#it's so short but the memories are so dear to me........it's barely a year ago I first played it but it feels like ages

[minniesfiles]

AS LONG AS YOU’RE WITH ME

You never got to live in the utopia you dreamed of, but as long as you were in the arms of the man you loved more than anything else in the world, nothing else mattered to you.

❧ PAIRING; wonwoo x reader

❧ GENRE; angst

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; dystopian, end of the world, established relationship, character deaths, a lot of crying, HEAVY angst, lowkey very cliché

❧ WORDCOUNT; 7.4k

𐚁₊⊹

You lived in a world that was on the brink of collapse, with overpopulation turning into a full-fledged global crisis. The sheer number of people exceeded the ability of the planet to sustain them. Food shortages plagued every corner of the world that left millions to suffer the slow and agonising pain of hunger.

Livestock declined, crops fell short of demand, and the previously plentiful resources that people took for granted were withering at an alarming pace. The constant battle for survival turned everyday life into a nightmare for which no one was prepared for.

People lined up for hours in hopes of receiving scraps of food that could barely last them a day. Entire families would go to bed with empty stomachs, not being sure if they would wake up the next morning.

As resources depleted, humanity's social structure broke along with it. Governments collapsed under the weight of the crisis because they were unable to manage the chaos. Law and order breached across numerous regions, and acts of desperation became prevalent. Looting, violence, and corruption spread like wildfire as people fought for any chance of survival.

Communities that once thrived with hope were now riddled with fear and distrust. Meanwhile, the environment suffered the consequences of humans’ boundless consumption. Forests disappeared, rivers dried up, and pollution poisoned the air and water. The planet, that was pushed to its limits, began to turn against the people within it.

Then came the diseases — a wave of new, deadly pandemics unlike anything humanity ever faced. These mysterious illnesses spread faster than anyone could comprehend. The diseases spared no one, targeting the vulnerable and the strong alike. Babies succumbed to these illnesses at birth, while the elderly populations were wiped out in months.

There were heated debates over whether the rapid decline in population was an irreversible tragedy or a grim mercy. Some saw the decline as a ray of hope that the planet may recover and its destroyed resources could be restored. Others saw the declining numbers as a sign of the final collapse and the beginning of the extinction of the human race.

People lived in continual fear — not just of death, but of losing those they held dear. There was nothing left to do but wait in as the inevitable approached. The end was near — whether in years, months, or days, no one could say. And when it came, humanity would vanish, leaving only echoes of what once was.

Having been abandoned at birth and without knowing who your parents were or why they abandoned you, you were alone in a world that provided no comfort. You grew up without a family's warmth, without anybody to guide or support you.

Having no one to lose might’ve seemed like an advantage in a dying world, but it left you rather hollow and aching for connection even as you fought every day to survive.

Then, a few years ago, everything changed. You met him — the one person who brought light into your dark existence. He wasn’t just someone you loved; he became your entire world.

━━━━━━━━━━

▍10 OCTOBER 2047

Hoisting the last bag into the back of the pickup car, Wonwoo paused and brushed a hand over his forehead to wipe away the sweat from the afternoon sun.

“Are you ready?” he turned to you, sounding exhausted.

“Yes,” you replied, but your tone was flat and lacked any trace of energy.

Leaving the house where you lived for so many years, you felt a wave of sadness as the memories came flooding in. Even though you made an effort to hide what you were feeling, Wonwoo could see how your shoulders slumped under the weight of everything you were about to leave behind.

His eyes followed your every move. For as long as he could remember, he was always attentive to your moods, and today was no different. Noticing your dull tone and the way you avoided his gaze, his worry deepened.

“Hey,” he murmured gently, walking over to you and placed his hands on your shoulders. His fingers tilted your chin upward so your eyes met his.

“What’s wrong baby?” he asked softly, his voice deep yet tender, as though he feared pushing too hard.

You shook your head, your eyes darting away. “Nothing. Let’s just go already,” you muttered, shrugging off his touch and stepping past him, eager to escape the conversation. But Wonwoo wasn’t one to give up easily.

In one quick motion, he reached for your wrist. His grip was firm but not it wasn’t forceful. He pulled you back towards him, and you found yourself standing close, almost pressed against his chest.

“I can tell something is bothering you,” he said. He was insistent but kept his voice calm. “And you know you can talk to me about it, babe.”

Your lips quivered a little as you looked for words that failed to come out, and your eyes fell to the ground. Wonwoo’s thumb traced light circles on the back of your hand as he waited patiently.

“Come on,” he said after a moment, his tone tinged with vulnerability. “Do you not trust me?”

The question broke something inside you. Without a word, you closed the gap between you and wrapped your arms tightly around his torso. He froze for a moment before pulling you in even closer, resting his chin on the top of your head.

You hid your face into your husband’s chest as you slowly broke down into tears. His shirt began to soak with your tears as you cried, and Wonwoo felt every shudder, every sob that escaped you.

It was as if his heart was tearing apart. In all the years he had known you, there was nothing — absolutely nothing — that pained him more than seeing you cry.

“Tell me what’s bothering you princess,” he murmured tenderly. His muscular arms tightened around your trembling frame as he held you like you might break into pieces if he let go.

“I’m just tired,” you choked out, your voice muffled against his chest. “Tired of everything that’s going on. Why can’t we just live in peace?”

Each syllable that came out in between your sobs were harsh and loaded with frustration. You pulled back just enough to look at him while tears rolled down your cheeks.

Your red-rimmed eyes pleaded with him, though you weren’t sure for what exactly — answers? Reassurance? A magic fix to the chaos that your lives had become?

Wonwoo’s eyes grew softer, with both strength and sorrow. He cradled your face lovingly, wiping away your tears with his thumbs as they continued to fall.

“I know it’s hard, baby” he said, trying to sound steady. “I know you’re exhausted, and I hate that we’re going through this. I hate seeing you like this.”

You nodded, feeling another fresh wave of tears coming as you hugged him tighter. “I just want things to be normal again,” you said through a broken whisper. “I want to live the life we dreamed of Woo. I want to stop running.”

“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” he said and leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“But I promise, everything will be okay soon. Let’s just hold on to that little hope we have left, okay? Just for a little while longer” it hurt his chest to say that because he himself wasn’t sure, but it was all he could offer right now.

You nodded against him, and his steady heartbeat soothed your own as you closed your eyes.

And after comforting you, Wonwoo gently guided you into the passenger seat of the pickup car. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before circling around to the driver’s side.

With the bags loaded in the back and a map marked with destinations long abandoned by hope, the two of you began yet another long drive. This time to the other side of the country.

The miles blurred together as the car drove along the deserted roads. You lost count of how many times you and Wonwoo packed up your belongings and moved, hopping from one unfamiliar place to another.

You made an effort to keep track at first, with each stop feeling like a checkpoint on an unending journey. But after a while, days blended together and it seemed pointless to keep count. You had no choice but to keep going.

Resources had become limited, and what little money you and Wonwoo had saved were used up buying necessities.

Hotels, motels, and even cheap temporary rentals were now out of reach. Nowadays, you would both spend your nights in the cramped cab of the car or under the open sky, where you’d cling to each other for warmth.

The dreadful state of the country wasn’t always this dire. Wonwoo used to work at a warehouse, and while it wasn’t much, it was enough to get by.

But then everything fell apart. The warehouse shut down without warning, leaving him and dozens of others jobless. No severance, no notice — just a locked gate and a sign that read, “Closed Until Further Notice.”

You never managed to secure a stable job yourself. Odd tasks and temporary opportunities provided you with a few extra cash, but even those dried up as the economy crumbled.

Poverty swept through the country like an unstoppable tide. Families were displaced, children went hungry, and hospitals overflowed with the sick. Every town you passed through had the same haunting marks: abandoned homes, skeletal figures searching for food, and graves dug too shallow.

“We’ll figure something out” you heard your husband say as his free hand gripped yours.

The government did nothing. In the end, they only acted in their own interest, saving themselves while abandoning everyone else. Resources were hoarded, secret bunkers were stocked, and those in power simply disappeared, leaving the rest to fend for themselves.

They didn’t care whether their citizens survived or died, as long as they had everything they needed to sustain their privileged lives. For everyone else, survival became a matter of sheer will and ingenuity. Compassion became a luxury which no one could afford.

