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unmaskedagain · 4 years

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Marinette: Crazy Rich

So in this fic,. If you’ve seen Crazy Rich Asians, you’ll know why as the fic goes on. Also, I totally ripped a few lines from Girl Meets World; fans of the show will recognize them instantly!!!

They met when they were young; younger than either of them remember. The first time, Marinette and Ali had both in babes in their cribs when their grandmothers’ introduced them. The second time, they just learn to walk and or run, and seemed love making a mess of everything; again not something they could remember but had plenty of pictures of.

The third time, and the one they both remembered, Marinette had been just six-years-old. Ali had been seven. They each were the apple of their grandmother’s eyes. Their grandmothers were best friends having known each other since they were little girls.

It had been a playdate at one of the Young family homes. Ali had worn a dapper grey suit that would look ridiculously expensive on an adult man, let alone a child that just barely learned to tie his shoes. Marinette had worn a darling silvery purple dress that was closer to a ball gown than any dress any other four-year-old girl would wear to a playdate.

Both kids shyly hid their faces behind their grandmother’s skirts and had to be coaxed softly to greet each other.

Prince Ali bowed regally as he had been taught, “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Young.” He was a handsome boy with dark-skin, olive-green eyes, and black hair. Ali always wore a charming smile on his face as expected of him. He was a Prince, and while it wasn’t easy, he did what of expected of him.

“It is an honor, Prince Ali,” Marinette curtseyed gracefully. She was a beautiful girl with long black hair and bluebell eyes. She was the essence of a perfect little lady. “We have a wonderful playroom that I would like to show you if you able?”

Prince Ali looked to his grandmother for an answered. She nodded silently, an amused smile on his face. The young prince grinned, “Yes, please.” He held his arm out for Marinette. She took it, a pink blush on her face, and they walked side by side out of the foyer, their perspective bodyguards trailing after them, while their grandmothers’ cooed in the background before departing to have tea.

The playroom was larger than three apartments combined; it had specific areas dedicated to art, sports, video games, tea parties, a jungle gym built to look like a castle, and even an area just for snacks. In order to get around, there were trampoline paths.

Prince Ali blinked in awe.

“You get used to it,” Marinette giggled. “Come on!” She grabbed his hand and ran across the trampoline path to the jungle gym. They jumped the entire way, their bodyguard watching from the distance ready to act if something went wrong.

“Call me Marinette,” Marinette said when they made it to the top. She pulled out two foams swords and handed him one. “Or Mari.

“Ali,” He said as he took the sword.

“I’m Pirate Captain Sparkle,” She yelled and pointed her sword. “And you my dreaded rival have come to steal my treasure… Captain.”

“Tiger Eye,” Ali nodded seriously. “Captain Tiger Eye. Engarde!”

The two pirate captains dueled all over the jungle gym before teaming up to defeat the evil space monsters that came to steal all the ice cream and candy in the world.

Ali laughed as he jumped into the foam ball pit after a giggling Marinette. They both laid there for a moment trying to catch their breaths as they stared at the ceiling painted to look like the night, each constellation connected.

“You’re not how I imagined,” Ali said.

Marinette hummed, “Spoiled rotten, uptight, crazy rich brat who only like tea parties and princess things; who’d cry the second I don’t get what I want?”

“Well… yes.”

She shrugged, “I get that a lot. I don’t know why. If I so much as considered for a moment of throwing a tantrum in public, my grandmother would have me shipped boarding school in Sweden. No matter what my parents said.”

Ali nodded, “Same. Though, mine would be in Scotland. My mother has a strong fascination with Harry Potter.”

“You’re not what I imagined either.”

“Stuffy prince, that always had his nose in the air,” Prince Ali started, “So he can look down on everyone; that expects everyone to bow and cater to his every whim?”

“That about covers it.”

He snorted, “My grandmother would have me scrubbing bedpans at one her hospitals the moment I ever said was better than anyone.”

Both laughed.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” Ali suddenly asked. “Always been told to do this, or that you can’t do that. Always being on your best behavior because of what people would think. I never get to do anything I want.”

Ali was the first grandchild and took after his grandmother Queen Aishwarya with his kind, fun-loving nature, as well as his ability to recognize authenticity in people. Like Aishwarya, Ali would later become a philanthropist who dedicated his time to volunteering at and donating money to child hospitals and leading the go-green initiative in his country. He wasn’t allowed to behave like most kids; never allow himself to be as free as them.

“Shoulders back and stand up straight,” Marinette recited. “Mind your manners, smile for the cameras. Always be clean and orderly. It’s like I’m a trophy. Don’t make a mess. Watch what you say but never let anyone think you can’t say it. Sometimes it sucks. But what I can I do. Can I really cry about it? I’m a rich, only child that gets everything I want… as long as I behave. There are expectations of me, and if I stay, I get shut down.” Hard.

Marinette spent her childhood split between France and Singapore. In Paris, she was able to relax as Marinette Dupain-Cheng the daughter of a pair of rather well-known bakers. In Singapore, she was Marinette Dupain-Cheng-Sung-Young or just Marinette Young for short; the granddaughter of Eleanor and Phillip Young, an heir of the wealthiest family in all of Singapore and most of the world. And people, her family mostly, and the paparazzi had expectations of Marinette Young.

Marinette Young was a Singaporean child socialite. The media referred to her as “The Princess” for her beauty and the impeccable fashion sense she distributed from a young age. She followed her older cousin Astrid to all the fashions, taking her cues from her.

“Yeah…”

Marinette lift her head to look at Ali, “What do you like to do?”

“I like to help people,” Ali murmured. “I like helping my grandmother at the hospitals and making sick kids feel better. Maybe be a doctor!”

“I like fashion, my cousin Astrid likes it too,” Marinette said. “So let’s make a deal. You help kids. I’ll work in fashion. That’s what we want to do so we’re going to do it. Okay?”

“Deal,” Ali nodded firmly and then looked thoughtful. “Are we friends?”

Marinette smiled, “Best friends.”

And so there were. Over the next few years, the two would meet up for playdates frequently. Eventually, Prince Ali would come to know Marinette Dupain-Cheng well too.

When the playdate ended, Marinette waved goodbye sadly as her new friend left.

That night, while her grandmother brushed her hair before bed, she asked. “Did you like Prince Ali?”

Marinette nodded, “Yes. He was very polite and played pretend really well.” She left off the part where he was a dreaded pirate captain because of details.

“Aishwarya and I thought you would like each other,” Eleanor nodded. “I’m glad to see you get along well. Hopefully, you will grow closer as you get older.”

“Why?” Marinette asked curiously. Her grandmother had never cared about whether she would still be friends with her playdates in the future. Normally, the playdates were a way to have a business meeting with it being obvious to the outside world that it was, in fact, a business meeting.

Eleanor smiled softly down at Marinette, looking less like the elegant scary Dragon-lady the media claimed she was, and more like any loving grandmother.

Eleanor knew she always favored Marinette, her first grandchild; even if she had severely frowned on her oldest daughter Sabine marrying a baker. Though she had frowned less once their bakery became a successful international chain, akin to Gordon Ramsey restaurants. Their headquarters in Singapore. In Eleanor’s defense, they came from a rather wealthy family and with roots of nobility. Who wouldn’t be a little upset if their heir and beloved daughter running off to marry a baker she met in France? Sabine had even gotten Nick and Astrid to help with her elopement.

It would be years before Eleanor manages to quell the snickers and rumors that persisted after Sabine’s departure, and just as long until she was willing to speak with her oldest child again. However, that was mostly because she learned Sabine was pregnant.

Eleanor was in France for the duration of the pregnancy and had loved Marinette instantly the second she was born. Her beautiful granddaughter with hair so black it looks blue in the right light, and bright blue eyes bluer than anyone could even imagine. It’s a wonder, Eleanor, ever let go of her. (But apparently, Tom had the right to hold his child too, or some nonsense like that.)

Because of her grandmother, Marinette’s childhood was… odder than most. While her parents preferred a more modest lifestyle despite their wealth, her mother’s side of the family… did not.

“Do you know how your grandfather and I met?” The older woman asked. Marinette shook her head no. “We met when we were really young, about you and Prince Ali’s age. Our parents were business partners who believed marriage was the best solidify the partnership, and bring up both of our families statuses. So we were betrothed.”

Marinette blinked, slowly understanding hit her. “It means engaged right?”

“In a way,” Eleanor nodded. “It meant we were promised to each other and that one day we would marry; uniting our families as one. Do you know why I’m telling you this?”

“The playdate,” Marinette said. “It was a test to see if Ali and could get along. We are to be promised to each other.”

Eleanor put the hairbrush down. “No. You are promised to each other. We finalized the arrangement today. The official betrothal will be announced after your thirteenth birthday. One day, you will marry Prince Ali. Prince Ali is the oldest child of Queen Aishwarya’s oldest son. Do you know what that means when you marry him?”

Marinette nodded, not fully understand what being married meant. Or what being betrothed meant but knew it was important. She thought of Snow White and Cinderella, and what marry a prince meant for them. “If I marry Ali, it means one day, I’ll be Queen.”

“You’ll be a princess,” Eleanor correct gently. “Queen Aishwarya’s steps down, which will not be for quite some time, her son and heir will take her place, and then one day Prince Ali will take his father’s place. Then you will be Queen.”

Marinette grew up dealing with the fact that she would one day be Queen the best way she could; she put it of mind. It wasn’t like her life changed all that much; she just attended more lessons than usual. Heck, her life changed more when she became Ladybug. So she was engaged to be engaged, so what? All that meant was that she couldn’t date anyone seriously. She could date though, which was what counted.

She and Prince Ali were still best friends and what girl didn’t want to marry her best friend?

When Marinette was thirteen, Prince Ali had a surprise visit to Paris under the guise of visiting the local children’s hospital. It was the first time he came to visit without his grandmother with him. And it was the first time Marinette met him without her grandmother there.

They met at a secluded rooftop restaurant. Prince Ali wore a dark suit. Marinette wore a stylish, elegant red dress, that coincidently matched Prince Ali’s tie. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun. When they sat down for dinner and a violin started to play, it took Marinette all but five seconds to realize what was going down.

“This is quite romantic. You could’ve had just asked me on a date, you know?” Marinette raised an eyebrow. “I might’ve said yes.”

Ali gave her a devilish smirk, “As if there was ever a chance you’d say no.”

His bodyguard huffed a laugh, “He was too chicken to ask.”

“Really, Kalil! Really!” Prince Ali face-palmed in the face of Marinette’s giggles. “It’s not funny,” He told her.

“Yes, it is.”

Ali sighed but gave a low chuckle, “It’s a little funny.”

It went silent as each tried to think of what to say.

“I just wanted to-” Ali started.

“I know that this-” Marinette said at the same time.

They both gave small laughs. Marinette nodded, “Please, go ahead.”

“We’re older now,” Ali swallowed hard. “You’re thirteen now. And I just wanted to… I wanted to know if it was still alright. If you were still open to marrying me? If not, we should be mature about it. We should let our grandparents know before the announcement. Then we’ll go our separate ways and never talk or see each other again if you want.”

“Save yourselves and our families the embarrassment,” She nodded. Marinette fought now to glance down; to not show weakness, as her grandmother taught her, as her mother taught her like Astrid taught her. She was a Young. Youngs’ were not weak. “Do you want to marry me?”

“I asked you first!” Ali whined, making his bodyguard snort.

“How old are you? Six?”

He stuck his tongue out, “Six and a half for your information.” Ali shook his head. “When we were little we made a deal. You’d go into fashion, and I’d help sick kids, help people all over the world because it’s what we wanted to do; not what anyone wants us to do. You’re a fashion designer. I’m a philanthropist. Pretty brave of us considering if Nick ever decides to run for the hills, you’d be shipped off to Harvard business school before you managed to make a protest. And if something, gods forbid, ever happen to my father; my grandmother would have me sworn in as the next king before I even buried him. Medical school or not. So let’s be brave again. Let’s only marry each other if that’s what we want. Deal.”

“Deal!” Marinette nodded. “So do you want to marry me?”

“Mari!” Ali groaned. “I asked first!”

“What point being?” Marinette said innocently. “Fine, let’s start with an easier question. Do you like me… like that?”

“Do you like me?”

Marinette’s bodyguard, Torivana, snickered in the background. Marinette glared. “I… like you, Ali.” Other than Ali, she had only ever had a crush on two other guys; both crushes were short-lived. Adrien, who was regulated to being the brother she always wanted after she learned he was Chat Noir and her parents all but adopted him. And Luka, she realized quickly, with his dyed hair, rock band, and future tattoos was the type of guy her grandmother would have assassinated before she’d let Marinette seen in a romantic relationship with. Plus, it didn’t help that Luka asked her if Adrien was single.

Ali was different though. Marinette had set out in the very beginning to not like Ali romantically, figuring she could break off the promise between the families if it was seen that there was no romantic feeling between the two. However, the more she fought not to like-like her best friend, the more she did.

“It’s you I like, Ali,” Marinette admitted, her heart beating wildly.

Ali looked at her for a moment, just really staring at her. “I like you too.” And he did. He fell for the blue-eyed badass that was his best friend. He’d known he liked her for the longest of times but was too afraid to tell her. “And I’d never want you to not be a part of my life. If you don’t know if you want to marry me, that’s fine. We can wait. I can wait. If you want to play the long game and see what happens. Okay. I’ll play the long game. Live your life, I'll live my life, I know you're out there... and I'm out there, too.

“That's your deal?”

“That's my deal.”

“Someday?”

“Someday.”

Marinette leaned forward, “I have a counteroffer.”

“You are definitely Eleanor Young’s granddaughter.”

“That’s a compliment,” Marinette shrugged. She took a deep breath and said, “I want to marry you; not just because of our families but because of our friendship. I think we’d be good together. We are good together. Maybe, I’m not in love with you now but maybe after some dates, whenever you buck up and ask me on a real one, and being girlfriend and boyfriend for a while, maybe I will be. If sometime in the future, when we get older, we change our minds, we’ll figure it out then. You fight my grandma, I’ll take on yours.”

“I want to marry you too,” Ali admitted, a small smile on his face. “You know you can ask me out too, right?”

“I could,” She stressed the second word.

They laughed and just looked at each other, olive-green eyes getting lost in blue and vice versa.

It was the sound of a throat clearing that made them jump out of it. Each blushed red as the waiter looked at them expectantly with a raised eyebrow and a smirk on her face.

“We should order,” Marinette said, opening up her menu quickly.

“Totally!”

They ignored their bodyguards chuckling in the background.

Outside of the Marinette Young universe, Marinette Dupain-Cheng found it a lot harder to be nice and amicable all the time. For starters, Lila had come back to school. She didn’t mind most of the lies she told. They were annoying, however, after years of dealing with faux-faced people, she could ignore most of them. She could even ignore that al her so-called friends believed them.

However, Marinette hated, absolutely hated when Lila lied about Prince Ali. The lies were utterly ridiculous but Marinette was overprotective and had half a mind to use every resource to have the Italian Embassy look into all of Lila’s travel claims. But she was better than that. She would not stoop to Lila’s level.

…

It took three months for Marinette to lose all her friends in class. They had simpered after Lila and her lies and believed Marinette to be a bully. They stopped hanging out with her, stopped inviting her places, and sent mean texts to her phone causing her to change her number. They openly declared they weren’t her friends anymore.

Again, this wasn’t something Marinette batted a lie at. She didn’t care what they did. Or said. As they long as they didn’t go too far, Marinette was fine with ignoring their existence. Should they step the line, Marinette would use everything in her power to destroy them.

It was a good thing after all. Her mother, Grandmother, Nick, Astrid, and everyone else in her family always taught her to be wary of fame-seekers and gold diggers.

It was clear that the class wasn’t really interested in what Lila did but the promises of what she could do for them. And if they had to toss aside a childhood friend to get into her good graces then so be it.

The class was getting ready to depart for winter break.

“Prince Ali and I are going to winter in Switzerland, you know.” Lila lied, causing Marinette’s eyes to narrow. “Every year since we were children. It snows all the time in Zurich. And he just loves it.”

First of all, Ali hated the cold. It was why Marinette insisted one of their playdates be in the Alps after he broke her favorite china doll; spite, pure spite. Second of all, it didn’t snow all the time in Zurich; barely at all.

Anyone could fact check the second one. But no one bothers. Not even the journalist of the class, Alya.

“We go with the Young family,” Lila continued. “One of the richest families in the world. I am friends with Lady Eleanor’s granddaughter.”

Marinette nearly fell down laughing right then and there.

At the end of class, her ex-best friend and the class’s new class president, stood up, “Don’t forget everyone, class party at my house,” Alya cast a quick glare at Marinette and Chloe who sat in the back. “At least for those of you invited.” Their other classmates snickered and threw vicious smiles at the girls.

“As if we’d want to go,” Chloe said. “We have plans for Winter break that doesn’t involve going to a last-minute, obviously poor planed party. That never happened in the last class president’s watch.”

Marinette smirked. “She’s right. We have plans. Chloe’s coming with me to visit my grandmother in Singapore. My family can’t wait to meet my best friend. Luka and Adrien will be attending as well.

Alya huffed at not getting the reaction she wanted. Also because she never got invited to go to Singapore with Marinette before, and they had been best friends for the longest time. Shows what kind of friend Marinette was! Lila would never do that to her.

Chloe, Adrien, Luka, Kagami, Ondine, Aurore, Claude, Mirielle, Nathanial, and Marc would all join Marinette for Winter Break. They were surprised when Marinette had offered to pay. Even more so when it was on a private plane.

Trust Chloe to be the first to say something.

“So you’re rich,” The blond asked.

Marinette hummed as she reads her magazine, “We’re comfortable.”

“That is exactly what a super-rich person would say,” Claude laughed.

When they got to Marinette’s home, that was less of a home and more of a palace, they realized just how right they were. Particularly when they saw the dolphins.

“So you’re crazy rich,” Claude correct.

During Winter break, once they got to Singapore, Marinette officially introduced her best friend, Prince Ali, to her other friends. They got along well, though he was a bit wary of Chloe at first.

At the Young Family New Years’ Eve celebration; which was closer to a giant festival, it was announced that Prince Ali and Marinette Dupain-Cheng-Sung-Young, the only grandchild of Phillip and Eleanor Young, would marry after Marinette’s 21st birthday. The new article was released shortly after; it was filled with pictures of them as children growing up together, depicting their friendship, each family’s wealth, and it told the agreed-upon lie that Prince Ali asked for her hand, as traditional in his country. The media went wild.

Marinette knew the moment it was announced and her picture was released that things would change. She wouldn’t just be Marinette Dupain-Cheng, daughter of bakers. At least she couldn’t pretend anymore. Marinette would be a princess; people talking about her, Ali, and the future royal wedding for years to come.

Once the celebrations had died down, her friends ganged up on her.

“A prince!” Chloe shrieked. “You’re marrying Prince Ali. How could you not tell me! I get to be the maid of honor to a Princess!”

Adrien glared, “Why are you the maid of honor. I’m practically her brother.”

“Exactly!” Chloe hissed. “Maid of Honor!”

“Oh, this is not over!”

That night Marinette, with her grandmother’s blessing, gave Aurore the exclusive scoop on the engagement via an interview and an article. Overnight, her blog became internally famous. Magazines and newspapers citing her as a source.

Returning to Paris had been wild. The moment they stepped off the plane, they were met with the flashes of cameras from the paparazzi; each one screaming her name.

“Marinette! How does it feel to be marrying Prince Ali?”

“DO you think you’re too young?”

“Are you ready to be a princess?”

Marinette ignored them all as she got into the limousine with her friends. “So that was pleasant.”

“That was insane!” Aurore laughed. “Is it always this bad?”

“No, Singaporean paparazzi are a bit tamer.”

The limo didn’t head to the bakery. Marinette nor her parents would be living there from then on. Instead, they bought the empty mansion across the street from Adrien’s home. They purchased it when her grandmother let them know the announcement would happen soon; giving them plenty of time to decorate. The gates were heavily lined with security.

“Oh we are so having our next sleepover here,” Mirielle said brightly when they got into the house.

“Are you going to miss living at the bakery?”

“Yes,” Both Marinette and Adrien said, causing Marinette to glare at her friend, “We talked about this; just because I had a bunk bed, did not make it your room too!”

Adrien huffed but clearly looked like he disagreed.

Luka chuckled and wrapped an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder, “Aww, babe. Did the mean girl hurt your feelings?”

“You were my friend first,” Marinette pinched her nose. “Where’s the loyalty?”

When school started back up again, Marinette’s limo literally went straight across the street to pick up Adrien.

Gabriel opened the door before Marinette even had the chance to knock. “Miss Dupain-Cheng-Sung-Young, an honor.”

Marinette eyed the man. He, while always polite, seemed nicer than she’d ever seen him before. Normally Marinette would fill the urge to fix her casual outfit. But today Marinette didn’t do casual. She wore a tan Cashmere sweater dress, stockings, with black Burberry heals, and a look of boredom on her face. Gone were the pigtails, instead Marinette’s hair flowed down her back. “Is Adrien ready for school, Mr. Agreste?”

“He will be down in one moment,” Gabriel answered. “Congratulations on your engagement. You and Prince Ali make a lovely couple.”

“Thank you.”

“I was unaware there was a Young in Paris,” Gabriel chimed. “I would have loved to arrange a few playdates between you and Adrien.”

Marinette smiled coldly, “Adrien is one of my dearest friends now. And while an official date hasn’t been set, I do hope I can count your attendance at my wedding. Despite recent… difficulties.”

Gabriel stiffened, “Difficulties? With Adrien?”

“With Lila Rossi,” Marinette corrected. “A model of yours. She has made several outlandish claims both towards the Young family, Prince Ali, as well as several celebrities. I fear the actions that would need to be taken to… rectify this. I sincerely hope the Agreste brand isn’t hurt in the process.”

Despite the subtly of her words, the threat was loud and clear. Fix Lila, ditch Lila, or we’ll destroy you.

Adrien came down the stairs in a rush, not noticing his father’s pale face. He and Marinette, and Gorilla left the older man still standing stunned.

Gabriel called for Nathalie, “Fire Miss Rossi immediately. Sever all connections, now!”

After Adrien, they picked up Kagami, whose mother was an old friend of Sabine’s as they had grown up together. Kagami had always known that Marinette was actually Marinette Young.

The next stop was Chloe who seemed more at home in Marinette’s limo that Marinette did.

When the got to school the paparazzi were still waiting. The bodyguards Gorilla and Torivana held guarded the children as they entered the school. Damocles was waiting at the door, a simpering smile on his face, and a greedy look in his eyes at the potential donations he could get from Marinette and her family.

Marinette cut him off before he could even open his mouth, “You expelled me without a proper investigation. Or going through the proper channel because of an ambassador’s daughter threw a hissy fit. You’ll be hearing my lawyers.”

The man paled so white Marinette thought he had died right then and there. Until she saw him shaking.

The bodyguards escorted the kids through the halls, where students stopped to watch the future princess pass.

When they got to class, they saw most of the students waiting.

The four ignored them and joined Nathaniel in back where they had been sentenced for not believing Lila.

“Girl!” Alya yelled with a grin on her face. “I can’t believe you’re marrying a prince! You should’ve invited me to your family’s party. I’d have loved to come.”

The others in class nodded. Though Rose did look a bit teary-eyed. That was when Marinette remembered her ex-friends crush on Ali.

“That party was dope, dudette!” Nino added. “How’d you get Beyonce to perform?”

Marinette smiled, “Shouldn’t you be hanging of Lila’s coattails somewhere. Where is Miss Rossi anyway?”

Alya shrugged, “She’s a liar, you were right. Best friends with the Young Heir, yeah right. You should’ve just told me you and Prince Ali were a thing, and I’d have believed you.”

“You should’ve fact-checked,” Chloe glared. “It was obvious she was a liar.”

“No one’s talking to you,” Alya glared from where she sat in her seat. “I’m talking to my bestie.”

“Again, Lila isn’t here,” Marinette said. “And last I checked we are not friends.”

Alya rolled over what Marinette said, “How could you give Aurore the inside scoop? I totally needed that. Ladybug had been ignoring me for months.”

