 

“Is there... anything you guys wanna do?” he asks them.

Eleanor shrugs. Her brother says, “I kinda want ice cream.”

That was doable. Drake ducks into the kitchen and opens the freezer, but finds nothing. He asks a servant if there was any ice cream, but they shake their head.

“Sorry kids,” he says to them once he’s returned to the lobby. “There’s no ice cream.” 

“Can we go get some?” Eleanor asks.

Drake thinks a moment. Riley and Liam wouldn’t mind if he brought the kids out, right? “Don’t see why not.” 

While the two of them wait in the lobby, Drake asks a servant to get a limo ready for them. Once the driver is outside, Darke leads the kids into the car and they drive off. 

He sends Jessica a text, wondering what she was up to:

Hey babe. Got any plans today?

She texts back within a few seconds.

in a movie with some friends. text later xx

When they reach town, Drake tells the driver to stop, and that they could walk the rest of the way to the ice cream store. The driver says that he won’t move from this spot, and the kids lead Drake down the street.

He stops in his tracks when the kids halt in front of a bakery. 

“Can we get cupcakes instead?” Eleanor asks.

“You sure?” Drake looks down at Gabriel. 

“Please,” the boy says. 

Drake shrugs and follows the kids into the store, the smell of freshly baked bread surrounding him. The kids walk towards the display cases, discussing what they wanted. 

More and more people walk into the bakery, pushing towards the counter to get their orders. Drake pulls out his phone, wondering if Jessica was free yet. He taps Gabriel on the shoulder and tells them that he would be stepping out, but would keep an eye on them.

Outside the bakery, he watches Gabe and Ella poking at cakes and cookies that caught their eyes. He sees his own reflection in the display window, along with cars and buses on the street behind him. Drake dials Jessica’s number again and brings it to his ear, wanting to figure out if she was out of the movie theater yet.

But just as it was clicking towards voicemail, he notices a deep green sweater in the reflection, sharply contrasting with the pinkish colors of goods in the bakery. In disbelief, Drake turns. 

It was Jessica, head down, in a green sweater, huddled arm in arm and whispering with a man Drake recognized — he hadn’t seen the man in what felt like forever, but Drake knew him instantly.

Boris wore the same coat from the day of the Derby. His hair is slightly ruffled, and he has a bag looped over his arm. But the astonishing part was Jessica, who always held Drake’s hand at a slight distance — tugging him along behind her, swinging her arm childishly — was nestled deep and sorrowfully into Boris’ side. 

They were waiting for the light, the bus whooshed past. They were too wrapped up in each other to notice Drake. 

Boris, who was talking to her quietly, tousled her hair and then turned and pulled her to him and kissed her, a kiss she returned with more tenderness than any kiss she’d ever given Drake.

They were crossing the street. Quickly, Drake turned away. He could see them perfectly well in the window of the bakery. They stopped suddenly, only a few feet away from him. 

Jessica was upset. She was talking quietly, in a low voice overflowing with emotion, leaning into Boris wish her cheek pressed against his sleeve as he reached around lovingly to squeeze her arm. 

Though Drake couldn’t make out what she was saying, the tone of her voice was too clear. Even in her sadness, her joy in this man — and his joy in her — was undeniable. Any stranger on the street could have recognized it. 

As they glided past Drake — looking like two affectionate ghosts in the display window — he saw her reach up to quickly dash a tear from her cheek. Drake found himself blinking in astonishment at the sight: for the first time ever, Jessica was crying.

[svnthxsense]

interstellar

GENRE/RATING: Angst, drama, fluff | PG-13 WARNINGS: Fem reader, cursing, family issues, mentions of divorce, (almost?) motorcycle accident, mentions of blood, slow burn, two (2) make-out scenes SUMMARY: Na Jaemin was no longer the boy you remembered from third grade. He was troubled, rough around the edges. But somehow, with every odd run-in you two shared, you managed to bring out the brighter side in him. You and Jaemin were not star-crossed lovers, but your relationship may just become something interstellar. AUTHOR’S NOTE: Don’t @ me, Jaemin would be a soft ass badboy okayyyy. The ending is a bit rushed imo and this whole thing is definitely not my best but hopefully it’s bearable :/ This is a standalone in my Neo Tech High School Series. Song rec → 💿 WORD COUNT: 10.7k

[third grade]

“Welcome!” Your father beamed towards the next family who entered the quaint studio with their young son. You stood beside him, offering a warm smile to the little boy who seemed vaguely familiar to your young eyes. “I’m Tim, the head leader here. Were you interested in hearing more about our program?”

“Yes, we would love to hear about it.” The lady tugged at her husband’s arm, ushering him towards you and your father. The little boy trailed behind them, wide eyes observing the vast studio around him. Photographs of happy children littered the walls, all within the setting of the camp that your father ran.

It was your first year as a regular cub, being that the younger kids were sorted into the baby cub group. You were excited to say the least, ready to take on more responsibility and show a good example for the other kids.

“For the first time cubs, it’s recommended that they take part in a two-week program where we teach children the importance of teamwork and survival skills. The first week and a half are mostly training here at the studio and then we have a three-day retreat to end it.” The woman nodded back intently, focusing on the details of the itinerary while the man’s eyes wandered the room. He was distracted, zoned out. That seemed to be how he always was these days, especially around his wife.

“However, we do have a longer program that meets the whole summer. We do frequent retreats and community service events.” Tim finally pauses to look down at the little boy, a sweet smile appearing on his face at the sight of such an innocent angel. “What’s your name, buddy?”

“Jaemin!” He exclaimed brightly, making a peace sign with his hand and causing the adults around you two to chuckle. “I’m turning 9 in August.”

“You don’t say! My daughter is the same age as you.” Tim gestured to your small figure standing next to him, and Jaemin looks at you with wide eyes and puffy cheeks. You felt a nudge at your side, and step forward to greet Jaemin.

“I’m Y/N,” You introduced yourself quietly, waving over at him. He smiled at that, waving back with as much enthusiasm as he had when he proudly announced his name. “I hope you join our program!”

Jaemin craned his neck upwards, looking at his parents with a hopeful expression. His mother easily gave in, nodding happily at her son before taking the sign-up forms from your father. You were excited, him being the first sign-up of the day that would be in your cub group.

“I’ll see ya next week, Y/N!” He was walking away, hand-in-hand with his mother but still managed to turn around and give you one last wave as he called your name.

During the first retreat, you had the time of your life. While the sun was up and beaming, your cub group went down to the river for some fishing and canoeing. Having friends around your age enjoy these activities just as much as you did was something unforgettable.

After the sun had set, your father and two assistant leaders had made sure that the bonfire was burning big and bright. You and the other cubs sat in a circle around the fire, enjoying your sandwiches in a timely manner so that you’d have time to make s’mores. Excitement bubbled in the air, the conversations between your fellow cubs roaring loud over the crackling fire.

You sat next to your father, directly across from Jaemin. Once the graham crackers, marshmallow, and chocolate were brought out, every kid seemed to be jumping in their seat. It was your umpteenth time making these treats, being that your father always carried some traditions of camp into your home life.

So when you noticed Jaemin, tears swelling in his eyes, holding a stick with a burnt marshmallow, you immediately found yourself drawn to his side. His eyes were puffy by now, and you could tell he was holding back the actual sobs that he wanted to indulge himself in.

“What’s wrong, Minnie?” You asked with concern, putting your hand on his shoulder. He wiped his eyes with one hand, smiling when he hears your nickname for him. You had never called him that before, but he liked it.

“I keep burning the marshmallow,” He admitted quietly in defeat, showing you the charred piece of fluffy sugar on his stick. You grab another stick from the pile beside you, putting another marshmallow towards the top and gesturing Jaemin to move closer to you.

“Hold it farther away from the fire, like this.” You showed him your positioning, holding the stick a few inches from the flames. He watched you intently, mimicking your stance with nothing in his hands. “This way the marshmallow will be golden, not burnt.”

You pulled the stick away from the fire, and lo and behold the perfectly toasted marshmallow that made Jaemin’s eyes light up. Then, you placed it atop of a single graham cracker and finished it off with a small piece of chocolate followed by the final cracker. Rather than eating it like most kids would’ve done, you simply held it out to Jaemin.

“For me?” He asked, eyes wide and tone shocked. You giggled in response, nodding once and dropping it gently in his open hands. Jaemin happily took a bite, a delightful sigh leaving his lips after he tastes the delicious treat. “Thanks, Y/N.”

During every retreat after that, you and Jaemin would always find yourselves sitting together during the bonfires. S’mores were always your favorite part of it, and it became Jaemin’s too. He got better at roasting the marshmallows every time, but he didn’t dare tell you that. He liked having you around to help him.

[eighth grade]

It was the summer of eighth grade when people started noticing that the change in Na Jaemin’s personality was not a phase. You couldn’t pinpoint a certain point in time where Jaemin’s characteristics had taken a complete 180. Rather, over time, he had become quiet and closed off.

Parents and kids alike blamed it on puberty and went about their day. You weren’t much different, assuming that this was a normal part of growing up and not everyone acts the same way as their 10-year-old self would. Maturity came with change, and that was that.

However, after almost three years of the same icy treatment, the rest of the school community had already accepted who he was becoming. This new Jaemin was one that not many recognized.

His warm, bright smile would infrequently appear in small grins. His kind, caring manner was replaced with a detached, blank look in his eyes. Everything had built up within the last three years, and no one was quite sure as to why.

If the circumstances were different, you might’ve talked to him about it. However, ever since your dad had to shut down the summer camp, you and Jaemin hadn’t spoken much. The most conversation you’d share was a quick ‘Excuse me’ in the hallways. You hated to admit that you missed him because you were certain he didn’t feel the same. If he did, he would make an effort to talk to you, right? And after all, helping him make s’mores was certainly not a big deal.

At least that’s what you told yourself.

[junior year of high school]

"You’re not seriously saying that Lucas is a better player than me, are you?” Hendery asks incredulously, flailing his hands around as you two walk down the many flights of stairs at Neo Tech. You roll your eyes in response, shoving him away with one hand once you reach the second to last landing before pausing to look at the awestruck boy.

“No, I’m not saying that. All I said was,” You continue to walk down the stairs while talking, not even bothering to wait for Hendery to catch up. Some students can’t help but stare because his eyes are damn near bulging right out of his head. If there’s one thing that you didn’t want to hurt, it was his somewhat tender ego. “His handles are unbelievable. I mean, think about it-”

Damn stairs. As soon as your right foot comes down to the last step, it lands weirdly and causes all balance to rush out of the bottoms of your feet. Before you can stop yourself, you already feel the rush of your body jerking forward as it makes its way to the floor. Only it doesn’t.

Your eyes are still screwed shut when you feel two hands wrap securely around your arms, holding you in your spot with a firm grip. Breathing out a sigh of relief, your eyes flutter open to reveal none other than Na Jaemin. Trying not to let your eyes widen is a bit of a struggle, considering he’s literally keeping you from falling to the ground and his infamously emotionless face looks quite beautiful up close.