With exhaustion bearing down on you, you sank back against the seat, “I’m hungry” you muttered almost in a whisper.

“There’s something in the grey bag. Eat it,” Wonwoo calmly replied while keeping his eyes fixed on the darkened road ahead. The strain he was under was evident from the tight hold his hands had on the wheel and the tension in his knuckles.

Reluctantly, you reached into the back seat, fumbling around until your hand found the grey bag. Pulling it into your lap, you opened it, only to be greeted by the sight of a single plastic bag containing a butter and ham sandwich and a slightly bruised banana.

It wasn’t much, but it was all there was. The hunger was making your stomach ache, and you couldn’t hide the disappointment in your tone as you looked at the bag on your lap.

“Is this all?” you asked.

Wonwoo glanced at you briefly, and his expression softened into a look of quiet apology. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I’m sure we’ll be able to buy something when we get to the shelter.”

His attempt at reassurance didn’t help much, but you nodded anyway, knowing there was no point in complaining. Food was scarce, and you were lucky to have anything at all.

The silence stretched between you as you unwrapped the sandwich, and the crinkle of the plastic sounded unnaturally loud in the confined space of the car.

Outside, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, leaving the world covered in shadows. The road ahead appeared to go on forever into the darkness, and the dim glow of dusk was rapidly fading.

You could clearly notice that Wonwoo was exhausted with the way his shoulders slightly sagged. Despite the monotony of the trip, he had been driving for hours on end with no breaks.

“We should stop soon,” you said softly, not wanting to startle him. “You need to rest.”

Wonwoo nodded, but his gaze remained fixed on the road. “We will. Just a little farther. The petrol’s running low anyway.”

You hadn’t even realised how close to empty the tank was until he mentioned it. Petrol became almost as valuable as food, stolen more often than purchased. Stealing wasn’t even shocking anymore — it was just another part of survival in a world where morality took a backseat to necessity.

“I was lucky to find a couple of cans of petrol earlier,” he then said. “People are willing to kill for it these days.”

You shivered at the thought as you clutched the grey bag tighter. As miserable as things were, you held onto that small fragile hope that the shelter would bring some semblance of safety.

But deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder: how long could anyone survive in a world that had lost all sense of humanity?

╴╴╴╴╴╴╴╴╴╴

Wonwoo pulled the car into the parking lot of a surprisingly quiet petrol station. The lights were dim and flickering faintly against the encroaching darkness, giving the surrounding area an eerie vibe. The engine gave a low grumble before falling silent, and for a moment, the only sound was the distant rustling of the wind.

He let out a long sigh, leaning his head back against the seat as his body drooped with exhaustion. His muscles ached from the hours of driving.

He stretched his arms, hearing the faint pop of his joints, then rubbed his eyes, desperate to shake off the sleep that was almost taking over him.

The silence was broken by a faint rumbling, and his attention was drawn to the passenger seat. He looked over and saw you curled up against the window, your head resting against the cool glass.

Your breathing was regular, your face peaceful in sleep, yet the small groans from your lips showed how uncomfortable you were. When your stomach growled again, louder this time, you shifted in your seat as you instinctively held onto it with one hand.

Wonwoo’s features softened. Watching you twitch uneasily, obviously in a web of hunger even while you slept, deepened his worry.

His chest tightened at the sight. He hated seeing you like this — helpless, vulnerable, suffering. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. None of it was supposed to be this way.

“I’m so sorry my love” he murmured with guilt.

He reached into his pocket and felt his fingers brush against the few coins and a cash note he had left. He fished them out and held them in his palm. It wasn’t much — just loose change he’d picked up along the way — but it might be enough to buy something small. A piece of bread, maybe, or a single can of food.

His jaw clenched as he eyed the coins and weighed his options. These days, every decision felt like a gamble, a compromise between desperation and survival.

In the end, he bit his lip as he made up his mind. Quietly, he opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air. As he closed the door behind him, he glanced back at you, who was asleep and unaware.

“I’ll make it better. Somehow.” he whispered once more.

The door to the small shop of the petrol station creaked slightly as it swung open. The store was eerily quiet when Wonwoo entered. Rows of shelves stood mostly empty, and it gave him a sour reminder of how quickly resources were running out.

What little remained was marked at absurdly high prices — instant noodles for ₩12,000, a single loaf of bread for ₩17,000. Wonwoo’s heart sank as he scanned the shelves, hoping to find something, anything, that he could afford.e

He grabbed a small packet of crackers and a can of soup, knowing it wasn’t much but hoping it would be enough to keep you going until you reached the shelter.

Approaching the counter, he placed the items down carefully, as if handling something precious. Behind the counter stood an old man. He looked at the items, then at Wonwoo, before punching numbers into the register.

“That will be ₩17,500” the old man said flatly, his voice devoid of sympathy.

Wonwoo hesitated, swallowing hard as he reached into his pockets and pulled out the note and coins he had left. He counted them slowly with his shaky hands before placing them on the counter.

“I’m sorry, this is all I have,” Wonwoo said as he looked up at the old man, hoping for a shred of understanding.

The man’s gaze hardened as he counted the money. “You’re ₩10,100 short, kid. Either pay the full price or leave the food.”

Wonwoo’s chest tightened, his heart sinking at the words. His mind was racing, and he opened his mouth to argue but hesitated.

“Please, sir,” he began, sounding desperate. “Me and my wife are really hungry, and this is all I have right now. Please, understand. It’ll mean a lot. We’re just trying to survive.”

The old man’s expression remained unchanged as he shook his head slowly. “We’re all trying to survive, son,” he replied. His tone was gruff but not unkind. “I have a family of my own to take care of. This job is all I have to feed them.”

Wonwoo’s shoulders slumped as he took in the man’s words. He understood — of course he did. Everyone was struggling, clawing their way through a world that had lost all semblance of order. But understanding didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“I know,” he said softly, almost pleading. “But please. You know the situation we’re all in. Nothing is in our control anymore. But if we help each other, even just a little…”

He trailed off, the weight of his words hanging in the air. The old man’s expression didn’t waver, though a small glint of something — regret, perhaps — passed through his eyes.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. In the end, Wonwoo let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping once again in defeat.

“Forget it,” he muttered. “I’m sorry. I’ll get going.”

He left the food on the counter and grabbed his money. He turned away before the man could say anything else. As he stepped out into the night, the cold air hit him like a slap. His chest ached even more as he made his way back to the car.

Climbing into the driver’s seat, he glanced at you, still asleep in the passenger seat. Your face was peaceful, almost angelic, but the faint furrow in your brow hinted at the hunger and discomfort you felt even in sleep.

Wonwoo’s eyes welled with tears as he stared at you, his guilt threatening to overwhelm him. He had promised to take care of you, to protect you, but in moments like this, he felt utterly powerless.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he rested his forehead against the steering wheel. The tears came then, silent but unstoppable. The world around you was as unforgiving as ever as he sat there in the dark.

He leaned closer and gently cupped your face in his hands. His lips grazed your skin like a silent apology before he placed soft lingering kisses on your cheek.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” he whispered with his voice heavy with regret. The tenderness of his actions stirred you awake, and when your eyelids fluttered open, you were met by his tired eyes.

“Woo? Did we arrive yet?” you murmured groggily while rubbing your eyes, still tired.

He smiled at you faintly, brushing back a strand of your hair. “Not yet, bun. We’re resting here for the night, okay?” he reassured you soothingly.

Your stomach betrayed you with a loud growl for what felt like the hundredth time. “I’m sorry” you mumbled in embarrassment.

Wonwoo chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Hold on,” he said, reaching into the back seat. His hand emerged with a black bag, which he unzipped to reveal a container of tomato pasta.

“I completely forgot about this. Here, eat this,” he said, handing you the food and a fork. “And this too,” he added, passing you a bottle of water.

You smiled brightly at the sight of the food, feeling a small burst of excitement lifting the heaviness in your heart. However, your joy faded almost as quickly as it came.

“But what about you?” you asked as you tilted your head to look at him.

Wonwoo met your gaze, his lips curling into a gentle smile. “Don’t worry about me, just eat,” he said softly.

“Are you sure?” doubt still lingering in your mind.

He giggled lightly as he placed a comforting hand over yours. “I’m a hundred percent sure, hun,” he assured you.

Reluctantly, you nodded, “okay then” you muttered before picking up the fork.