“Aurore’s my friend,” Marinette said easily. “Which is more than I can say for most of you. How was the class party by the way?”

A few of the students had the grace to blush and look away. Alya wasn’t one of them, “I’m sorry, okay. I shouldn’t have believed Lila.” Alya shrugged. “You don’t have to sit back there anymore. Me and Nino can make room.”

Marinette blinked. How could she not be getting this? “I wouldn’t sit with you if that seat was only one in school not on fire.”

It was at that moment Bustier and Lila walked into class. Bustier seemed oblivious to the tension that seemed the classroom; though she did know all about Marinette being engaged to a prince.

To Lila’s credit, she didn’t blink at the few glares she received. Her eyes on Marinette, half full of greed, half full of jealously. She knew all about the Young family; insanely rich socialites who were the It family in all of Asia. She cursed herself for not researching into Marinette more before declaring the girl her enemy and doing her best to maker her life hell. And now Marinette was marrying a prince.

Lila frowned. No wonder the bluenette always glared at me, She thought, she knew first hand that I was lying.

“Marinette,” Lila said sweetly. “I was so happy and that you and Ali finally revealed your betrothal. I wish you would’ve told me.”

Most of the class looked at the girl like she was crazy.

“I don’ t like you,” Marinette stated easily. “You do not know Ali. You were not childhood friends. You do not know the Young family. Astrid did not ever come to you for fashion advice. She does not know you exist. As Eleanor’s only grandchild, I can happily say that we are not friends. Leave alone.” She cast a cold look to the rest of the room. “That goes for the rest of you. You happily declared we weren’t friends anymore. Well, we’re not friends anymore.”

Her declaration rang through the classroom.

No one said anything to her for the rest of the morning, apart from her friends in class.

When lunch came, just before the bell rang, there was a knock on the door. Prince Ali stood there, looking as regal and as handsome as ever. “It seemed, I am a bit too early.” He said with a polite smile, though he had been long aware of the inhabitants bullying way.

The bell rang.

Marinette smiled, “Just in time actually.” She got up and walked to the front of the class, most of the students too stunned to move.

Lila jumped at her chance to actually meet the prince, “Oh Prince Ali; it’s wonderful to see you again. My mother spent some time in your country. She worked was an ambassador.”

“And you are?” Ali asked, causing Lila to flush red as another of her lies were exposed.

She knew she could’ve easily spun to the class that Marinette was just jealous of her. They’d believe anything. It was a lot harder with the prince there to deny everything.

Neither him nor Marinette waited for a response.

They long since vowed to only ever wait for each other.

#ml fic #ml salt #marinette dupen chang #Marinette deserves better #class salt #alya salt

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sunsinrinn · 4 years

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Secrets Part 4.

Bakugo x reader, Bakugo x Uraraka, Kirishima x Reader

Fluff, language, very little angst

Word Count: 1,266

Idea: Y/n has a secret to share with bakugo not expecting a secret from him. She leaves heart broken and attempts to move on. But how will she move on if her secret can no longer be hidden? She fakes a relationship hoping its enough to not expose the true origin of the secret. (This is a terrible summary but I cant say much without spoiling future parts. 🙃)

(Y/n is roughly about 4 months pregnant going on 5 months )

“Mina- Y/n is not huge-“

Mina ignores kirishima and looks at you, she grabs your belly, “Oh my god you and bakugo finally got pregnant!”

You stiffen when you hear that and out of the corner of your eye you see kirishima does too.

“Actually mina... Me and bakugo are not together anymore...”

“WHAT?! WHY?! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME SOONER?!”

“Mina dont be so loud... Let’s talk about this at that cafe over there”

Mina looks over to where you are pointing and nods, “Fine” she grabs your arm and practically drags you there so you can hurry and tell her the tea. Kirishima rushes after you not wanting you to be alone.

As you sit down Mina speaks up again, “Alright tell me already!”

You look at her and sigh, “We are not together anymore because he cheated on me...”

She looks at you in disbelief, “Why the hell would he do that bullshit? And with who??”

“Ochaco” She widens her eyes. “NO FUCKING WAY- YOU’RE TELLING ME THAT BITCH HAS BEEN ACTING INNOCENT EVERY TIME I SEE HER?”

Kirishima looks around and apologizes your the pink haired girl’s outburst.

You hush mina and she glares at you but lowers her voice, “Okay so he cheated on you but why are you pregnant?” She gasps and speaks again, “Don’t fucking tell me he left you alone pregnant? I will kill that son of a bitch”

“NO-no Mina the child isn’t his.”

She looks at you confused, “Then who’s is it?” She looks over at kirishima who suddenly becomes interested on that slightly off colored tile on the floor. “ITS KIRISHIMA’S?” You shush her again so she says it lower, “its kirishima’s??!”

You and him nod at the same time. You feel a bit guilty lying about the real identity of the baby daddy but its better if no one knew. “Well at least you now have someone who cares and will stay loyal no matter what pussy ass skank bitch throws herself at him.” You sense the shade thrown at Ochaco but stay quiet.

You look at kirishima and see he’s looking at you smiling. You smile back and look back over to mina who is deep in thought. After a moment of silence she speaks up, “When will the others know about you’re baby?”

“We actually don’t know how we will tell the others...”

She gives you a sly smile and responds, “I know the perfect way”

You are filled with dread knowing she likes to go overboard, you look at kirishima and you see the same reaction. “What are you thinking of?”

“A BABY SHOWER!”

Your face brightens up, “Oh that’s a great idea! Right Kiri?”

He looks at your face and nods, “Yeah mina that is a great idea”

“Then its settled. I will plan it all out!”

“Are you sure Mina? I can help? I am literally home all day now.”

“No, no, I can do this myself. Are you home now because of the pregnancy?”

You nodd, “Yeah I’m not gonna do any hero work until after the baby is born”

“Well okay, you can help with some stuff..”

“Thank you!”

“Wait- does the public know you’re on a leave? Or that your no longer with Bakugo?”

You shake your head, “They don’t which is a good thing because then no one will really know I am pregnant.”

Kirishima reaches for your hand and says, “We should go continue shopping before it gets late baby”

You blush at his name he gave you but nod, “Its been great catching up with you Mina! I’ll talk to you soon about the baby shower!”

Mina waves and shouts as you leave, “Congratulations again on your baby, y/n! I’ll see you soon!”

You walk with Kirishima back to the stores and end up buying a couple of things for yourself to wear and for the baby. Kirishima almost bought everything they sold in the baby section but you stopped him from going overboard. “Kiri, this baby will be spoiled rotten if you continue to buy so many things for them!” You laugh at his small blush and hear him say, “I just want the little angel to know just how much I love them!” You nod, “I understand, darling but lets tone it down a bit, how will we carry all of this home?” He looks at the pie of bags you both have got and sheepishly smiles, “You’re right lets go home now”

You give him a small kiss on the cheek and head home.

After putting away all the things you guys bought Kirishima puts on the news as background noise while you both start dinner.

After finishing dinner, You begin to serve but stop when you hear your name on the news,

“Now for todays news, Pro Hero (hero name) is no longer doing hero work until the foreseeable future. We have gathered intel and found out that they are leaving hero work for now because they are pregnant!” You scoff and laugh because damn. They’re late to figure that out.

“An anonymous tip says she cheated on Pro Hero Ground Zero with his best friend Red Riot.They are seen multiple times together holding hands out in public. Ground Zero has refused to comment and we have yet to hear confirmation from (hero name)

Or Red Riot”

With that you become angry because first of all how dare they assume your a cheater. If anyone is the cheater its Bakugo. Kirishima walks to you when he hears the news and wraps his arms around you. “Don’t fucking listen to them, babe. Tomorrow, you and I will give out an official statement together.” He pulls away and looks at you before giving you a soft kiss. “Come on lets eat, babe.” You nod and finish serving dinner.

Midway through dinner you hear frantic knocking on the door. Before you get up Kirishima gets up and rushes to open the door to find Izuku looking at you both with wide eyes and Shoto behind him. “Is it true?!” Izuku walks in followed by Shoto.

“Nice to see you too Izuku” Kirishima says sarcastically.

Izuku glares at him but asks you again, “Y/N! Is it true you’re pregnant?”

“Izuku for being my neighbor and seeing me everyday you sure are blinder than a fucking bat”

He blushes but continues, “I didn’t know! I am shocked you didn’t tell me! You’re best friend!”

Kirishima who fakes being hurt from Izuku’s words, “I thought I was her best friend!”

“No, you’re the boyfriend” both you and Izuku say

Kirishima acts hurt, “oH wow- Shoto help me out here- wait why are you here?”

Shoto and Izuku blush at the same time.

“Kiri, baby, isn’t it obvious? They’re boning each other”

At your words both boys turn even redder and begin stuttering before finally izuku manages to get out a proper answer, “We did not come here to talk about me and shoto boning-“

You and kirishima burst out laughing as Shoto and Izuku look embarrassed even more.

“Okay okay lets stop being mean kiri baby” he stops but continues to smirk at the couple in front.

“Izuku will it make you feel better and forgive us for not telling you we are expecting, if I say I want you and Shoto to be the god parents?”

“Hell yeah, shoto you hear that? We are future god parents!” Shoto smiles and nods at Izuku as you shake you’re head.

Shoto speaks up after a while,

“So Kirishima, how does it feel to be a dad?”

SERIES MASTERLIST — Part 5

A/N- Another chapter! Yay! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter <3 If you’d like to be tagged in future parts or future works dont hesitate to dm, ask, or comment! I hope you guys had a lovely day today! Also if you asked to be tagged and I didnt tag you send me a dm so I can fix it :)

Secrets taglist: @hero-ink-pillar , @silentw-lkr , @ushiwakatrash , @purple-rabanito

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki #bakugo x uraraka #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima x reader #ejirou x reader #kirishima eijirou #bnha x reader #bnha #mha x reader #mha #shoto x izuku

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romantichopelessly · 4 years

Text

Not a Cinderella Story

This is my contribution to @dukexietyweek 2020! The prompt was Fairytales and I followed it... very loosely. This is also a bullet fic because I scrapped my plot no less than three times over the course of writing this.

Pairing: Romantic Dukexiety, Implied/Background Mociet

Words: 2072

Warnings: jealousy, misunderstandings, toxic behavior

Synopsis: When Remus, Roman and Virgil were young, they were inseparable. They always played pretend--castles and princesses and dragons. But everyone has to grow up. Things change.

----

Remus Sanders and his twin brother Roman have always been close. “Attached at the hip” some would say. Specifically, their mother, neighbors, and preschool teachers.

They always do the same things. They like the same juice. The same snacks. They play with the same toys, and they always laugh at the same things.

Their bond is unbreakable. They are the perfect duo. They never need anyone else.

Until they meet Virgil Storm.

They meet him early in their second grade year. Virgil is… a weird kid. He wears a purple jacket with cat ears on the hood in the middle of August. He doesn’t try to talk to anyone at lunchtime. He wears different colored socks and carries a lunchbox with cartoon spiders on it that says “Happy Halloween” even when it isn’t October.

He’s odd.

Remus loves him. And because Remus loves him, so does Roman.

The three of them make quick friends, underneath the tree on the playground, sitting in the grass and sharing easy smiles, as children do.

Roman suggests that they play a game that he and Remus invented all on their own--Knights and Dragons.

Virgil is quick to agree, because young children don’t have anything to worry about beyond silly games with their peers.

Remus believes that Knights and Dragons is a much more fun experience with three people. Sometimes Virgil is a knight, with Roman, and they both chase Remus around the school yard, giggling and waving sticks like they’re swords. And other times, Virgil is a dragon with Remus, and the two of them roar and yell and flap their arms like wings.

Virgil makes Remus laugh in ways that he thought only his brother could. Virgil laughs with him, not at him.

Of course, all good things come to an end, and soon, for the imaginative boy that was Roman Sanders, Knights and Dragons is not enough.

Knights and Dragons are boring in the eyes of a third grader.

Roman suggests one day that they add a princess to their game of Knights and Dragons.

Remus (rightfully) thinks that this is a very stupid idea. Princesses are for Disney movies and fairytales. Remus Sanders most definitely does not live in a fairytale.

But Roman loves fairytales. And Roman loves Disney. And, unfortunately, so does Virgil.

So they add a princess to their game. Oftentimes, this princess is played by Virgil, but sometimes Roman steps into the role. Remus is just glad that he gets to stay a big scary dragon.

That is… Until just a princess being kidnapped by a dragon and saved by a courageous knight is not enough for young Roman Sanders.

No, Roman wants more. Roman wants to emulate his favorite movies and his new favorite theme of said movies--

Romance.

So Knights and Dragons and Princesses turns into… Playing Cinderella.

There definitely wasn’t a dragon in Cinderella.

Remus is quickly shoved into the roles of the ugly stepsisters and stepmother. Don’t get it wrong! He loves playing the villain. He loves laughing maniacally and calling his brother funny names and getting away with it without punishment, because it was just pretend.

He doesn’t so much like sitting in the grass of his own backyard, watching while Roman and Virgil twirl around, holding hands and “dancing” to imaginary music while they “fall in love.”

It’s boring.

He’s almost glad when Roman’s phase of playing pretend Disney princesses ends.

Except that he can’t be. Because it ends with the three of them turning twelve and entering the dreaded halls of middle school. It ends with Roman joining the school theater club and making a whole bunch of new friends.

It ends with Virgil and Remus suddenly being left to walk home from school alone one day.

Despite his brother’s popularity, both Remus and Virgil are… outcasts of a sort. And since they just downgraded from a trio to a duo, their friendship is a bit more… strained. They still have the closeness of five years of best friendship, but there’s something… missing.

Cue Janus Duncan.

Janus is also an outcast. Janus is like a fairy godmother who comes in to save the poor outcasts at the last second, turning bleak days into wishes come true (if eating school lunch under the bleachers and snorting with laughter as they mix all the slushie options at 7-11 into one cup can be considered wishes come true), and wearing a super cool leather jacket that was two sizes too big, but definitely influenced Remus’s punk phase.

Because, oh yeah. They definitely both start their punk phases after meeting Janus Duncan.

Honestly meeting Janus really is a wish come true for Remus. A miracle among the comedy of errors that was his teenage years.

Because after about a year of Virgil, Janus and Remus being the perfect trio 2.0, Remus starts to… notice some things.

One thing is the way that his heart seems to inflate like a little balloon in Remus’s chest when Virgil smiles at him. The way that his guts squirm when Virgil laughs at one of his jokes, true and bright. The way that Remus catches himself staring at Virgil’s crooked smile, or his chipped nail polish as his fingers twirl around in his hoodie strings.

The second thing has… a lot of the same signs honestly.

Because Remus starts to notice how Virgil always watches Roman when he’s over at Remus’s house. The way that Virgil always smiles and waves at Remus’s twin brother when they pass one another in the hallway at school, his pale cheeks flushing a soft pink.

It makes a terrible, sickly green emotion curl in Remus’s stomach.

Jealousy.

So when Virgil tentatively brings up trying out for the school play, and asks Remus if Roman would mind running some lines with him, Remus does something he isn’t proud of.

He snaps. He tells Virgil that he shouldn’t try. That he won’t even make it. That he isn’t popular kid material. That Roman isn’t his friend anymore, god, Virgil, can’t you take a hint?

He watches it happen like he isn’t the one controlling his own body. He sees the shock take over Virgil’s features. The years of easy trust crumble before his very eyes as Virgil reels back in horror. He can taste the jealousy on his tongue.

As Virgil leaves, Remus knows that he is the villain of this story.

He can see it as plainly as if he had shattered Virgil’s dreams right in front of him, like so much of a shattered glass shoe on the palace steps.

That night, Janus comes over and lets Remus have it.

For about five minutes, before Remus breaks down and tells the truth to his now one and only best friend and lecturing quickly turns to comforting.

By the time that they start high school, the original trio has withered down to just Remus. The other two thirds are nearly distant memories. One a locked door down the hall, and the other three lockers down, speaking to new friends.

Anyone would choose the prince over the ugly stepsister. He couldn’t blame them.

The spring of their sophomore year, the school announces that they will be putting on a production of none other than Cinderella.

Roman auditions, of course. He gets the role of the Prince.

Virgil doesn’t audition, but he offers himself up for the role of stage manager.

Virgil and Roman’s friends Patton and Logan audition. They get the roles of mice, but they don’t seem at all upset by that fact.

Janus auditions. He gets the role of the fairy godmother.

Janus asks Remus to audition.

Remus refuses. He doesn’t want to play a campy version of the ugly stepsisters in front of the entire school. He may not care about this hell hole, but he isn’t going to make his remaining two years any worse than they have to be.

Janus drags Remus to rehearsals anyway. Kicking and screaming.

By some miraculous happenstance, Remus suddenly becomes the set designer for the show.

He may be imagining things, but he is pretty sure that that has something to do with what Janus, Roman and the director were whisper-arguing about in the first week of rehearsals.

Remus is grateful for it. Not that he plans on saying so. He still can’t bring himself to apologize to Virgil, but watching him from afar still brings those butterflies to Remus’s stomach.

One night, after rehearsal, Remus is putting the finishing touches on the carriage prop, which has quickly gone from inconsequential to him to his very own magnum opus. He’s just testing out its mobility when he hears soft laughter.

Naturally, he follows the sounds.

Stage left, hidden in the wings, Remus sees his brother, in full costume, standing across from Virgil, who is chuckling and gently smoothing his hands across the front of Roman’s costume.

Remus sees green. His old friend Jealousy curls around him like the dragon that he used to love to play.

He barely restrains himself from breaking the very set that he worked so hard on.

Funnily enough, that is progress.

The night before the play opens, there is a house party. Remus isn’t quite sure who is hosting, but the cast and company are the only people invited.

Remus doesn’t want to go.

Janus makes Remus go.

Begrudgingly, Remus has a good time. He has a good time drinking soda and watching the other stage hands tell stories about past productions. He has a good time laughing at Janus as he unsuccessfully tries to flirt with the boy in the bright blue sweater who plays a mouse.

He is still having a good time when the girl who plays Cinderella herself caps a plastic bottle and places it on the ground, calling for everyone to gather around for a game of spin the bottle.

Remus finds himself sitting between Janus and his giggly mouse boy, and some other techie who wears sunglasses indoors.

There are a few fun rounds. Roman has to kiss the girl playing the stepmother. One of the mice has to kiss Cinderella. It’s all in good fun.

That is, until Remus isn’t really paying attention and the mouth of the bottle is suddenly facing him. He blinks.

From across the circle, the studious looking mouse speaks up. “Janus clearly touched the bo-” The hand of one of the set designers covers the mouse’s mouth.

Remus blinks again. “So who’s the lucky bastard I’m making out with?”

All eyes turn to Virgil, who looks like a startled mouse himself.

Shit.

Virgil is up before anyone can say anything, backing away from the circle and spinning on his heel before making a beeline for the kitchen. Remus follows, standing up before his mind even catches up with his body. He sees Roman making to stand up too, but he holds out a hand.

Even after years of not being close, Roman can tell what he means without a word.

Remus follows Virgil into the kitchen and finds him leaning against the counter.

“Didn’t want to kiss the ugly stepsister that badly, huh?”

“What?”

“You… You know, Emo, like that stupid game Roman always made us play when we were ankle biters.”

“Wh- First of all, you and Roman are identical twins. You look exactly the same. That was just a game.”

Remus shrugs, as if he hasn’t carried that game and all it implied with him for the entirety of his teenage years.

“And… No. It wasn’t- I just didn’t want to kiss you in front of everyone.”

Remus pretends like that doesn’t make his heart shatter into a hundred tiny pieces.

Virgil seems to see it anyway. “I mean that I don’t want to… have my first kiss in front of all of them. It’s nothing against you, they just- they just all know about my crush.”

Virgil says it like it’s something stupid. Like being in love is something shameful. Like liking Roman Sanders isn’t something that literally everyone in that room except for Remus has in common.

“Your crush on my brother?”

Virgil looks at him like he’s the biggest idiot on the face of the earth.

He probably is.

Because he doesn’t see it coming for a second when Virgil steps closer, cups Remus’s cheek in his hand like he is made of something precious and priceless, and closes the gap to kiss him.

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dropsofletters · 4 years

Text

mellow

title: mellow pairing: lee taeyong/reader genre: candy store!au/crush!au summary: candies in all shapes, wrapped by all types of papers, end up pressed to the confines of her backpack for her to enjoy when she gets back home—but she doesn’t buy them, much less does she steal them, this all comes from the mere opened heart of her secret admirer. with little notes attached, someone is trying to make her life more dulcet…and it’s obviously lee taeyong, her coworker. type: fluff/romance/humor word count: 16,364

This morning of summer can almost be tasted.

It’s humid and dense, with a sense that reminds her of the dripping of popsicles. Most of the time, she likes a passion fruit popsicle—it has some taste and is a thousand times more refreshing than some general strawberry one, but the stickiness that clings to her fingertips in reminders of the sugar overload that will follow soon after brings some sense of guilt to the back of her brain. That, maybe, a juice would be more beneficial for an adult like her, or, in this case, with all the metaphors aside, that working at a candy store is quite clearly what anyone but a Willy Wonka enthusiast wants.

Though the heat outside the store is a thousand times more unbearable than what one would imagine. The streets are filled with people in ripped shorts, oversized t-shirts and enjoying the sweetest treats from them. Though, ice cream parlors may be working on the business with more efficiency than them. She takes interest, with one hand propped underneath her chin, for the one boy that did buy a lollipop from them and he has been dipping the dulcet treat into a cup of water. He takes a lick, dips it in water, and repeats. Her bets go on the fact that this child may end up drinking the water in about ten minutes, but that may be the boredom speaking.

How not to be bored when this place is so big, yet so unpacked? The shelves, locked and only opened by workers, showcase variety of sweets, some prepared by the workers, others simply bought. The yellow walls with white flooring only remind her of the intense cleaning that comes on Wednesdays and Saturdays for her, and it will only be more of a headache with the heat that is welcoming this summer. In a way, her mind tries to wrap around the idea that there is some purpose to this: to being a candy store worker, other than simply hating the smell of sweets now that she has been there for over a year.

To make money.

And maybe, feel functionable.

But this is not a lifetime worth of dreaming.

When she hears her name being spoken, her attention diverts from the kid that broke her internal monologue—as it turns out, it takes him four minutes to drink that reddened water—. Someone’s fingertips hook on the edge of her jersey, one that includes the name of the candy store in the back; yellow is the background, but the letters are highlighted in red, and when she is pulled towards someone’s chest, she feels the strong smell of Miyoung’s vanilla scented perfume. She may have gone overboard with the coats today.

“I need you to do me a big one.” Miyoung whispers, mischief clear in the tone of her voice, wrapping up nicely with the redness of her thin lips. The woman is the light and the beam of the Valentine’s season; the reason as to why there is a business around February to start with. Miyoung goes overboard with the concept of candies—what may be cavities to some is a job for her. Daughter of the owner of this place, nothing else should be expected from her.

But she knows Miyoung’s favors. They are the type of favors that come with the youthful sense of being able to do anything, as long as there is someone to cover you. Miyoung may be cupid in February, but once summer arrives, a party is more important than being behind the white counters of the candy store. “Do I have a choice?”

“No.” Miyoung whispers, a giggle following after her voice when she lets go of her coworker. “But the solid favor I’m asking from you is simple—” She nods, not quite eager to hear about Miyoung’s rendezvouses, the solid taste of the vanilla in the air already dizzying her. “There is this new guy that works in the sports store across the street. I need him to…look my way.”

That shouldn’t be difficult. Miyoung is the epitome of fireworks, exploding in beautiful colors, leaving people entranced even when the noise is sometimes unbearably loud. Some fear her. Some love her. Life just isn’t the same without someone like her. “…Do you need me to talk to him?”

“No. You’re not much of a talker to start with.”

“Case closed, then.”