“Be careful,” He remarks in a hushed tone, sighing before letting you stable yourself on the marble flooring. Your eyes, for some reason, glaze over his pierced ear. Two dangling earrings hang from his cartilage and earlobe, and you curse yourself for finding it so attractive. Meanwhile, Hendery stands frozen in his spot on the stairs, watching this whole predicament unfold because quite frankly, he doesn’t know what else to do.

Jaemin doesn’t say anything else, nor does he give you the proper opportunity to forge some type of response. He’s already making his way up the stairs, not sparing a second glance at any of the students who pass him by. Subconsciously, you smooth your hands over your forearms where Jaemin was just holding you. It stirs up some kind of emotion that you can’t even cognize, but the only emotion visible from your face is complete and utter shock.

“That was some shit straight out of a drama,” Hendery comments, bouncing down each step until he’s level with you. Silence. He had to tap your shoulder a few times before you respond, but you can’t seem to focus on a single thing. “Y/N, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m fine,” You grumble, continuing on your way to class while Hendery watches you walk away. Curiosity laces his mind, but he knows you won’t be able to tell him how you feel. It was obvious that you didn’t even know yourself. And talking to Jaemin was definitely not an option, the kid barely spoke two words to anyone on a good day.

You, on the other hand, cannot seem to concentrate on your in-class research report for World History. The effort is there, but every sentence you jot down seems irrelevant or wrongly-worded. It’s frustrating, and even more so because if it weren’t for your little run-in with Na Jaemin, you’d probably have a much clearer head right now.

Such an insignificant, minuscule moment should not affect you the way it does. His chiseled features and strong grip should not be so addicting, but you find yourself wanting that same sensation again. The way your heart raced at such a simple action was an adrenaline rush you’re struggling to shake. You had a feeling, though, that this run-in would not be the last.

By the time the classes are dismissed, the light rain is now a relentless pouring. To make matters worse, you had forgotten to return a book to one of your teachers so you didn’t have the option of catching a ride with one of your friends. You weighed your options carefully as you walked towards the exit- you could wait for Hendery to finish basketball practice and ride with him, or you could grit your teeth and walk to the bus stop.

For one, your phone is dead so you have no way of asking how long he’ll be or if he even stayed for practice in the first place. Secondly, the desire for the comfort and warmth of home is too tempting, so you continue on your way. You do have an umbrella, but it’s quickly rendered useless when you shove the door open and are met with the insistent downpour of water and the sharp roar of thunder.

As you stand there under the covering of your school’s arch, the other glass door to your right opens swiftly. Oh my god. Yet again, your eyes meet Jaemin’s slender figure clad in an oversized hoodie with a bomber jacket thrown lazily on top. His honey-brown hair peeks out from underneath the hood as he pushes his fringe away from his eyes with one hand.

It must be obvious you’re staring, though he doesn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he eyes his motorcycle sitting a few feet away by the curb. He contemplates a moment, an exasperated sigh falling from his slightly chapped lips.

“What’re you still doing here?” It doesn’t come off as rude, but his tone can’t be mistaken as anything more than curiosity. You gulp down on nothing, and you’re not sure why. He’s the same boy who burnt his marshmallows, the same one who insisted you called him Minnie during your retreats.

Except he wasn’t the same boy, not anymore.

“I forgot to return something to Mr. Park, and everyone knows how talkative he is.” You stop yourself before you overshare, with him nodding in response. As much as you’d like to be brave and stride into the rain with no hesitation, catching a cold was not on your to-do list. “Do you think I could- uh- borrow your phone for a minute? Mine’s dead and I need to call a cab.”

He nods again, digging into the back pocket of his jeans before passing his phone over to you. His lock screen is a simple, preinstalled picture and just what you expected. Your fingers hover over the numbers splayed across the screen, just about to press the circular green button when the loud crack of thunder rips through the air.

Your body reacts before you do, your hands twitching and flailing until the phone goes crashing to the ground. Upon impact, it makes a swift cracking sound and you’re sure that you’ve shattered his screen. Horror dawns upon your face while Jaemin just stares blankly at the phone.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen!” You rush out, stooping low to the ground to scoop the phone and shattered glass into your hands. The screen is black now, completely lifeless other than one neon green line that surely isn’t supposed to be there. “I’ll pay for the repair. God, I’m so fucking clumsy.”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” It’s the first time he addresses you as your name since you were twelve years old, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t missed hearing it from him. He gently plucks the phone away from your hands, wiping the tiny pieces of glass away cautiously before slipping it into the pocket of his hoodie.

“Well, if you want, I could give you a ride. You won’t exactly keep dry, but at least you’ll be home quicker.”

And there it is- a glimpse of the considerate boy you once knew. Not the one that rode his motorcycle to school and came late every day, not the boy who’d talk back to anyone who dared to offend him, just Na Jaemin.

“Yeah, that would be great. Thank you,” You mumble, hands smoothing over your light jacket though it wasn’t wrinkled in the first place. He jerks his head in the direction of his motorcycle, silently as a command to follow him. Both of you sprint over to it simultaneously, the rain already starting to seep into your clothing. He passes you a helmet before steadying himself atop the motorcycle.

You’ve never ridden one, and you certainly didn’t expect your first experience on a motorcycle to be with Jaemin. Did you mind though? Strikingly, no. When you finally get the helmet situated snugly on your head, you climb onto the bike and inch yourself closer to Jaemin’s body.

“I- Is it okay if I hold onto you?” You ask, arms still hovering at your side. He simply reaches around to secure both of your hands around his slim waist before revving the engine to a start.

The rain has let up just a bit, though you’re certain if you don’t change into dry clothes soon, ill-health would surely be the outcome. Your house isn’t far from school, though, thankfully. Reciting your address to Jaemin, you ready yourself for the motorcycle to jerk into motion.

When it does, you only let out a quiet gasp of surprise as Jaemin zooms away from the school. He must sense your shock because he slows down the bike once you’re on the street. Wind whips past the both of you regardless, a stinging sensation beginning to pinch at your eyes. Everything around you seems to go past in a blur of grey, even cars.

The grip of your hands around him doesn’t loosen, even at red lights, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It isn’t until he’s pulling into your house’s driveway that you find yourself loosening your grasp with a breath of relief. That same adrenaline rush is back- but whether it’s from the joyride or from being so physically close to him, you’re indecisive. 

“Thank you, Jaemin.” You unclasp the helmet and tuck it safely into his hands, the roofing of your house providing some covering over the two of you. His eyes snap up to yours when his name slips past your lips, and he almost wishes you had called him Minnie. This is ridiculous, she probably doesn’t even remember, he thinks to himself.

“No problem,” He returns, the engine of the bike sputtering to life again. Part of you wants to invite him in, but the words don’t dare come out as you watch him back out of the driveway without a second glance. And just like that, he’s gone. 

[two days later]

No other interaction between you and Jaemin occurs in the days that follow, besides the sideways glances you’d sneak in the hallways. Hendery pesters you about it insistently, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. Because, really, what was there to say? You get a certain feeling that feels like some type of drug whenever you’re with him, and you can’t help but want your childhood friend back?

The backstory alone would be too complicated to rehash, especially since the two of you gradually grew apart and you can’t pinpoint the reason why. Deep down- very deep down, your pride was a bit wounded. What made him stop acknowledging people’s presences in the first place? Especially someone he practically grew up with.

You deny yourself the entitlement that comes with the thought because he doesn’t owe you anything. He doesn’t owe it to you to talk about everything that goes on in his head. He didn’t owe it to you to be the same boy he was in third grade. You know this. Yet you can’t help but wish differently.

“Y/N, you’re late! Take a banana and run to the bus, honey.” Your mom passes you the fruit, already clad in her pantsuit and sipping her usual morning coffee before she goes off to work. Frequently, you’re already out the door by the time your mother is just about ready to leave. It seems today that you were running on the same clock. Only running on her clock would result in you missing first period.

“Remember that your father and I will be away until tomorrow!” She calls, but you can’t find it in you to stop and listen.

You take her advice though, shoving the banana into your backpack before haphazardly slinging it over one shoulder. The usual weight of your books is significantly lighter due to the fact that you decided to leave most of them in your locker, and you almost thank the heavens that you did. Running with a 15-pound backpack would be an arduous task that you would like to avoid.

The morning air is crisp as ever, applying the slightest chilling sensation to the apples of your cheeks as you sprint out of your house. Since you’re so late, the buses’ usual route has reverted to its express one- and the stop near your school was always skipped. At this point, you don’t have many options. Cabs are nearly impossible to catch at this time of the morning, so rushing over there seems to be the only choice.

The running doesn’t last for long though; you’re slowing down to a fast-paced walk after the first avenue. By now, you’re using one hand in a clumsy attempt to unzip your bag for the damn banana. The neighborhood is relatively quiet, and you recognize this street for never having much traffic.

You’re still walking hurriedly while rummaging through your backpack, eyes trained on the pens and crumpled papers that clutter the inside of it. Looking both ways, as your mom always said, while walking proves to be an important life lesson.

“Watch out!” You hear someone scream, but before you can look up, a sharp pain shoots through the entirety of your calf. The cement street is hard and jagged when you land on it hands-first. Your palms immediately feel like they’re pulsating, a whine of pain leaving your lips. “Oh my god, Y/N? Are you okay?”

Oh. It’s Jaemin- and he practically ran you over with his motorcycle. He drops his hold on the handles, causing the bike to plop to the ground with a soft clang. He’s at your side as soon as you look up, eyes wide and concerned.

“Your hands are bleeding,” He comments, taking your hands into his own and examining the droplets of crimson that trickle from the scrapes on your skin. There’s a stinging sensation, but the ache you feel in your leg is much worse. You motion to it helplessly, gritting your teeth in an attempt to dwindle the discomfort. “I have to get you to the hospital.”

“N-No! It’s not that serious.” Though your reaction shows otherwise when Jaemin wraps an arm around your waist and hoists you onto your feet. The contact makes you feel that same rush again, but the ache you feel in the muscles of your leg overpowers any other sensation you feel.

“I’m not asking.” It’s a firm, concrete statement that you know he will stay true to. Even an idiot could tell that you need to consult a doctor. You doubt anything is broken, but you’re certain that this pain is not something you can just shake off. “I’m gonna hold you, but try walking a bit and tell me what hurts the most.”

You’re in no position to argue, so you do as he says and tentatively put one foot in front of the other. There’s a pointed ache that runs from your knee all the way to the heel of your foot that makes you wince. Jaemin’s eyes, softer and somehow browner than you’ve ever seen them, watch you carefully.

“My knee and my ankle.” Your voice comes out strained and shaky. Jaemin feels his heart hammering against his rib cage. Holy shit, I just ran her over. His thoughts are incredulous- all those days he sauntered into school not giving a shit about what time it was, his karma comes in the form of hurting you.

"I’ll call the school later and tell them what happened. For right now, we have to go.” With one strong arm still wrapped around you, he walks you over to his motorcycle. Getting you on it and situated is a bit of a hassle, but he doesn’t complain. All you can do is gaze over at him as he throws one leg over the seat and twists one of the handles as the engine emits a soft roar.