The cold, plain pasta wasn’t particularly appetising, but given the circumstances, it felt like a feast. Bite after bite, you worked your way through the meal, but your thoughts kept returning to your husband. The idea of him going without food didn’t feel right.

Unable to bear it, you paused, setting the fork down and saving half of the meal. Turning to him, you held up the fork with the remaining pasta, motioning for him to eat.

Wonwoo shook his head and tried to push your arm away. “I’m fine, really. Just finish it,” he said, his voice soft yet insistent.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you pleaded, “please? I won’t be able to rest if you don’t eat anything.”

Wonwoo didn’t think your words would affect him this badly, but they did, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Finally, he gave in and opened his mouth as you fed him. Once the food was finished, he pulled you into a tight embrace. “When we get there, I promise to find a job and buy us good food,” he sniffled.

“I love you, Woo. Thank you for everything you’re doing for me, for us. I feel so useless because I’m not able to help you with anything. I’m sorry,” you cried.

Wonwoo, ever gentle, cupped your face with his warm hands, his eyes still glistening. “Don’t say that. As long as you’re safe with me, I will take care of you until my last breath,” he reassured you.

He gently wiped away your tears with his thumb and leaned in, “shh, it’s okay. I love you too, hmm?” before pressing a soft kiss on your lips.

You hummed quietly as a faint smile broke through the tears as you leaned into him. The two of you stayed like that for a while, cherishing the rare moment of peace.

But the moment was interrupted by a sudden knock on the car window, startling you both.

Wonwoo pulled away and turned toward the sound. He rolled down the window to reveal the familiar face of the old man from the shop. The man stood there, holding two bags filled to the brim, presumably with food and other necessities. His eyes held a look of compassion as he offered the bags.

“Yes?” Wonwoo asked, his voice slightly hoarse as he wiped his tears, trying to compose himself.

“Here, have this,” the old man said. “I know you’re tired and hungry. Seeing you leave like that made me feel so bad. Please, have these,” he added, handing the bags to Wonwoo.

Wonwoo’s hands shook slightly as he accepted the bags, overwhelmed by the unexpected kindness. “Thank you so much. You don’t know how much this means to us,” he said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. “Please, take care of yourself and your wife” he added, his lips curling into a faint.

The old man nodded with a warm smile. “Oh! If you need more petrol to refuel your car, then please, go ahead. I’m not going to charge you,” he said with a gentle laugh, turning to leave before Wonwoo could thank him again.

As the old man limped back to the shop, you turned to your husband. “Such a sweet old man. If it was anyone else, they would’ve kicked us out of here.”

Wonwoo nodded while his gaze followed the man. “I know,” he murmured, the words felt heavy as he watched the man disappear into the distance.

You and Wonwoo decided to save the food, even though your stomachs were still growling with hunger. The plan was to eat once you reached your next shelter. It was a small act of caution and preparation for the unknown days ahead. Despite having eaten earlier, the pangs of hunger constantly reminded you of how fragile your situation had become.

With a sigh, the two of you moved to the back passenger seats, where you would spend yet another night. The space was cramped and uncomfortable, the seats barely allowing enough room to stretch, but it was still better than nothing. At least it provided a form of security, however fragile.

“It’s getting colder,” you murmured frustratingly as you rubbed your arms for warmth. The autumn chill arrived too quickly, tearing through the thin layers of clothes you wore.

“Ugh, why did it have to be autumn so soon?” you groaned, shivering slightly. Wonwoo watched you quietly, his heart aching at your struggle.

Without a word, he reached for a blanket from the back and unfolded it quickly before wrapping it around your shoulders. The sudden warmth was comforting, and you looked at him with a small, grateful smile.

“Are you warm now?” he asked softly with affection. You nodded, snuggling deeper into the blanket. “Yes, much better,” you replied, before laying your head gently on his lap.

His hand instinctively found its way to your hair, his fingers brushing through it in soothing strokes. “Goodnight, my love,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of your head. You responded with a soft hum, already drifting off to sleep under the soothing weight of the blanket and his gentle touch.

However, Wonwoo was unable to fall asleep. It had been more than an hour since you fell asleep, but his mind was racing with thoughts. Worries about the days ahead pressed heavily on his heart as he stared into the darkness.

His head began to throb with a dull ache, a pain he tried to ignore, but it only grew sharper.

He reached up to rub the itchy spot on his neck, only to be met with a warm, rigid sensation. A sudden trickle from his nose proved his suspicions accurate. Bringing his hand up, he saw the crimson streak of blood against his skin.

Wonwoo closed his eyes and sighed deeply, knowing exactly what it meant but keeping it to himself for the time being.

╴╴╴╴╴╴╴╴╴╴

You both woke up to a gloomy dawn the following day. The rain outside was heavy and persistent, and the air felt cold and moist. The tranquil quiet of yesterday's sunny but chilly weather was replaced by the continuous sound of rain on the car’s roof.

You and Wonwoo used the last of the water supply to brush your teeth before packing up and getting ready for yet another long drive.

In contrast to yesterday, the weather today was bleak and unwelcoming. Seeing how miserable the weather was, it made your insides feel uneasy. It felt as though something was bound to happen — something ominous. The feeling stuck to you stubbornly, no matter how much you tried to shake it off.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat as you looked out of the window, watching as the rain blurred your view of the surroundings. Inside, a quiet fear began to build. You couldn’t place its source, but it was there, lingering and constant.

Beside you, Wonwoo’s silence only amplified the discomfort. His usual light-hearted comments or casual chatter were absent. Instead, there was heavy quietness that filled the car. It was almost unnatural for him to be so distant, and that too all of a sudden.

You made a few attempts to spark conversation, but each was met with a quiet nod or a non-committal hum. It was almost as if he were intentionally avoiding you.

You were confused.

He was fine last night, but now, he seemed to be closed off. His thoughts were miles away that you couldn’t read. Not wanting to pry, you decided to give him space, even as the silence between you felt heavier with each passing mile.

╴╴╴╴╴╴╴╴╴╴

After what felt like an endless journey through the rain, you finally arrived at the shelter you and Wonwoo would be staying — a small, weathered cottage near the seaside. The sound of crashing waves greeted you, blending with the faint drizzle that had begun to lighten.

This cottage held a deep connection to Wonwoo’s past. It belonged to his grandparents, who raised him after his parents passed away. Now that they too had left this world, the cottage was left unused, standing as a quiet memory of his childhood.

The cottage, though old, was still serviceable. It wasn’t luxurious by any means, but it would provide shelter and a place to rest. You could already tell that adjustments would need to be made to make it feel more comfortable.

As the car came to a stop, Wonwoo unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the car without a word. His expression wasn’t cold or annoyed, but there was something — a look of someone lost in their thoughts. Someone who was being weighed down by something he couldn’t yet voice.

You followed his lead, stepping into the damp air as he began unloading your belongings. “Honey-” you called softly, hoping to reach him, but he brushed past you without so much as a glance, heading straight into the house.

The silence between you continued, and it worried you. Something was clearly troubling him, but he wasn’t ready to share it with you yet.

You stood by the doorway, arms crossed and sulky, watching as your husband silently moved the last few bags into the tiny cottage. You were beginning to grow irritated as his silence went on.

As he brushed past you, carrying another box, you trailed after him like a lost puppy. You hated the feeling of being ignored, and it was twisting uncomfortably in your chest.

“May I please know why you’re so quiet and why you’re ignoring me?” you finally blurted, reaching out to grab his wrist. Your voice was soft, and your eyes searched his face, hoping for an answer.

Wonwoo paused, his expression unreadable, but he said nothing.

“Baby,” you pouted, stepping closer. Lifting your hands to cup his face, you tilted it toward you. “What’s wrong with you?” you asked again, placing soft kisses on his neck, trying to coax a response from him.

He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders dropping. Finally, he met your gaze with a tired smile. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I just…I guess I was too lost in my thoughts” he made an excuse.

“What are you thinking about?” you pressed, tilting your head curiously.

“Oh, nothing important,” he replied, leaning down to peck your lips. You knew it was a clear attempt to distract you, but you couldn’t let it go.

You opened your mouth to speak, but before a single word could escape, the ground beneath you suddenly began to tremble violently. The whole cottage quaked, sending the old, dusty objects on the shelves crashing to the floor. The intensity of the shaking grew rapidly with every second, throwing you off balance and sending you sprawling onto the cold, hard floor.