“What? No, no, no!” Before she could scavenge away into the depths of the candy store, perhaps wishing to have a bag of chips instead of being surrounded by future cavities in all shapes, Miyoung grabs at her. Something about the way she holds her always triggers something inside of her. It sets the fire alarms up inside her head, makes her feel as though she needs to prick her hands away, as if being held too strongly only reminded her of the position she is in. In a place in her life in which she cannot do anything more than…not care. Not care that she has a job she doesn’t like. Not care that she doesn’t have a dream. Just…pretend ignorance. “A client contacted us via Instagram today. They need a bouquet of chocolates for this afternoon at four,” One look at her watch is enough to tell her that she has two hours to work through this order. “And I should be the one to do it, because I’m normally in charge of that…but this is a once in a lifetime opportunity!”

But it is not.

She doesn’t know when this somberness started inside of her. When looking at her messages only brought her dread, instead of that warmth that should wrap her up when people care about her. When the taste in the back of her tongue turned bitter. When, in some way or another, she’d find herself looking in the mirror, quirking her lips upward, sometimes doing half a smirk, other times just showing all teeth and gums, trying to find the shape of her smile. It has not been there in a while. Someone once told her to love all of her—the light side, the dark side, the in-between, but now she doesn’t even think she has color to her personality. Not a bubbly yellow. Not a subtle pink. Not a relishing blue. Not a green for calmness. Not a purple for complexity.

Blank, because she doesn’t think she knows the difference between the past and the future. It doesn’t represent her as a blank canvas, but as someone who doesn’t know how to paint themselves, instead. Miyoung, on the other hand, has taken every opportunity of what she has wanted and whatever the outcome has been—positive or negative—has shown her that every decision will only make her grow. Meanwhile, she doesn’t think she has changed. At all. No growth. No worsening. Just…invisible.

“Go get that number.” She tells her, because that smile on Miyoung’s face reminds her of hope. The type of woman who’d date a thousand times and believe in true love, still, Miyoung is. She’s the personification of summer, throwing that jersey on the counter with a swoosh before trotting towards the entrance, not before leaving her with a:

“I’d kiss you if I could!”

And the door closes, not as harsh as one would have imagined, simply leaving her with the ringing of the bell on top of the door, and strangely enough, not alone. Her hands work on folding the jersey; firstly, folding it in half, then pulling the sleeves in, making an ‘L’ shape with them, and folding it in half once again, and it’s settled. A bit puffy, but settled. This is what she does until she feels someone’s gaze on her, not burning, not making her feel uncomfortable, but it’s there—like a flickering light. It leaves. It stays. It makes itself known again, and then it fears her.

Once she does turn and decides to get to work, nearing the chocolate area of the store, she realizes that the only person that can be looking at her is, of course, Lee Taeyong. She catches herself wondering, for a second, if he’d look better with dark hair, for all she has seen is that bleached blonde, summer bombshell look on him. Sometimes, he sleeks it back; other times, he just plays with the heartstrings of people to show the two stances of his eyes. When shown at their full expanse, paired with his straight eyebrows and his nicely shaped face structure, they almost feel as though they pull her in…as in one step closer becomes a hundred, and a breath never is enough. When they are hidden behind his bangs, most of the time working on placing the candies on bags and giving them to the clients, he almost appears shy. Most of the time, the latter overtakes him.

Because Lee Taeyong is so different from Miyoung, and so different from herself. So different from Jonoh, who is off to the doctor’s today. Miyoung may be the example of summer, she radiates flirtation just like she radiates innocence, she never settles, never quite meets a man that meets up her expectations and falling out of love comes as second nature to her. She believes someone will sweet her off her feet, though. Jonoh is an enthusiast of pretending like he has his life figured out—and she may be judging, he probably does have it sorted out—but there is something about him that just screams faux. The poems he recites, the way he always knows what to say and when to say it, no one should be like that all the time.

And herself, of course, when unwrapping the plastic paper to put around the bouquet of chocolates, sunflowers glistening on the almost invisible material, she finally gets to compare herself to Taeyong. Not to say that she always felt empty, like there was something lacking in her—but it started surely. One day, life tried to show her that no matter how many workshops she installed herself in, how many shows she watched in order to find a road for her to take, she’d never be anything memorable. Not the kind to be a muse, no, she’s not that—she’s not the kind to lead a group of people, much less is she the one to speak first, but the one to speak last and go ignored. The more she tried to come up with a reminder of what makes her interesting, she’d find blankness.

But Taeyong is not too dulcet, just like he’s not too acid. But he’s definitely softened up, like chewing gum, in a way. He stays and stays, makes people addicted, waiting to have some more of him before someone else stops them. Chewing gum is said to stick to the stomach—and she has never proved if it’s right or wrong—but something about it resonates with her image of Taeyong. As if, once inside his life, no one would even dare to go out.

The process of making a bouquet of chocolates is not generally easy. To pick the chocolate bars and arrange them in place in order to make them stay in position, as well as nicely shaped, is an art-form on its own. Taeyong and Jonoh normally verge into the depths of making candy, while Miyoung is the one in love with the arrangements. Now in her position and opening the shelves that include some chocolate bars of differing tastes, she wonders if it’s up to her to make herself memorable.

It may be.

“What’s your favorite type of chocolate?”

The sound of Taeyong’s voice, a bit deepened, surprises her. So much so that the chocolate bar could have slipped in between her fingertips had she not caught it with more precision. He rarely talks to her, for the same reason that Miyoung states—she doesn’t talk much to start with, and he just simply seems to back away whenever she is around. The only times that she does talk with Taeyong is when clients are around, but that is not their situation currently.

Gently closing the lid of the shelf, she moves onto another one, looking for white chocolates to match. Perhaps, some Hershey’s…and she may grab some kisses on the way there, too. May add a good touch as small flowers for the bouquet. “I don’t like sweets,” She says with her whole chest, like she prides on being an irony. Being exactly what no one would ever expect from her, because she has no expectations whatsoever. “I feel like they are overrated.”

When moving towards the counter, sprawling the chocolates in between her arms onto the surface, she catches a glimpse of Taeyong’s brown eyes glistening and she’d say she has met the beauty of the earth in that simple glisten. It feels as though the desert is being illuminated by stars, and she gets to see it on the front row. “Oh, I’ve never heard that!” He says, excitement in his tone, but then it dulls back into that scared, softer one. “I’m supposing you have allergies to some of them, or they don’t settle well with you.”

To suppose something about someone may come off as rude to some, but to listen to what Taeyong envisions of her feels as somewhat of an experiment. He, who clearly doesn’t know her, has already painted an image out of the invisibility she imagines herself to be. “Not really,” She says, slicing some duct-tape to put the chocolate bars together. “I’ve just been surrounded by sweets while working here, and I got tired of them.”

“I could never.” He says, and she wishes she could dive further into the lack of knowledge that she has of him, but maybe it’s the task at hand…or it’s this fear of filling that void that she has grown inside of her, sulking her and leaving her all alone, trying to grow used to it and now too entranced to ever let go that is keeping her from doing so. “Don’t even get me started on Kit Kats. I can’t go for more than two weeks without having a Kit Kat.”

When she looks at him, she can only smile in return—because that smile of his reaches his eyes, creates the sun on his face alone, leaves her astounded at the mere existence of him. Strangers, they are, and they shall remain that…for she’s far too lonely, far too somber to ever eat up the light that is Lee Taeyong. “I see. That’s good.”

And he looks like he wants to say something else, tongue peeking out to wet his lips, as if wishing to leave a poem for her to think about for the rest of the day, a memory that tells her that he has seen color in her…but it’s up to her to discover which. Instead, Taeyong leaves it as a hum, as if he changed his mind.

Or maybe, she’s just trying to make her life more interesting by daydreaming about him.

“Yes.” He says. “If you need help, I’m somewhere around here.”

“Thanks.”

The air is suddenly too sweet, but not because of the chocolates in between her fingers or because she works at a candy store…but because she finally has found a conceptualization for Taeyong.

The aftertaste of the best sweet someone could have in their life.

###

The complexity of the passage of time has merged into nothingness for her. It could be Wednesday, and the only difference in her routine would be that she has to stay for a while longer—clean up after the envelopes that the clients plucked away from their desired candies and put anywhere but in the trash can. She rarely looks at her watch to check the time, simply lets the broom touch the flooring thanks to her motions, knowing that after going back home, there wouldn’t be much to do.

The reason why she is there without caring about the world around her may be deeper than the boredom she feels towards life. It may have to deal with the man with the matching yellow jersey, with his skinny hands working on playing with his special dough for the cookies that have been selling out in the store. To see him working after hours is enough of a question mark for her—because he likes this job, likes the dulcet smell around the store, and adores creating the little pieces of baked goods that they sell every once in a while.

Taeyong, unlike her, either conforms with his life or he thinks there is some pride in what he does. Some beauty in splaying chocolate kisses on the dough before parting his fingertips, the beige tone of the mixture sticking to the olive skin. She still tries to figure it out…or figure him out. As to why Taeyong sticks to her brain whenever she sees him, and why someone like him can barely hold her gaze before he has to depart it.

The broom becomes the companion of her dance, the envelopes of candy and plastic bags being thrown into their respective recycling bins. Leaning her weight on the broom, the woodened material of the stick digging a bit on her chest, she lets herself think of the reason why Taeyong seems to be scared of her.

Is she terrifying?

Is her lack of words the reason of his awkwardness?

Is her taste too sour, her lips too closed, her mind too closed up?

Someone as bright as him probably thinks she is crazy.

Blowing out oxygen into her surroundings, with her lips parted and her back hurting from the bent position done for cleaning, she thinks of leaving…but she doesn’t. Instead, she leaves the broom on the storage room, passing by the opened doors of the kitchen and staring at Taeyong’s profile.

Unleash her from her thoughts of beauty, because she has a concept of him that could never be erased from her brain. The scar underneath his eye shows that perfection was never the rule, that tainted and memorable is more of a notion for remembering. His hair is parted today, thick strands a source of questioning because that hair-dye he has on his hair looks everything but nourishing, eyebrows drown into a frown, thin lips puckered up while he tries to integrate every bit of the chocolate. His jaw protrudes, giving angles that match the ones of his shoulders, of his hellishly elongated legs.

“Did you add Kit Kats?” She asks, not noticing that her voice is too low, and she repeats herself again to capture his attention. Taeyong looks up from the rolled doughs that he is placing on a tray, shining with flour and butter to stop them from sticking to the surface. If she had to describe this situation, she’d say that confusion is more of what he must be feeling.

“Don’t make fun of me.” Taeyong quirks an eyebrow, already working on parting a little bit of the dough and holding it up with gloved fingers. “Have a taste and see if you can guess which brand of chocolates I used.”

“I am not Willy Wonka. I don’t think I will get it.” But she gets closer, because there is a reason as to why Taeyong has people sighing at the mere sight of him—everyone wants a bite of him, and under other circumstances, she may have gone for it. When her converse shoes have dragged her close enough to him, she parts her lips and lets the taste coat her tongue. Taeyong’s cheeks dust themselves in heat, reddened because of the hotness of the oven.

“It’s pretty easy.” He shrugs, once again forming little balls of cookies. Instead, she lets the colorful taste serve as some pointing arrows as to what this candy is about. It tastes like it has some color in it, as weird as it is to explain that, as in there is some substance that has Taeyong’s gloves painted in colors of red, green and yellow. Soon after, the creaking of chocolate mixed with the unbaked dough brings a feeling of recognition. Something she may have had in her youth, when she was a child and plopping sugary treats inside her mouth was less of a headache.

“M&M’s?” She asks softly, only to have Taeyong gasping at her words. The widest of smiles appears on his features, and it is one of the most…prohibited features she has seen on Taeyong, as if it’s a rare occurrence, or it has never been directly thrown her way. Bags form under his eyes, guests of his sweetened lips, and he likes to move a bit—as if the happiness is too much to overtake inside him.

“You do know your sweets!” He says.

“I never said I didn’t. I just said I’m not much of a sweets lady.”

Taeyong turns around, the expanse of her back the art she looks at when her tongue peaks out to capture her lips in a tight line. The bones on his back become prominent, his arms folding to get the tray inside the opened oven before closing it softly. “Why is that?”

“I grew up, I guess.” Nothing more escapes her lips, and she swears she sees some movement of Taeyong patting his cheeks, letting out some soft breaths before turning the lights low just by looking at her while smiling shyly.

“Want me to give you some candy recommendations?” Taeyong asks in the sweetest of tones, and she may get diabetes just from hearing him speak. So, instead, she shakes her head, always returning that grin to him.

“I think I’ll pass. Sweet is not something I’d pair up with me.” She replies, walking away from the counter with kicks of her shoes, as if dragging her steps will make her stay longer and learn that she could see inside a world much brighter, filled with tastes and smells of nothing but happiness.

A little whine leaves his lips, not expected from someone like him. For someone so scarily pretty-looking, Taeyong has softened edges. “Aw, it’s okay!” He says, looking around the room before folding his hands in front of his body, not sparing her a glance when he says: “If you want to try some candy, you can always tell me. I know my way around here.”

Why isn’t he looking at her? She wants to voice this out, but instead, she leaves it all with a hum. “Alright.” Just like the finalization of any conversation in between the two, she leaves it as is. “It’s my turn to close, so I’ll wait outside—”

Taeyong finally looks at her, shaking his head at her words. “I’ll close, don’t worry. I ran out of time to make the cookies and I have to bake them and let them rest for tomorrow morning.”

“Are you sure?”

With his lips barely parting and his voice spoken in a breath, he says: “Yes.” Which could have been a caress of the wind for how soft it was, leaving her with a twirl of her heart inside her chest, dancing at his might.

God, she doesn’t know how Miyoung hasn’t gotten her hands on him when Taeyong is just that absolutely astonishing.

“Thank you, Taeyong.” She finishes, only to have Taeyong leaning far too close to the oven, before wincing at the heat.

“Yeah, no worries.”

One good look at his face is enough to scream at her to be more open, to not make someone like him uncomfortable, but unlocking her heart for anyone would only suffice as self-anger and pain. Instead, she decides to be flavorless again, leaving with a curt nod of her head and a wave of her hand.

If he saw inside her, he’d be past terrified—he’d be completely uninterested. He’d think of her as a miniscule, insecure woman.

Isn’t that what everyone thinks?

###

The song that is stuck to her head almost sounds like a choir of angels.

But goddamn it, she has forgotten the name.

It is stuck inside her head, repeating itself in the chorus but even though she has looked up the little words she can remember, nothing comes up. With one look at her face, she wonders if her mind is trying to tell her something—if this love song is supposed to be the personification of her today. Hair tousled, lips reddened with the faint existence of the kiss of Miyoung’s lipstick—the one that Miyoung has insisted on having her try before smearing it on top of her lips, far too bright for her to enjoy—, dust of her mascara falling under her eyelids, the curl that she had put on them leaving its trail for something straighter. For some reason, today she feels like she is a bit different.

Maybe, because the candy store has not been too packed, or because Miyoung is here and doing her best in having her try the new pieces of makeup she had bought just to see how they work. Because, for today, she actually feels like a glimpse of the word beautiful but no one is there to see her. Taeyong, who had started his day in the kitchen, had practically stayed there for the rest of the day and even though she would want to complain about the lack of him, she knows that if he was there, she wouldn’t utter more than a few words.

Some people are songs. Once, she said that Taeyong was chewing gum…and that still stands, but she wonders what kind of song Taeyong is. His playlist, whenever the speakers of the store are at his mercy, includes a lot of rap beats, chiller ones, songs that have the oddest of sounds leaving his lips…overall pretty fashionable, but what we like as humans is not what we are. Taeyong is not a jazzy song, he’s not an upbeat disco tune, he’s also not a rock song that speaks about sex and the complexity of the political system.

Taeyong is that one song that roams her head, but that she, in the depth of her soul, doesn’t know.

That one song that she fantasizes about.

That one song that, in retrospect, she’ll never find.

Someone closes her hand that had been wrapped around the little compact powder mirror, and her skin gets caught in between the lid, wincing at the small yet intricate pain. The culprit of such appears in front of her, with his buzzcut and sharp features, a matching yellow jersey and a quirk of his eyebrow. This is Jonoh, now much better from the flu that had overtook him.

“Yes, Jonoh?”

Just like Miyoung, Jonoh always expects something in return. She once heard Miyoung say that he’d drink the blood out of a corpse if he could with how much of an opportunist he is. A nice guy, not to be mistaken, but simply a copy of Miyoung in what comes from asking favors out of her. “Care to lend me your backpack?”

Even when a question is about to slip from her tongue, she lets her hand blindly look for her backpack under the counter. “Why do you need my backpack?”

Though, it does go well with Jonoh’s slim frame, the black backpack spacious enough to hold pockets in its pockets. He grasps it in between his fingers, splays it on top of his shoulder, once she throws it at him. “I’m going to buy some stuff at the supermarket, and I’d carry a watermelon on my hands all the way here, but I just started in the gym and I want to get my back muscles to pop out.”

She wants to question it, she really does, but all she dares to do is squint. “…Okay. Weird.”

“You should try it some time.”

“Working out?”

“Yep. With me.”

“No, thanks.”

The art of not caring—one of those isms that she wishes she could have never discovered. Letting go of a thread only to be left by the gray colors of life is not what she expected in the first part of her adulthood, but it is what happened. To sit down and think about what could have gone differently is not like her, to pretend like this is normality is more of what she does. To live in this limbo, this flowing nature of a lake that swims her away from her dreams…the ones that she never got to know or to explore.

Jonoh is someone she doesn’t question, not when he speaks some more and she doesn’t listen, not when he leaves. Jonoh is living his life in the most expected of healthy ways—his body says so, his skin screams so, and his nature just sends off the vibes of someone who will, probably, last until he is eighty or some years old. If he wants the backpack for some watermelon, then who is she to question those who have their ways of living?

“What’s the watermelon for?” She asks Miyoung, who looks up from her phone to let her eyes glisten in excitement.

“We’re trying some watermelon limeade cocktails, so I asked him to buy some. If everything goes well, we may sell them to our friends and create a business. I’ve been dying to get into cocktail-making.” The woman responds, and she doesn’t question their actions further.

Coming back home, she feels like rubbing all the worries away with some scrub and some lotion. The smell of baked goods from the kitchen in which Jonoh left her backpack, she wants to wash away, just like how she wants to feel more alive. Hair cleaner, smelling like that one chocolate conditioner she felt like buying—it’s a dense product, but the smell reminds her of something that she can’t quite pinpoint. Taeyong, maybe, in a way, in the shape in which he wraps his lips around a slice of a chocolate every once in a while, to taste it before adding it to his concoctions.

Looking at the moles on her body, the hairs on her arms, the mere reflection of her in the mirror, there is something that bothers her. Those inner thoughts that sometimes have no reasoning, like how she feels the need to search for that one song again, and hence, she has to look for her headphones. In one of the pockets of her backpack, it is, she knows this much, but she kneels down and hears the cracking of her bones, letting the zipper of said backpack slide in between her fingertips, she realizes that there are little thoughts that unconditionally appear to make bigger discoveries.

Her damp hair falls on each side of her face when she lets her knees fully fall on the flooring, taking the number of candies that are in her bag. The first one that she grabs are some coffee-based candy, the bitter reminder that once left her lips when talking to Miyoung a few months back. She said that coffee candy is the worst conceptualization to ever exist, because candy is normally aimed at children, and to have the taste of caffeine—something that, normally, is not aimed for little people—on the hard candy is just too much for her to understand. It’s not sweet. It’s not bitter. It tastes like dirt. Those were her words.

And whoever placed the bag filled with five coffee candies must have heard her conversation, because a small piece of paper glued to the surface read: “These don’t taste like dirt. I know how difficult it is to find good coffee candies, but these are my favorite. I hope you enjoy them.” A smiley face finishes that message, and the other ones in the other seven small plastic bags she finds inside her backpack.

Curiousness is what she feels when a bag of M&M’s is presented, but only the blue ones because: “The blue ones taste like almonds, and I want you to ease into sweets!”

She finds more notes, ones that always leave her with that smiley face. Two dots, and a crooked line, sometimes bigger, sometimes smaller. The thought of anyone but Jonoh doing this could almost be foreign, because he was the one with the backpack and he was the one that never returned it, but it has her scrunching up her nose when she unleashes some of the candies from their bags and lets them plop inside her mouth.

She has never paid enough attention to anyone’s handwriting—Miyoung’s, Jonoh’s or Taeyong’s. This could have been a clear indicator of who had listened to her conversations and given a piece of their mind in the form of sweet knowledge. Jonoh is the clear sign here, but he’s not a romanticist…much less has he thrown any signs that he might be into her. Much less Taeyong, he just seems to be absolutely terrified of her.

So, this leaves Jonoh…since Miyoung would never.

But this brings a flutter to her chest, has her smiling when she finally enjoys the sweetened taste of the blue M&M’s and they do taste different, like almonds with chocolate. It relishes her skin, makes her feel a little bit more given to life when she plops down on her bed and stares up at those smiley faces. They drag her into a mindset of warmth that she doesn’t think she has felt in a while, the pool of wet hair under her making her skin shiver at the touch of the pillow. A smile finally appears on her face, genuine when she licks her lips and wonders about the certainty of this.

Jonoh…huh?

###

“Ooh, who’s that cutie over there?”

Miyoung’s tone is nicely coated in a compliment, the flirty existence of her palpitating in her words when she pulls the edge of her skirt down. The motion from her coworker has her looking down at the expanse of her legs, the jersey matching the white t-shirt underneath paired with her high waisted skirt. It’s a difficult outfit to pull off—not because it’s anything special, but because it’s the first time that she tries doing something different with it to go to work, and it has her feeling…not that empty.

Because, for the last two weeks, the taste of something sweet has ended on her tongue and it is the felicity of feeling like she can care as much as this secret admirer does. Care for herself, treat herself nicely, let life have colors and shapes. Well, secret admirer as in Jonoh, because he’s the only person that has been, clearly, in contact with her backpack, asking for it every once in a while.

“Am I the cutie?” She asks, playing around with the remote of the television that should be changing channels by now…but as it turns out, the remote is not working. Giving up on the task, she looks over her shoulder to see Miyoung nodding, a gleeful smile given to her when she wraps an arm around her shoulder.

“Yes. That skirt is…whew, it’s a killer for sure.” Miyoung compliments and that is enough to have her chest filled with some hope. Perhaps, she’s not as dulled as she thinks she is. “You have to lend it to me some time soon. I’ve been trying to get the sport store guy’s attention since forever, but it’s like—like, fuck, like he doesn’t notice me.”

“I’m sure he does.” She says. “What did you say he was called the other day?”

“Yoonoh.”

“Want me to help you out with him?”

Miyoung moves her head from side to side, pointing out each word that she had heard at least once. “You don’t talk much. How are you going to get a guy to pay attention to me?”

She shrugs, because she doesn’t know…but she feels like doing something different with her life. Not something risky, or something that could potentially leave her in a frustrated state, but talking more and seeing what could happen along with that. “I could. I have nothing to lose.” And she thinks about grabbing her phone from her backpack and strutting towards the sport store to ask for Yoonoh’s number, and invent the possible ways in which Miyoung may find another prince charming, but when her fingers come in contact with the initially empty backpack, she is surprised to feel packages of candy. Again.

Not to say that happiness does not bubble inside of her when she receives said candy, because it feels like something is popping within her heart when it happens—but just like those kinds of pop rocks that make noise but dissipate after a while. Whoever is doing this—Jonoh, apparently—is spending way too much money on her, as well as invading her privacy in one way or another. She lifts her backpack to rest on top of the counter, hearing Miyoung speak as she plays around with her phone.

“…And like, yeah, I think maybe it could work. Since you’re so quiet, it could help you out—”

But she is not listening to her, because across from her she can see the image that she has inside her head when she reads those notes that Jonoh writes. Taeyong. The blond man that is yawning, head thrown back for the slightest second to show the expanse of his neck, and then he continues preparing a box which purpose must be to become a gift. Whenever she looks at him, she always thinks of sweets—even past that but of the taste itself, as if any fruit that dares fight the sugar in him will never come close.