The ride to the hospital is quick, both due to its location and Jaemin’s speed. It didn’t make you feel unsafe, even though he was surely driving over the speed limit the entire time. In fact, you’re starting to realize that Jaemin makes you feel safe all the time. When you almost fell down the stairs, when he drove you home in the rain, and now.

“Good morning, Miss L/N. First and foremost, we need to contact a parent or guardian as per protocol. If you could just confirm your emergency contact’s number,” The doctor says as he looks through the papers attached to his clipboard. You recite your mother’s contact information and notify him that both of your parents are on a plane and wouldn’t be back till tomorrow.

“Are you immediate family?” He questions Jaemin, eyeing the boy up and down. A familiar twitch in his brow has you answering the doctor for him, knowing that Jaemin was never one to tolerate bad manners and would combat them with his own. You’d seen it a couple of times- one time when an upperclassman bumped him in the hallway and refused to apologize to create a more masculine image for his friends. Jaemin ended up busting his lip.

“This whole thing was my fault, doctor. I wasn’t looking where I was walking and his motorcycle hit my leg. He insisted he take me to the hospital.” Your eyes flicker to him for a moment, seeing the cold glare he still holds against the middle-aged man. The doctor contemplates for a moment, before nodding and muttering that he could stay if he wanted.

“Well, your injuries aren’t too major. Nothing is fractured, but I believe you may have a patellar contusion. The healing time isn’t so bad, but it’ll probably be swollen and in pain for at least a week.” He flips through the pages on his clipboard again, skimming through your medical records and the X-Ray images. He goes on about prescribing you an anti-inflammatory medication with a higher dosage than over-the-counter meds and warning you about how much to take.

You nod in understanding and try your best to keep up with his rant because all you want to do now is lay down and rest. The nurse had already given you a pain killer, so the sharp pain you once felt has now simmered to an uncomfortable soreness. It doesn’t subside, but you are beginning to grow accustomed to it.

Minutes pass as you and Jaemin sit in silence, the doctor having left after his prognosis. One of the nurses pops in, notifying you that they were able to get in touch with your mom and that she had gotten someone to pick you up. Out of all the people you thought you’d see though, you’re surprised when Jaemin’s mom rushes to the nurses' station and hurriedly tells them your name.

“Mom?” Jaemin calls, slowly walking towards her. She breathes a sigh of relief, scribbling onto the discharge form before making a beeline to where you sat. She still looks the same as you remembered her, a few more wrinkles here and there but generally a familiar face.

“Honey, how’s your leg? I’m sorry this happened.” A hard glare makes Jaemin avert his attention elsewhere, already anticipating the lecture he’ll hear later. His mom never liked him driving a motorcycle, but it was the one thing he and his father bonded over. The one thing they had as father and son before the fighting got worse and worse.

“Don’t be! I should’ve looked where I was going,” You offer immediately. You’re sure she wants to say something else, but you quickly grab your bag and try to hoist yourself up.

“Let Jaemin help you. Your mom asked if you could stay with us until your parents get back tomorrow,” She explains, taking your bag from your hands and walking towards the elevator. Jaemin comes to your side, linking his right arm through yours and setting a slow pace as to not cause any discomfort.

As you feel the same rush of adrenaline course through your body due to the proximity of you and the guilty-looking boy, you can’t help but feel happy that you’ll spend more time with him. There’s no time to contemplate why your mom decided to call Mrs. Na, or what would become of today. All you can think about is how safe yet scared you feel around him.

[later that night]

“Are you sure you’re okay with sleeping on the couch?” You ask from your spot on Jaemin’s bed, already feeling weariness settle into your bones. His mother offered you his bed before he had the chance to, though he showed no signs of protest once she had. Only a nod of agreement.

“Yeah,” He replies as he scours through his closet to find a change of clothes. You’re surprised when he tosses you a hoodie and sweat-shorts, looking down at the bunched up clothes that land on your lap. He turns back towards you, having his own set of garments picked out in one hand. “Those clothes don’t look comfortable enough to sleep in.”

Subconsciously, you gaze over your outfit- dark washed jeans and a simple blouse. He’s right, you realize, and you’re too tired to argue. The mattress felt soft and welcoming underneath you, his fluffy duvet being especially tempting to envelope yourself in. The room around you seems very much like Jaemin now, Egyptian blue painted walls and black decor- everything down to the duvet. It’s a dark color scheme, but you can feel how much it matches him.

“I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” He throws a polite smile your way before strolling out of the room and closing the door behind him. The silence settles in around the room, and after you’ve comfortably changed into the clothes he gave you, you’re left with your eyes wandering in latent curiosity.

There’s not much personality to his room, not anything distinct at least. It’s simple and straightforward, much like him. However, your eyes lock on a cardboard box sitting atop his desk. It’s a little worn, the corners dented and softened from years of prior use. You know this is wrong, a complete breach of privacy. However, your hands work before your conscious does, and now the opened box reveals all of Jaemin’s childhood memories.

They’re mostly photographs with some miscellaneous items mixed in- such as a small toy truck, a pair of black-and-white dice, and a beaded bracelet you recall seeing him wear at camp. This much should satisfy your inquiring mind, and you’re about to slide the lid back on when a certain photograph catches your eye.

You immediately recognize the way your hair falls around your face in two french braids and Jaemin’s brightly smiling face next to yours. Both of you have marshmallow smudged over your lips, but the happiness that radiates from the glossy picture has you smiling to yourself. Things were much simpler back then- a burnt marshmallow was the cause for angst rather than the pressure of getting into top universities and having no idea of where your ambitions would lead you.

Lost in thought, you don’t even realize that Jaemin’s mom had stumbled into the room. It’s only when she clears her throat quietly that you clumsily drop the picture back into the box from your red-handed grasp. She smiles your way, mindlessly moving towards you until she sees what you’re looking at. Her eyes water a bit, her forefinger tracing over Jaemin’s smiling face. Though she hasn’t aged much, you can tell by the deep-set lines in her forehead that appear ever so often and the exhaustion hidden behind the brown irises of her eyes that life hasn’t been kind to her lately.

“God, I miss him like this.” She’s talking to herself more than you, but you listen anyway. You want to hear more, want to know how she’s coping with her son’s isolated ways. “He was the happiest little boy. I rarely see him smile like this anymore.”

It feels wrong for you to comment, and you don’t know what to say anyway. So you let her continue, wanting to provide some sort of comfort for the woman who always showed so much kindness to you when you were a child. You hadn’t conversed with her much over the years, but there are multiple memories of her treating you and Jaemin to ice cream after a long day at camp cooped up in the confines of your conscious.

“I’m glad he still has you, though, Y/N. With what his father and I are going through and all. It’s good he has a friend.” When she says this, you feel your heart pulsate. A look of surprise wiggles its way upon your features, but you quickly disguise it as a polite nod. You feel the urge to egg her on further, feeling that all the information you so desperately want to know is at the tip of her tongue. “You were always good for him... Do you know that I catch him making s’mores sometimes? He roasts the marshmallow over the stovetop when he thinks I’m not home.”

For some reason, tears threaten to form in the corners of your eyes at her sudden confession. Are you supposed to know this much now? Probably not. But you do, and there’s no going back now. Her words haunt your thoughts for a few more moments, her gratitude for him ‘still having you’ makes you feel all too guilty.

“Mrs. Na, I can’t possibly lie to you.” Her face contorts in confusion, the lines in her forehead reappearing when her brows knit together. “Being honest, me and Jaemin haven’t talked since dad’s camp closed. Other than polite small talk, of course. I don’t know what’s going on with him, and it might not be my place to know, but I’d like to be there for your son.”

She processes your words for several silent seconds before a bright, all-teeth smile graces her mouth. It reminds you of Jaemin, and how he always smiled just as brightly.

“Oh, Y/N. I shouldn’t have assumed, but a mother knows what’s best for her child. And right now, I know he needs someone,” She begins, and continues until every noteworthy detail has been said. Everything from her separation and ongoing divorce process with his father to the extra hours she picked up at work to the father-son bond that keeps Jaemin hanging onto his motorcycle- everything is new to you. It’s a lot to take in, but it seems like it’s an even heavier weight to unload for her.

“It’s a lot, I know.” By now, you’re laying down in bed comfortably tucked away under the, just as you anticipated, fluffy duvet. His mother sits at the foot of the bed facing you, as she finishes her long recollection. “Thank you, Y/N. I really hope he lets you in.”

Slowly, she stands up from her position on the bed and tiptoes out of the room, closing the door gently behind her. You replay her words over and over in your head until sleep tempts you to close your eyes.

“I hope he does too,” You whisper to yourself.

[next morning]

"Good morning, sunshine.” Jaemin groans in response to his mother’s comment as he trudges towards his beloved espresso machine. He mutters back a ‘good morning’ in a husky, deep tone that makes your mouth open a bit in surprise. Thankfully, neither he nor his mom notice as they continue walking around each other and reaching for their respective breakfasts.

Jaemin takes his coffee black with so many shots of espresso that you don’t bother to count and enough sugar cubes to make your teeth ache. His mom, on the other hand, opts for a simple herbal tea that’s caffeine levels pale in comparison to her son’s. It’s amusing to think about this contrast, but it further feeds into their family dynamic. In comparison to your family, you think the differences make everything more unique and unparalleled. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks, sipping his coffee quietly and taking a seat next to you by the kitchen island. The room is illuminated with the natural sunlight that’s typical for Saturday mornings, and his skin looks so smooth that you’re sure photoshop couldn’t make it better. It’s unfair really, how ethereal he looks after just waking up.

“Not gonna lie, it was pretty bad when I woke up, but I took some of the meds the doctor prescribed and it’s not half as bad,” You answer. He nods in response before returning his attention to the coffee cup in front of him. There’s not much else to talk about on his side, but you have much more information than you started with and the temptation to strike up a conversation with him is as strong as his coffee.

You’re still wearing his clothes, finding them much too comfortable to switch to your other outfit. Prior to today, you never quite understood what was so appealing about wearing a guy’s clothing. Sure, it was comfortable and you’d stolen a few shirts from your ex-boyfriend at one point, but it didn’t make you feel giddy like other girls had described. Now, though, you feel warm underneath Jaemin’s lingering stare.

“You look nice it this,” He expresses his approval, fiddling with one end of the drawstring that hangs from the hood. It’s a mindless action, but not one that goes unnoticed on your part. His hand stays frozen once at the end of the drawstring, but it’s only a few moments until he’s pulling away. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until he does, the quietest sigh filling the air.

“Y/N, honey, your parents should be getting to the airport soon. Do you need any help getting your stuff ready?” His mother singsongs from her position in front of the sink. On your way home from the hospital last night, Jaemin had picked up a toothbrush for you and that was all you had besides your other clothes and schoolbag. You know you can manage, and you wouldn’t want to cause her any more trouble so you politely shake your head. 

“That’s okay, I’ll be fine.” As you carefully place both feet on the ground, gauging how much pressure you could put on your leg without it hurting, Jaemin silently watches you trudge back to his room. Although it was only for a night, having you stay with him made the house feel less lonely. Not to be confused, Jaemin adores the company of his mom most of the time, despite him not showing it.