“Y/n!” Wonwoo’s deep loud voice rang out above the chaos, filled with worry and urgency. You turned your head to see him gripping the nearest wall for support, his wide eyes darting around in alarm.

“W-Wonwoo, what’s happening?” you stammered as you desperately held to the edge of the sofa for stability. Your heart pounding against your ribs in fear.

“Honey, are you okay? Stay calm over there, okay? I’m coming to you!” Wonwoo shouted, firmly but reassuringly as he tried to keep you grounded. He started moving towards you, but the violent shaking intensified, making it nearly impossible for him to stay steady.

A loud cry of fear tore from your throat as a particularly forceful jolt rocked the entire cottage. In an instant, Wonwoo threw caution to the wind, sprinting towards you as fast as his unsteady footing allowed. Reaching you, he dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms tightly around your trembling frame.

“I got you baby. I got you,” he whispered in your ear with his soothing voice as he pulled you closer to his chest.

“What’s going on?” you whimpered as you clung onto him.

“It seems like an earthquake — a really strong one,” he replied worriedly. The two of you held on to each other while hoping the nightmare would soon end.

Suddenly, the ground stopped trembling, but the silence that followed wasn’t comforting. Instead, it was heavy with dread. You both knew that this wasn’t the end but the calm before an even greater disaster. The tension was thick, and your grip on his arm tightened as he shifted.

“Wait here, okay? I’m just going-”

“No! Don’t leave me! Please” you pleaded, your voice breaking. Panic surged as your fingers dug into his arm.

“I’m not leaving you, baby. I promise,” he said firmly as his hands cupped your face with an assurance that contradicted the terror in his eyes. “I just need to grab my mini radio. We have to figure out what’s happening. I’ll be right here.”

Reluctantly, you let him go, watching as he rummaged through the mess. When he finally found the radio, he turned it on. Static crackled, followed by the frantic voice of a news broadcaster.

“An earthquake of magnitude 9.1 has struck the east coast! All residents must evacuate immediately. There is a tsunami heading that way. I repeat — a tsunami is heading that way!”

The broadcast was cut short as the radio emitted only static, leaving you both in chilling silence. You exchanged a look, both too paralysed to speak. Internally, fear gnawed at you. The weight of what was coming made your breaths quicken, but there was no time to waste. The clock was ticking, and survival was now a race against nature.

Shakily, you pushed yourself off the ground with your unstable legs as you staggered toward the doorway. Outside, the world was spookily quiet. You pondered for a moment before stepping out of the house. The sky was painted in deep shades of grey, signalling a storm that was brewing on the horizon, but what caught your attention wasn’t the weather.

It was the beach.

Your breath hitched as you caught sight of it. An enormous wave, far out in the ocean but undeniably charging toward the shore. The size of it made your stomach drop.

For a moment, you froze as your mind struggled to process the gravity of what you were seeing. Then panic set in. Your chest tightened, and you began hyperventilating, your vision blurring slightly from the overwhelming fear.

“W-WONWOO!” you screamed desperately. Within seconds, your husband was at your side, running towards you with alarm.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, but you could only point toward the horizon. The moment his eyes followed your finger and landed on the monstrous wave, his body stiffened. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“We need to get out of here, now!” he said, grabbing your hand.

His tone left no room for argument, and together, you sprinted toward the car, leaving everything behind. You didn’t look back — not at the house, not at the approaching wave. Because all that mattered was escape.

Once you both got inside, Wonwoo slammed the door and turned the ignition. The engine roared to life as he crushed the accelerator pedal, and the tires screeched as you raced away from the coastline. The vehicle jostled and bounced over the uneven road, but neither of you complained.

Reaching out and entwining your fingers with his, you grasped onto him as though he were your lifeline. Wonwoo stole a brief glance, and his panic wavered a little. Lifting your hand to his lips, he pressed a quick kiss to your knuckles.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m here” he said.

The minutes dragged on as Wonwoo drove. The road seemed like it was never going to end, and everything around you felt unreal. Everything seemed disturbingly sombre as a result of the dark grey, menacing hue of the sky.

Your heart plummeted again when you saw it — an enormous sinkhole directly in your path.

“Wonwoo, look out!” you screamed.

Wonwoo’s eyes darted forward, widening as he saw the massive sinkhole ahead. Gasping, he slammed on the brakes and the tires screeched loudly against the pavement. The car jerked to a halt just in time, mere feet away from the edge.

“What the-” he muttered under his breath as he threw open the car door, his jaw tight with frustration and fear.

You trailed closely behind, holding his arm as you both ventured outside to assess the situation. The ground was scattered in sinkholes, each of which appeared to be bigger than the one before. The severity of the situation became apparent as you stared at the maze of devastation.

“How are we going to make it to the other side?” you asked.

Wonwoo ran a hand through his hair as his mind raced for a solution. He stared at the sinkholes as if he was asking the earth to respond.

Before he could respond, the ground beneath your feet began to tremor once again. This time, the shaking was violent, far more intense than before. You stumbled and tightened your hold on his arm as panic struck again.

The second earthquake hit with such force that it knocked both of you off your feet. The violent tremors rippled through the earth, creating a large, jagged crack that spread across the road. You clung to Wonwoo instinctively as the ground began to split further, separating into an immense gap.

The road ahead was completely inaccessible as pieces of dirt and asphalt disintegrated and fell into the growing pit. The sound of destruction filled the air, like the grumbles of the earth, the crash of debris, and your own frightful sobbing.

You shuddered violently, tears streaming down your face. Wonwoo pulled you in close and encircled his arms around you as if they could protect you from the mayhem.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he said.

Summoning his strength, he rose to his feet and scooped you up in one swift motion before carrying you back to the car. He hurriedly got behind the wheel and put you in the passenger seat. Slamming the gear into reverse, he turned the vehicle around and sped off in the opposite direction.

But luck was not on your side. Wonwoo’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as his eyes budged in horror.

Before you, a huge tsunami wave raced ahead, engulfing everything in its path. He slammed on the brakes and the car jerked to a sudden stop.

“Fuck!” he swore under his breath. The wave was unstoppable, and escape seemed impossible.

“Wonwoo,” your voice quivered as you tried to meet his gaze. Wonwoo turned to you immediately, his heart sinking at the sight of your tear-streaked, reddened face.

“I’m s-scared,” you stammered, your words breaking between sobs. “I don’t want to d-die.” Your hand reached out for his and clutched it tightly as if it could tether you to safety.

Wonwoo’s chest ached as though it might shatter. The truth, one he could never bring himself to say, was that there was no escaping this. You both knew it. Here, in this wretched place where hope had no footing, getting out alive was an impossibility.

Wonwoo felt his throat tighten, and his own tears welled up as he watched you crumble before him. His mind thought of words that could comfort you, but nothing felt like enough.

“Come here” he managed to utter.

Without hesitation, he tugged you gently toward him, pulling you onto his lap. You sank into his embrace and buried your face in his chest as his arms wrapped securely around you.

He rested his cheek against your hair and began to press soft kisses across your forehead.

Between each kiss, he murmured softly,

“I love you so much,” he promised softly between each kiss. It was all he could offer — a reminder that, no matter what, you weren’t alone.

“Maybe this life isn’t for us,” his voice cracked, barely audible over your muffled cries. Each word felt like a dagger, cutting deeper into your fragile heart.

You couldn’t stop the sobs that wracked your chest as you buried your face against him, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing wiring you to reality.

The car rocked beneath you both, moving backward inch by inch, with screeching metal filling the air. Wonwoo clenched his jaw and closed his eyes as tears trickled down his cheeks. He'd been trying so hard to be strong for you, but the burden of the situation eventually broke him.

“I don’t want to die—I don’t want to die,” you mumbled repeatedly, the words spilling out like a mantra.

Wonwoo’s heart clenched painfully, and his hands moved to cup your tear-soaked face. Gently, he lifted your head, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Look at me, Y/n,” he urged, his voice soft but insistent. But you tried to avoid his eyes, still shaking.

“Look at me baby, please” he repeated. Slowly and hesitantly, your tearful eyes locked with his.

“Just think of this as a bad dream,” he whispered as his thumb brushed softly against your cheek to wipe away the tears.