Taeyong shares a glance with her, the kind that makes his lower eyelashes look longer with the tilt of his head and that leaves his lips plumper, with shadows that she dares herself to not think about. Ever. He’s a daydream, in the color of yellow in his jersey, in the way he simply diverts his gaze and breaks away that dream that she wants to be true. Because…all arrows point at Jonoh, at the lingering laughter and the comfort that he has around her, but Taeyong would be a better option. It would feel sweeter.

“What’s Taeyong’s deal with me?” She speaks softly, finally looking away from him when he widens his eyes to himself thinking that she is not staring. But she is. And whatever Miyoung has said is interrupted by this question, that has the woman with the big, dolled-up curls on her hair checking the culprit of her thoughts out before Miyoung sighs.

“He’s terrified of you,” Miyoung says, and she takes this as a sign to put the backpack over her shoulder and stop fantasizing about a certain candy man called Taeyong, and simply talk about this issue that has been lasting for two weeks with Jonoh. “But I wouldn’t take it as an offense—”

“Is he scared of you?”

“No, but—”

“Then, it’s an offense.” She conquers, only to have Miyoung taking her by the edges of her jersey and fixing it accordingly.

“Don’t think about it too much. You know how guys who like anime are. They’re weird.”

But that is definitely not it. Miyoung is not looking past this picture of Taeyong that screams that he doesn’t want to be near her.

Her struts are as confident as they can get as she nears Jonoh, whose headphones are tightly placed over his ears, body swinging to the sound of his favorite tunes. His jersey is falling off one shoulder, arranging the candies by color simply to please the boss, and it takes various taps of her fingers against his arms for him to pay attention to her. If she had to conceptualize him in words that she has known for the past year, she would say that Jonoh is one hundred percent cotton candy. He is sweet, dissipates on the tongue, then leaves. His trail doesn’t stay with her, doesn’t cling to her skin, much less does she think of him as much as she thinks of Taeyong, her other coworker.

Her backpack slides off her shoulder, leaving it open for her to show the contents to the man in front of her. “Why are you placing these inside my backpack? I have a lifetime worth of candy in my apartment and now, I have even more.” She tries to tell him, going around the subject that if this is in any way anything more than platonic, she’d have to say no. Nothing against Jonoh, but he simply doesn’t move the boat in her sea.

Jonoh finally lets his tranquil face fall and the quirk of his eyebrow is the woe of her afternoon. Confusion, rather. “Have you gone nuts? I only put a watermelon in, work out, take it out. I don’t put candy inside of it.”

“Well, I’m getting candy. And I’m not nuts.” But the look on Jonoh’s face tells her that he doesn’t believe her, and while initially she believes that he is fronting whatever sentiment issues his heart, she believes that if he got caught, Jonoh would be the type to giggle it out and confess it. “Swear on my life that you haven’t placed anything but watermelons inside my backpack.”

“…I swear?” Jonoh indicates, voice void of insecurity. This alone makes her look over her shoulder, the shadow of Taeyong long gone as he talks to Miyoung. The woman is already placing stacks of chocolate bars on his arms for him to help her with a chocolate bouquet, and the way he eyes the M&M’s settles uncomfortably on her stomach.

…The first type of chocolate she got were blue M&M’s.

Someone grabs her by the shoulders, thick hands wrapping around her muscles when Jonoh leans down to look into her eyes. “…I have nothing to do with whatever you’re accusing me off. Candy theft? Not me.”

That leaves Miyoung and Taeyong as the culprits. Both opened to the opportunity of sneaking some treats inside her backpack.

And Taeyong actually smiles to Miyoung, laughing at something the woman says when she nudges his side, but when his eyes trail towards her and she dares give him a tight lipped smile—the most anyone could ask for her when her heart is racing with confusion, imagining Taeyong listening to every conversation she has had in which she has complained about candy, the only response he dares to give her is a shy beam and soon after, he’s looking away.

Could it be—?

No. Before she gets overexcited about the possibility of Taeyong, out of all people, taking the time to battle his fear of her and communicate in a way that is not face-to-face personal, she shakes her head and opts to push the memory to the back of her head. To stack candy up, she may end up doing, for it would be impossible for him to just do such…a thoughtful thing for her when he can’t even hold her gaze.

###

Summer is gone to leave orange in its wake, the red popsicles that once represented it fading into a softer tone. Her covered feet caress the leaves on the flooring, creaking under the step of her boots, all thanks to her position while waiting for the bus, seated on a bench. This is the part of her day in which times stop, her head lulling back to stare at the cars passing by on top of the gray concrete. Normally accompanied, she gets to hear one or two conversations, update herself in lives of people she doesn’t know. Today, however, the only person by the bus station took the first bus to arrive and she still had fifteen minutes more to wait.

The world is not quiet, but it feels like it is. Friday afternoon and everyone is preparing to do something with their lives; to scald their tongues with recently cooked meals from their favorite restaurants, to meet up with friends and down a few drinks, or simply to binge-watch a show that they have been dying to see. In her part of the world, she almost laughs at her option for what to do on a Friday afternoon, a copy of a retelling of Hansel and Gretel displayed on her phone, the horror of it all exaggerated and hence, not capturing her attention as much.

Something, something candy house. Something, something witch.

What exactly is her Friday afternoon after work?

Letting the screen of her phone rest upside down on her thigh, she decides to look around the bus station to find something to do. A group of skaters are not too far away, clouds of smoke blown into the air as they do tricks on their skateboards, though there are those that lay their bodies against the sidewalk, as if they are owners of the place. Instead of concentrating her gaze on them, however, her mind wanders to the sound of footsteps nearing her. Perhaps, another person waiting for the bus.

The music on this person’s headphones hums lightly in the background, meaning that it is loud enough for her to hear and the song alone should be enough to recognize who it is. Her gaze lifts to connect to Taeyong’s face, looking down at his phone before he lets his brown eyes eat her alive with one mere glance at her. Maybe, part of her imagination is playing a game on her, in the way his eyes softly fall to her lips and then, his lips lift up the slightest. His jersey is long gone, perhaps packed inside his backpack that looks a little bit puffier than usual, leaving the expanse of his arms up for her to watch when he takes a seat beside her.

“Hi.” He greets in a softened tone, and once the word is repeated by her, Taeyong parts his gaze from her. His headphones are resting around his neck when he looks up at the ceiling of the bus stop, legs parted the slightest bit. “Have you been waiting here for long?”

“Kind of,” She asks, her heart palpitating at the image of the letters that she keeps treasured inside her bedside table, organized by date and met with that same smiley face. Taeyong has always been the person she wanted to be the source of said candy gifts, months ago given every day, but now delivered to her through her backpack every few weeks. “You were in cleaning duty, right?”

“Yes.” Taeyong breathes out, running his fingers through his recently dyed black hair and it suits him even more than the blonde. It makes the depth of his eyes almost dangerous, a black hole in the universe for her to get lost in. If he dares look at her, that is. With her attention on him, she watches as Taeyong scowls at something from across the street, his fingers wrapping around the zipper of his backpack. “Those guys are looking at you weirdly.”

Gazes are thrown her way, to the expanse of her legs on her flowy skirt and tights, and she doesn’t miss the way one of them cackles as if one look her way is enough to be considered a comedy. “…I think they’re making fun of me.” She answers, plain and boring, but the warmth of something being placed on top of her thighs confuses her, the image of Taeyong’s jersey splayed on top of her legs engulfing her in the scent of his cologne, his body hovering over the slightest bit.

Taeyong, from up close, shows a glimpse of anger when he huffs at the people from across the street. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not okay to look at anyone like that, it’s creepy.”

“It’s not that big of a deal—”

“It is,” Taeyong softens his voice, finally sparing her a glance that connects her to a part of his train of thought that only showcases his caring nature even more. “Because you were out here alone. What if those guys did anything to you? There are like five guys there and you’re only one person. They could have—”

Her fingers wrap around his hands that are making motions in the air to further explain his point, when she lets a smile graze her features. “You’re here now. Don’t worry.”

The heat of Taeyong’s neck goes up to his cheeks, leaves the littlest bit of perspiration on the surface, caressing his ears in a pink tone that has him, once again, looking away. “I guess, but I’m not the toughest of guys.”

“I know.” Finally, she gets to say something in between a laugh and it comes naturally with Taeyong. As if, for some reason, he’s able to paint colors into her life.

At that, he leans back against the bench. “Are you making fun of me?” She swears there is a pout to his tone, a jut of his bottom lip when she shakes her head.

“I think it’s cute.” Damn her for saying those words, leaving her lips far too quickly, dizzying her when she stares ahead and watches the bus pull up a little bit earlier than expected. Perhaps, five minutes before the time in which she expected it to arrive. With wobbly legs and Taeyong’s jersey being held in between her hands, she speaks up. “That’s my bus. So, that’s—”

“I’ll get in with you!” Taeyong is already up his feet, cheeks tinted in colors that could battle this autumn. “Just in case someone dares bother you.”

With quickened movements, she gets inside the bus, not forgetting to acknowledge the driver to let her pass, along with her coworker. “You’re staying so you can fight the bad guys?” Taking one of the seats by the back, she is surprised when Taeyong hums.

“I’d fight them for you.” And she doesn’t miss the way he fixes his jersey on top of her legs once again, perhaps to keep her warm, or maybe because his senses told him about something she hadn’t seen in those guys.

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course.” Taeyong breathes out, limbs interlocked with his backpack that is pressed to his chest, and the scenery outside the windows could never compare to the beauty of him from up close. To the way he finally seems to be more comfortable with talking to her, even when his pupils shake the slightest.

“…I thought you hated me.”

This catches him off guard, his saliva getting caught in the back of his throat, rosy lips letting out short coughs that breathe out his question: “W—What?” Cough. “You really t—thought that?” Two more coughs are added.

In retrospect, Taeyong has been nothing but nice…yet, fearful. The type of fearful that comes with ghosts, with a noise in the middle of the night, with a videogame that has a soundtrack so chilling that it keeps you playing…but you want to do nothing more than run away. That is what Taeyong had exuded for her, and seeing him being the slightest bit more comfortable with her is welcomed, yet foreign. “Well…you always get scared when you’re around me.” A shrug of her shoulders is enough to highlight her point. “I thought it was because you thought I was mean or something.”

“No!” Taeyong speaks too quickly, clasping one hand over his mouth when one of the people in front of them gives them a onceover, and not a pleased one to start with. “That’s not it.”

“So, you’re not scared of me?” She asks, voice hopeful, tiny, albeit a bit breathy.

“Of course not,” And the certainty of his tone is enough to lift the wings of worry off her back, leaving her as a fallen angel. As if, for once, there is a glimmer of hope for something crafted out of the pure beauty of life. “I just—Since you never really talk much to me, but are always talking to Miyoung, I sincerely thought you hated me.”

She raises her eyebrows, eyelids fluttering continuously in blinks. Hating Lee Taeyong? “I don’t hate you.”

“No?”

“No!” She says, watching as Taeyong wraps his fingers around a plastic bag. The reddened sweets inside are elongated and seem sticky, reddened in the shape of licorice. “I think you misunderstand me. I’m just not that talkative, much less with people like…you.”

Taeyong’s confusion is clear on his face, biting down on his lips when he asks: “Like me?”

“Like you,” She repeats. “You’re practically the sun made person. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable with me being…all empty inside and stuff.” The confession has her, for once, looking away from him. As if saying it out loud makes her fear that Taeyong will see her differently, like everyone did. Instead, she feels the licorice being slipped in between her fingertips, just in time for Taeyong to grip her fingertips and help her fist close around the strands of sweetened treats.

“You’re not that,” He says, merely a whisper when he takes a bite of his licorice, and with his lips smacking to fight the sweetness, she mirrors his actions. “You’re just…mysterious?” It seems as though he is trying to look for the perfect word, and she can’t help but laugh.

Her head moves up and down in some form of a nod. “What a way to put it.”

“I mean it!”

“Taeyong—”

The man closes his backpack as he speaks, but a glimpse of it shows particularly wrapped plastic bags with candies of all sorts. Similar to the ones she gets, lacking the notes that she finds herself reading time and time again. Could it be that Taeyong is the candy giver that has earned a piece of her heart with his smiley faces? “I don’t know how to explain people, or you, or anyone. I just know that…ever since you started working at the candy store, I wanted to be your friend.” Taeyong adds. “And I’ve been doing a terrible job, but maybe, I had to be more open about it?”

“Maybe,” The giggle that escapes her takes her off guard. Embarrasses her, really, how could he not realize that a simple glance at him is enough to have her swooning with pieces of her imagination that create a puzzle of him? “Are you going the same way I am or did you just get in the bus to tell me this?”

“…The latter, kind of. I’m making sure you get home safe.”

“Oh, I see.” She replies, letting out a soft sigh when she takes a bite of the licorice again. “These are good, by the way.”

“I did say I have a good taste in candy once, didn’t I?”

That only points more arrows at him, gives him a light that casts down on him and calls him her candy boy.

But Taeyong wouldn’t go through all that hassle just to become her friend, right?

###

One certain image has etched itself in her brain since she started talking to Taeyong regularly.

His back hunched, knees propped near her backpack, slipping those plastic bags filled with candy, fingertips covered in remaining touches of the ink from his black pen, picking out his favorite—yet different—tastes in sweets for her to taste, all connecting with words said in between the walls of her workplace. His eyes, shaky. His lips, drawn into a thin line. His feet moving with precision, wanting to be silent. His scent splayed on that piece of her wardrobe that has brought her happiness for the past few months. Sometimes, she wishes for this imagery to be true, and in the most intricate parts of her brain…she feels as though it is a possibility.

At first, she had thought that it’d be too much for him, for Taeyong said he wanted to be her friend, but someone like him would not have to go to such calibers in order to reach the friendship status with her. But, with the newest addition of candy to her collection, some Hershey kisses in a whitened tone that her candy boy, as she dared to call him, had sent her, she wonders if she’s right. She may be, with the glimpses of her imagination crafting an image of Taeyong that makes her heart races, creates him as more than a mere friend and coworker but paints him as the honeyed name that she wants dripping from her lips, syllables highlighted by the interest in him.

By a crush. The one that she has denied for months, pushed to the depths of hell only to come back to heaven. To him.

When walking inside the candy store, the first thing she hears is commotion. A deep voice, matched with a much sultrier tone, two people arguing that clearly receive the name of Jonoh and Miyoung, respectively. Miyoung is standing on a ladder, putting up the decorations for the anniversary of the store, and Jonoh is doing his best to annoy her by shaking the surface in which she is standing on.

“Jonoh, stop!”

“I’m not doing anything, it’s the wind!”

“I could die. I said stop!”

“Ah, come on. You’re not going to die!”

This is the moment in which she realizes that none of them could be the thoughtful candy boy that has partaken a piece of her heart with sweetened words to match the tasteful candies. Instead, with her hands holding the bag of Hershey kisses, she moves further inside her workplace, looking for that hair of black hair that now contrasts the yellow of his matching jersey. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find him, but the place is a little bit more packed now that the summer season is over.

Some memories in life are meant to heal. They take the heart, bend it to its will until the holes opened in it by the punches of bad decisions are sewn together. He is one of those memories; of late-night talks when he is baking, of staying a little bit longer to help her clean, of getting on a bus that won’t even take him home just to be around her. Comfort earned after a misunderstanding. She thinks that she might have been dumb enough to absentmindedly create an enigma out of Taeyong, when everything had been presented to her. The handwriting, the smiley face, the bags, the candies, the blue M&M’s and coffee candies that started it all—

When she finds him, Taeyong is surrounded by children—half his height, if not lower, all asking him a million questions and while he could have been easily overwhelmed by the amount of orders and attentions, he takes it like an easy task. His hands look for the sweets that they prefer, placing them inside the yellow bags that represents the store, with that same red handwriting on top of it as their icon. His gloved fingers skillfully take the desired candy, weights it, and adds a bit more just because he can.

Because his soul is like that.

“Yong, Yong!” One of the children, who can’t seem to pronounce his name well, lifts his hand to reach out for his forearm. This has Taeyong looking down, getting ready to close the yellow bag and put it inside the basket that he should carry around to have the parents pay for what the children want, or perhaps the representative in charge—like a teacher or a babysitter. Instead, the child continues speaking. “I only like the green gummy bears!”

This alone is enough to have Taeyong looking inside the bag, inspecting the gummy bears that are, certainly, not only green. He doesn’t sigh, doesn’t frown, simply puts the contents back inside its space on their display shelves before taking out the green gummy bears one by one. “I see, I must be too old to look at colors properly.”

“Taeyong,” Another one speaks to him, and the man hums as he continues plucking away the necessary green gummy bears. “What is your favorite kind of sweets?”

He thinks for a moment, lips puckered up while he rummages through the gummy bears. “Does ice cream count?”

“No,” The little girl says. “Ice cream is ice cream!”

“But ice cream is sweet.” Her chest swells at the small confused once-over that he gives to the little girl. “I like baked stuff, mostly. I don’t know if that counts.”

This is her cue to get closer to the group of children surrounding Taeyong, and the majority of them don’t pay attention to her. Once in front of Taeyong, his breath gets caught in his throat, released in a little sigh when a smile overtakes his features. “Let me help you find the green ones, and you can start serving what the other children want.” Her hands are already reaching for a pair of gloves, putting them on and searching for the shiny, chewy green treats.

“Thank you.” And his hand ghosts on top of her back, moving over to the spot next to her to take the chocolate order of one of the children, which keep rambling to him.

That touch billows her heart, leaves a tingle on her skin that makes her feel like something blooms inside of her. As if violins start playing, a piano is in the background, an orchestra making a sonata out of the feelings he brings to her. If she ever dared tell Taeyong about her assumptions of him being the one that gives her candy as a present, would he be taken aback? Would that push him away from her, once again living in fear of what her cold personality could cause to his heart? The questions roaming through her head have her looking at him again, watching how his lips wrap on the words cutely, trying to make his voice a bit higher and softer for the little clients that seem to be glued to his legs.

He is now stuck to her heart, in a way that can only grow, smooth on its movements. Mellow, he is, in the way he has hypnotized her and made her feel that there are matters to discover in this world. That someone saw the sweetness in her that even she couldn’t recognize, made her feel listened and cared for, and that person is Lee Taeyong.

She wishes she could have the strength to try and ask him if he’s the one behind the gifts, and even when her mind is telling her that it is obvious, she doesn’t want to ruin that percentage of uncertainty and lose something that has been growing, healing, easing them into a sense of normalcy. This is something beautiful, and she doesn’t think she has ever had that…no point in losing it now, she guesses.

###

“You’re going to get diabetes if you keep eating sweets that often.”

“I am not!”

That whine she recognizes perfectly well. It comes with a pout the majority of the time, and with a shy beam at the end. Seated by the entrance of the candy store, not caring that the coldness of the flooring is seeping through his jeans, is Taeyong playing a videogame. One of those that he always talks about—that apparently relaxes him and helps him concentrate on something during his free time, but the slightest bit of an obsession has grown within him. His eyebrows are almost knitted together, fingers moving with precision on the device in between his hands.

By his side, an opened bag of sweets is snatched away by her. She takes a seat beside him, watching the screen of his Nintendo for a while before his fingers absentmindedly reach for the bag of candy. Gone, it is, bringing a surprised gasp from him when he decides to (finally) look at her.

“Let me have my candy!” But there is not a threat in his tone, not in the way that they are far too close to each other, Taeyong’s hair falling over his forehead and covering those orbs that are pulling her in. Instead, she chuckles, placing a container filled with salad on his lap for him to take.

“I made us both salads.” She doesn’t give much of an explanation, for lunchtime with Taeyong has become an often occurrence. Sometimes, he brings her something—from well prepared dishes to something as simple as sliced vegetables and fruits, but this time around, she decided to be the one on the giving end of the spectrum. Taeyong stares at the plastic container, leaving his videogame aside to snatch the lid away and look at the contents inside, a little plastic fork waiting for him to be used.

His hand expands on top of his heart, for he may have felt exactly what she feels whenever he gives her candy behind those smiley faces that are, now, absolutely his. She still hasn’t said anything, relishes in the way he seems to be comfortable with his secret hidden. “You did not,” He whispers at first, his eyes scanning the meal before smiling brightly. Those bags under his eyes appear again. “Oh my God, you shouldn’t have bothered.”

But she should have, because for months to no end Taeyong has done one of two things—for, she hasn’t figured them out yet. He either steals candy from the store, or he buys some for her each time he can. “I totally had to. I’m fearing the day your teeth rot and fall, just eat the salad.” She tells him, voice softened to speak in between the two, extending her legs to ease the muscles from the strain of sitting down in such a hard floor.

“Ah, I’m not that much of a candy eater. You just always catch me at the worst time.” But he’s lying, and the way he takes a bite of the salad before he puts the container down is taking up more of her attention than his excuses are. “Does it hurt to sit like this?”

“No, I’m okay—” Moving at his will, Taeyong takes off his jersey in a swift motion, instructing her to stand up with the movement of his hands.

“Come on, stand up and sit on this.”

“Taeyong, you give me your jersey more than you wear it. It’s okay—”

Following after his instructions after Taeyong puckers up his lips, a little bit in distaste, also because he is this close to complaining, the fabric of his jersey works as some cushion for the back of her thighs and her butt. He takes his seat beside her again, finding his home with his back pressed against the wall before plopping a little bit more of the salad past his lips. “You have to listen more,” He starts. “I’m only protecting you.”

“Oh yes, because sitting on a floor is going to do anything bad to me.” She retorts, watching as Taeyong eats, nodding soon after.

“You could get back problems!”

“Taeyong, I am certain I would not get back problems from just sitting on the floor.”

“…Google it.”

“I won’t google it!”

Their conversation is cut short when the doors of the store open with a harsh bang, clearly someone who does not care about the strength of their actions. The glassed door ends up knocking Taeyong’s leg, a loud wince coming from the man when he uses his free hand to clutch at his calf. The culprit of his pain appears before them, peeking his head inside to show a set of dimples, the thinnest sheen of sweat, and a set of toned, uncovered arms that she recognizes well.

Months ago, she had been the one to get Yoonoh’s number for Miyoung—who, in less than a week, was already going out on a date with him. While nothing had become serious, more often than not they are together, and she may have seen a little scene once, caused by the closeness between Miyoung and Jonoh. Still, neither Taeyong nor herself ever got too involved.

Yoonoh waves at her, calling her name in a rushed tone when he asks: “Is Miyoung here?”

“She went out for her lunchbreak.”

“Alone?”

She nods, even when she knows that Miyoung always eats with Jonoh, but the least she wants is to cause more issues with the one man that Miyoung had taken long to get. “I think so,” One spared glance at Taeyong shows a bit of a scowl on his face, and he is noticeably annoyed but not letting the matter slip his lips. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

The sport store worker slips inside until half his body is inside the store while he speaks. “Actually, yes.” He starts, running his hands through his damp hair, perhaps from one of those work-out routine days they have in their store. Some kind of special, Miyoung has once called it. “I’m going to be hosting a party next Friday, at my place. One of my friends is coming back after travelling around the world and I decided to invite Miyoung, but since she isn’t here…”

“Oh, I’ll tell her.” She shrugs her shoulders, her hand pushing against Taeyong calf to soothe the skin, and she swears she feels him tensing under her touch. “Party. Your house. Next Friday.”

“Exactly.” Yoonoh nods before quirking an eyebrow at the two of them. “You two wanna go?”

Letting go of Taeyong, she looks at him for some kind of answer. His smile expands, as if the pain is suddenly replaced by something else. “Sure, sounds like fun!”

“Good.” Yoonoh doesn’t wait for an answer from her before opening the door wider. “I’ll get going then. Tell Miyoung to call me.”

“Will do.” The excitement on Taeyong’s face plays at her heartstrings, because she knows she is not the most interesting of party-goers. Her lack of emotion towards life had made her want to hide away rather than meet up with others, but the shining light that is Taeyong, in that bright color of yellow that represents him, seems to have other ideas. “I’m not going, though.”

Taeyong stops chewing on his salad when she says those words, shaking his head at her antics. “No, no. You have to go with me.”