The house just felt a little less empty with you there. He had someone to take care of, a weird responsibility that he never thought he’d enjoy. It could be the variation in his lifestyle that makes it so appealing. His mom, when she was home, was always the one to dote on him. The change in dynamics of someone else needing to be taken care of makes his insides feel warm. He liked nursing your injuries, he realizes.

The feeling kind of scares him, wanting to be around you this much. After all the years it took him to become so detached from everyone else, it’s completely unfair for you to barge into his bubble and churn up his emotions. At least that’s what he tries to convince himself as you appear from the hallway with a fresh morning glow that he didn’t quite notice before.

[a week later]

Today, the empty feeling resounding in Jaemin’s house makes his knee bounce in anxiety. Although he never admits it, being alone gets to his head more often than not. Ironic considering he shuts himself away from others, but his thoughts nonetheless. His mother’s working a particularly long shift at the office, and the silence that beckons his thoughts leaves him frustrated.

So he does what he always did when he missed the feeling of his family being whole- he grabs the keys to his motorcycle and strides outside. Memories of his father always burst into his head as when he rides, and he longs for the days when his father spend time with him. Ever since his parents separated, he became an afterthought to his father with his new girlfriend and all. To say that he’s bitter and emotionally damaged from it is an understatement.

The evening brings the sun closer to the horizon, a beautiful orange color painting over the entire sky. It’s barely past seven, but the exhaustion he feels from being completely alone prompted his first stop: a local cafe.

Normally, Jaemin prefers making his own coffee to avoid the judging stares of people behind him when he recites his order. Now, though, he needs to be away from the seclusion of his bedroom and drinking one of the only forms of sanity he knows of. The drive is quick being that he, again, doesn’t obey the speed limit. The cops never seem to catch him or care enough to pull him over though.

The shop is fairly popular among the people in your neighborhood, a lot of the high school students frequenting here for study sessions and dates. Small chairs and tables line the perimeter of the shop, the outside seating area extremely well-known for its view of the sunset. However, Jaemin knows he’ll probably grab his coffee and go.

You’re at the cafe, too. Though, Jaemin doesn’t notice at first. You’re at the front of the line when he just walks in, but he recognizes your figure all too well. As you recite your order, one out of many boys sitting in the booth nearest to the counter sits up in his seat. Jaemin’s right eye twitches as soon as he recognizes him- Moonbin.

He’s handsome, tall, and charming. It was no surprise when the upperclassman had asked you out and you happily accepted. The two of you made numerous happy memories for quite some time. You remember hearing horror stories from other girls who had their hearts broken by upperclassmen, but you were convinced that Moonbin was different. That is until he broke it off only to pursue the new transfer student, Tzuyu. Heartbreak had been a foreign feeling for you as you’d never developed such strong feelings for someone in your previous relationships, but it was a feeling you grew accustomed to as you moved on.

Jaemin manages to sputter out his order hurriedly, his eyes locked on you as you take a seat at one of the small tables opposite of Moonbin and his friends. He can hear the snickers from the older boys as Moonbin confidently strides over to you with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He doesn’t sit down, but his figure looming over you is enough to make you look up in surprise. 

“Y/N, it’s been a while.” His smile is sweet and welcoming, though you now know better than to believe his act. Sure, Moonbin isn’t a complete asshole, but his intentions always ran far deeper than the overly-friendly facade he puts on. “Ah, are you here all alone?”

You gulp in response, eyes locked on your coffee cup as you sit in silence and wish for the humiliation to be over. Moonbin only grins, placing his hand softly on your shoulder to ensure that you’re paying attention to him. It makes Jaemin’s blood boil, though he can’t explain why. As soon as the barista calls out his order, Jaemin grabs his drink haphazardly and makes a beeline to your table.

“What a shame, pretty girl. You know, we could always-”

“Hey, babe. Sorry, the line took forever,” Jaemin interrupts before he can help himself, sliding into the seat opposite you and making Moonbin’s mouth drop slightly in response. You’re just as surprised, eyes wide like a deer stuck in headlights. This isn’t happening right now. Moonbin and Jaemin are somewhat acquainted. His friend, Eunwoo, is the one Jaemin had punched in the mouth. “Moonbin. Nice to see you.”

His tone is deadpan and exactly the opposite of the polite words he speaks, but it’s such a Jaemin type of saying that you allow yourself to grin over at him. By this time, Moonbin’s friends have gathered behind in out of curiosity. Their presence forces Moonbin to finally respond, the same friendly smile wringing his lips tight. It’s forced. Everyone in the cafe can pick up on that, yet no one says a word.

“Right. Well, I’ll see you around, Y/N.” With that, he pivots on his heel and stumbles out of the cafe with his friends trailing behind him. There’s a certain sense of pride that Jaemin feels as they do, like he’s successfully taken care of you again. And maybe, just maybe, Jaemin enjoyed being envied by someone as popular as Moonbin.

You gently push your hand towards his, covering the dorsal side of his hand with your palm. The sudden contact makes the lonely feeling in Jaemin’s heart all the less prominent, instead igniting a hazy, elated feeling deep within his chest. The smile on your face is breathtaking; it makes him feel like the only person in the universe at this moment in time.

“Thank you. I really don’t know why I froze up like that.” You shake your head lightly but the smile still tugs at your lips. You still can’t describe the adrenaline rush you get when you’re with him, just that you want to feel like this a lot more. He makes you feel so much more alive; there are so many things you haven’t explored but his presence makes you feel safe during times of adventure. It’s a peculiar feeling that you hope he’ll be okay with, because, after your night at the Na household, you find yourself wanting to be around him a lot more than before.

“You’re welcome,” He replies back, mirroring your smile with a kilowatt one of his own. It’s the first time you’ve seen him smile this way since you were kids, and you almost want to take a picture because it’s just so beautiful. It makes him look kind and compassionate, contrary to the icy expressions that everyone has grown used to. It reminds you of what his mom said, on the verge of tears when she spoke about how emotionless he’s been lately.

Though it might be a stretch, you begin to think that Jaemin is indeed opening up to you. And you couldn’t be happier.

[three days later]

Following the cafe fiasco and all the weird run-ins you’ve shared with Jaemin, you finally convinced him to let you take his phone in for repair. Though he protested the whole time, you ended up paying just as you promised. With his phone back up and functioning, he began to text you every day. Sure, the conversations often lacked depth, but it was something. It gave you hope.

{21:06pm} Jaemin: Look out your window. The stars are so pretty.

You did as he said, staring in amazement at the constellations and pops of light that contrasted against the deep blue sky. The sky was clearer than usual that night, the rare sight of the little sparkles in the night making you smile to yourself. Each star burned so brightly, and you wonder what kind of righteous act one did to deserve this type of view. It was unbelievably enchanting, the patterns of stars that covered the entire skyline.

{21:09pm} Jaemin: Hope you’re enjoying. They reminded me of you. Goodnight.

[four days later]

The whole world seems to be collapsing in on Jaemin. His breath comes out in short pants as he desperately throws the covers off of his bed and paces around the room. His mother stands in the doorway, tears streaming from her eyes consistently. She tries to offer words of comfort, but everything sounds muffled under the pounding of Jaemin’s heart. It’s all he can hear, and he’s desperate to make it stop.

‘The divorce is finalized.’

Who knew words could send someone into overdrive? The walls he had built up to protect himself, those words managed to break them down. He knew the day would come that his family would never be whole again, but he never mentally prepared himself for how it would actually feel. The immediate response to the situation is rage.

He picks up his beloved box full of memories that sits atop his desk, throwing the lid off and swinging the box until every photograph and trinket is on the floor. They didn’t matter anymore. His mother pleads for him to stop but her begging goes unanswered. Tears are starting to blur his vision, his face scrunched up so that they wouldn’t fall freely. The pounding sound he hears only gets louder and louder, so loud that he can’t take it anymore.

Without a word, he brushes past his mother’s figure and sprints to his motorcycle just as he had whenever he felt lonely. Only this time, he felt suffocated. Not from love and concern, but from the crushing feeling of his hope being lost. He would never get his dad back, not how he used to be at least. His mother trails behind him helplessly, one hand over her heart and the other muffling her sobs.

“Jaemin! Jaemin, please!” She screams over and over as he gets on the bike, revving the engine to a start while haphazardly slipping his helmet on. The comfort from just being on the piece of metal calms some of his emotions, the tears no longer forming or falling. He gazes back at her with an expression that his mother reads as reassurance. He hopes she gets the right message, that he’d come back and he’d be safe. But he couldn’t stay in that house any longer, not right now.

Though she’s still crying, she nods at his silent message and watches her son pull out of the driveway before regretfully trudging back into the house.

Jaemin isn’t quite sure where he’s going, and he stops to contemplate this fact while he’s at a red light. During times like this, what was one supposed to do? He wants to scream and cry all at once, but he couldn’t think of a place to do so. Out in the open is definitely not an option- he’d rather skip the pitiful stares from strangers. Ideas jumble up in his head, making him wince from the overwhelming mix of emotions and thoughts he possesses.

And then suddenly, everything becomes crystal clear. There’s only one thing he can think of that makes the empty feeling subside: you. The traffic light turns green but he decides to pull over at the next corner anyway, fumbling to pull his phone out of his pocket. His fingers move quickly over the keypad, your name floating at the top of his screen.

{18:45pm} Jaemin: Where are you right now? I really need someone. 

Your eyebrows furrow when you look down at the screen, a strange feeling that tightens in your chest makes you grab your phone hurriedly to type a reply. In other circumstances, you would’ve waited as to not seem desperate. But Jaemin never talks like this, and you can’t help but be worried that something’s happened.

{18:45pm} Y/N: I’m at home. Did something happen??

Your anxiety only grows as minutes pass and Jaemin hasn’t replied. You subconsciously nibble on your fingernails, staring out the window in your kitchen without a word. The ticking of the grandfather clock against one wall almost drives you insane, but there’s no other sound that could be heard with your parents out to a company dinner.

A wave of relief washes over you when you hear the familiar sputtering of his motorcycle engine from inside. You practically rush out to meet him, the dim lighting of the setting sun making his skin look unreal. Only he doesn’t look like his normal self. His eyes are the slightest bit puffy, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he throws his helmet to the ground.

“Jaemin, what’s wro-” You’re cut off by his hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you toward his body. Jaemin knows his next action will have consequences, but the urge to do it suppresses his sanity. The pounding in his head becomes less and less audible the closer he gets to you, and it stops completely when he presses his lips against yours.

Your eyes are wide while his are shut tightly. The feeling of his lips on yours is better than you could’ve ever imagined, though. So you kiss him back. It’s a desperate, rushed, feverish kiss that still manages to leave you breathless. You didn’t even realize you’d been moving at all until your back meets the wall of your garage, hands tangling themselves in his hair.

But there’s a certain aura that exudes from his body. While you’d love to keep kissing him, you know that something is wrong. Convincing yourself that talking to him will be more helpful than this, you slowly pull away from him to meet his watery eyes.