“When we wake up, we’re going to be in paradise. Together. I promise” his voice cracked, but he kept going.

“I’m never going to leave your side. We’re in this together — we’ll always be together” he spoke, offering you the only comfort he could.

Leaning forward, Wonwoo’s lips captured yours in a desperate, passionate kiss. Your hands instinctively grabbed his arms in response, but your body still rattled, terror still burning like wildfire through your veins. He felt it, the way your hands shook, the way you struggled to match his composure.

Breaking the kiss, Wonwoo grabbed your wrists gently and pulled you closer. “My love, relax” he murmured as his lips brushed against your forehead.

“We’re going to paradise together. Death can’t separate us. This place isn’t for us — we’re meant for something better.”

The car shifted again, tilting downward as gravity began to win, but Wonwoo refused to let you look away.

“Stay with me, baby,” he whispered. “Just stay with me.”

“You’ve been the best thing that’s ever happened in my life,” Wonwoo whispered.

He rested his forehead against yours, feeling his breath mingling with yours as he spoke. “The love of my life. The one who lit up my world.” His words poured out like a raw and unfiltered confession.

“We were both lonely in this messed-up world, but fate brought us together when we needed each other the most.” A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at his lips as he added, “I’m so glad I found you.”

He leaned in and pecked your lips softly. “I can’t even put into words how much I love you,” his voice broke.

“You’ll always be my first and my last. This isn’t the end, princess. Never.” His hands cradled your face as his eyes bore into yours. They were filled with a conviction that made you believe his every word.

“This is just the beginning of our beautiful life in paradise. Our journey in this cruel place is over.”

Something about his voice, his touch, finally allowed you to exhale the fear that had gripped you. Your body began to relax, the terror of death slowly melting away. As long as he was with you, there was nothing left to fear.

The car lurched again, the edge of the crater drawing nearer, but you no longer panicked. Wonwoo’s words anchored you.

As the car tipped forward, Wonwoo wrapped you tightly in his arms, whispering over and over, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you too, Woo,” you mumbled against his neck.

It was the last words you said, and the last Wonwoo heard as the car plunged into the pit of the earth. Together, into the unknown.

a/n; lowkey cried, so tragic :(

[wheeboo]

mine | joshua hong

SYNOPSIS. in which joshua is the best thing that's ever been... yours. PAIRING. joshua hong x gn!reader (ft. cheol, jeonghan, soonyoung, mingyu, chan - they don't rlly have dialogue tho lol) GENRE. fluff, some angst, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, established relationship WARNINGS. a very very brief shirtless joshua moment LMAO, implications of reader having a toxic ex, mentions that reader's parents have a rocky relationship and separate, kissing, terms of endearment, reader and joshua have a lil argument WORD COUNT. 3.6k

requested from @staranghae: joshua + mine by taylor swift for the 2k followers event please 🩷🎀

notes: i am fluent in this song!!!! whenever my love playlist comes on and this plays i literally scream lungs out!!! and shua fits this vibe so much <3

join the 2k celebration!

ONE. "i was a flight risk, with a fear of falling / wondering why we bother with love, if it never lasts..."

Maybe you've always underestimated how the feeling of fresh air hitting your lungs makes you feel so replenished, free, like a single whiff blows away those gusts of worry in an instant.

Your fingers carry a tight, secure grip on Seungcheol's surfboard𑁋you volunteered to carry it for him so he could unload the other things from the van𑁋soft sand meeting your toes the second you step onto the beach for the first time of the summer season. Salty air tingles at your nose, the late afternoon sun baring down on your shoulders, and the expanse of the ocean opens up right before your eyes.

This place had basically watched you grow up. It carries a lot of memories that you hold dear to your heart.

You see Soonyoung already digging into the sand with an abnormally large stick, and Mingyu carrying a bunch of firewood in his arms before dropping them down onto the ground (and accidentally one on his foot, but you won't say anything about that).

However, your eyes drift and land on a figure running up from the beach shore. His dark hair is wet and sticking to his forehead, chest and arms revealed in all its glory before quickly covered up by a white, somewhat lacy button-down shirt that still doesn't do much in concealing the muscles underneath. For a moment, you nearly loose the grip on Seungcheol's surfboard.

Joshua Hong seems to spot you from even a mile away. He's running up to you before you even have the minute to breathe, a grin splitting his face that's as warm as the setting sun. Sand clings to his damp flip-flops and the hem of his black shorts as he nearly skids to a halt in front of you, chest heaving and out of breath. His shirt isn't even buttoned, dammit.

"Hey," he greets you breathlessly, letting his eyes take you in for a second. "Glad you could make it."

A soft smile of your own blooms on your face. "It's good to see you too, asshole."

A flicker of feigned hurt plays across Joshua's features. "Come on. That was so two years ago! I didn't want to push you in the water. You should know that by now."

"Wow, you care so much about me, don't you?" You nearly swing Seungcheol's surfboard playfully in his direction. "You listen to Jeonghan more than your own little brain."

"I swear, it's changed. Everything's changed since then," Joshua reasons lightly. "You have my ears for the entire night, I promise."

His words hang in the air for a moment, and there's perhaps a sliver of fondness in his eyes that you catch when your gazes meet. You feel a certain warmth spread through your chest that you try so hard to ignore each time he's around you.

You brush it off with a roll of your eyes before strolling past him, hoping that Seungcheol's surfboard was enough to cover up the slight flush creeping up your cheeks. The smile to your face still lingers as you walk towards to where Soonyoung and Mingyu are, whom dash up to you the moment they see you to engulf you in a welcoming hug.

Mingyu is almost done setting up the bonfire by the time you and Seungcheol bring all the food and supplies from the van. Jeonghan and Chan had arrived by the time the fire is lit up and crackling, casting a warm, inviting glow on the beach scene. And it isn't long when the yearly traditions of a group bonfire and beachside barbecue commence.

The smell of grilled food fills the air, mixing with the salty breeze and the crackle of the fire. And just for those moments, you forget these fuzzy feelings swirling around you as familiar laughter and camaraderie take over instead.

You've known all of your friends for different amounts of times, but being here with all of them makes it feel like time hasn't passed by at all. Inside jokes are exchanged, memories from as far as childhood resurface, and stories are told that leave you all doubled over with laughter (and Soonyoung nearly choking on a marshmallow).

It's almost natural in the way your eyes seem to search for Joshua's every single time that feeling of happiness threatens to overflow within you. The fire flickers upon his face, his eyes crinkled deeply when he smiles. Happiness looks good on him, you think. It always has.

...does his eyes search for yours too?

By the time the fire dies down, you find yourself sitting near the edge of the beach, with your legs stretched on the sand and the waves barely lapping against your feet. Seungcheol and Mingyu are already out on the ocean on their surfboards, then there's Chan and Soonyoung struggling to get their sandcastle to stay up, and Jeonghan is already knocked out on a beach towel. It's just you, and wherever the hell Joshua is.

"Something's bothering you, isn't it?"

The voice snaps you away from your thoughts, and you pick your head up to see Joshua walking up to you. A cool breeze flows through his strands of his hair as he approaches.

You blink at him. "What?"

He sits down beside you on the sand, close enough that the warmth of his body brushes against yours. "You were too quiet earlier."

You face back towards the water, cowering your head down as if guilty of some sorts.

"Oh," You murmur, somewhat to yourself. "Sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Joshua asks, nudging you lightly on the shoulder. "I told you earlier that I would be all ears for you."

You smile faintly at that. Would you still be all ears if I told you that I've been such a coward with my feelings for you?

"It's... just boy problems, I guess," You respond, though you feel a twinge of regret for wording it like that. It's more than just simply boy problems.

Joshua's jaw seems to tighten at that. "Did that jerk contact you again?"

You know who exactly he's talking about, and you let out a sigh. "No, not him. I... I blocked him a few months ago when he tried spam calling me again. Sort of gave me a good scare, to be honest."

At the corner of your eye, Joshua's hand digs aimlessly into the sand, clenching and unclenching a fistful before smoothing it out again.

"I'm glad you're okay," he says softly, gaze fixed on the grains of sand slipping through his fingers. "You deserve someone way better than him."

You chuckle at that, and a bittersweet pang shoots through your chest. It's true, you deserve better. But really, the problem isn't just jerks and bad relationships. It's the thought of falling for someone again and it all comes crashing down... again.