“I don’t think I can,” This brings her to stand up, letting the jersey rest on the floor with the memory of the comfort that once existed…but her insecurity still haunts her. Just like Taeyong at the beginning of their meetings, she was scared. Terrified, even, of feeling too much and then going back to not feeling anything at all. She does care for him, to the point she can’t help but feel that she’ll end up getting her heart broken. Taeyong stares at her with surprise, widened eyes and parted lips. “Sorry, Taeyong. I don’t know if I’m comfortable with going and ruining that party. You know how boring I can get.”

He doesn’t relent, however. “I have said it a thousand times, you’re not boring—”

“That’s what you think, though.” She replies softly, not missing a beat to ruffle his hair before straightening her back again. “I’m going to get back to work. I’ll talk to you later.”

When she turns around, nonetheless, she feels as though she could have cried. She doesn’t, obviously, she could never do such thing in front of people—but this little voice inside her head that tells her to stop enjoying the good things in life is making her sick. it has paralyzed her for years, and it does it again. Never has she concentrated on the sun, but on the shadows instead. Never has she truly breathed without thinking it’s one less particle of oxygen in the air. Never has she seen the hours moving without thinking it’s the death of another day.

Never has she had anyone’s eyes trailing after her when she leaves, wishing she could stay, but she doesn’t even think she can have Taeyong on the long run. Someone like him would only perish under the weight of her heart.

###

This is the day of fear, just like when Taeyong asks her how she is doing and the only thing she can do is jump at the sound of his voice.

Maybe, it comes from the fact that the expanse of Taeyong’s chest can be felt by the skin of her back, or because his arm is sprawled to her side as she prepares yet another chocolate bouquet. Though, her best guess would be that the jumpiness of her state comes from the fact that avoiding Taeyong for the past few days has been her mission. After all, talking about the complexity of her thoughts to him—those that tell her that she is not good enough—is not something that she plans on doing soon. Much less in the middle of her workplace.

Thursday afternoon and Jonoh is somewhere talking to clients, meanwhile Miyoung is doing the same. Taeyong seems to be the only one that is not occupied, instead letting his breaths ghost down her shoulder, shivers rising from her spine to her neck to her arms, his eyes feel as though they are scanning her features when she is wrapping the chocolate bars together, excellence in her movements.

“A chocolate bouquet.” She answers slowly, like the words are coming to her brain in spurts instead of a complete sentence. Taeyong hums at that, pulling away from her the slightest to rest his elbows on the counter, legs extending behind him for leverage while his hands hold his head upright. “Why are you asking?”

“No reason. Just wanted to talk to you.” Taeyong says, playing with the edge of the plastic paper that wraps around the chocolate bars, his fingertips catching her attention for a moment, making her wonder how they would feel if they would slide in between hers, if they spread on top of her waist, if they trailed from her thighs to her knees, thumb caressing the soft skin. “You’ve been avoiding me.” He tells her, voice tiny, and she can’t help but close her eyes tightly.

Her ministrations stop for a second, just before she goes back on track. “I’m sorry. I’ve been having a bad week, that’s all.”

“I know where this comes from.” He points in between them, letting out a sigh when he stops looking at her and instead, stares off into another places of the candy store. Taeyong is more intuitive that one would believe. “And I am also here to tell you that I am not going to that party if you’re not. I feel that as your friend I can only support you, and I wanted to go since I thought you would be going so—”

“Taeyong,” She calls out his name, earning a hum from him when the real chocolates—his eyes—look at her face to guarantee his utmost presence, his habit of listening too closely. “You don’t need to stop yourself from going anywhere just because I am not going. I’m not stopping you.”

Unlike what leaves her lips, however, Taeyong shows his stubborn face—that one that is only seen when he is nagging. “But…it’s not fun if you’re not there.”

This is the magic of him, the reason as to why she thinks she has a sugar high or an overdose…and it doesn’t come from the candy that he gives her, but from the sweet tone of his voice. That sticky nature of his. She shudders a breath in, lets her hands splay on top of the counter when she tries to internalize what he just said. Fun, something that she hasn’t had in a while, a word that she would never use to conceptualize herself, but Taeyong compares it to her. He trusts that in the depth of her cold demeanor, there must be something more.

No one has done that. Not in the past. Not in the present. No one has stopped and stared at her, thought that the world was in her tiniest of smiles, and shared a laugh along. No one but Taeyong. She may be afraid, fuck—terrified, but it’s the good kind. The kind that tells her to try it out before she dismisses it, that she’ll regret not taking the chance of going out with Taeyong, even as friends, to a damned party that could surely be fun with him by her side.

Which is why a smile grazes her features, a bit shaky, a bit uncertain, but this is part of the world. Part of becoming brave. “You promise to stay by my side the entire night if I go with you?”

Taeyong perks up at that, blinking rapidly before nodding. “Why would I not? I’ll stay with you.”

So, for the first time in a while, she’s tired of the tranquil state of not caring—she wants to feel. Raw emotions of happiness or pain, wants to live even if it hurts her sometimes, even if she has to let go of some insecurities to earn some new ones. When Taeyong is by her side, all of these things feel as though they are small, intricate parts of her that have disappeared with time but beg to come out again to start a better reality. One in which she can look at the world without feeling like time has become the same, hours turning into days, days into months, months into years.

“Then, I’m going.” She replies, relishing in the way Taeyong’s smile grows exponentially, moving around her until he is placing a quickened, perhaps shy, kiss on top of her cheek. So brief that it is almost as if it didn’t happen, and a soft chuckle growns on her chest, escapes her nose on its way.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! We’re going to have such a great time.”

And for some reason, she believes him.

###

Pink is the drink on his hand—a cocktail, mixing fruits that in their blended state cannot be smelled by her. On his lips, though, sugar takes part of the rosiness of his lips, puckered up while he speaks, reminiscent of something that happened to him in high school, and while the story is involving on its own, the sound effects that he has to dramatize the entirety of the ordeal is what has her smiling. Tipsy, he may be, if the way he plays with the collar of his black t-shirt is anything to go by, and in his own heat, he had given her the denim jacket that he had paired up with his original outfit.

The party is way bigger than she would have expected once she entered with Miyoung and Taeyong by her side. The house is, apparently and these are Miyoung’s words, shared by a variety of men on their twenties and it shows. The smell of smoke is in the air, there is some table that she doesn’t even dare get close to doing body shots, and some people are dancing to their might. When she had gotten there, people were halfway through getting tipsy, now she fears getting out of the kitchen in hopes of not coming across someone vomiting or worse, someone who is passed out on the floor.

At least, Taeyong is having fun…and with her, that is. His messy black hair is hidden under a beanie in the same color, and he fixes it the more he speaks, back leaned against the counter, taking his dulcet time on tasting the concoction in his glass. And she could have tried some, for the beautiful peachy color does seem inviting…but she is sure that Miyoung will, also, get wasted and she has to be the responsible one and take everyone home safely.

Someone enters the kitchen with commotion, screaming at the top of their lungs about something she can’t quite comprehend. It includes shots, and some other people that are in the kitchen rushing out of there as soon as possible. A secure arm wraps around her waist, bringing her closer to Taeyong’s taut abdomen to keep her away from the masses of people and when she decides to look back at the man holding her, she finds Taeyong staring away. What such luck it is that she never gets to look him in the eye and show the awe within her, that one that begs to explore him as a lover. There is nothing she wants more than to be surprised by him.

“Be careful,” Taeyong says, bottom lip jutting out and a smile shows through her features, letting her eyes inspect his face. The man in question finally turns to look at her, his arm still wrapped around her waist, legs parted to the point it almost feels like he is caging her in place. “Don’t want to miss you here.”

His fingers slowly caress over the fabric of her long-sleeved white shirt, they reach her arm and grip there as if to feel her, every bit of her. “I won’t leave your side.”

Taeyong brings his cocktail up to his lips just when he blushes at her words, and she loves that little bit of reaction she can get out of him from her simplistic words. “Keep that promise.” He tells, making her chuckle, only to be shortened when on his tipsy state Taeyong rests his cheek against the side of her face, pushing her closer to him when he speaks, albeit a bit slurred. “I…am so happy to be here with you.”

Her heart is not racing. It’s hammering. It’s about to go into cardiac arrest from the closeness in between the two, and full of romanticism, she lets herself fall into his touch. “Me, too.”

“I must sound so nerdy and silly.” Taeyong breathes out, the coldness of his lips seeping with every word he says, kissing her skin without touching her.

“You don’t.” She admits. “I like it.”

Her coworker, the one candy boy that has taken over her head for the past few months, lets his lips part before he chuckles at himself. Hard, like his mind is eased into a state in which a flutter is permanently inside his chest. “It’s just…when I think of you, I don’t know how to voice things out.” Taeyong does not lie when he is drunk, perhaps, but just when she is about to part her lips and tell some type of retaliation—perhaps a confession in a similar form, she hears her name being called, momentarily pulling away from Taeyong who doesn’t completely let go of her arm.

Miyoung is standing by the door, her hair pushed away from her face by a ponytail, wearing the prettiest cream dress that hugs her body just right and by the way her lipstick has smudged on the cup on her hand, there is definitely alcohol in her body. “Hello, you two! Want you join me on a game?”

“Not really.” She states, looking over at Taeyong who shrugs his shoulders.

“I’ll stay with her, if you don’t mind.”

“Guys, please. They’re going to do this kiss game and I really want to join, but I don’t want to go there alone.” Miyoung gets closer, tugging at her sleeve and pulling her away from Taeyong to gain her trust. The truth is—Miyoung trusts the world, trusts the people around her and the little games that she plays, believes in youth more than she believes in the consequences of certain acts, so leaving her alone would be irresponsible. Someone like Miyoung should be protected at all costs, any friend should, really.

“Right, it would be mean to leave you on your own.” She says, soon after feeling Miyoung interlock their fingers together to get out of the kitchen. Barely grasping Taeyong’s arm, she keeps the man close to her, for no one gets left behind as long as she is there.

The house is lit in different kind of lights, all dim but in various colors—from greens to blues, to simple whites. People were kissing on couches, dancing the night away, sharing whatever it is that they find from one person to the other, but her mind is taken away from that when she feels someone else hold her hand. Taeyong, having understood the situation in his tipsy mind, grabs onto the skin of her hand with precision, afraid of having her away, and his body caging her with the presence of him feels comforting behind her. Almost as if there is no way anything could go wrong as long as he is there.

Strong, he may not be—at least, not physically, but there is this sense of protection that she feels in the depths of her soul. It eases the ache of her heart and gives it a kind of beat that she has never felt. To trust him did not come easily, but he has earned it. This is what she thinks of when Miyoung sits on the floor, on a part of the circle of people who are cheering with cups on their hands, and Taeyong immediately takes the seat beside her, not forgetting to tell her to put his jacket underneath her for her to be more comfortable.

She wishes she could reach for him, that this fear she has deep within her would not be eating her alive—because for the longest while, feeling was forbidden for her. Now older, perhaps a bit wiser, it seems odd to reconnect with that part of herself that she thought was dead.

One of the people around the circle explains the game. Truth or dare, something that she leaves herself out of when she feels Taeyong’s hand still interlocked with hers, far too preoccupied in the way he stares ahead, listens to others, but doesn’t forget to let his fingertips trail in between hers, rubbing soothingly, reassuring her that there is nothing to worry about. Not when he’s there. Not when he plans to stay.

The feeling is right and it shows in his eyes, when they find themselves commenting on the stupid dares and laughing between each other. Taeyong has completed something, and she feels like it should be the same for him, igniting her mind with images that she could have never imagined herself making out.

Instead, this feeling of tranquility is cut short when someone places a cup on Taeyong’s hand, wrapped softly around it when one of the partygoers speak. “I dare you to either drink this or kiss your girl.”

“Ah, I’m not playing—” The idea of kissing Taeyong has her eyes widening, because she is certain of what she feels, but there is no way of knowing what he feels. This is the part of love that is so complicated, or of any kind of union, because everyone’s mind is a universe and there is no way of knowing what can’t ever be heard.

However, the people around them don’t seem to care, someone beside Miyoung speaking louder. “What about passing a honey candy by a kiss?”

He can only be shameful, the tips of his ears covered by his beanie but perhaps reddened like his face. Taeyong turns to look at her, quirking an eyebrow in question, his eyes showing that panic that sometimes overtake him. There is an unopened bag of honey-based candies placed in between them suddenly, and she thinks of the chance she has in her hands. She has never been the type to act in the ‘ride or die’ way, but the touch of curiousness has overtaken her, much more when Taeyong chuckles. “I’m not sure.”

“We could try—” She whispers, only audible for him.

His smile falls, eyes inspecting her features before he looks away. There it is, that nervousness that he masked as fear. “Are you sure?” Soon after, he’s looking at her, chocolate kisses irises staring at her soul when she opens the bag with shaking fingertips, taking one of the unopened envelopes in between her fingers.

“If you want to.” She says, jutting her chin towards the drink. “I don’t want you drinking any more. You’re already kind of tipsy.”

“Quickly, are you taking the dare or not?!” Someone says, but she can only try to read what his eyes are saying. Speechless, they seem to be.

Just when he puts the hard, yet thin, candy in between his lips, people start cheering, a voice that she recognizes as Miyoung’s saying: “Oh fuck, they’re actually going to do it.”

And this sense of confidence she has never had. Not when Taeyong looks down at her lips, his own wrapping around the candy in a delicate touch. His hand splays on the back of her neck, playing with the little hairs at her nape, and nearing her ever so delicately. Her fingers try to find a spot in which to find leverage, instead resting them on each side of his waist.

This is the man that has given her candy for the past few months, the same one that has waited patiently for her…and she has waited for him, too, lied her way through her head to believe that he was not the one gifting her such things. With her eyes closed softly, she lets out a shuddering breath, one that fans over his cheeks when she confesses:

“I know you’ve been giving me candy as gifts for the past few months,” She tells him, only opening her eyes when Taeyong takes a sharp intake of breath. His eyes have lost that hazy glow, instead inspecting her every feature. “I’ve known it for a long time.”

And she wants to say more—desires to say that she loves every card and stores it as reminiscent moments of being cared for, but the feeling is too strong and Taeyong is just the slightest bit tipsy, giving him a push that has his lips tantalizingly touching her own. For a moment, the touch is brief, but to pass the candy along and taste the honeyed layers of its shape he parts his lips. Delicacy is read in his every action; in the way his fingers relax and that breath that he had held is released against her skin. This feels like it is correct, like the sweetness on her tongue when his caresses against her own does not come from the honey on the candy but from him.

His breaths are slow, felt in the way she holds his snug waist with tenderness. The candy starts to dissipate in her mouth, too thin to last too long, but even then Taeyong decides to be greedy—takes more of her in the way they connect, lips to lips, soon after zoning the people around them when he takes her by the cheeks. Her head is tilted to the side slightly when he gives one last caress of his lips, pulling away the slightest before the sound of his giggle is heard through the air.

“You knew.” He says, and she can’t even open her eyes as she romanticizes this moment. Her fingers pull at his beanie, letting it rest lower on his reddened ears, nodding her head at his words.

“I knew.” And someone is speaking, the concentration going away from them and the cup that had been placed in between Taeyong’s fingers is letting its droplets of alcohol fall to the flooring. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.”

“It’s okay.” Taeyong finishes, locking the gates of heaven by looking away once again. His fingers reach for hers once again, bringing the back of her hand up to her lips before laughing against the skin, his lips vibrating at the action. “But let’s talk about it when I’m not about to die from a heart attack, okay?”

But she doesn’t know how to conceptualize it, how to shed the layers of her that she needs him to discover. It is more difficult than simply knowing his secret, and the reality of it all is barely acknowledge after a kiss that united heart with soul and turned it into one. For one night, she believes in fairytales. For one night, no taste could replace the one that is his.

###

She breathes out words that she had never found a meaning for. Hope is one of the, in the way her fingers hook around a few pebbles, shadowed by the apartment complex that is right in front of her—Taeyong’s address. Nervousness eats at her, surely, keeps her tranced while she moves the rocks in between her fingers, lifts them up, lets them fall to her palm and repeats, not missing the way her heart skips since today is Monday. The first Monday after that kiss shared on Friday, when she practically had to watch Taeyong down two more cocktails before dragging him back home on the bus, hearing his rants that matched the nonsense inside his drunken brain.

Time is such a precious thing, one that she had wasted for many years. She thought that time passing meant nothing, since it’s only a concept that has never been proven by science—no one knows what the end is, or when it will be, neither do they know beginnings. The differences between past, present and future blurred for her, but if she’s certain of something is that her future desires to be conformed of Taeyong, to have him smile at her, kiss her lips at his will, give her more than candy but that heart of his that has never lost its essence.

A part of her wonders if the game, the gazes and the dare had put him in a position in which, truthfully speaking, he could only kiss her. He could have backed away, separated from her to simply forget about her existence, but he didn’t. Left her speechless, he did, to the point she shivers even when her jersey is covering her shoulders and she has been standing outside his apartment for more than twenty minutes by now, thinking of throwing rocks to his window to get his attention.

…But that’s impossible, now that she thinks about it. Taeyong lifts in one of the highest roofs.

Sighing is what she does, kicking the flooring with numb steps when she realizes that this is more difficult than she had anticipated. Taeyong may have given her all those gifts, but what do they even mean? He could have kissed her, said plenty of beautiful words…but there is always this voice inside of her that wonders about the ‘what if’s’ of their situations. Tired of doubting, she hopes that one step forward is enough of an initiation for her to get inside the building, hence look for Taeyong on the way—

“What are you doing?” Someone asks her and the voice has her letting the rocks fall on her feet, hands coming up to her ears to cover them, even when the one was soft. Once she looks at the source of such voice, she watches Taeyong with one hand wrapped around his backpack, the other coming forward to hold her shoulder, eyes widened. “Oh, damn, you okay?”

“Taeyong, don’t creep up on me!” Her voice lifts slightly, letting go of her ears to speak to him properly. For a moment, Taeyong remains expressionless—that is until happiness takes over him and he nudges her side.

“Someone’s jumpy today, I see. Any reason?” He asks, a teasing tone matching the glint of his eyes and dare she say that she actually confesses something that day.

Life may excuse her today for irrationality, because she really likes Taeyong. As in, a lot. “You.”

“Clearly—”

“No, Taeyong, I mean that I’m jumpy because I wanted to talk about the kiss.” His eyes don’t divert away from her, as if he has passed the days of nervousness and exchanged them for seriousness. Waiting, he does, and for the first time in such a while she needs to speak a lot. Hooking her fingers around a strand of hair that had fallen on her forehead, she sighs. “First, I don’t need you giving me more candy. It was cute while it lasted, but I’m not in for candy theft—”

“I wasn’t stealing,” Taeyong says, and that is enough to have her world turning upside down in the best of ways. “I bought all those candies for you.”

With a soft, barely there, smack to his shoulder, she retorts. “Taeyong, you must have spent a lot of money.”

“I didn’t.” He continues, letting go of his backpack to keep it resting on his shoulders. “It’s candy, not a diamond ring.”

With that, something lifts up from her shoulders and her mind gets filled with the idea of having him. Past a letter or a smiley face, only to lay her reality in front of him, hoping for him to take it. “Also…” Her voice trails, fingertips playing with one another. “I like you, okay? That kiss…uh…it meant something to me, and I would like to know if you like me.”

His laugh is so joyful that his nose scrunches up, his hand expanding until his thumb is resting on one of her cheeks and the rest of his palm is on the other. Those bags that she has always adored rest under his eyes, lips only closing when he leans forward to rest a fleeting kiss to her lips. “I wouldn’t have given you all those notes if I didn’t like you, silly.”

Her arms wrap around him, perhaps stealing a breath away from him, but now with him in her arms, she feels a sense of serenity. His heartbeat is soft against her eardrums, eyes closing in the delight of having him so close—of having him in a pre-sense of love. Taeyong has stuck to her heart, and she doesn’t think she will ever get him out of her system.

Not when, in perspective, he’s the sweet she likes the most.

#taeyong scenarios #taeyong #nct scenarios #nct #kpop scenarios #writing #taeyong au #taeyong fluff #nct au #nct fluff #candy store worker!taeyong

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inkribbon796 · 3 years

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Brotherly Strife Ch. 2

Chapter 2: You’ve Been Given a Great Gift, Bim

Summary: Bim’s adventure continues and he learns that being Dark’s favorite isn’t all fun and games.

A/N: WARNING because Bim eats someone in this.

Chapters: 1, 2

Everything at the station was normal, fine. Well except for the fact his show was a full hour earlier than normal, but he tried to get over that, it was one day. It’d be fine.

Wil greeted him warmly and everyone stepped lightly around Wil’s ever-changing moods. But Bim was always aware of Dark’s aura lingering always in the background of any room Bim was in.

It was weird, but Bim felt something like pride about it. Dark never paid this much attention to him. He wondered if this was what Illinois got every day.

The show went okay, nothing went too wrong. But instead of Wil quickly sweeping him away, Dark’s portal physically moved him from the stage and dumped him into a cold office room, one that it took Bim a bit to recognize as Dark’s office in the Manor. Dark was standing there.

“A warning would have been nice,” Bim grumbled.

Dark was just staring, unblinking at him with a frigid expression on his face, “Normally I would let you go about your day, but your flagrant insistence about wasting your time has gotten on my last nerve.”

“Come on, you don’t force Illy to do this,” Bim muttered.

“I don’t keep track of what your insufferable friends do,” Dark dismissed in a terse, angry tone. “We’re continuing your lessons, now.”

“Okay,” Bim allowed, unsure what these “lessons” would be but if Illinois had ever done them then he could probably do it.

Dark seemed to lose a little bit of tension and he swept back the dark fringe of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. “Finally, some sense. That bastard glitch isn’t teaching you anything of merit.”

“Harsh,” Bim commented bravely.

Dark walked up and with absolutely gentleness he smoothed out Bim’s hair and suit with aura, not physically touching him but his hands moving through the motions. “You’re Wil’s heir, you deserve only the best.”

At first, Bim didn’t know what to start commenting on, but then Dark’s aura seemed to seep into his suit coat, turning it from its normal black to an inky black color.

“There,” Dark said, “that should help you start.”

Then the Entity took a step back and waited, for what Bim didn’t have the foggiest idea.

Dark just stared at him, unblinkingly.

Bim looked around, “What am I supposed to do again.”

“You are not doing this again,” Dark spat, suddenly furious. Bim flinched, feeling Dark’s aura coil around him, tightening just shy of going from uncomfortable to painful. “You are staying here until I get something out of you. You and Wil constantly insist I treat you like an adult, but the very instant I start, you complain incessantly.”

“I don’t know what you want!” Bim shouted back.

That got Dark even angrier, “You know what I want, so start taking this seriously!”

“No I don’t know,” Bim began to panic, he’d never seen Dark direct his anger towards him like this before.

It terrified him.

Dark glared at him, furious but the coiling loosened a bit. He swept his hair out of the way. “Bim I am doing this with your best interest in mind. Wil doesn’t teach, and that glitch doesn’t care. Other demons aren’t going to wait for you to gain an interest in learning magic.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Bim asked.

Something in Dark seemed to be merciful, the aura uncoiled from around Bim but lingered on his coat. Dark took a deep breath before holding up his hands and tore open a portal into the Void. “You have my aura inside you, just use it. You always go for huge holes in reality. Start small.”

Bim felt actual dread chilling his body. He’d never tried to use the Void, it always seemed like an untamed wild beast that wanted to swallow him whole. He’d only learned he had an aura after being in an aura-dampening environment.

But he held up his hand like Dark, unsure what to exactly do at first.

For the first five seconds there was nothing, Bim didn’t know what to do or say. But after a disappointed sigh from Dark, his aura creeped along Bim’s arms and he felt a tingling at his fingertips that had a weird burning effect on them.

It steadily got more painful until a deep purple, almost black, portal with flecks of pink and lavender color bleeding through.

Bim felt something in him twisting, almost hypnotizing him as he stared at it. Something trying to claw its way out of him.

But Dark closed the portal and Bim collapsed, feeling so unendingly hungry that he growled at the ground, his mind starting to cloud into the beginning stages of a frenzy. A chill starting to prickle in his chest.