“Jaemin,” You whisper softly, holding your hand up to caress his jawline. His breathing becomes uneven again, the tears that well in his eyes slowly escaping his grasp. The sight makes your heart ache as he slowly makes his way towards his beloved motorcycle, you trailing behind him. “Jaemin, what’s going on?”

“My parents- they-” Each time he attempts to finish his sentence, it’s cut off by a choked breath. Though the pounding is gone, he’s left with a mess of emotions that he can’t help letting out. Everything he’s bottled up since he was thirteen, it’s all going to come pouring out. “Their divorce is finalized.”

Your eyes grow even soften at this, reaching to place your hand on the small of his back. He’s crying freely now, not caring how vulnerable or pathetic he might look. However, you would never think of him like this- not with everything that’s going on and how long he’s concealed his feelings. You wish he could’ve just let you in, but you ignore the thought and focus on the situation at hand. 

“I shouldn’t miss him. Your father was more involved in my life than he ever was. But why does it hurt so much?” His rant begins with this, but the things he says get worse and worse. You can feel the sense of abandonment that must’ve dawned on Jaemin long before. You can feel the betrayal and confusion in his words. “Was I not good enough? Did he ever love me? I’m his son for fuck’s sake!”

His hands hold the motorcycle in an iron-tight grip before he flings it to the ground out of frustration. Kicking it once, twice, until you’re attempting to pull him away from it. You can’t stand the thought of him doing something he’d regret, not if you can help it.

For a moment, he resists. Your strength is no match for his while he takes his anger out on something he held so close to his soul. Determination boils within you as you finally force him back towards you, stumbling back towards the stairs of your porch. He falls into your arms with a defeated cry, his shoulders slumping as he sobs into your chest. You feel your own tears starting to build up seeing him so raw and troubled just begging for comfort.

“I don’t understand, Y/N. What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing, baby. You did nothing wrong,” You quietly assure him, using your thumb to draw circular patterns into his shoulder blade. The small gesture comforts him nonetheless, his loud sobs turning into hiccups. You continue to hold him like this, him sobbing into your chest and you running your hands over his back in some sort of attempt to calm him. 

It’s nearly eight o’clock by the time you get him into your house. The utter exhaustion that weighs his whole body down has him slipping into a peaceful slumber soon after he lays himself atop the cushions of your couch. Your parents stroll inside the house not long after, surprised to see that more grown face of the boy they used to know laying tranquilly on the couch.

“What’s Jaemin doing here?” Your dad whispers, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge before turning on his heel to look at you. Thankfully, neither your mother nor your father are making assumptions as to why he ended up here while they were out. Bless their hearts.

“His parents finalized it...” You trail off, a look of realization crossing over both of their faces. Not much needed to be said. The harsh reality is that many families deduced what was going on in the Na household as they saw less and less of Jaemin’s father around the neighborhood, until his appearances eventually didn’t happen at all. The whispers could be heard all around town as Mrs. Na would attempt to carry out her daily tasks at the grocery store or even at the hair salon.

“That poor boy.” A deep frown settles on your mother’s face as she looks over at his sleeping figure, a muffled snoring audible from your spot in the kitchen. The soft look on her face reminds you of the many times you’d come home crying because of a bad grade or when you’d tell her that you didn’t get picked first for kickball.

“This must be so rough on him,” Your father comments with a sympathetic tone. Though it’s not completely obvious, you know your father feels commiseration deep within himself. The boy he practically watched grow up, the one he taught how to make a fire and how to properly row a canoe. The realization of all this hits you all at once, your mind swarming with possible ways to execute your plan.

You were going to remind Jaemin that although his family might never be the same again, you would always be there to attempt making the void feel smaller.

[a week later]

“Seriously, Y/N, where are you taking me?” Jaemin questions from behind you, the makeshift blindfold of a scarf being the only thing keeping him from seeing the scene painted around him. He knows you’ve brought him to some sort of field, that much being obvious from the crunch of branches under his feet and the lingering smell of fresh grass that whisks through the air.

“Just a bit further,” You sing with the hugest smile on your face. It’s the first time Jaemin lets you force him out of the house since that day, and the heated kiss you two shared still hasn’t been up for discussion. However, the thought hadn’t quite crossed your mind in the midst of wanting to pull off this one act of kindness.

An uneasy feeling bubbles within the pit of your stomach as you finally reach the bonfire your dad has set up. He’s sitting silently on one of the three camping chairs laid out, his eyes perking up as he sees you two approach. You hold your index finger to your lips, signaling for him to keep his silence to which he nods at obediently.

“Open,” You whisper next to Jaemin’s ear, untying his blindfold in a painfully slow manner. At first, his face is blank, and it makes your stomach churn in fear that you’ve gone too far. But then it happens- you notice the creases starting to form on the sides of his eyes before the tears start welling up. And then the signature, kilowatt smile that you knew as a child makes a cameo appearance.

“You guys didn’t have to do this,” He grumbles, wiping a stray tear from the soft skin of his cheek. Your father’s belly laughs sound through the air, making you and Jaemin giggle at the very sound. There’s something simple, Jaemin realizes. The comfort of being around you and your father- he couldn’t quite explain it, but he had felt it ever since he was in third grade. He feels it now, at this moment, too.

“Well, it wouldn’t be a family bonfire without some s’mores. I’m gonna run to the main building, they have a convenience store in there,” Your father elucidates before hauling himself to his feet and breaking out into a jog. It leaves the two of you to take the unoccupied seats illuminated by the crackling fire. The warmth radiates onto your skin, and it feels so much like home that you close your eyes and smile to yourself.

“Y/N?” He hums close to your ear, the deep tone of his voice sending shivers down your spine despite the heat from the fire. Your eyes flutter open at the prompt, humming in response before your breath hitches when his face comes into view just inches from yours. “Can I kiss you again?”

There’s a grin on his face that you’d love to punch off, but being that it’s Jaemin you find it hard to act on that inkling. It’s a guilty pleasure relishing in how handsome he is. You nod once, holding the side of his face with one hand and closing the little distance between your faces.

Your first kiss with Jaemin was heavy, rushed. Trying to keep up with his pace was difficult, and you were one step behind for most of it. That’s not to say it was a bad kiss, but you knew the raw emotions behind it were the cause of such rash actions. At the moment, it was what he needed. Your lips clouded his haunting thoughts, and he felt content with that.

This time, though, his kiss is much different. He takes his time drinking in the flavor of your peach flavored lip balm, his bottom lips fitting perfectly between yours. It’s a push and pull between your mouths, his tongue darting out the tiniest bit when you draw his face closer to yours. You respond immediately, lips parting just enough for his muscle to delve deeper.

It seems to last forever, and you don’t mind a bit. The sensation makes it feel like fireworks are exploding within your chest with every second that passes. You feel his jaw muscles tense and move with every single one of his motions as you continue to kiss him until you have absolutely no air left in your lungs.

Begrudgingly, Jaemin pulls away from the heat of your lips and leans towards the heat of the flames. His lips are quirked up in yet another grin, but you don’t mind this one half as much.

“Thank you, for everything.” His head turns towards you momentarily, and you take the opportunity to peck his lips once as a way of saying ‘you’re welcome.’ His thank you doesn’t satisfy him, though, so he continues. “Being here with you and your dad- it just means a lot.”

You can deduce that he’s still struggling with communication, being that he’s locked himself away from it for so many years. But he’s trying, and you’re trying. And that’s all that matters.

“You always have a spot at family bonfires.” He smiles at the declaration, chastely kissing the tip of your nose out of pure affection. He never felt the need to be so touchy until he reconnected with you, and suddenly all he wanted to do was be close to you- physically and emotionally.

“Ready for s’mores?” Your dad calls, pacing over to his chair with a plastic grocery bag in one hand and a bunch of sticks in the other.

You and Jaemin throw a knowing glance at each other, before grabbing the needed components and recreating the happiest moments of your childhood. The stars burn almost as bright as the other night, captivating Jaemin’s attention as soon as he dares to look up. The constellations always fascinated him, and he always admired how a star was beautiful on its own. But its life seemed even more beautiful when burning next to a number of bright stars. He contemplates this over in his head as the night rolls on, with you cuddled into the side of his chest and the warm lighting that emits from the fire illuminates your face in the most breathtaking way.

Life will never be the same as it was, he realizes. Jaemin knows the memories are all he can cling to. But the moments in life he plans on spending with you- those are what he wished upon shooting stars for.

[redhairedfeistynerd]

Life is Gourd

For @sunmoonandbucky​ and the delightful 1.5 challenge that was posted eons ago. Thank you for your patience.

This short piece is only the start for this sweet trio - more will be posted in the coming week. Word count: 1600+ Warnings: frustrated Bucky, soft Bucky, sad kids

Single Dad Bucky

The first year after his divorce was the hardest – starting over on his own with his two young children has its ups and downs and he just wants a few regular moments with them. 

“No daddy, that’s all wrong!” Piper whined, her face dropping, clearly disappointed with her father’s work.

Bucky looks at his daughter, she had definitely mastered the art of pouting. He cut into the pumpkin again, trying to fix the mouth he carved. “You told me you wanted a smile with two teeth and that’s what I carved for you, Pip,” Bucky said as he pulled out the knife and placed it next to orange creation.  

“I wanted the two teeth on the top, not on the bottom,” said Piper, her bottom lip quivering and eyes starting to well up with tears. “It needs to look like my teeth,” she says, pointing to the two empty spaces in her mouth. “You should know that daddy.”

Bucky let out a sigh, this was the part of parenting that he found frustrating. The pouting. The tears. The dreadful whining. The faces his daughter could pull off were worthy of an Academy Award. He felt defeated by the 4-year-old standing beside him. Running his hand through his hair, he took a deep breath and tried to keep calm. Today was supposed to be an easy day, one where he could take his girls out and do something normal, something that brought joy and smiles to his daughter’s tiny faces. Their schedule was clear – no work, no school, and no daycare. He needed this time with his girls, it was important to feel like a family again and pumpkin carving was the best way to start. 

“How’s your masterpiece coming along,” a female voice asked from behind Bucky, snapping him out of his self-talk.

Turning around, he saw one of the female employees of the rec centre he frequented with his young daughters. He had noticed her behind the front desk the first time he brought Piper to swimming lessons the year before. She offered a friendly smile and a quick tour of the amenities and let Bucky know she would be there for the next hour if he had any other questions. Here she was today, dressed for Halloween and willing to help all the families in the gym.  

“My daddy made a mess of it,” Piper replied as she pointed to the pumpkins toothy grin. “He put the teeth in the wrong spot and I don’t like it.”

Bucky’s cheeks warmed, embarrassed by being called out by his daughter. Of course, she would blab about that right away. Defeated again. No Father of the Year award for him.

“You ok there? You’re looking a bit flushed in the face, Mr…”

“Barnes. My daddy is Mr. Barnes, lady,” Piper offered.

“Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.” Standing up from his chair, he reached out to shake the woman’s hand. She slipped her hand into his, her grip tight and covered in slime; pumpkin guts he notices as he pulled his hand back. His blue eyes ran over her quickly – hair pulled back, Halloween headband with ghosts on springs bounced as she walked over to the stroller.  