But it's not like you could hold back from falling when you've already fallen. The truth is undeniable at this point𑁋your heart already beats a little faster for the boy right next to you.

"Guys! Look at the sunset!" Chan's voice rings out into the cool, evening air, pointing an excited finger towards the horizon.

Simultaneously, you and Joshua bring your eyes up tot the sky together. The last rays of the sun are painting the sky in a breathtaking display of fiery oranges, pinks, and purples, like a fleeting masterpiece before nightfall takes hold.

"Wow," You mutter out in awe. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Joshua cocks his head to the side, a low hum leaving his lips. "Hmm, I could think of something more beautiful than that, honestly."

You scoff, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. "You ruined the sentimental moment, idiot."

Joshua lets out an amused laugh, a sound that sends those flutters blossoming in your stomach, one you haven't realised you've missed until this very moment. A small giggle of your own escapes your mouth as you bring your eyes back to the sunset together.

Then a low yawn stifles out of you. Maybe everything that has happened the past few hours are finally catching up to you. You let out another yawn, hoping Joshua doesn't notice. But of course, he does.

"Getting tired?" he asks you.

You give a small nod. "Just a little."

A few moment pass, before you feel an arm drape casually over your shoulders. The scent of Joshua and his warmth seeps within your bones. You almost want to protest, but the words get caught in your throat, and you lean your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

Perhaps you could spend a long time staying in this position and hope the silence is able to spill all the words you've been meaning to say for all this time, but you know it's easier said than done. Because what's the point of confessing anymore if you know it won't ever last? That you know it'll ruin everything you've built up to get this far?

You've seen it happen around you𑁋with you, your parents, hell even strangers online. It's taught you nothing but to run. That's what your mind tells you to do, but not your heart. And maybe you listen to your mind more often than not.

"Yo, Josh!" Mingyu's voice hollers out from the ocean, and you feel a certain pressure be lifted up from your head (when did he lay his head on yours?) as you catch the sight of Seungcheol and Mingyu motioning to their surfboards. "Wanna hop on?"

Joshua briefly glances down at you, and you meet his gaze, seeing the indecision in his features.

"I don't mind," You tell him. "I'll be fine here."

He hesitates. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, don't worry about me." You pick your head off from his shoulders. "Go have your boy-fun."

Joshua gives you a small smile, though there's a hint of reluctance in his expression. He shouts back to Mingyu and Seungcheol before standing up and brushing the sand off his shorts. You could hardly pull your eyes away from him as he does so.

He starts trotting away as you face back toward the ocean with a sigh, relinquishing the moments you get to have to gather up your thoughts.

"Hey, Y/N?"

You pick your eyes back up to Joshua marching back towards you. He stops in front of you, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

"You look beautiful today, by the way." Then he gives shoots you a wink before turning back around. "Just wanted you to know."

The kiss you leave to his cheek later on was really worth the risk.

TWO. "you learn my secrets and you figure out why i'm guarded / you say we'll never make my parents' mistakes..."

A picture frame of a four-year-old Joshua is staring back at you. He still has that same silly grin on his face, the one that has his own eyes smiling as well and makes your heart feel lighter every time you look at it. You reach out to touch the frame, tracing the outline of his little face with your fingertip.

Sometimes, you wish you could experience what he was like at this time𑁋to grow up with him, to know what exactly led him to meeting you. But then again, he's already here with you now, and maybe that's all that matters.

"All ready for bed?" Joshua's voice popping in makes you swiftly place back the picture frame back on his desk. You turn around to see him leaning against the doorway with a soft smile playing on his lips, clad with a simple white t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants.

"Mhm," You hum out in response as you settle back under the covers of his bed.

It isn't the first night you've spent with him at his place, but you seem to seek the feeling of his comfort more often than sleeping in your own bed. Jeonghan has been kind of nagging you the two of you to move in together at this point, but that's a leap you're a bit hesitant to jump right now. But the drawer of your own clothes in his wardrobe is a bit of an argument that's hard to defend.

Joshua crawls his way into the spot right next to you, slipping under the duvet and wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you more into his embrace. You feel his breath meet the nape of your neck, warm and soothing against your skin, and your eyes flutter to the feeling.

You shift your position so that you're facing him. His eyes are already closed, lips pursed up slightly, and even then he still looks absolutely stunning. But you know he isn't asleep. Not yet, at least.

"My parents had uh... another argument today," You confess lowly, hesitantly.

Joshua's eyes open up slightly, adjusting his head so he can look at you better. A faint crease of concern appears between his brows, the arm around you tightening imperceptibly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You bite at your bottom lip anxiously. There are times you feel as if the only thing that could get you talking is always something revolving your parents, and you wonder if Joshua ever gets tired hearing about all of it. The thought courses insecurity to crawl in your veins, tightening your throat.

But Joshua's patient gaze towards you cuts through the uncertainty bubbling in your chest.

"Just same old, same old, you know?" You attempt to explain. "It just feels like they can't see eye-to-eye anymore. There's like... I don't know... nothing left between them, I guess. And it scares me that... it'll happen to us."

The last sentence suspends thickly into the air. Even then, you know it's more than the truth𑁋you've grown up witnessing and overhearing arguments from your parents that laid down this pessimistic view on the world around you.

You could feel your heart racing from all the anticipation. There's a wave of emotions that washes over Joshua's face, then he takes a deep breath and squeezes you tighter in his hold.

"Hey," he mutters. "Look at me."

You hesitantly meet his eyes.

"We're not like them, okay?" he assures you simply, bringing his hand up to cup your face oh-so gently in his hold. "We may argue sometimes. But the difference is, we communicate. We listen to each other. And we may not have all the answers to everything, but we'll figure it out together, alright?"

You swear you can feel the way he's holding your face also on your heart, like he's protecting you in a way from any doubts that might creep in. A small sigh escapes you, the tension leaving your shoulders as his words wrap around you comfortingly. The faintest, appreciative curve appears to your lips as you feel Joshua's thumb brush against your cheek.

He dreamily smiles at you as well, despite his face being half-buried in the pillow. And the thought of being able to wake up to this sight every single day suddenly feels a lot less like a leap and a whole lot more like a promise.

Somehow, the gap between the two of you disappears as your lips meets his. He kisses you so tenderly, mouth moving against yours with a delicate urgency, and the tiny sound that leaves you brings that smirk you could feel forming on his face.

You feel almost dizzy when you pull away, nothing but a shy look gracing over your features.

"Feeling better?" Joshua asks softly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face.

You could only gaze at him, wondering to yourself how he's even in real, how someone like him could exist with his sleepy smile, messy hair, and perfect features carved by the angels above, yet cherish you so dearly.

"Can you..." Your eyes flicker from eyes to his lips. "Can you... keep kissing me?"

It feels really silly to ask that, however Joshua just chuckles, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest as he peers at you with nothing but adoration.

"Of course," he replies, leaning back in. "Whatever you want."

THREE. "braced myself for the goodbye, 'cause that's all I've ever known / then you took me by surprise / you said, 'I'll never leave you alone...'"

The tears streaming down your face burns through the concrete below like acid.

"Y/N, wait𑁋"

"I told you that I-I can't do this right now."

The leaves crunching at your feet echo in your ears as you walk away from Joshua, each step feeling heavier than the last. It's around two in the morning or something, and you can't remember the last time you felt this lost and broken ever since your parents' separation. It's like the ground beneath you has crumbled away, leaving you suspended in midair, grasping for something𑁋just anything𑁋to hold onto.

You've been here before, standing at the edge of this cliff of vulnerability. It's easier to leave before you get left, easier to build walls than to let someone in only to watch them walk away.

But you've come to understand that Joshua isn't one to give up easily. He catches up to you quickly, his hand gently grasping your arm to stop you in your tracks. You try to shrug him off, but his grip only tightens slightly as he turns you around to face him.

"Talk to me," he pleads insistently, and the subtle tremble to his voice has your chest clenching. "If you're just going to keep pushing me away, then𑁋"

"Then leave." The words leave you before you can stop them, fueled by the ache in your chest and the fear in your heart. "You don't have to stay with me when all I-I do is push you away. Don't you think you deserve someone better?"