Fortunately, for Bim at least, he was already hearing the choked screams of a human already bleeding and injured.

Unlike all the other times when Bim would stalk and study and enjoy himself with the thrill of the hunt he just lunged for whatever pitiful creature Dark had found for him.

Bim went for their throat, relishing in the choked screams and the blood around him.

Dark just watched calmly until Bim was done, what had once been a human being was now a mound of limbs, broken bones, and gore.

It was only once Bim was sated that he realized he was gasping for breath, as if he’d run a mile. He looked at himself in disgust as he realized his suit was ruined with blood.

“Ughh,” Bim complained.

Dark’s aura came back and Bim felt something in him that he hadn’t felt before — maybe that was his own aura — try and recoil away from Dark and lean into him at the same time.

Dark used his aura to force Bim to look up at him, “See, now was that so hard? A couple more lessons and you’ll have it.”

Run!

Bim felt like he’d been jolted by something, he was on edge, and felt like he’d been electrocuted by something. He was running and at first he didn’t know where his feet were taking him. But all too soon he ran into his bedroom and straight into the bathroom where he began throwing up into the toilet.

He felt disgusting and so different, like Dark had just uncorked some demonic genie inside of him and Bim wanted that feeling again, but it came with such an intense hunger he was afraid that he’d never be full again.

After a shower, Bim stared at himself in the fogged up mirror, glasses back on. He looked like a pale, death stricken mess. His eyes coal black.

He didn’t want to look like that, maybe if he went to bed this whole nightmare would be over. The Host said that—

Bim rushed to get dressed in his pajamas and raced for the balcony, but to his horror the house started to fold around him and he ran into the library instead. To his immediate and immense relief the Host was the room’s only occupant.

The blind seer looked in Bim’s direction as he threw the door open.

“How is Bim enjoying his time as being the Entity’s favorite?” Host had a huge smile on his face.

Bim was too worked up to realize that the Manor’s library was much bigger than he ever remembered it being and there were two whole shelves of Braille books.

“You win,” Bim told him. “You win. Just bring Illinois back.”

The Host arched an eyebrow, taking his hand off his book, Bim noticed that it was all just Braille and no words. “The Host does not recall an Illinois. Who is Bim referring to?”

“Don’t be an asshole, you know who I’m talking about, lesson learned,” Bim admitted, feeling anxious. “Just bring him back, and things can go back to normal.”

“Now why would the Host do that,” the Host chuckled darkly. “The Host had been looking for a way to get rid of Illinois for some time. Good riddance in his mind.”

“No, not funny asshole,” Bim stomped closer, panic starting to cloud up in his chest. “Bring him back, you said it wasn’t permanent.”

“Awww, you do love me,” Illinois said from directly behind Bim.

The Host broke out in laughter—

“Ha ha, shitbags,” Bim spat, Illinois was laughing too, walking over to bump his knuckles against the Host’s.

“That was so good,” Illinois laughed, the library suddenly just a bit smaller, the Braille books gone — safely back in the Host’s library in the Hero’s base. “You still got it.”

“You both are total assholes,” Bim told his older brothers.

“Consider it revenge for wishing me away,” Illinois reminded. “You’re lucky Dark won’t remember it.”

“If you want a thank you or an apology, you’re not getting it,” Bim spat, then he looked at the Host who was just watching them. Narrations under his breath and a smile in his face. “Hey Host what’s up with all the differences? Kay was still with us and he looked like a coffee addict.”

The Host stood up. “Illinois is responsible for a lot of things, the King of the Squirrels wouldn’t have a preference for tea nor would the Manor have such a big coffee mug collection if not for the Adventurer bringing them into the house.”

“Huh, he responsible for anything else?” Bim asked, his tone sour.

“With someone for the Entity to concentrate his attention on, everyone else in the Manor has less stress in their lives,” the Host explained. “And if something goes wrong Illinois has the personality to want to soften the blow for his siblings. King got to learn that there was a life outside of the Network, and Yancy was in a position to be an enforcer rather than a captain who never leaves the warehouses. Much is different, but yet some is still the same.”

“Okay, enough of stroking Ill’s ego off,” Bim rolled his eyes, pushing Illinois away from him when he tried to reach over and ruffle his hair.

Illinois chuckled, sticking his hands back into his pockets. “Hey Host, can yah do it? You didn’t answer me before Bimmy got back.”

Bim glared at Illinois when that nickname left his mouth.

“The Host is currently capable of maintaining an effect of that nature,” the Host answered.

“Yes!” Illinois cheered, moving his feet in excitement. “I owe you until the end of time, Host.”

“The Host will remember that,” Host smiled as Illinois raced out of the room in a full sprint.

“What was that about,” Bim motioned to Illinois with a thumb, his other hand on his hip.

“Illinois will tell Bim himself, probably in a day or two,” the Host evaded. “It is not the Host’s to tell.”

“Whatever,” Bim dismissed. “Cryptic fucker, don’t you have a forty-year-old man to fuck or something?”

“Bim should be careful not to insult the Host’s doctor,” the Host warned tersely.

“Hey, you’re the one sleeping with a manther not me,” Bim shrugged, checking his nails. “Not insulting him, just stating a fact that he’s old enough to be your dad.”

“Bim can either retire the topic of his own volition or he’ll find himself waking up the next day,” Host threatened.

“Okay, fine, fine,” Bim held up his hands placatingly, before realizing that the Host could see them and quickly lowered them to his side. “But can I ask you something else?”

“Bim can so long as he minds the Host’s threat,” the Host reminded.

Rolling his eyes, Bim braced a wrist on his hips, a thoughtful frown on his face that reminded the Host a fair bit of Dark. “Am I really Dark’s kid? Like physically, I mean. Obviously I’m dad’s, I look just like him, but what about the old man?”

“Bim Trimmer is the clone of Wilford Warfstache and the Entity known as Dark,” the Host answered.

“How?” Bim asked.

“The Host is this story’s narrator, not it’s writer,” the Host reminded sharply. “It is not his job to know.”

“Yeah but you have to know something,” Bim continued to inquire.

“Demons reproduce via aura, Bim Trimmer is a half to three-quarters juvenile demon,” the Host continued. “Otherwise he could not have inherited the Entity’s aura.”

“Okay, stop, ewww, if this is gonna turn into a demonic birds and the bees talk, we can stop,” Bim interrupted him. “I already got that talk, and I don’t want to know how dad and old man have sex.”

“The Host doesn’t want to have such a talk either,” the Host agreed. “The Host and Bim do not need to talk about their fathers in such a way.”

“The old man doesn’t let me call him “dad” in any language,” Bim frowned.

“That is between Bim and his father to work out,” the Host reminded. “But not tonight, Bim Trimmer is tired from his exploits and needs his rest for the next day.”

“Yeah,” Bim sighed, he was exhausted. But things were back to normal again and he needed five hundred hours of sleep. “Night Host, see you tomorrow.”

“No Bim Trimmer will not,” the Host called after him as Bim started to leave the library. “The Host does not live at the Manor anymore.”

“Right, whatever,” Bim dismissed with a wry chuckle from outside the library.

“Bim!” Host called out and fortunately he didn’t have to use his narrations to drag him back towards the door.

“Yeah? Penless Wonder?” Bim leaned his shoulder against the doorframe.

“If Bim Trimmer wishes to get away with treating the Entity like a father, he should begin doing so when he is going to quickly leave and not return for a period of time. He should be quick and persistent. It took Illinois many, many years for Illinois to get to a point where the Entity no longer reacts negatively towards being called 아빠 and Bim should expect the same.”

“Oh,” Bim commented softly. “Thanks, night.”

“The Host wishes Bim goodnight,” the Host smiled warmly.

Using his narrations, Host made sure to keep an eye on Bim as he went to his bedroom and promptly went to sleep the second he was on his bed.

Narrowly missing Dark who was walking down the hall. Reality split off from its previous trajectory and to the Host the hallway echoed with a dangerously volatile argument that would start a domino effect for Dark.

But Dark just walked in, a calm expression as he checked his watch, unaware of what he had missed. “Are you certain I cannot keep you a bit longer?”

“The Host needs to return to the heroes, the Actor gets closer and the Host would appreciate it if he doesn’t sneak amongst their ranks,” the Host denied.

Dark went tense, “You are not to even be near him, I can’t lose you as well. I would kill the heroes before I let that happen.”

“The Host is fine, the Actor is not interested in him,” the Host demanded. “The Entity is what the Actor wants.”

“Then let him come, I am ready for him,” Dark dared. “I would tear him apart.”

No the Entity will not, the Host thought sadly, thousands of different variations of their future meeting playing across his mind, all with only one victor.

“The Entity must let the Host go,” the Host managed to reply.

Dark sighed, closing his eyes as he nodded. He looked away as he opened a portal, turning his back on the blind seer.

The Host looked at the portal before using his narrations and his aura to be able to reach Dark for a hug. Dark tensed as if he’d been electrocuted at the warmth that came from the Host’s body heat.

“The Host is thankful for everything that the Entity has done for him and the Author,” Host told him. “The Entity has been a good father, and the Host doubts the Author would have lasted as long as he did if not for the Entity looking after him.”

“Don’t,” Dark sounded strangled, pointedly not looking at him.

Letting go of his father, the Host stayed by his side. “The Host means it, he only wishes that he could say so more directly.”

Dark looked at him before capturing the Host into his arms, his aura curling around the Host with feather-like gentleness. “I’d keep you all here, forever if I could,” Dark told him.

“The Host knows,” the Host hugged him back. “Dark should be made aware that there will be a time when all of his children will live in the Manor again.”

Letting go, Dark let out a sad chuckle, “You will look after your brothers won’t you? Kay isn’t sleeping at the park in this cold of weather right?”

“The Host promises he will, and he stays at the base during the winter,” Host reported.

“Good,” Dark let out a long breath of relief. “I worry about him.”

Smiling, the Host turned, already putting one foot into the portal. “Oh and Illinois has a surprise for the Entity, he should meet him in his office.”

“Okay, goodnight Host,” Dark gave a small, fond smile as the Host went through the portal with an answering goodbye and stepped across the hero’s barrier that protected the front steps of their base.

The rip in reality winked closed and Dark looked after it for a bit before opening a small portal to check on Bim, who he saw sleeping peacefully in bed.

With a sad smile, Dark reached over with his aura to smooth over a part of Bim’s hair that had bunched up when he rolled over.

Bim grunted at the touch and his fingers twitched, but something reached out and gently nudged at Dark’s aura. It wasn’t anything enough to fully push Dark away but it was enough of a surprise for Dark to pull away. Bim had never displayed a hint of an aura to him.

Dark had taken . . . steps . . . to ensure that he wouldn’t. Bim was, by virtue of being Wil and Dark’s child, part demon. Infantile and juvenile demons without auras were ignored by other demons because they weren’t a threat. But now that Bim had enough an aura for it to manifest without him being conscious . . .

Closing up the portal Dark had to do something about this.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #birthday post #cannibalism #Bim Trimmer #Darkiplier #the Host #Illinois the Adventurer #ahwm Illinois #minor child endangerment #magic #sibling rivalry #angst #it’s loving Dark hours #after the angst takes place #Dark is trying his best

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soft-stormcloud · 4 years

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Panic Cord [Part 1/3]

Synopsis: When Virgil and his fiancé, Logan, take in Virgil’s ex boyfriend Roman and his boyfriend, Patton, Virgil’s forced to come face to face with his guilt.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Prinxiety, Analogical, LAMP, background logicality

Word count: 2684 out of roughly 8791

Trigger warnings: Implied abusive parents, very heavy guilt, financial problems, potentially unsympathetic Virgil? It’s complicated, everyone makes mistakes.

A/N: this whole fic was inspired by the song Panic Cord by Gabrielle Aplin, 10/10 song

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

Logan gave his stubborn fiance a defiant look. “You’re serious?” He asked again, just to be sure.

Virgil nodded insistently. “Yes! Look, we play DND every week, tell me it wouldn’t be badass playing on this.”

He gestured towards the coffee table he wanted, an overdramatic, gothic table that would take up half of their living room.

Logan quirked an eyebrow. “Okay, but we eat dinner every day. Lunch, too. Imagine trying to balance a cup on one of those ridges. We might as well not even have a table.”

Virgil held his hands up. “I’d be glad to eat on the floor.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Then why… Are we even here?”

Virgil cracked up, too, but shook his head. “I don’t want that boring ass table.”

Logan pouted. He liked the table. It was simple, but not ugly, with dark reddish brown panels of wood and black iron supports. It was big enough for them to eat, and play DND, too, albeit a bit cramped. He especially liked that it looked easy to clean, and it was the perfect height for their couch.

Virgil hesitated, and then sighed as the bell above the shop’s door dinged. “Okay. Fine. We’ll get that table. But! I get to pick the next three games we play.”

Logan smiled. That meant three sessions of DND, with Logan dm’ing. “If that’ll make you happy.”

As giggling sounded from near the door, Virgil looked up and smiled sheepishly at him. Then his eyes slid over his fiance’s shoulder, towards the couple coming towards them- One excitedly pulling his boyfriend, the other nervously and subtly trying to lead him away.

Virgil ducked down and behind Logan, whispering, “Shit, shit, shit!”

Logan looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

“That’s my ex-boyfriend.”

“Which one?”

“The tall one.”

The couple stopped to admire the table Logan picked out. The tall one stared fiercely at it, eyes not moving, stiff. The oblivious one admired the wood.

Logan didn’t take his gaze off the tall one as he said, “I think they know you’re here.”

The round, freckled one looked at them with a polite smile. “Hm?”

The tall one peeked around Logan a bit and gave an awkward wave. “Hey, uh-” He almost said something else, and then just said, “Hey.”

Virgil stared at him, anxiety having frozen him solid. They spent thirty seconds in the most uncomfortable silence Logan thought he’d ever witnessed, Virgil’s ex’s boyfriend completely oblivious, until Logan said, “So, you two used to date?”

That got his attention.

“Um, yeah… I’m Roman,” the tall one said, ignoring his boyfriend’s concerned look. His hair was grown out in a messy enough way that it was clearly unintentional, faded red with inches of brown roots. His nails were painted an assortment of pastel colours. “This is my boyfriend, Patton.” Patton was dressed all in pastels, with golden circular glasses frames and platform boots. He looked familiar, but Virgil couldn’t place him. His hair was also a mess, but it was curly and looked more on purpose.

“I’m Virgil’s fiance.” Logan stuck his hand out, and Roman’s eyes went wide.

“Fiance?” He didn’t shake Logan’s hand. Patton squeezed Roman’s arm.

“Yes.” A small smile crawled onto Logan’s face as his eyes slid over to Virgil. Virgil blushed and looked away. “Fiance.”

“So that’s the name you picked? ‘Virgil?’” Roman forced a chuckle and glanced to Logan. “He was still trying a few out when we were together.”

Desperate to get the attention off of him, Virgil asked, “So are you two moving in together?”

Patton smiled brightly. “We’re trying to! But, you know, money’s tight. We figured we’d stop by here since we were close and look at some options. It’s more expensive than we thought it’d be, though.”

Logan perked up. “You know, when Vee and I started looking at options, we found this little store downtown…”

Logan and Patton got lost in conversation as Logan told him about the furniture store he and Virgil had found, and all the things they found for their new apartment. Virgil’s eyes widened as he realized he and Roman were, basically, left alone.

After thirty seconds of just staring at Logan and Patton’s conversation, he realized there wasn’t really a subtle way to get out of this situation. He turned to Roman and, after a bit to think of what to say, stuttered out, “You look like you’re doing… Good?”

A little bit of authenticity bled into Roman’s smile. “Patton’s really great. Do you, um, do you remember him?”

“Um, I think, yeah?” Virgil looked away and scratched the back of his neck a little aggressively. Shit, Patton? Patton… He couldn’t place the name. “Probably, I don’t know.”

“I met him at that Wicked showing,” Roman reminded him. “It was, like, a week before. You only met him once.” Roman’s eyes widened. “Oh- But we didn’t do anything! We only got together a year ago. I promise, we didn’t-”

Roman tended to go on and on until someone stopped him.

“After what happened, do you really think I could be mad at you for forgetting to tell me something?” Virgil raised his eyebrows. Every day he felt guilty for what he did. He would let Roman get away with breaking a thousand rules to their polygamy set up, let alone one.

“I guess not,” he said quietly. He was blushing. He let out a little laugh and shrugged. “I just… Don’t like you being mad at me.”

Virgil could tell where this headed. He rushed to speak at the same as Roman,

“It wasn’t your fault-”

“If I did anything-”

Virgil pursed his lips and Roman chuckled. “I mean…” Roman turned away slightly, peeking at him. “There had to be a reason, right? Never mind, don’t answer that.” He fully looked away, pretending to examine one of the tables. “I shouldn’t pry.”

“Vee?”

They both glanced back. Logan and Patton were standing close enough for their clothes to brush together, and they each had a little dopey smile on their faces. Patton broke off to join Roman, wrapping his arms around one of Roman’s. Roman smiled down at him.

“Are you ready to go, love?” Logan asked. Little happy butterflies fluttered around Virgil’s stomach. “I have to get ready for work.”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Virgil pointed back at the table they chose. “I'll get this to the register.”

Logan turned for a moment, before looking back and asking, cautiously, “You’re not trying to trick me, are you?”

He grinned. “Which table did we pick again?”

Logan pointed at him. “I’m trusting you.”

He went outside to go warm up the car, and Virgil reached for the box.

“Virgil, um…” Roman smiled nervously as Virgil turned back to him. “Before you leave, could I just- Could I hug you?”

Virgil’s heart stuttered. Dread twisted his stomach into a knot, but how could he say no? After what he did, if the guy wanted a hug, he could have a hug. He nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Roman almost stepped forward, but then his gaze settled on Virgil’s face, and he really looked, and he stopped. “I know you too well,” he said with a sad smile. “But, um, here… Pat, can I borrow a marker?”

“Mhm!” Patton swung his pastel purple backpack around to his front and dug inside for a moment before producing a pink marker.

Virgil held out his arm instinctively and Roman scribbled down a phone number. “We should catch up some time, if you want.”

Virgil knew what he was doing. It was an invitation, and nothing more. It was Roman saying, I miss you, and I feel like we ran into each other today for a reason, but I would never pressure you into anything. So, if you want to, you can reach out.

Virgil was conflicted.

He just nodded and forced a smile, and then got the box with Logan’s pick to the register.

Later, while they were putting the table together, Logan said, “You know, Patton mentioned they’re still looking for a place to live.”

Virgil looked at him in confusion. “Yeah?”

He stared at the screw he was trying to fit in the wood. “They seemed like they were in a hurry.”

“I can imagine,” Virgil mumbled.

Logan furrowed his eyebrows. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “Personal stuff. Roman’s personal stuff.”

“Oh.” Logan shrugged it off. “Okay, well. I was just thinking, if it gets too bad, we could always rent out my office.”

Virgil’s stomach coiled. “What?” He asked in panic. “To them?”

“Yes?” He looked up in confusion. “Would that not be okay?”

Virgil dropped his screwdriver. “No! No, that’s- No.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to do that. What kind of idea is that? He’s my ex.”

“Yeah, I know, I heard that, Vee.” He sighed and set down his screwdriver, as well, giving Virgil his full attention. “But they need a place to live, and I figured things couldn’t have ended that badly. You guys got along fine today.”

“No- It wasn’t a fight.” Virgil pursed his lips and tried to figure out the best way to explain what happened, and quickly gave up. “It’s just- It’s not a good idea.”

Logan crawled around his side of the table to sit next to his fiance, taking his hands. “You’re talking like it’s already decided,” he said gently. “I was just asking your opinion. If you don’t want it to happen, it won’t, okay?”

Virgil nodded slowly, squeezing his hands. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry, I just- I panicked.”

He smiled. “I know. It’s okay.” Logan kissed him softly, and Virgil leaned into it. “I gotta get going, though, or else I’ll be late.” He stood up and let Virgil’s hands drop from his. “Are you okay with finishing this yourself?”

Virgil picked up his screwdriver again and nodded. “Yeah. I’m off tonight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Logan leaned down to give him one last kiss, before leaving, grabbing his keys on the way out.

xxx

A few days later, Virgil burst into their apartment after work. Logan jumped as Virgil dropped his bag on the floor and dropped himself into Logan’s lap.

“Bad day?” Logan asked, hiding a smile as he ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair.

“Whatever,” Virgil grumbled.

“What happened?”

“Just a bunch of stupid shit. I didn’t even really want to be there anyway. Apparently I made some mistake yesterday, and my supervisor, like, attacked me for it.”

Logan was immediately sceptical. “He did?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he say?”

“I don’t even remember, it happened as soon as I got inside.” Virgil sat up, feet planted on either side of Logan’s lap. “What, do you not believe me?”

“No, it’s not that.” Logan rested his hand on the side of Virgil’s face. “I just know how you can be.”

Virgil scowled and stuck out his tongue at him. Logan laughed and kissed him.

“I don’t know, I was trying to make coffee and he stormed up and started snapping at me.”

“Did you snap back?”

“Of course I did. Can you blame me?”

He shrugged. “Not really, I guess.” He tucked a loose strand of Virgil’s purple hair behind his ear. “But… I don’t know, he’s your supervisor. Is that smart?”

Virgil grimaced as chills crawled up his back. He had been trying not to think about that. “Just because he’s my supervisor doesn’t mean he can be a dick,” Virgil grumbled.

“No, I agree, but…”

Virgil sighed. “Dear God, what?”

“It sounds like he was just doing his job,” Logan said with a sigh.

He scowled. “And being a dick about it,” he said pointedly.

“Well, maybe, I don’t know, I wasn’t there. But besides that point.”

Virgil didn’t answer.

“Just think about it,” Logan said gently and pulled him closer.

Virgil easily leaned against him. There was nothing in this world that calmed him down faster than his fiance. It was how he realized he was in love with Logan, in love with him the kind of way that he knew, without him, he would just ache. The first time Logan came into the room and Virgil felt undeniable, bone-deep relaxation, an overpowering feeling of safety- He knew.

Logan was always trying to encourage him to be better; not because he didn’t think Virgil was enough, but because he saw how Virgil was constantly hurting himself, and he didn’t want to watch it.

Virgil rolled his eyes and rested his head on Logan’s shoulder, mumbling mockingly, “Should I… Apologize?” He hated apologizing. He only really did it to Logan, and that still sucked.

“It depends.” Logan kissed the top of his head. “How big of a dick was he being?”

“... Not really.”

“Then probably.”

Virgil sighed heavily. “This is stupid.”

Virgil knew what he was thinking: You need to stop getting so defensive. But he didn’t say it. Maybe because he knew that Virgil already knew. Maybe he felt like he got his point across fine enough without it. Either way, Virgil was grateful.

xxx

Virgil’s phone woke him up at 10am, and it felt like the middle of the night.

A number unknown to his phone but memorized by Virgil showed across the scene, and his heart at once sunk to his stomach and filled with butterflies. He was frozen with indecision. A mix of relief and regret swirled inside his stomach as the phone stopped buzzing, a missed call showing up on screen… And then it all shattered as it began again.

“Turn that shit off,” Logan groaned, wrapping an arm around Virgil’s waist.

Virgil kissed his hand and nudged him away so he could get out of bed. He answered the phone as he tiptoed out of the bedroom.

In their empty apartment, the world was quiet. Cars buzzed by outside, but it was muffled from so high up. The sun streamed in from the windows they forgot to draw the curtains on before going to bed, shining patterns on the carpet from the stained glass pieces Virgil had hung up.

He tried to focus on that while he answered the phone. His blooming life with Logan, and how happy it made him.

“Roman?”

“Hey!” He didn’t sound happy. He sounded nervous. “So, uh… You busy right now?”

“What’s going on?” Virgil’s eyes settled on the vase of fake roses on their coffee table. They both adored plants, but neither of them had the time or patience to really take care of any. Virgil traced the familiar petals and the child safe thorns on the stem.

“Well, you know how Patton and I were trying to find a place to live?”

“Mhm.”

Virgil expected him to ask him and Logan to help them move in, that they found a place but they happened to bite off more than they could chew and Virgil was the only person he felt comfortable asking for such a favour. However likely that was.