“And who is this little sweet pea?” She asked Piper, peeking into see the sleeping ladybug in the stroller.  

“Riley. That’s my little sister, so that means I’m the bigger one.” Piper points her thumbs towards her chest, clearly proud of her role of big sister.  

Bucky took in the scene in front of him; his daughter telling Y/L all about her little sister and what their plans were for this Halloween. He heard Piper ask what the women’s name was and cursed at himself for not asking her when they shook hands.

Y/N.

“Show me what you wanted your pumpkin to look like and maybe I can work with your daddy to fix it up for you.” She moved over to where the pumpkin was sitting, took a quick peek before squatting down to Piper’s level.  

“The teeth are wrong, daddy messed them up,” Piper tells Y/L, her tiny fingers pointing to her dad, clearly calling him out.  

Y/L looked up to Bucky, her eyebrow raised and trying to stifle a laugh; his daughter was not impressed with his handiwork.  

“What were you thinking, Piper? How did you want your pumpkin to look? Maybe a silly face?” Y/L asked. “A silly face like this,” she added while sticking her tongue out and rolling her eyes to one side.

Piper giggled and poked her fingers into the mouth, running her fingers over the two teeth. “The teeth should be on the top row, not the bottom. Sometimes daddy doesn’t listen-  

“Piper,” warned Bucky, “you don’t need to go and tell people that sort of thing. I’m trying my best here.” The comment agitated him, he really did try his best for the girls but this whole ‘single father’ thing was still fresh and instead of four ears to listen, there were now only two.  

Y/N nudged Bucky’s knee softly, “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m not going to judge you. I see you with the girls around the rec centre all the time. Swimming, art classes, and now you’re here for family pumpkin carving. You clearly hear what they want to do, don’t be so hard on yourself.” Y/N turned back to Piper, and explained how she was going to fix the pumpkin’s teeth.  

Bucky handed off the knife to Y/N and watches as she removes the teeth he had carved; she places them where Piper instructed her to. Pulling several toothpicks out of her apron, she presses them into the orange flesh quickly. He can hear her humming as she works away, her fingers are inside the pumpkin now and he can see the pieces shifting together to complete the puzzle. Standing back, she admires her work before revealing her makeover of the pumpkin.

“All right Piper, here’s the big reveal!” Turning the pumpkin towards Piper, she watches as delight spreading across her small face.

“Daddy! Look! Y/N is a pumpkin dentist. She fixed it and now it looks perfect.” Piper bounced around next to Bucky, her braided hair flopping with each jump. He feels a smile creeping up, with each of Piper’s movements, his face showing the happiness he feels inside.  

“How about we take a picture and you can show it to you mom?”

Y/N had expected the little girl’s face to light up and the mention of sharing their creation with the other parent. Instead, Piper turns to her father, face now solemn and looking to him for an answer. Y/N watches as Bucky pulls her to his chest and embraces her and whispers something into her ear. His large hands rub small circles on her back as she says something equally as quiet to him. Bucky looks over Piper’s head, his eyes meeting Y/N’s as he mouths ‘sorry’ to her. She’s not sure what the sorry is for and the confusion must show on her face because Bucky hugs his daughter once more and gently guides her to a table with other children decorating Halloween masks.  She skips over to a free chair and joins in as if nothing had happened.  

Hands in his pockets, he walks over to where Y/N is. “I appreciate you helping us out with the pumpkin, I’m pretty sure Piper was a few minutes away from a full on melt down.” He keeps his head down, sliding one foot back and forth on the gymnasium floor. “We’ve had a tough year, the three of us and I’m thankful that you took the time to help us out. It’s been hard for Piper without her mom around for family events,” he discloses.  

Y/L isn’t too sure how to respond, an awkwardness has fallen over both of them. She musters out ‘You’re welcome, Bucky’ and watches as he walks over to the craft table, crouching down to watch Piper as she paints a cat mask. He runs his hands gently across her dark braids and whispers something in her ear, making her grin and throw her arms around his shoulders. Wrapping his arms around her, he lifts her up and takes her mask from the table, a smile on his face as he walks back to where his younger child sleeps.  

“Can y/n come too?” Piper asks, tugging on Bucky’s sweater and jumping up and down.

Bucky can’t help but smile at his daughter’s enthusiasm. “How about you join us for a hot chocolate, we need to pay the pumpkin dentist somehow,” he asks.

“This dentist definitely takes sugary drinks as payment.” Y/L shoots a smile Bucky’s way. His blue eyes meet hers and he responds with a grin. “Give me a sec to check out and we can head out.”  

Bucky watched as the ghosts bob away from him, chuckling at how hilarious she looks. He can see her talking to an older gentleman, laughing as she hands him her apron, and jogs back to where he is standing with his girls. “I’m all clear and ready for marshmallows and whip cream,” she laughs and Piper gives her a high five.

“You um…forgot to take off your headband,” Bucky says shyly, hoping not to embarrass Y/L.

“There is no WAY I am taking these off, look how cute they are!” She reaches up and runs her hands over the fuzzy ghosts. “You like them, right Piper?” The little girl nods and reaches out for Y/L to hold her hand.

Bucky can’t help but smile. As hard as this day had been for him, it seems to be taking a positive turn. Piper is happy and he can’t seem to stop smiling. One hand on the stroller, he reaches with his free hand to hold Piper’s other hand.  

“Lead the way Pip, I bet I know exactly which shop you’re going to pick.”  

[creatingnikki]

Dearest Cat,

How has your experience as a 23-year-old been? I’m a month in – exactly – and I think it’s going pretty well. Of course, it’s not like I see any instant growth or changes but I see little new patterns and my stance growing stronger in things that matter, and it’s all been building for the last few years. It’s nice to see it getting finally materialised in actions, however.

I’m sorry about your breakup. I’ve never been in a long-term ‘official’ relationship but I have been in relationships that have fucked with my mind while breaking my heart so I know how it can significantly affect you for a while to come. And take it from someone who tried the long-distance thing for 6 months, it’s never worth it and it never works out anyway.

I have been, quite uncomfortably and amusingly, been watching a lot of Daniel Sloss stand up comedy and I literally just heard him talk about something I think you should hear too:

“When I was seven years old, my dad said something to me that to this day is the reason I will die alone. Very happily, I may add. But I was seven years old, I didn’t know what life was. I didn’t know what existence was, how the fuck would I know? So I thought I’d ask my dad ’cause he can fix a computer, so he must know. So I was like, “Dad, what do we all do? What’s the meaning of life? Why are we all here? What what the fuck?” And my dad loves his kids, so he wants to explain to his son in a way that he’ll understand, but unfortunately, his son’s a fuckhead. So he has to explain it in a way that a fuckhead will understand, and he accidentally did it perfectly, and it’s stuck with me since then.

This is what he said, right? I’m seven years old. He goes, “All right, buddy. Just imagine that your life, my life, everyone else’s individual life. Imagine all of our lives are like our own individual jigsaw puzzles. As we’re going through life, we’re just slowly piecing it together, bit by bit, based on experiences and lessons that we’ve learned until we get the best picture, but the thing is everyone has also lost the box for their jigsaw. So none of us know what the image we’re trying to make is, we’re just confidently fucking guessing. So the best way to do a jigsaw, when you don’t have the image to work off, is to start from the outside, the sides and the four corners. Family. Friends. Hobbies/interests. Job.

Now obviously, as you go through life, some of these bits are subject to change. Sometimes you’ll make new friends, and you’ll lose contact with old so you gotta move this corner around a bit. Sometimes you’ll get a job. That means you can’t have certain hobbies. You gotta decide then, “Do I want more me time or do I want more work time?” You gotta move the stuff around. Sometimes you’ll have a family member that dies, and they’ll leave a big hole in your life. In that moment you’ll have to find a way to fill that void, otherwise you’ll be incomplete forever. ”

Now, that made perfect sense to me, because I was seven years old. I fucking loved jigsaws. So I was like, “All right, okay. So once you’ve got the stuff on the outside, what’s the main bit of the image? What we are all working towards?” And he goes, “Well, that’s That’s the partner piece. You and this perfect person who you’ve never met before to come out of nowhere, fit your life perfectly, complete you and make you whole for the first time in your life, much like your mother did for me. ” Seven. Seven years old. I wish you just said, “Ice cream!” And we could have fucked off.

And even though what he said sounds sweet and whatever, what it manifested in my seven-year-old brain was this, “If you are not with someone, you are broken. If you are not with someone, you are incomplete. If you are not with someone, you are not whole. ”

And that’s not just something my dad made me feel, that’s something that we as a society have made every single child born in the last 40 years feel. Every Disney princess has a prince, every prince has a princess, every television show or movie always has a character in it that doesn’t want to be in a relationship. They’re happy with who they are. But then by the end of the series, guess what. They were wrong! They were wrong for wanting to be alone, what a fucking idiot. Everyone needs someone, yeah. They were just a toasty little marshmallow, weren’t they? It’s all to do with love.

Divorce, an entirely common thing that there is nothing wrong with. When you’re growing up and your friends’ parents get divorced, you’re told to not talk about it or mention it to them because it’s taboo, and it is taboo is because every relationship on the outside is perfect, because none of us are willing to admit that none of us know what the fuck we’re doing. And when you raise children in that world, where everything points towards love and everything’s perfect on the outside, when you’ve raised them for 18 fucking years, when we become an adult for the first time in our late teens and our early 20s, we’re so terrified.

We’re so trying to be an adult that some of us will take the wrong person, the wrong jigsaw piece and just fucking jam them into our jigsaws anyway, denying that they clearly don’t fit. Oh, we’ll move pieces out the way, I don’t need this hobby, I don’t need this opinion. Mom who? The bitch with the tits. What’s she done for me recently? I’m gonna force this fucking person into our lives because we’d much rather have something than nothing. Then five years later, you’re stood looking at a jigsaw you don’t recognize, being like, “Ah! There’s a fucking cunt in the middle of this.”

Maybe you do meet the perfect person. Maybe you meet them, you go out. They make you laugh. You make them laugh. They’ve got a stupid laugh, but you fucking love it. They like what you like. They like your idiosyncrasies. It’s great. It’s perfect. Oh, my God, they’ve completed you. For three months. Every relationship is perfect for three months. And here’s why. ‘Cause after three months, that’s when you realize that nobody else is a jigsaw piece.

Everyone else on this planet is as deep and as complex and individual as you are, which means they too have spent the last 20 or so years of their life working on their own jigsaw puzzle, in the same way that you’ve been working on yours. You can’t suddenly expect them to give up everything they’ve come to achieve to suddenly fit into yours in the same way that you’d be pissed off if they asked you to sacrifice everything you’ve done, suddenly come fit into theirs, but now, because you like each other and because you’re interested in each other, now you have to make a jigsaw together. And we all know how fucking annoying that is. But you do it ’cause you’re in love and you’re interested, and maybe for the first couple years, it’s great. It’s like, “Oh, my God, you love this bit of me. I love this bit of you. Oh, my God, we got the same thing, yeah!” 