Joshua's grip on your arm loosens at your words, but it doesn't fall. His eyes scan over your tear-stained face, the quiver to your lips, and all of it has you bracing yourself for the inevitable, final blow𑁋for him to turn and walk away like so many others before him.

But instead, he just steps closer to you.

"This isn't about me staying because I have to, Y/N," he explains. "It's about me wanting to stay because I love you. I knew what I was getting into the second I realised I was falling for you. So no, I'm not going to leave you. And I'll never leave you alone because I know you're worth fighting for."

Your breath catches in your throat, his words piercing through you like a bullet straight through the heart. Even Joshua appears out of breath himself, as if he's poured his own heart out to you in those few simple sentences. The silence stretches between the two of you.

With a quiet sigh and a faint smile, he lets the tension simmer down by trailing his eyes over you.

"When I look at you, I think... I think I fall in love with you all over again like the first time I saw you," Joshua admits shyly, followed by a sheepish chuckle to himself. "It's cheesy, I know. But I can't help it. It's hard not to look at you."

You feel the heat crawling up your face as you blink away your tears clumsily, peering up at him inquisitively. "Really?"

This just draws another laugh from him. Joshua steps closer to you, trailing a hand to cup your face and the other to slide to your back to shorten the gap between the two of you even more. He places a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulls back slightly to meet your gaze.

"Really," he confirms, voice gentle yet firm. "I meant every word I said, darling."

This brings a genuine smile to your face as if it was the first one that night. You instinctively lean more into Joshua's touch, letting your eyes close for a moment to the simple feeling of him holding you.

"I'm sorry," You mumble, voice barely above a whisper. "for pushing you away like that. It's just... I'm scared."

Joshua takes one of your hands into his own to bring up to his lips, pressing a reassuring kiss to your knuckles.

"It's okay," he assures you. "We can be scared together."

FOUR. "do you believe it? / we're gonna make it now / and i can see it / i can see it now."

A pair of arms snake around your waist from behind, the relaxing melody of a piano floating through the air of the kitchen. You take in a deep breath, leaning back into Joshua's embrace as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

"Smells amazing, honey," Joshua murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

You smile contentedly, feeling the peace of the moment wash over the two of you. The enticing smells of the pasta you were cooking waft around the kitchen, mingling with the scent of fresh herbs, garlic, and Joshua's presence right behind you.

"It should be ready soon," You say, clutching the wooden spoon in your hands to give the sauce a final stir.

Joshua's eyes arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer as he sways gently to the music. You hear the sounds of his hums hit your ears as you turn to the heat off to the stove. And as you attempt to pull away from him to grab for some plates, Joshua's grip on your waist hardly budges.

You groan exaggeratedly. "Shua, I need to𑁋"

"Marry me."

You freeze immediately, and you swear time halted right at that moment. Turning around in his hold, you're met with the sight of Joshua's eyes on you. You try to pinpoint any doubt in them, any sign that this is some sort of joke, but his gaze remains unwavering, dark eyes serious yet painted with a shine of hope that tugs right at the strings of your heart and the walls of your hesitation.

There's always that fear gnawing at in the back of your mind. But beneath it all, a warmth spreads through your chest, a certainty that feels as natural as breathing.

And perhaps, you see nothing but forever in him.

You can see it in the way his eyes soften, in the way his hand trembles anxiously against your waist, in the way his lips part ever so slightly as he waits for your response. You can see it all in him. You've made it.

You kiss him just seconds later. It's a question your heart has already answered long before the words left Joshua's lips. You lean more into his touch, feeling your heart overflow past the brink of joy, and the feelings all melt together into the singular realisation that he's the best thing that's ever been yours.

When the two of you finally break away, a single word escapes your lips, "Yes."

another note: sorry this ending was slightly rushed T-T

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @phenomenalgirl9 @roziesmei @mirxzii @bookyeom @parkjennykim @melodicrabbit @bewoyewo @honglynights @bananabubble @treehouse-mouse @tanya596carat @starshuas @totomoshi

[mononijikayu]

marutsuke — gojo satoru.

You smiled back, though it was small and fleeting. "You could start now, you know." Satoru let out a soft laugh, the sound almost bitter, but there was a hint of something lighter underneath it. He took another sip of his drink, shaking his head slightly. "You’re asking a lot of me right now, Gen–senpai. You know that?" "I’m just asking you to be human, Gojo–kun." you replied softly. “Just be yourself.”

WARNING/S: post-hidden inventory (2006-onwards), domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 5.3k words.

NOTE: i wrote this a long long while ago and to celebrate jjk ending, i would like to give this as a humble offering. i've been a fan of jjk since 2019, when my friend introduced it to me. jjk means the world to me. it was there for me as much as bts was in my harsh and painful years. i am most grateful to share and continue to share the joy of it here in my little corner of the world. thank you guys for sharing the love of jjk with me. you guys are amazing. i love you guys so much. let's continue to be fans together for a long time!!! also the song is from given. its a lovely song <3

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

YOU HATED THIS FEELING, YOU HATED REPETITION LIKE THIS. You stood in the dimly lit hallway, fists clenched, your eyes burning with fury as you learned what had happened to the first years. The mission had gone horribly wrong, and Haibara—kind, hopeful Haibara—was dead. Nanami barely made it back. You trembled with rage, unable to process the incompetence that had led to this.

It was just like this when it was Namie.

Your mind flashed back to the past, to the same helplessness, the same sickening weight that had crushed your chest when Namie, your dear friend, had been sent out on a mission with faulty intelligence. They hadn’t even gotten her body back. You remembered the emptiness, the cold fury that took root inside you ever since.

And then there was Amanai Riko. Another loss, another innocent life extinguished because of their arrogance, their reckless disregard for the lives they swore to protect. Your nails bit into your palms as you fought back the wave of grief and anger.

And now... now Haibara.

Another young life, snuffed out before it could even truly begin. Your breath came in short, ragged bursts as the memories collided with the present, your fury building to a boiling point. You had warned them. You had fought, had demanded better, and yet nothing had changed.

"How many more?" you whispered to yourself, your voice trembling with fury. "How many more have to die before they open their eyes?"

"They had faulty intelligence," you spat, your voice laced with venom. "Faulty intelligence, and they sent them in blind. Blind!"

Your words echoed down the empty corridor, but it wasn’t enough to release the fury simmering inside you. You stormed forward, your footsteps heavy with the weight of your anger, the hallway dim and suffocating as you advanced. The rage that coursed through your veins was more than just anger—it was righteous fury, the kind that demanded answers, demanded justice for those who had fallen.

You didn’t care about decorum or procedure. Not now. Not when another life had been so carelessly thrown away.

The sight of the mission manager at the end of the hall, sitting casually at his desk, only fueled the fire inside you. He looked up, his expression one of mild surprise as you approached—indifferent, as if the death of a student was nothing more than an inconvenience, a casualty of duty.

Indifference. That look—the one that dismissed Haibara as just another statistic, another name on a growing list of losses. It ignited something in you that was barely contained.

"You!" you hissed, your voice trembling with the intensity of your rage. The air around you seemed to crackle with tension as you marched up to the manager’s desk, eyes blazing. "You sent them in blind! Faulty intelligence, and you signed off on it like it didn’t matter! Haibara is dead because of you!"

The manager blinked, clearly taken aback by your outburst, but his calm exterior didn’t waver. He leaned back in his chair, hands folded calmly in his lap, as if he was used to this—used to the accusations, used to the aftermath. He probably expected you to eventually calm down, to accept that this was just the way things were.

But you weren’t going to calm down. Not this time.

“You think this is acceptable?" you seethed, leaning over his desk. "You think sending kids in with faulty information is just part of the job? You didn’t care about what would happen to them—you cared about following protocol, making sure you checked off the boxes so you could wipe your hands clean when it went wrong."

The manager gave a slight sigh, adjusting his glasses as if the whole situation was an inconvenience. "These missions come with risks, you know that. It’s unfortunate, but we—"

"Unfortunate?" your voice rose, fury spilling over. "You think this is just 'unfortunate'? Haibara’s dead because of your incompetence, and all you can say is that it’s unfortunate?"

The manager’s lips thinned, his calm demeanor wavering for just a moment. "We did the best we could with the information we had. It’s not always perfect—"

You slammed your hands down on the desk, silencing him immediately. Your face was inches from his now, your voice low and lethal. "No. You didn’t do the best you could. You cut corners, and you sent them in knowing it wasn’t safe. You sat behind this desk while they went out there, while they—" Your voice caught for a moment, thinking of Haibara, of Namie, of Riko. "You have no idea what it’s like to lose someone because of your arrogance."