“Well, we couldn’t. And, uh…”

Virgil furrowed his eyebrows. Dread tangled his stomach into knots. “What’s wrong, why can’t you keep looking?”

“Well, we can! It just…”

“Give me the phone,” a soft voice said from Roman’s side of the phone, and after a moment of shuffling, the voice came out clearer. “Virgil? It’s Patton. We were just wondering if you know anybody who has a spare room for rent. Like… Today, maybe.”

“Is everything okay?” They were freaking him out.

“I ran out of rent money a few months ago, and I was hoping to get paid today, but… Anyway, I guess I overstayed my welcome. My landlord kicked me out. And Roman won’t let me stay with him.”

That much was obvious- Virgil wouldn’t let a frog stay with Roman’s parents.

“So?” Patton tried much too hard to sound cheerful. “Do you maybe know anybody?”

Virgil looked back to their bedroom, where Logan was standing in the doorway, watching him in concern. “Yeah,” Virgil said. “I have a place.”

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#virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #prinxiety #analogical #lamp #hurt/comfort #virgil #roman #logan #patton

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pixelatedrose · 4 years

Text

Soulbound part Three

First | Previous | Part 3 | Next

Ao3 link

Masterpost

Word count: 1,731

Pairings: prinxiety, logicality, background Remile

Warrnings: minor cursing, being left behind, feeling out of place, name calling, absent siblings, tell me if I missed anything important or please just call me out if there's anything you want me to tag!!

Summary:

Roman Prince and Logan Rose are soulmates. They’re platonic soulmates though. They both have the same Soul mark to prove it. But they both have one other soul mark, binding them to one other person. And when they find Patton Miles, it just so happens that they’re both his soulmate. Logan being his Soulbound Soulmate, and Roman being a platonic soulmate. But something feels missing. And it feels filled, shockingly so, when they meet a certain someone a year and a half after they found each other.

Chapter 3

Virgil had had a weird experience in his third period. It was okay at first, but then he remembered that people have soulmates.

And Virgil didn't.

~~•~~

Virgil only remembered Roman because of his ridiculous way of calling roll. He walked up to him. “Are you Roman Prince?” he asked tiredly.

Roman smiled and held a hand to his chest. “The one and only!” He smirked. “Come to admire how pretty I am?” he asked with a wink.

Virgil snorted. Roman was pretty. He was probably the prettiest boy Virgil had seen in years, not since he’d bumped into that other hot guy on the street a few years back. “As in pretty dull? Maybe. It is a wonder of the world after all.”

Roman placed his other hand over his heart as if hurt and threw his head back just enough to toss his hair. "I'm offended! You wound me!!" He said theatrically. Roman held out his hand smiling. "I assume we're seating partners then! How do you do, my emo nightmare?"

Virgil stopped himself. It felt so very right to banter and talk to Roman, but Virgil knew better than that. He could see the galaxy marking peeking out from his collar. He had a soulmate. Maybe more than one. Virgil couldn’t and wouldn’t be his friend. Virgil hardened his voice and started walking to the back of the class where he’d been sitting before. "Come now, Prince of the Preppy, we don't know each other and honestly I don't think we ever will. We're not sitting up front."

If Virgil didn’t know any better, he would have said he could almost feel the disappointment radiating off of Roman. But Virgil did know better. And things like that didn’t happen. Especially not to Virgil.

Roman however, didn’t take the hint. "Hey there, plum hair! Tell me, what's it like looking so fruity?"

Virgil felt a small tinge of heat rise up to his cheeks and he snorted into his hoodie sleeve. "I dunno...what's it like being so fruity?" Why did I respond? I can’t be his friend so why even try?

Roman smirked at Virgil and once again reached out his hand for Virgil to shake. "An absolute delight!" he snickered.

Virgil once again ignored his invitation. Damn, he’s sort of cute… Virgil thought, sitting down. What’s his deal, anyway? If he has a soulmate why bother?

"Fine alright," Roman gave up. "I'll stop talking, panic-at-the-everywhere."

"Sweet." Virgil forced himself to say. Why was this the answer he didn’t want to give? Virgil’s mind worked in such odd ways.

"Really? Like really Really?"

"Yep." He popped the P and pointedly turned away from Roman.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Nope." He again popped the P.

"You know we're going to have to sit next to each other all semester, right?"

"Yeah…? And…?"

"Well you have to talk to me eventually!"

"And I'll stay here dreading when that dreaded eventually will come."

"You cannot be serious! Come on I'm fabulous!"

"Fabulously plastic, dumb, and shallow, if that's what you mean."

"Shallow?!"

"Uh, yeah?"

"How dare-!"

The teacher called attention to the class and Virgil felt a weird knot in his stomach. He pointedly ignored everything, especially Roman, until his attention was won over by the red head with a question.

"If you could change one thing about the world, what would it be?" He sighed out.

Virgil answered before his head knew what he was talking about. "Soulmarks. I'd get rid of all Soulmarks." His answer may have been haphazardly chucked out of his mouth, but it wasn't any less untrue. In fact Virgil believed what he had said with his whole heart.

Virgil hated Soulmarks.

Everyone was obsessed with them.

Everyone had them.

Everyone had a soulmate.

Everyone but Virgil.

So maybe if they were gone, Virgil would finally have the chance to be normal.

But Soulmarks would never be gone. They had been there since the beginning of ever. Actually, no one really knew when they started to pop up…

Virgil's attention snapped to a pair of people arguing and he pulled out his phone and started recording. He had always been this way. He liked to have dirt on people. It gave him a little power where he lacked the respect of others.

"Whoa…yo Virgil check this ou-" Roman started to turn towards the Emo boy who was already well aware of the fight. He realized what he was doing and his eyes narrowed. "What are you doing…?

"Blackmail." Virgil responded easily.

"What?!"

"You never know when it may come in handy."

"You're the creepiest emo kid I've ever met."

"And how many emos have you met exactly?"

"Three! There was this one girl in my middle school that-"

"Yeah okay you can shut up now." Virgil his face under his bangs and in his hoodie sleeve. The way that Roman responded so easily was somewhat annoying.

"Well thanks."

The fight had ended soon enough and the bell had rung, and not wanting to give Roman the chance to further make him regret life itself, Virgil left without saying a word to the preppy boy.

~~•~~

Virgil had had a smooth fourth period and had avoided lunch all together, opting to wander campus for a safe hiding spot rather than go anywhere near the cafeteria that was so overfilled with people.

His fifth period was pretty dull as was his fourth, and so he doodled in his notebook. He looked down at what he was drawing before panicking and furiously erasing the doodle. He had absentmindedly started drawing a Prince that looked very much like a one Roman Prince.

Why did I start drawing him?? Virgil silently asked himself. What was it about Roman Prince that had so captured his mind?

Luckily, Virgil had theater next class.

Virgil wasn't much of an actor, at least not one for the stage, but he enjoyed stagecraft so much. He worked with lights most of the time, but would work props and costumes when they were shorthanded.

Virgil, for once, was excited for his next class. It would be the perfect distraction for him.

Virgil walked into the classroom and was instantly pushed back out by a pair of hands.

"Whoops! Sorry there, we're going to be out on the stage today!" A tall man who looked all too familiar said.

"Okay, cool." Virgil rolled with it and walked in the direction he had been pushed. The man that had pushed him looked so so familiar to Virgil...But he couldn't quite place where exactly he'd seen him before.

"Everyone else is already out there, I had just forgotten some things back in the class." The man said. He must be the teacher then. "By the way, what's your name? I'm the new theater teacher, just started this year!" He said brightly.

Virgil shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Guess that makes two of us then. I just transferred over this year. I used to go to Lakeside."

"Lakeside, huh? Now isn't that neat! That was my high school when I was your age!"

"Really? I'm so sorry."

"Why? I loved it there!"

"Well I guess that's what sets us apart…"

"What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing! I bet it was better when you were there, that's all."

"Had it rough over there?"

"I guess…" Virgil sunk further back into his hoodie, but he didn't have to wait long before they entered the stage to find the rest of the small theater class scattered across the stage and chatting.

Virgil felt his throat catch in dismay as he caught the eye of none other than Roman Prince.

Damnit… Virgil thought bitterly. Why do I always have the worst of luck?

The teacher called everyone to circle up on stage and Roman nearly made it all the way across the stage over to Virgil before a girl with pink stripe in her long bronze hair bounced over to him and dragged him over to the left of Virgil, putting give five people between them.

Virgil slowly and soundlessly let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in, a little of the tension leaving his shoulders.

The played a few warm up games and then they took a tour around the theater, Virgil and many of the other students already knowing most of what was being showed.

As they went up to the catwalks though, questions popped up. One of which caught Virgil's attention.

The girl with the pink stripe, Rose, raised her hand. "Mr. Sanders? Do you ever use the catwalks for special effects like fake snow and stuff?" She asked.

Virgil's breath hitched in his throat.

"Sure. I wouldn't know if that's ever been done in this particular theater since I'm new, but yeah. It's been done many times before." The teacher said. But it was as if the words had glided straight over Virgil's head, carried by an unseen breeze.

Mr. Sanders…? As in...his last name is Sanders…??

Class ended and before Roman could get to him Virgil walked up to the teacher. "Hey, can I talk to you for a moment?"

Virgil wouldn't have seen the way Roman deflated as the teacher nodded and took Virgil off to the side, effectively making it impossible for him to talk to the purple haired boy without making a scene.

"Your last name is Sanders?" Virgil asked hesitantly. He couldn't bring himself to look at the man anymore. He could remember where he'd seen him before now. He knew who he was.

"Yes? And it's dawned on me I never actually caught your name! I'm just completely flopping a teacher here, between forgetting things in my classroom and not even catching one of my student's names!" Thomas laughed.

"My name is Virgil…" He shuffled his feet and looked at the ground rather than at his older brother's face. "Virgil Sanders." He forced himself to meet the taller man's eyes, which were now struck with somber realization.

"Oh god, Virgil…" Thomas said, starting to reach for his little brother's face to wipe away the slowly building tears.

Virgil slapped his hand away. "Don't." He spat. He started to walk away. "I don't care why you're here anymore." He stalked away and as the heavy doors closed behind him, Thomas would hear his brother mutter under his breath;

"Dead-beat…"

Author's note: so I was going to get this out last night but things happened (not bad things I swear!!) And so I'm sitting in the car rn getting this out on my phone. I apologize for any spelling mistakes, anything else, and for the fact that i don't have parts 1 and 2 linked and won't have them linked until later. But that's it!! I had fun writing this and hope you all enjoyed it!!

Tag List:

@anxietea-and-insanitea

@ghostboi-bambi

@scrunchiescrunchie

#sanders sides #ts sides #prinxiety #virgil #logicality #roman #roman sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides fic #ts sides fic #logan sanders #patton sanders #patton #logan #thomas sanders #Soulbound Au

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all-time-logan · 4 years

Note

I don't know if your still using the prompt list but if you are, #7 immediately followed up by #4 with Prinxiety please :)

Hello!! Sorry for the delay in getting this out, but as we’re all aware, the world’s been pretty crazy and I haven’t had much energy to write. I’m kind of considering this a 2.5 to my By Any Other Pet Name verse, though it’s honestly long enough to be a part three. Thank you @angelablue for the request, and I hope you enjoy!!

Part 1 - Part 2

Warnings: None that I can see, but please let me know if there are any!

Word Count: 1252

***

Virgil sighed. “I’m bored and I’m blaming you. How did you convince me to do this again?”

“I convinced you, Sour Puss-in-Boots,” Roman started, tapping one of Virgil’s combat boots with his own shoe, “because I wanted to make Patton and Logan confess their undying love to each other and I needed help.”

“They’re already dating, though.” Virgil said, watching Patton and Logan from the top of the stairs. The two were in the living room, quietly talking as Logan watched Patton knit, his book closed in his lap.

“I’m well aware of that, Virgil, I lost a bet to you about it.” Roman muttered. He leaned forward, and Virgil had a short burst of impulse to tug Roman back to keep him from tumbling down the stairs. He ignored it, knowing Roman had better balance than that.

“However,” Roman continued, “Dating does not equate to true love. Their cutesy nicknames and endearing honeymoon phase are admirable, but it doesn’t make up for the drama and flair of a true romantic affair!”

“I don’t think Logan and Patton are ones for dramatics.” Patton giggled below them, and Logan grinned at him, leaning over to kiss Patton’s forehead. Roman cooed at Patton’s blush, not deterred by Virgil’s doubts.

“They may not be, usually, but when one is in the throes of love, they do crazy things,” Roman threw his hands up, gesturing around has he talked. “They will go to great heights, defeat terrible foes, put themselves in embarrassing positions, preform wonderful deeds, just to look at their love and say, ‘I love you!’”

As he said the last line, Roman turned towards Virgil, making eye contact as he said the last three words. For some unknown reason, Virgil felt his face flush, and Roman’s eyes widened. His cheeks turned pink, and Roman cleared his throat before turning away.

“Uhm, yes, they will do many things to show their devotion.” He ducked his head for a split second, and Virgil couldn’t make himself look away.

“What we need to do, though, is make the two glasses-wearing lovebirds admit their undying love to each other, however we can!” Roman seemed to come back to himself, turning to Virgil with a bright grin. Virgil felt his face, which had been cooling down, get hot with a blush again.

“Will you help me, My Chemically Unbalanced Romance?” Roman asked.

Virgil furrowed his brows, huffing out a breath as he thought. On one hand, it could go terribly wrong, and Logan and Patton would get upset with them and possibly break up. On the other, more likely, hand, Virgil and Roman would simply embarrass themselves and the other two might tease them for a while and stay together. As Patton’s giggles filtered up to them from below, Logan’s quiet laughter underneath it, Virgil shook his head.

“Why not? It may be fun to watch you make a fool of yourself.”

Roman sputtered, and Virgil snickered. This was going to be fun.

***

Their first course of action, apparently, was to figure out the other’s schedules.

“We already know L’s though.” Virgil said, leaning against the counter. “He has it posted on his door so that we don’t bother him when he’s working.”

“Oh, I never pay attention to that, he’ll answer my questions whether he’s working or not.” Roman said. He was sat at the table, furiously writing something into a notebook, a few pens scattered around him. He glanced up at Virgil with a slightly sheepish grin. “To be fair, my questions are usually about scripts and stuff, so that may be why Specs doesn’t mind, but my point stands. We may know his work schedule, but we don’t know his schedule outside of that, and I don’t know about you, but I can’t make sense of what Patton does in a regular day outside of mealtimes and movie nights.”

Virgil snorted, pushing off the counter to join Roman at the table. He looked down at the notebook, seeing that Roman had been making a master schedule of what the four of them did during the day. He grinned when he saw the largest purple section was just labeled “Nap?? Existential dread??”

“First off, Pops doesn’t really have a set schedule.” Virgil plucked the light blue pen out of Roman’s hand, marking out a few of the lines Roman had. “He mainly monitors Thomas’s emotions as a background function and will manage the short-term memory hall while L manages the long-term memory hall with you.”

“I know all of that already,” Roman said, just short of whining. “But what does he do outside of that?”

“As far as I’ve gathered, chores around the house or hanging out with one of us. Or just chilling in his room. I think he takes as many naps as I do, honestly.”

Roman hummed, idly crossing out the “Existential dread” of the largest purple section and rewriting it to be later in the day. “Ok. I might have to watch him for a few days to see if I can get anything concrete, but if not, this will work.”

“What’s this for anyway?” Virgil asked, doodling some swirls in the corner of the notebook page. “And shouldn’t you have Janus’s and Remus’s schedules on here too?”

“This is so we can coordinate our plans better, so they have a higher chance of working.” Roman added some zigzags on top of Virgil’s doodles as he spoke, “Logan’s attempts at giving Thomas a schedule might not be working, but it is useful. I don’t have the other two’s schedules because I frankly don’t think Remus has one and Janus is too sneaky for me to even want to attempt to figure his out.”

Virgil laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Don’t be fooled, Janus has less of a schedule than Remus does. Remus’s is just full of chaos and pranks though, so it balances those two out.”

Roman hummed, picking up the red pen to add the little amalgamation of shapes they were making in the corner of the page. He overlapped the swirls and zig zags, giggling a bit when their hands bumped into each other. Virgil snorted, dropping the light blue pen and grabbing the navy one to outline the swirls he had already made.

They got so invested in their little creation, that it wasn’t until Roman leaned forward and knocked heads with Virgil that they realized how close they had gotten. Roman laughed again, apologizing, but Virgil was too distracted by the way the kitchen lights, as bright and slightly yellowed as they were, were catching Roman’s hair and lighting it up in a halo. His face flushed, and he swallowed roughly.

Roman smiled at him, his cheeks slightly pink from laughter, and shook his head a bit.

“I didn’t knock you to badly, did I?” He asked, and Virgil silently shook his head no. Roman hummed, seeming pleased.

He began to gather his stuff up, sliding the pens into the bright red and gold pencil case they had come from. “Good, don’t want to hurt you too bad and make you lose the few braincells Logan was willing to share.”

With that, he gave Virgil another bright smile, and headed out into the living room. Virgil stared after him, the image of Roman laughing, bright and happy and beautiful, stuck in his brain. As the last descriptor he had used registered with him, Virgil felt his face warm even more, and his heart start racing.

Oh.

Oh no.

***

Tag List:

General:

@irrelevantbutfabulous

@thelesbianspoon

@nonbeenary-enbee

@bernedmylimsoff

By Any Other Pet Name:

@thelowlysatsuma

@thelesbianspoon

@pheonix-inside-reblogs

@thefightisntoverme

@katie-the-noble-fangirl

@lovayatothemoonandback

@irrelevantbutfabulous

@mmd-ask-italy

@bubblycricket

@bernedmylimsoff

Let me know if you want to be added or removed!

#angelablue #prinxiety #virgil sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides #gozy writes #ask #thank you for the request!!#also i tried putting it under a read more but asks don't like that

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lady-charinette · 5 years

Text

Chapter 1 - Strings & Papers Lukanette AU (Teacher!Marinette & SingleDad!Luka)

A/N: Hello everyone! As requested, I made this into a full fic. It was originally something small on Tumblr, an AU idea for Lukanette (SingleDad!Luka and Teacher!Marinette) but after many requests, I finally decided to post the first chapter.

INFO:

All characters are aged up! Everyone is at least in their late twenties/early thirties.

Modern AU without superpowers/kwamis. Tikki is a cat here ^_^

A few OC’s will make appearances, mostly the children of some of the original ML characters (Luka’s child Leon…etc.)

This is purely Lukanette.

Oh and I apologize for any OOCness in advance!

Enjoy reading! :)

Chapter 1

Children rushed about, the room bustling with life as her students went about their tasks; trying to create something using their hands and imagination.

It could be drawings, clay creations, any piece of art that the children were able to craft.

The important thing was, it was something that made them happy and that they liked.

“Miss Marinette! Miss Marinette! Look what I did!“ the boy waved his clay creation in the air wildly, cupped securely in his hands.

His teacher flashed him a bright smile, bending down to look at him and his clay figure properly, “Oh! What a cute dog!” the brown clay figure with blotches of white was slightly disfigured, but Marinette could tell from it’s general shape it was supposed to be a dog, a dog with missing ears, but a dog nonetheless.

Marinette grinned cheerfully and nodded towards the others. “Is this what makes you happy?”

He didn’t hesitate to reply. “Mhm! I love my dog very much!” he raised his arms and spread them as wide apart as they could go, indicating how much he loved his pet.

Marinette’s alert gaze swept over her class, catching some students drawing quietly on some tables, others chatting energetically on the arts and crafts table with glue and colourful carton papers strewn about.

Some children were on the floor, building castles, vehicles or even people with lego blocks.

She walked around, asking every child how they were doing and if they needed any help. Marinette offered holding the tall lego tower for a girl while she got the little decorative bow on top of it, her mother’s workplace she said, a place she could play at where her mother was also nearby, because she didn’t want to be alone at home.

The next child was a boy with dark messy hair and kind brown eyes, Leon. He was drawing something.

Two people, surrounded with what looked like music notes. And what appeared to be an instrument on top of the taller figure, a guitar.

Marinette crouched down next to the table and peeked over his shoulder, giggling when he turned his head and wore a full blown grin on his face. “Miss Marinette!” her heart warmed and lips pulled into an automatic smile at his glee.

Leon was such a cheerful child. He was a walking contradiction at times, cheerful and kind but also quiet and polite, he was never mean to his classmates or teachers.

He sometimes hummed a melody during class, but quiet enough not to disturb her or anyone else, she sometimes heard it when the whole class was silent, except for Leon, who hummed a tune to himself, swinging his legs with a small smile on his face.

Marinette remembered the first time she asked him about it, the reason why he hummed and if it was a special melody.

His answer had surprised her. ‘Mhm! My dad always sings me to sleep that way! He’s really good with his voice.”

She couldn’t remember ever meeting the man, Leon’s father, she vaguely remembered jotting down a phone number as the parental contact information, but she couldn’t remember it.

The only parental figure that frequently picked Leon up from school was his aunt Juleka, whom Marinette always had pleasant conversations with. The woman was kind if a bit shy, her voluminous hair, dark save for the purple streak at the front and at the ends, half hiding her left eye. It would’ve hidden the entirety of her face if not for the hairclip holding it at bay.

Marinette couldn’t blame her, she herself normally styled her hair into pigtails, loose hair would get everywhere in her face and it was impractical for teaching.

She also experienced some of the more daring kids try to pull on it, so pigtails were always a safe bet.

Marinette focused back on the picture Leon was drawing, particularly the two figures on it. “Is that you and your dad?” she saw him nod his head, using black to colour the top of his father’s head and blue for the ends. She stifled a giggle, always amazed at how creative children could get. She saw a girl once draw her father with flowing rainbow hair and when she’d seen the man in person, he almost looked nothing alike from the childishly drawn picture his daughter portrayed him to be.

“Your dad’s hair looks cool.” She smiled, giggling at the light blue.

“Thank you.” His polite phrase made her smile and the pedagogical figure in her rejoice, she was proud whenever parents raised their children right.

Then, she pointed to the guitar over his head, his best attempt at the instrument, which Marinette had to admit was good for someone his age. “Is that your guitar?”

This time, Leon shook his head. “No, that’s my dad’s. He plays it whenever he’s home, he also plays for me.” He smiled shyly, sheepishly, rubbing his messy black hair. “Um, I tried to play once, but it fell on the ground. Dad didn’t get mad, but I felt really guilty.” His cheeks tinged pink and Marinette felt sympathy well within her heart as she placed a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“I’m sure your dad forgave you as soon as it happened, it was an accident, right? Accidents happen all the time, Leon! I dropped my mug in the kitchen today!” she giggled, cringing internally because she was known for her clumsiness.

The boy stuck his bottom lip out and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess, I still felt really bad, but dad said it was okay…” a bright smile curled his lips in the next second, eyes alight with excitement. “Miss Marinette, can I tell you a secret?”

Marinette steeled herself, adjusting her grip on the table to support her weight. Children were honest by nature, they frequently revealed things about their home life, in extent their parents’, to the teachers. Most things weren’t bad, but very amusing, a secret source of entertainment for teachers to talk over coffee in the teacher’s lounge.

Leon whispered before she could say anything, grinning from ear to ear. “My dad is the best dad in the world!”

She blinked, surprised, but laughed at the ‘secret’, shaking her head and affectionately pinching Leon’s cheek, which made him laugh. “Really? Then I guess I should meet the best dad in the world sometime, hm? I would love to meet him.” She was being honest too.

It was important for teachers to know the parents of the children they taught and took care of through the day and their early education, knowing from what sort of familial backgrounds children came from was important to adjust their teachings or offer the appropriate help if children were surrounded by less than desirable circumstances.

Marinette doubted that was the case with Leon, but she was curious about his father, since she never met either him nor the mother.

She did hear from the aunt that his mother was working and living overseas and that the father was her older brother, but that was that.

She hadn’t thought to ask the aunt, since she thought his father would come to pick his son up himself sometime. So far, that hadn’t been the case, but Marinette could be patient.