But time does not equal success. You can spend five or more years with someone, and only then, after all the fun you had, be looking at the jigsaw and realize you’re both working towards very different images. Only then realize that you want different things. And in that moment, you have a very, very difficult question to ask yourself. One. Do I admit the last five years of my life have been a waste? Two. Do I waste the rest of my life? 55% of marriages end in divorce. 99. 0% of relationships that started before they are 30 end. If those were the stats for surgery, none of us would fucking risk it. But because it’s love and we’re stupid, we just lie on the operating table like, “Maybe this time I won’t die inside. ” My generation has become so obsessed with starting the rest of their lives that they’re willing to give up the one they are currently living. We have romanticized the idea of romance, and it is cancerous. People are more in love with the idea of love than the person they are with.”

You should definitely watch his whole special on Netflix. That guy makes you uncomfortable. But he also makes you laugh. And sometimes, like in his above sketch, he makes you really think.

I think he has said all I would want to tell you about your break up – and I hope it’s helpful because I spent 30 minutes trying to find its transcript haha. And I don’t know what his conclusion really is, I still have the rest of the show to watch, but I think….I think love will come to us when it has to. Until then we just have to live our lives with joy and love for ourselves anyway.

Your meaning of love…I described something similar when I spent 13th Feb – the night before Valentine’s Day making my profile on Hinge. And that’s the thing that most people don’t understand – while 90% people I know first care about the physical appearance of the person, I care about whether we connect and have a spark. Whether we can make each other laugh and kinda just be at the same level/frequency. As you said…Connection of minds and souls and knowing each other to your core. Interestingly, there’s something that hit me like a fucking truck a few months ago and I scribbled it down before it had the chance to move on and leave me confused:

All this. Writing in your journal, underlining sentences in books, taking pictures you’ll never put up on social media or show anyone. All this is your consistent and earnest effort to try to communicate and connect with your past self and get to know your future self and coordinate between the three dimensions of who you were, are and will be. It’s all for you. By you. No one else needs to validate you. Or understand you. Or question you. It’s not their place, it never was.

You need to realize the person your past self was trying to become. The person your future self will need to be. You need to have patience when you can’t figure it out. When you feel betrayed. Because no matter how lacking you may be, you will never have any malicious intentions. You’ll not be flaky, you’ll not be weak, you’ll not throw yourself under the bus. Writing letters to yourself, making playlists so meticulously to capture every season, every mood and continuing despite being uncertain and confused…it’s all you reaching out to yourself.

And I think…it’s when we’re earnestly and constantly trying to connect with ourselves when we come across a person who does the same…we will easily and naturally connect with them, their energy.

I realize that due to the Jigsaw sketch by Daniel Sloss this letter has gotten pretty lengthy. But I still want to talk to you for some more. I hope you’re with me and have connected with my words up until now

About the work friends and how they were there for you and made you feel…isn’t that one of the most comforting, lovely and reliving things? Kinda unexpected too, no? I remember last year, a random lunch on a random workday, I looked around at these 4 smart, brilliant, kind and strong women – my co-workers and friends – at the round lunch table talking about meaningful things – personal and worldly – as we always did and just thinking – wow, finally, I finally belong! I’ve always been a very one-to-one person when it came to friends and was never part of a group (other than groups that feel absolutely uncomfortable and unwelcomed) that was so accepting, loving, sensitive and sincere. And smart! Gosh, so damn smart!

Soon after, each of us left that company – horrible management – and it’s been a year now. We are in touch but of course, it’s never going to be the same as before. And that’s okay. Just thinking of those times and them is enough to make me feel as loved and accepted as I did back in those days. And that’s what I want to tell you – you will come across such people who will truly care about you and help you nurture yourself but their life will overlap with yours just for a while. As a child, this would make me sad and angry! Now, it only makes me super grateful and mindful about being present in the moment that is now, in the life I am living right now. And I hope you can too

So, Cat, I don’t know how many months you have of being 23 but I hope they are all, as well as the coming years, full of connecting with yourself, with people that genuinely care about your well-being and growth and with everything that brings you joy and peace.

Lots of love,

Nikki

I wrote this letter for Nura basis some questions they answered. You can read the questions and their answers here. 

Guys - I have received 29 people’s responses for The Love Project - 29 days of love letters. So I won’t be accepting anymore, however, you can read other letters here. 

I may do this again later in the year and if you would want to receive a love letter from me then, you can drop in your email ID here xoxo

[msjr0119]

Cordonian Wags

Part 13 - We are family

In a world full of Professional footballers and their demanding wives- can their football team nicknamed the ‘Cordonian Apples’ succeed? An American female physiotherapist joins the club. Will this cause issues with the footballers wives?

*This series is based on The Royal Romance characters who belong to Pixelberry - AU Plot switch*

Tags:

@annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @whenyourheartskipsabeat @jovialyouthmusic @nz1091 @yukinagato2012 @indiacater @seriouslybadchoices @rainbowsinthestorm

******

Madeleine didn’t attend the meal, neither did Kiara. Instead the women decided to meet up with each other- to drown each other’s sorrow. Madeleine always believed that she had full control over her relationship with Leo and that he would never actually provide her with divorce papers.

“The bastard is divorcing me Ki, that Brooks girl has caused all of this. Why aren’t you as angry as I am? She stole your man and now her sister has stolen mine.”

“What can I do Maddy? The fake pregnancy didn’t help me keep him. He looks at her like he used to look at me. And Leo will just be bluffing. Unlike Riley she has a life in the states.”

Madeleine began to think, maybe Kiara was right. Maybe Leo just had lust for this woman- she may not be his usual one night stand but she didn’t belong in cordonia, neither did Riley Brooks.

“Kiara, if we hold on- we may get our men back. Riley is only contracted to one season, if we convince Constantine to not renew that contract you will get Drake back and I’ll be able to keep my husband.”

*****

Olivia returned home, Liam and Leo had waited up for her. The journey back was silent- Olivia just kept repeating Reginas words in her mind. She had a suspicion about who the secret love child was- but needed the two brothers to help her confirm if it could be accurate.

Storming through the door, she held onto the doorframe removing her heels- walking into the kitchen she poured herself a glass of wine. The two men joined her.

“So?” They both waited eagerly for Olivia to elaborate. She liked to keep people waiting and guessing when she had gossip- which frustrated everyone.

“How would you both feel about having another brother?” They both looked at each wondering how drunk she was. Noticing their bewildered expressions- she shook her head.

“Regina was very quiet. Not her usual self. I think Xavier is your brother. As a result of one of your father’s many affairs.”

******

Drake woke up, still holding on to Riley. He was going to keep his promise about not letting her go and protecting her. Sneaking out of bed, he decided to go downstairs to make her breakfast in bed.

Walking into the kitchen, he had an audience giving him a look. A look that kill. They all looked exhausted. Bianca robotically strolled over to him passing him a black coffee- I think you’ll need this, did you use protection?

Drake had wondered why his Mom kept repeating those words. Lying he nodded, he and Riley never really spoke about contraception. Every time they were together it just happened.

“Bastien can I make some breakfast please? I’ll take it up for her.”

“Why? Why doesn’t she come down? Not wanting to do the walk of shame?” Lindsey smirked and winked at Drake. Even though she was slightly traumatised hearing her little sister have sex, she was happy that the blushing man stood in front of her could finally make her sister feel like a princess.

“She’s asleep. I just want to do something nice for her. Lindsey there was something I wanted to ask you. It’s her birthday Saturday- I wanted to ask if you’ll come shopping with me.”

“Sure. When?”

“Later on?”

“It’s a date. Well not a date. You know what I mean. What are you getting her?”

“I want to get her two things. Something sentimental and something that she deserves.”

Lindsey nodded and smiled, wondering what he was considering buying her- she couldn’t wait to find out.

*****

Xavier knocked on Constantine’s door, seeing Riley again made him regret everything that he had done in the past to her. He loved her, he was stressed out that his career had ended prematurely. It was no excuse to use his wife as a punch bag. Since receiving the divorce papers, reality sunk in deep and hard. Having this opportunity to spend time with his wife he was hoping to make amends.

“Good morning, how may I help?”

“I’ve been thinking about the first match that I’ll be managing, I’ve drafted out some tactics for the team. Also it’s Riley’s birthday. I was thinking it would be nice for her to miss the match- maybe Bastien could stand in?”

“Unfortunately she will have to be present, I will make sure that she can leave early though. Are you still in love with her?” Xavier looked defeated, he knew she would never return his love again- he blew his changes with his wife who once adored the back bones of him.

“Of course I am. I messed up. I understand that now. I’ve had counselling and I believe that I could make a better husband. And I want to get to know my brothers too.” Patting Xavier on the shoulder, he knew paying for the counselling sessions for his son would change him. He could see a difference in him already.

“I will arrange for a family meal between you and I, Liam, Leo and Riley. They deserve to know the truth. Only Regina knows. Leave it to me.”

*****

Drake had made a breakfast fit for a Queen, hoping that she would appreciate it. The aroma of; cronuts, fresh fruit, bacon, eggs, hash browns lingered in the room. Riley fluttered her eyes open, seeing Drake sat in front of her smiling and admiring her.

“Good morning sleeping beauty.”

“Morning. What’s all this?” Smiling, she looked at all the food in front of her. No one had done such a spontaneous gesture for her.

“Breakfast in bed, for my gorgeous girlfriend.”

“That sounds so surreal.” Drake slipped into bed, holding her lovingly.

“So, I know this conversation is a bit late to discuss, since we met we have had occasions where we haven’t been careful. I know it’s mainly my fault and I’ll be careful. I’ll keep a condom with me at all times.”

“Drake... I’m on the implant. I know it’s not 100% but it’s something. Don’t worry.” He knew it wasn’t sensible just relying on the implant, he had always wanted to plan children, plan a family- if there was an accidental unplanned pregnancy this soon in the relationship he wasn’t sure how either of them would react.

“I’ll still be careful. Erm, I’m going out this afternoon- so I thought we could spend this morning together. Do something together. What do you want to do? I’ve got an idea.”

“I don’t mind. What is your idea?” She was intrigued at what he was going to suggest. Every second she spent with him filled her heart with joy. They could spend the day at a dump site and she would be happy. As long as he was with her, she didn’t care.

“It’s a place called the ‘forgotten falls’, it’s beautiful. You’ll need some swimwear though.”

“Oh. Well looks like I’ll have to go home and get some then, or we could skinny dip.” She said winking, Drake knew she was teasing him but he wouldn’t mind the suggestion.

*****

Arriving at the forgotten falls after doing a de tour via Riley’s apartment, she couldn’t admire the scenery enough- it was breathtaking.

“So there’s a story about the waterfall. If two lovers climb to the top and jump in it is said that they will get a blessing from the lady of the waterfall.” Riley raised her eyebrows up at him- folding her arms.

“That is so sweet, but are not doing that Walker, have you forgotten about your ankle?” Riley still raising her eyebrows as he smirked at her, she wasn’t going to get blamed for causing for harm or injury.

“I knew you’d react like that. But honestly it’s beautiful here- we could just have a swim? Chill out?” Drake rolled his ankle in a circular motion, trying to convince her that he was fine.

“Sounds perfect. And besides I don’t need a blessing. We just need each other and that’s all.” Raising onto her tip toes, she wrapped her arms around him- tightly not wanting to let go, before kissing him gently on the lips. The kiss became more passionate before Drake picked her up- walking into the crystal see through water. Peppering her body with tender kisses, the world around them melted away. The two of them couldn’t resist each other- sneakily they had sex in the sea- the passion between them both was undeniable. They were falling in love, both of them needed a positive love story.

“I never thought I’d find anyone like you. You are so precious.” He said as he stroked her cheeks, admiring her. She was his and he couldn’t quite believe his luck.

“Your such a marshmallow. Where’s that grump that hated me as a child?” Reminiscing What Bastien has told them, she never thought the grumpy child would become someone she was beginning to love.

“I didn’t mean that. Well I probably did. I just wish bastien had continued to take us to the states to you.” Sitting up, Riley also thought about this. Wondering if they had met any other times. If so why couldn’t she remember?

“So do I. But should maybe question him as to why he didn’t.”

“I don’t care. Fate brought us together and I’m never letting you go. I’m falling hard for you, and I want to keep falling.” Drake placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, and snuggled into her. The remained like that for a while, before retrieving their belongings and heading back to his car.

*******

Drake dropped Riley off back home, giving her a goodbye kiss- he missed her immediately. Meeting Lindsey in the capitol, she looked more awake than she did this morning.

“So, what are you buying her. I’m so intrigued.” Drake smirked, staying silent. He had showered Kiara with gifts in the past, but she never appreciated them. He knew the slightest minuscule present would light Riley’s eyes up. Leading Lindsey to the toy shop- she thought this was some kind of joke.

“You do know she’s 24? Not 2.” Lindsey looked bewildered at him, whilst he laughed shaking his head.

“So, when bastien and my mom explained that we came to your parents house when we were younger. I apparently hurt her doll. It may sound stupid, but I thought it was a bit sentimental. I can’t remember what kind of doll it was so i was hoping you’d remember.” He prayed that she would think it was a sweet idea, and not laugh in his face. That sort of rejection would stab him in the heart. Riley appreciated the last sentimental gesture he did, so hoped he could do it again.

“You’re so damn cute. You know that? It was just a bog standard doll, I never understood why she loved it so much. And you actually fucked up the dolls leg. She never forgave you for it. When you guys left she said and I quote ‘I don’t like that big boy.’ We had two full days of tantrums, until my father replaced it. She was definitely a daddy’s girl- had him wrapped around her little finger. This one looked like the one she had.” She pointed to the doll, Drake looked at it with a scowl on his face- Lindsey was right, there was nothing special about it. It wasn’t as if it was a special edition Barbie doll.

“I didn’t like that little girl either. Who would have thought that fate would make us fall in love.” Lindsey noticed a slight blush on his face, she knew he had it bad. Was it possible to fall in love in a matter of days? She wasn’t sure, but seeing her sister and Drake look at each other she had a feeling that they would have a great future together.

“Have you already said those three words?”

“Not quite. She said she was falling for me and that she knew it was too early, but I feel the same. I was a jerk to her at first, but seeing her that first night I had to follow her on to the balcony. Her smile lit up the room.”

“You know you had a girlfriend at the time you made a move on my sister. It’s all very touching that you love each other- but Drake.. if you hurt her I will kill you.” Drake shuddered at the thought of what she would do to him, if he ever upset Riley. He wasn’t intending to, but the thought still crossed his mind. The way Lindsey’s facial expression changed from a teasing smile to dagger eyes - he dread to think what she would do if Leo was ever going to be in the doghouse.

“I’m not going to hurt her Linz. You have my word. Come on, I have to get her a proper present.”

******

Riley made her way to the stadium, Constantine had rung her demanding for an urgent meeting. She text Lindsey informing her that she wasn’t sure what time she would be back home.

“Come in Riley.” Gulping, she didn’t know what to expect. Now assuming it was just a meeting between him and her as he knew who it was at the door.

“Sorry for this impromptu meeting. I want a word with you before we meet the others.” Sliding his phone over to her, he laid back in his chair- his fingers resting on his lips waiting for a response. Looking down at the phone. there was an article on it- her eyes widened shit.

The Apples injured player, Drake Walker gets cosy and intimate with the teams new physio, Riley Brooks. A source explains that Mr Walker has only just recently split up with his ex girlfriend. Will a scandal like this cause trouble for the team?

“Can you explain your relationship with Walker to me?”

“You know about our kiss. Neither of us expected it to go any further- it just happened.”

“Have either of you considered how Kiara and Xavier may feel about this?”

“Who the fuck do you think you are criticising me? You’re fucking Kiara- and myself and Xavier are technically separated - soon to be divorced. But don’t worry I will be civil with him for the rest of the season.”

“My relationship with Kiara and Madeleine is no secret Miss Brooks. Your husband still loves you- and is hurt. He has had counselling and is a changed man.”

“How do you know that he is apparently a changed man? You don’t know him!”

“I just have that feeling. Come on we are going to be late.”

*******

Walking down the hallway, they entered the room where Regina, Liam, Leo and Xavier were sat. The two brothers gave Xavier daggers. The estranged husband stood up and greeted Riley, kissing her on her cheek- she couldn’t react quick enough. He made her skin crawl.

“Hola mi bella esposa.”

“Joder a mi marido gilipollas”

Liam and Leo wondered what they had said, they didn’t know Spanish. Riley forced herself to sit between the two of them- face like thunder. Seeing the two brothers bewildered expressions, it was time to teach them a bit of Spanish.

“He said, ‘hello my beautiful wife’ and I responded telling him to fuck off and that he was an arsehole. Why are we here?”

“I’m glad you asked Riley.” Constantine overheard her talking to his sons. “Leo, Liam. Xavier isn’t only just the teams new manager, he’s....”

“Our brother.” They both said in unison, Riley looked as if she was about to faint.

“How do you know? Well that saves all the awkwardness.”

Riley shook her head, in astonishment. Anything could happen in this country- what was going to happen next? She was just glad she had eyes for Drake and not the two brothers- her brothers in laws. The meal was silent, Xavier and Constantine chatted making small talk. Riley spun the same strand of spaghetti on her fork in a trance, needed to ignore the fact that she was trapped in this ‘family meal’. Liam and Leo were ready to commit murder- quite literally. The way their father was acting around Xavier was sickening. Both staring at Riley, she was vacant and still as if she was under a spell.

“Riley?” Liam whispered.

“Ri. Speak to us. We can leave.” Leo also whispered. She was mute.

“Your wedding was beautiful. Riley looked absolutely breathtaking.” Snapping her head up, she thought she had imagined what had just been said.

“How do you know about my wedding? And what I looked like? Have you been googling me?”

“No. I was there. In the shadows of course- we couldn’t cause a scandal.”

“I wanted to tell you baby.” Riley’s body began trembling. Punching the table as she stood up abruptly- Liam and Leo became concerned and considered dragging her out kicking and screaming. They didn’t want to be there either.

“Don’t ever fucking call me that! You never told me a damn thing during our marriage! I had to find out every dirty little secret through the press when my face was plastered all over the Sun and Daily Mirror.”

“I’m a changed man. I love you.” Leo stood next to her as she began crying uncontrollably.

“You will never change.” She barely said, feeling like she was hyperventilating.

“I asked for you to have Saturday off- relax on your birthday. I still think about you and I love you.”

“Shut the fuck up! You don’t know anything about love. Oh you give a shit about my birthday- tell me something darling, what happened around my last birthday?” Xavier looked confused at his wife who strolled up to him. Grabbing his collar in her fists, scowling at him- anger had built up, she had an adrenaline rush- she wasn’t scared of him anymore and could defend herself. He had counselling, she had self defence classes.

“Oh let me remind you! I spent my last birthday at some charity event. The day after, you was supposed to take me out, instead I was having the shit beat out of me by you. Then that night I was rushed to hospital, with my sister by my side afterwards- she came from fucking New York on the first flight! Where was you? Fucking your ex teammates wife! What was I doing? Giving birth to our son who you killed! Holding him whilst he wasn’t breathing, having his footprints on a piece of paper is the only memory I have of him.”

It was Riley’s birthday weekend, Xavier had decided to treat his wife to a classy meal - a way to make up to for his atrocious past behaviour.

“Who are the flowers and gifts from?”

“The club. They are lovely aren’t they?” She said as she smelt the sweet aroma.

“Who the fuck do they think they are sending you gifts? You are my wife. You only need gifts from me.” Holding her tightly he warned her to not accept gifts from anyone but him. Reverting his gaze to the gifts- he threw them off the table. Seeing him full of anger, shaking he stormed over towards her- after that was a blur for Riley. The room was spinning, she had been unconscious for only a few minutes. Standing up, she noticed the puddle of blood surrounding her- the blood dripping from her nose but also down her legs.

Linz I’m losing the baby. He did it again. I’m bleeding.

I’m getting the next flight. You’re not losing him. Don’t worry. Please leave him and come back with me. I’ll be there ASAP. I love you so much xxx

Riley was surrounded by the noise of new born babies, she had given birth all alone. She was fed up with everyone apologising. Holding her baby that had died, she didn’t want to let him go. The midwife handed her a picture of her son’s footprints. Lindsey arrived a few hours later, dealing with the press- she was going to look out for her baby sister. Grieving together- Riley felt like she couldn’t live herself. She was empty. Upset. Angry. Feeling guilty that she couldn’t protect her child.

“Baby, I’m so sorry. We can try again. Our marriage and to have a baby.”

“You’re a fucking moron! If I ever get pregnant again it’ll be a miracle and it won’t be with you. Sign the goddamn papers Xavier. I am done with you! Excuse me, I’ll see you all at training tomorrow.” Swiftly exiting out the room, she began to shake. Getting in her car she didn’t know where she was heading.

*******

Liam and Leo were furious with Xavier and their father- you can choose your friends but not family. They both immediately went to Riley’s apartment, they wanted her to know that she had people on her side. There was no response. They assumed that she would have gone to Drake- arriving at his cabin, they explained what had happened. Drake was furious- trying to contact her himself he couldn’t get through. The three men went to Liam’s house, if anyone knew where she would have gone it would be Lindsey. Lindsey and Olivia got on like a house on fire- waiting for the men to arrive back, they was shocked seeing the stray following them in.

“Lindsey have you heard from Riley?” Lindsey looked concerned, the brothers explained what had happened.

“That fucking bastard. I’m going to kill him.”

“I’ve got some daggers you can lend” Liam’s eyes widened at her comment- she just laughed as he shook his head.

“I’ll use my fists, us New Yorkers aren’t afraid. Are there any churches around here?” They all thought she was pulling their legs, she noticed them all laughing but she was frustrated as she was being sincere and serious.

“I’m being serious. She always goes and prays around this time of the year. Lights a candle for her son. I think she will have gone to find a church. Or....”

“Or?” They all said in unison.

“She’s gone home to Manchester.”