If he was as great as Leon described, surely he would have time to drop by sometime?

Standing up, Marinette complimented the drawing one last time before she clapped her hands and announced for the children to hang up they art works somewhere in the classroom, on the walls or the strings over their heads to decorate the room with.

Weeks had already passed since the school year started and Marinette longed for something new and fresh to liven up the classroom, the children found the idea good too. It would help keep their creativity flowing and to brighten the overall atmosphere.

Her gaze strayed to the clock on the wall and a sigh left her lips.

It was almost time for the big break.

A few minutes later…

The two women laughed, Marinette stirring her coffee to dissolve the sugar as her best friend and fellow teacher Alya talked about her day. “Wait, you didn’t take the glue from him?”

The busty woman snorted, taking a big sip from her black coffee before she smirked like a fox. “Nope! I let him squeeze out every last drop, he learned his lesson when the ball rang. He had to clean up all the mess himself and he got a good scolding from his mom too. Good woman, I salute her!” she lifted her mug in a mock salute and Marinette laughed, shaking her head.

“I’m sure the boy had reasons to be so destructive.” Truthfully, children with such tendencies weren’t rare, they were aware of the phases of each child and that sometimes by destroying things, they released pent up frustration or helped themselves focus better afterwards. But this child seemed to be a bit different. “What’s his background like? The parents?”

Alya sighed, taking another long gulp. “Father’s a mechanic, has a bit of a sailor’s mouth. The mother is an iron hard business woman, she even makes me freeze on the spot whenever she comes to pick him up.” She grimaced, extending her hand to throw a sugar cube into her coffee. “I think the dynamics in the family are a bit unbalanced. The father is a bit too lenient but the mother is too strict, causing the two to clash. They’re unsure of their parenting methods, they even had a small verbal fight during parent teacher conference.”

Ugh, Marinette secretly dreaded those days, as did every other teacher.

Parents came in all shapes and sizes, just like anyone else.

There were parents who were the spitting images of their offspring, other were their polar opposites.

There were parents with impeccable backgrounds, academically successful people, but lacking in human warmth. Parents that continued the archaic parenting methods of their own parents, never intending to change the way they were raising their own children from their own childhood treatment.

Marinette disliked those the most, ones that weren’t progressive in their thinking but cocooned in their own ‘deal’ version of how a child had to behave or to what limits a parent’s authority could reach.

It was her secret pleasure whenever she had an opportunity to shoot them down and lecture them otherwise, she lived for those moments to see the colour drain from the adult’s faces while she explained all the potential negative ways their toxicity could affect their child after, that children weren’t ‘small adults’ and that every child had different needs and required a different form of parenting finesse.

Some parents were defensive and angry like lions, others more kind and understanding and willing to better themselves and correct the errors.

In the kitchen of the teacher’s lounge, somewhere in the back of her mind, Marinette kept Leon’s picture stored in her memory and during her conversation with Alya, she wondered just what sort of parent Leon’s father was.

——–

It was two in the afternoon and classes were over for today, for the children the day of duties and learning was over.

But for Marinette, she still had tons of work to do.

She watched the children leave the classroom, watched them put on their outdoor shoes and how some parents were already waiting for them out of the classroom.

Those moments, when the parents came to pick up their children, those moments Marinette loved most.

To see the pure joy of child and parent at seeing each-other, after being separated only for a few hours. To see them kiss and embrace each-other and laugh. The parents asking about their day and the kids retelling everything they did, from the tiniest details, the most insignificant things to the big events.

The parents listened with a smile, some shutting off their phones so colleagues from work didn’t disturb them.

There were also other parents, some greeted their children with a quick hug and kiss, ushering them along so they didn’t stay away from work for too long. Others gave a robotic kiss to their cheeks and took their school bags, marching out of the school like a soldier in the military, their child trailing behind them like a doll pulled by its strings.

Marinette always stayed with the ones whose parents were running late, being met with endless exclamations of gratitude for watching over them on her break and the like, with numerous apologies spilling from their mouths about traffic and work or too many duties overlapping.

She understood, she was an adult herself, and while not a mother, Marinette knew how difficult children could be. Her past work experiences in a local kindergarten taught her the very definition of patience.

And what it means to be assertive.

Kindergarten kids could be surprisingly stubborn and with their temper tantrums, nothing was safe from them.

She remembered starting her private meditating sessions for that very reason, always after work, with or without relaxing music and her bed.

She tried a scented candle once, but nearly burned her foot after not paying attention.

Sometimes, relaxing music didn’t help, the zen-esque tunes not appealing to her at all. She sometimes wondered if the people composing the music ever really tried mediating to it.

But the most relaxing thing to her was still her other passion, besides teaching.

Fashion.

She loved to create.

She encouraged creative minds in whatever way she could.

Her own parents’ encouragement and support in her youth drove her to pursue a career in fashion, then switch over to teaching, to be in a role where she could offer the same kind of warm encouragement and fierce support children didn’t have from home.

Her wardrobe consisted of more than half of her own creations, clothes by her own design. She’d tried opening a small fashion store once, but had to close it due to time constrictions. She couldn’t do two very time consuming jobs at the same time.

It might have been ‘just’ elementary school, but correcting hundreds of students’ tests, writing new ones, overseeing several classes while attending her own educational courses took up a lot of time.

Marinette relished coming home, stretching and taking a quick shower before she set to work.

Before she opened any of her thick folders or worksheets for school, she first opened her journal.

She always liked to document things, for safety but also private reasons. As insurance and the fond – and not so fond – memories to find a home.

For that purpose, she kept two diaries.

A journal for work.

A diary for home.

Marinette took the thick leather bound tome first, a modest brown leather design, a feather imprinted onto the leathery material on the cover, the thick book held closed by a magnet.

She opened it, skimming through filled pages to get to a blank one.

And she began writing, Tikki mewling at her feet, her soft fur brushing against her legs, whiskers tickling her skin while Marinette scribbled furiously, toes gently running along Tikki’s arching back.

“Hello journal,

Today had been a good day, 24th of October.

I started class at 8 sharp, there were only two children who called in sick, with parents excusing their absences immediately.

Class began with arts and crafts, the children received instructions on the tasks for today: decorating the classroom.

The old decorations were discarded, some saved in the storage room for further use, but the broken and tattered ones disposed of. The children had to create something that made them happy, in whichever form they could. Drawing, painting, using clay or building blocks to their heart’s content.

I tried helping as little as I could, to not impede their creativity, but offered helpful advice when asked. Most used clay to form figurines of their parents, siblings or pets. Some even formed food. A few creations caught my eyes, but all of them were unique and beautiful in their own way. Some of the children took their creations home, drawings they made a second or third time mostly. But many others stayed to decorate the classroom, it gave a refreshed image and helped levitate the atmosphere.

Break was spent outside in the school garden, I led some of the children to the vegetable garden to check on the growing plants and explained some of the still budding vegetables, unrecognizable in their ‘baby form’ as the students called it.

Tasks for tomorrow were quickly finished, I worked through my fifteen minute break, the short assignments about ‘happy memories’ had been read through but refrained from correcting. It had been one of their first written tasks, so I refrained from putting a stamp on them with red markings. I’ve returned them today, for the two sick children, I kept them in my desk in the teacher’s lounge to be dealt out once the children returned.

Parents had picked their children after school was over, some running late. Ms. Wilson had a suspicious countenance in particular, I detected a faint scent of something alcoholic, but didn’t address the matter. I did send a message to social worker Chloe Bourgeois, who agreed to look into the matter after some measures. Apparently, the family had already been a case not yet laid to rest and they’d waited for a cue to finally take action.

More to come tomorrow, goodbye for now.

- Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Marinette yawned, spying the clock on her desk reading just passed seven in the evening. Had she been sitting for that long already? She shook her head, leaning down to scratch Tikki’s head, resting languidly on Marinette’s foot.

She would need to feed her later and check her water bowl. Tikki was sometimes surprisingly gluttonous, despite her slender frame.

Stifling another yawn, Marinette safely stored the notebook in her first drawer, locking it with a key and slipping the metal into a hidden sleeve underneath her desk, well concealed from inattentive eyes.

She smiled when she grabbed her private diary, the pink leather book feeling heavy with memory in her hands.

She pulled off the leather string tying it together and flipped it open to a fresh page.

And began to write.

“Dear diary,

Today had been a stressful day.

The children were fine and well-behaved, but I had so much work to do! Not to mention, I missed one of my breaks because a colleague had called in sick unexpectedly and I had to fill their shift. Can you believe it? She couldn’t have called hours ago before school started, she HAD to call five minutes before her class started and I had to FLY across the hallway to make sure the children were inside and busy with tasks.

Sometimes, I wish I could throw a banana at some of my colleagues.

Some people just shouldn’t have become teachers.

The world would be a better place, the children growing in it too.

Speaking of children, something caught my eye today that I just couldn’t get out of my head.”

Marinette paused, tongue sticking out of her mouth as the image of Leon’s drawing burned brightly in her mind, as if she imprinted it so perfectly into memory.

“Leon drew a picture today, under the theme ‘what makes me happy’. He drew a picture of his family, his dad and him. He didn’t draw his mother and I didn’t ask, it wasn’t my place to and I doubt he’d know anything aside from ‘mommy doesn’t live with us’ or the like. At least, that’s the impression I got. But from everything I saw so far, it looked like the father didn’t live with him either. He never set foot in school before! Or at least I never saw him, Alya apparently did, but couldn’t really remember, saying it was for a short time and there were so many people.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, thinking back to the conversation she had with Alya in the kitchen.

That woman could memorize six pages of their random chats about a boy they gossiped in high school, but couldn’t, for the life of her, remember seeing the parent of one of the children at parent teacher conference two years ago. She smiled, shaking her head fondly and the pen was scratching against paper again.

“Anyway, what Miss Reporter said, Leon’s father was apparently pretty busy. She didn’t know what his occupation was, but it was the only logical conclusion, right? A man that rarely picks his son up from school? Sends his sister to do it for him? He must be some businessman. Then again, Leon mentioned how ‘he was the best dad in the world’ and he would sing and play songs for him before he went to sleep. Maybe he wasn’t so bad, but what was the deal with not coming to school? Was he a former dropout? Did he just have a phobia? Maybe he really was just too busy, but still, something’s fishy. Juleka, the aunt, mentioned how apologetic the man felt for not always being there….I guess he might not be a bad parent, but still, Leon talked so fondly of him, I really hope he isn’t the jerky parent I think he could be. I also, wondered about where the mother was. Leon rarely ever talks about her, I don’t really dare to ask neither him nor Juleka. It was a family matter after all, but still, I was biting my nails the whole time! Juleka just mentioned the mom lived and worked overseas and the dad was busy, but that was it. Were they divorced? Forced to live apart because of work? I don’t think Leon seemed to mind much, at least he hadn’t showed any signs to. He rarely talks about his mom, but he regularly gushes about his dad. Maybe I shouldn’t judge too quickly, the man could have his reasons for not picking up his child.

Still, I’ll see where that goes. Maybe I’ll try to flip through the parent contact book and try to give him a call, just to see how he would react.

Anyway, that’s all for today, I still need to feed Tikki and myself.

See you tomorrow, dear diary!

- Marinette

Thanks for reading! What did you think so far? :)

Tag List: @seraphkitty @canadianburd @macaknight @fher43 @vivilakitty @quickspinner @im-here-for-the-content @decaffeinated-happyshit @jessigurl-design @2sunchild2 @zebrabaker @redscarlet95 @didntwant2come @graduatedmelon @eve-is-the-dawn @bresso23 @anjuschiffer @alissawhited-blog @rudy-ruby @mystery-5-5 @winter-gardenflower @kayla-the-rambling-writer @teresarosiadeviluke2112 @captainmac6 @violatiger8 @crazywhitemofo @varksvader

@veroocasanova (I’m sorry for not asking before, but I remembered you wanting to read more Lukanette fics without Adrien salt 😅)

#ml au #ml fic #miraculous ladybug #lukanette #lukanette au #lukanette fic #luka x marinette #teacher!marinette #singledad!luka #i like your dad au #lmao I will not get rid of that name huh #luka couffaine #marinette dupaincheng #leon couffaine #fanfiction #crossposted on AO3 & FFnet

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eye-raq · 5 years

Text

Stop it girl

Erik X Black Reader.

Warnings: Fluff, regular shit.

Summary: Erik was tired, laying out on the floor of him and his girls shared bedroom while scrolling through his phone.

“You want me to buy you a new tapestry? I saw one the other day when I was out buying some new Jordan 1s”

Erik walked back into the bedroom with a bowl of milk, double stuffed oreos floating on the top. He had his dreads braided back fresh; his home girl had her own natural hair shop and cleaned him up nice with a fresh retwist and a tappered fade. He had on grey sweats that hung loose on his hips, and no shirt.

“What did it look like? You know I’m picky.” His girl, Blessing, was into anything bohemian with soft grunge. She had her hair in long thick dreads, soft curly baby hairs, thick lips, and a cute plump body, her chest and ass too thick for anything she wore and her cute muffin top didnt help either. She was squishy and adorable and sexy and Erik loved every roll and dip of her honey covered body. She was feisty too, and when she wanted something she didn’t hesitate.

“It has some type of galaxy shit going on, idk. Purples and pinks and blacks with these little ass twinkly stars, looked like Uranus or Saturn in the background, had a quote at the bottom of it in cursive.” He put his bowl on her nightstand before lowering to the floor with her, laying on his side before grabbing the bowl again. He stuck his index finger in the bowl, dipping the Oreos further. She was busy making waist beads, one nestled around her curvy waist digging into her love handles.

“You should have picked it up you know I love anything with galaxy shit in it.” He kissed his teeth, eyes trying to focus on the classic movie she popped in her VCR, “I cant believe you still have one of these bitches, it just got a little dust too, and it’s still functional.” His eyes lowered a fraction, sleep trying to creep up on him. That was his own fault too, staying up all hours of the night.

“It’s called taking care of shit of sentimental value instead of letting it waste away.” She spoke out, just finishing up her blue and purple one she was making for a friend her fingers were getting numb now deciding to finish later, and join Erik in watching the movie. She pushed everything to the side, crawling over to lay her head in his crotch area. Her cute chubby feet with toes painted a hot pink wiggled near his bowl. He scrunched his face, playfully swatting at her feet, “if you don’t get those fat ass feet away from me girl, looking like honey buns.” She swatted at his ass causing him to grip her wrist, “yo what I tell you about slapping my ass?”

She rolled her eyes, “and what I tell you about talking about my feet? Just for that you owe me a foot massage after work tomorrow.” Erik shook his head popping a moist Oreo in his mouth, “and what you giving me?” He tried to speak between chewing. She paused, mind in wonder, hands resting on her belly. Erik just eyed her fame, mouth watering from just the look of her thick short ass bunched up on him.

“I’ll think about it.” They both turned back to the TV, monsters ball playing and that one delicious scene almost approaching. She stole an Oreo from his bowl causing him to wine like a baby. “Ask first baby that’s all I ask okay? I spent money on these Oreos.” She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, “Erik bye.”

“I’m being forreal. Everything I have don’t belong to you, girl.”

“I have about five of your hoodies in my closet right now, E. I take what the fuck I want when I want.”

Erik did a double take, dropping his Oreo back in the bowl and causing milk to splash on her legs. Growling, Blessing wipes at her legs aggressively.

“Chill out! You getting milk on me!”

Erik playfully bites into her leg, “You got five of my hoodies? Where they at?” Erik gets up from the floor, walking over to her messy closet with jeans sling over the rail and shirts hanging off the hangers. Sliding through her clothes, Erik finds all five of his favorite hoodies freshly washed and wrinkle free.

“My all black exclusive lost tribe hoodie?! You serious? I thought I lost this shit and your chubby face ass had it the whole time?!”

“Shut the fuck up with your odd shaped head! You knew I had it don’t play dumb,” Bored, Blessing decides to continue making her waist beads.

“I should throw you over my fucking knee, babygirl. You agree with that?” As mad as Erik was he decided to leave the hoodies there because they were neat and unbothered.

“Stupid ass,” he teased.

“Shut up. You’re the stupid one.”

As soon as Erik made himself comfortable on the floor, Blessing started poking him in his dimpled cheek, twisting her finger. Erik swatted her hand away every single time, finally kissing his teeth and grabbing her finger with force.

“Stop it, girl.” He shoves her hand away, causing her to laugh. This only made Blessing want to continue. She takes her chubby feet and plants them on his shoulder, wiggling her toes obnoxiously in his face. His eyes focused forward but she could see the way his jaw looked like it was going to snap from how hard he clenched it.

“You get so mad for what? I can’t mess with you but you can mess with me?”

“It’s because I’m Daddy and you do what I say.” Grabbing her foot, Erik begins to tickle her feet, that annoying screech she always made loud. Blessing yanks her legs back so bad that she kicked Erik in the head, pausing with a shocked look and a hand over her mouth. Nothing was said but the anger on his face and the reddened spot on his cheek made her laugh so hard her lungs hurt. Even through her teary eyes she could see his rage.

“Nigga, you look like you about to burn my fucking room down!” She shook her head repeatedly, “I’m so fucking humored right now; tickled.”

“Hehehe hahaha shut the fuck up.” That was his come back and it clearly went on death ears because she kept on laughing and hollering.

“Big nigga why you always mad? Chill the fuck out,” Shaking her dreads, Blessing went back to doing her waist beads.

Erik got up from the floor, seating himself on her bed to feel more comfortable. She thought he was being a sour puss but he actually had another plan. Grabbing one of her plush throw pillows, Erik wracked her on the side of her face so hard her eyes closed and her face scrunched up in ugly surprise. His laugh was the golden one, clutching his stomach and stomping his leg.

“Bro you should have seen your face! Looking like,” Erik mimicked her look before bursting into laughter again, “you mad ugly.”

She could still feel the sting like carpet burn on her left cheek. Blowing out hot air through her chubby cheeks, Blessing turned completely away from him.

“You got my fucking eye burning and my face all hot! I kicked you by accident dummy.”

“You want me to kiss it big head?” Erik tossed the pillow back in place.

“I don’t want your stinky ass lips on me ugh,” Blessing shoves his face away.

“Wasn’t saying that shit earlier when I was kissing all on you in the car,” he grabbed her by her dreads, gaining power. She fought through enjoying the force he applied by keeping a straight unbothered face.

“Stop it, girl. Stop acting like you don’t want me yanking you up and shit,” Erik kisses her temple, soothing the burn from the pillow hit. He started swinging her from side to side, humming no guidance in her ear that made her wiggle. He couldn’t sing for shit but she loved it when he sung this new song to her.

🎶 I don’t wanna play no games, play no games, 🎶

“Don’t say that last part because you know it ain’t happening,” Blessing stopped him mid song with a bitchy tone, “You don’t plan on making me Blessing Stevens I’m still gonna be Blessing Jones.”

“Forreal, B? You know I plan on making you my number one forever. Remember that time at red lobster when I fake proposed to get free cake? I can do it again but with a big ass rock.”

She smiles despite her salty attitude, “keep talking, Zaddy.”

“Nah, don’t pull that shit now,” Erik let her go, “you fucked up Blessing.”

“How?!” She pouted, “You mad at me now?”

“Yup. Turn around.”

Blessing groaned, folding her arms, “fight me.”

“Which means come fuck me.” Erik corrected.

“Shut the FUCK up.” Blessing rolled her eyes.

“Which means come eat this pussy.” Erik bit his lip to fight a smile.

“You ain’t cute. Leave me alone.”

“So basically I’m fine as fuck and you want my attention?”

“Ugh!!!! I hate you!” Blessing turned to him, ready to hit Erik upside his head but he caught her hand just in time.

“I love you too, Baby girl,” Erik gripped her chin, “you know you a bomb ass girlfriend? All that crybaby shit and getting mad only makes me want you more.” Erik gripped her neck, pulling her in for a kiss.

“You can be mad at me all you want but your ass isn’t going anywhere. You’re mine.”

“Says who? I got options.” Blessing fucked up with saying that to him.

“The fuck?” Like flipping a light switch Erik’s aggressive nature surfaced again to make her weak. Taking his hand, he wrapped around her neck with one hand and his mouth dangerously close to her hear.

“The fuck You talking to?”

“Daddy, not you,” she rolled her eyes into her head to fake annoyance. Erik just stared at her with his hard ass eyes making her squirm.

“What you looking at?” Blessing asks with a slight roll of her neck. He just licked his lips, looking her up and down.

“What, I cant stare?” He just grabbed her up and said, “man, come here.” She followed him like she just wasn’t mad at him a few seconds ago.

“Tomorrow ima fuck the shit out of you cuz you been acting crazy lately.” Erik rested his head on the side of her face.

“Why not tonight?” Blessing was wet and horny now she needed some dick, some fucking love, her hard headed ass boyfriend.

“I’m tired, B.” His eyes did speak that into existence when she turned to look at him. She admired his handsome face even though his eyes were focused ahead and ready to close.

“...damn, yo ex dumb as fuck.” She stated, causing Erik to chuckle. Blessing turns back around, pushing her booty into Erik’s crotch. He gripped her hip to stop her but she just kept on going, rolling her hips like she spelling out coconut. Erik lets out a frustrated sigh at his dick disobeying him.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what? I’m just playing.”

“This is blasphemous,” Erik spoke in a fake surprising tone, “you’re molesting me with your phat ass.”

“Shut up you know you want me to sit this assssss on you,” Blessing spoke in a melodic tone.

“Blessing, don’t start this shit. I still got a fucking cramp in my neck from eating the pussy for an hour straight, my abs still burn from doing push ups in the pussy-“

“I don’t wanna hear that shit you got more stamina than a damn horse.”

“You don’t listen to shit!” Erik yelled in her ear, flipping her over on her back. He pinned her to the mattress, face all scrunched up.

“What, Erik? I told you i got options if you don’t give me what I want,” fighting a laugh at his frustration and anger, Blessing purposely moves her hips beneath him to force him into having wild sex.

“...Bruh im a fuck you up...you acting up...what’s your fucking problem? You need some dick? You need a hug? You need your pussy ate? You need kisses? Like tell me something.”

“You finish telling me to stop now?” She questioned while looking at him a hint in her eyes as to why she’s been acting up.

“You not getting no dick with that attitude then,” he lifted off of her, laying on the other side of the bed closest to the window.

“First of all, I’m sorry.” Her entire mood changed. She decided to act innocent even though she thought about riding the fuck out of him in that moment.

“Aight, So we good?” She chanced a look at him even though she knew that wouldn’t be successful. Erik just stared at her calmly, waiting for her response.

“Yes. We’re good. No more playing.” Blessing blinked up at Erik innocently.

“So that mean you ready to get your pussy ate again?” Erik sat up, taking his hands to pull down her bottoms. Laying flat on the bed, Blessing lifts her hips to help Erik out as he slid the right fabric from her round booty. Tossing it to the side, Erik went flat on his stomach, arms wrapped around her thighs to pull her close. Blessing shielded her face like always whenever Erik kisses her gently on her inner thighs. It was torture.

“Talking about YoU NEeD To Fix YOUrr AtiTude, first of all, nigga...eat it out of me.” Blessing couldn’t help herself. Erik slapped her inner thigh to calm her ass down but that also made her laugh. She was silly.

“Stop, B,” without a warning Erik started eating her pussy. Blessing locked up around him, doing that thing with her hands where she held him in place but at the same time pushed him off of her.

After Erik successfully shut her up and had her moaning, he laughs, looking up at her weak expression and says, “You good?”

Blessing couldn’t even respond to that smart ass remark because Erik’s mouth was back on her pussy like it never left.

“What happened to that attitude? All that make me shit? Like it ain’t shit. Like I won’t eat the fuck out your soul and fuck the attitude out your soul and never give that shit back?”

That’s all he had to say in that moment while she laid back and let his tongue crave her. Erik got her ass to stop now with his tongue flicking her clit. On the inside she battled to sass him but his tongue was hitting that spot so the shit didn’t matter anymore.

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nighting-gale17 · 4 years

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im dyin’ (oh santa fe...)

TW: (very) vague suicidal references