The manager didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. His silence was answer enough.

Your fists clenched again, your whole body trembling with the effort to contain your rage. You wanted to scream, to tear this entire building apart, but all you could do was stare at the man who had signed Haibara’s death warrant with his negligence. The worst part was you knew it would happen again. As long as people like him kept making decisions, more lives would be lost.

“That’s enough.” That familiar voice. You stopped.

“You piece of shit!” you snarled, your energy crackling dangerously. You lunged, but before you could strike, Yaga intervened, gripping your arms to hold you back.

You whipped around, your rage now directed at Yaga. “You! I warned you. I fucking warned you! But you listened to those old farts, didn’t you? You think it’s okay to send them in, even blindly.” Your voice cracked with fury, your eyes burning into Yaga’s. “And now, you’re stuck having to explain to Haibara’s parents why their son isn’t alive! That blood is on your hands!”

Yaga’s grip remained firm, but his expression darkened as you pressed on.

“My father would be ashamed of you,” you said, your voice low, bitter. “You’ve become exactly what he stood against.”

Yaga’s eyes hardened at your words, but he didn’t let go. He knew your anger wasn’t just at him—it was at the system, at the higher-ups, at the entire broken system that cost Haibara his life. But your words cut deep. Mentioning your father, a man Yaga once respected, felt like a blade twisted into his gut.

"Genmei," Yaga said, his voice steady but tense, "I didn't want this. You think I don’t care? You think I don’t feel the weight of it? I never wanted to send them in like that."

"Then why did you?" you snapped, stepping closer, your face inches from his, rage seething in every word. "You could’ve stopped it. You had the authority! Instead, you caved to those senile cowards who sit behind desks, making decisions they’ll never face the consequences of."

Yaga's jaw clenched, his voice growing colder. "You think I had a choice? You think I didn’t fight back? The orders came from the top, Genmei! From people I can’t defy."

You shook your head, trembling with disbelief. "So that’s it? You just roll over and let it happen? You tell them it’s fine to send kids like Haibara to their deaths? You and those spineless managers let them go out there—for nothing."

Yaga's grip on your arms tightened slightly, but his voice remained calm. "I know you’re angry. I know this isn’t fair. But it wasn’t blind. They were prepared."

“Prepared?!” Your laughter was bitter and sharp. “You call this prepared? Haibara is dead! Nanami is broken. And now you have to look those parents in the eye and tell them their son is never coming home."

Yaga’s silence spoke louder than anything. The weight of what you said settled in, his posture stiffening with the responsibility he bore. He hadn’t spoken to Haibara’s parents yet, but he would have to. And the thought of it, the unbearable weight of it, gnawed at him.

"Every single student is my responsibility, you know that." Yaga finally said, his voice quieter now, though no less strained. "I carry that burden every day. You think I don’t feel it? That it doesn’t tear me apart? But I don’t have the luxury of rage. I have to keep moving, keep fighting—for the ones who are still here."

Your hands fell to your sides, anger simmering down to a bitter ache. You looked at Yaga, your voice softer but no less furious. "They trusted you. We trusted you. And now we’re left with nothing but grief. Don’t you dare try to justify this."

Yaga looked away, his jaw clenched. "I’m not trying to justify it. There’s no justification for it. But you think I haven’t warned them, too? We both know how they operate. But my hands—"

"Don’t tell me about your hands being tied." you interrupted, your voice sharp. "You had more than just orders. You had a choice. And Haibara Yu’s blood is on all of us for not stopping it. And I'm sure....too sure. That there will be many more. All because you can't fight against those old farts."

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. Yaga’s grip on your arms loosened, his expression still hardened by guilt and responsibility. He knew it too well, he knew that it was also his fault. And perhaps, in truth, you didn't blame him that much. You knew there was nothing a teacher can do against the whole of Jujutsu society. But you can't help but be angry. Just like at your father's funeral. And that too, Yaga blames himself.

“I’m going to make them pay for this.” you said in a low, deadly voice, your anger no longer explosive but cold and resolute. “The ones responsible, the ones who allowed this to happen—they’ll know exactly what they’ve one.”

Yaga met your eyes, his voice quiet but firm. "Don’t let your anger consume you. Your father would say the same thing. This world is already full of enough darkness."

Your expression didn’t change, unfazed. "Maybe it needs a little more darkness before it can see the light. My father also knew about that."

YOU WANTED TO HAVE A SMOKE. But you were sure that the sprinklers would alert people. So you went against it. You stormed out of the manager’s office, your fury barely contained as you made your way down the empty corridor.

The cold, sterile walls felt suffocating, your mind clouded with the weight of it all—Haibara’s death, Nanami’s devastation, the recklessness of the higher-ups. You needed to see him, to confront the harsh reality of what their negligence had wrought.

The morgue was dimly lit, its stillness heavy with the presence of death. You moved quietly, but your footsteps faltered as you approached. Standing just outside, you heard voices—low, tense. You stopped.

"Why not let Gojo take care of everything?" a bitter voice sneered. It was Nanami Kento.

Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized that tone. Nanami’s words were sharp, laced with exhaustion and frustration, and just as the retort began to form on your lips, another voice cut through—calm, but strained.

"Nanami, that’s enough," Geto Suguru’s voice was tired, a weariness that weighed down each syllable. "This isn’t about Satoru. Don’t take your anger out on him just because you feel helpless. We all do."

Helpless.

The word hit you like a punch to the gut. Your body froze as Nanami’s bitter words echoed in your ears, triggering a flood of memories you had buried deep. You could still see the way Kaiko had looked at you after Namie’s death, the sharp, accusatory words that came spilling out, venomous and cruel.

"Why not let Genmei take care of everything, huh? She’s always so sure of herself, isn’t she?" Kamo Kaiko had sneered, the pain of loss warping into something uglier, something that wanted to hurt others. The same helplessness Nanami was drowning in now.

You had seen the look in Kaiko’s eyes—the same bitterness, the same exhaustion, the same desperation to place the blame somewhere, anywhere, other than the black void of grief you were all struggling to survive. And you had tried to calm Kaiko down, tried to reason with her, but the pain had been too raw, too fresh. It had escalated. Words had become fists, and by the time it was over, you were both broken in different ways. You never spoke again after that fight.

Now, hearing Nanami’s voice, the echoes of Kaiko’s bitterness in every word, your heart clenched. You couldn’t let this spiral the same way.

You stepped forward, your presence quiet but commanding. The shadows shifted as you moved, your eyes falling on Nanami, who stood rigid, his face a mask of exhaustion and grief. Geto Suguru leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his own weariness mirrored in his posture. He looked over Haibara’s body, as though he was in a trance. He was shell–shocked, you think.

"That’s enough." you said, your voice calm but firm, the weight of your past mixing with the present. You couldn’t watch this play out the same way it had before. "This isn’t about blame. None of this is about whose responsibility it is to fix things."

Nanami flinched slightly at the sound of your voice, his jaw tightening as he avoided your gaze. But you knew what he was feeling because you had been there. You had stood in his shoes, grappling with the same rage, the same helplessness, when you lost Namie.

"It’s not Gojo–kun’s fault, you know that." you continued, stepping closer, your voice softer now. "And it’s not yours. Haibara’s death wasn’t something you could have prevented. Not under these circumstances."

Nanami's fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his body radiating outwards. "I could have, senpai." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I should have."

"No." you said firmly, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "This wasn’t on you. Don’t let the guilt consume you, Nanami. I’ve seen it before, and I know where it leads."

The memories of Kaiko haunted you, the way grief had hollowed her out, leaving her with nothing but resentment and bitterness. You couldn’t let that happen to Nanami. Not again. This doesn’t have to continue. No one else has to suffer.

"Listen to Geto–kun, okay?" you added, your gaze softening as you looked at him. "We all feel helpless. But turning against each other won’t bring Haibara back."

Nanami’s shoulders slumped slightly, the tension in his body giving way to something closer to defeat. He didn’t respond, but you knew your words had reached him. Turning away from them, you took a breath and steel yourself. You still had one last thing to do, no matter how much it hurt.

You had to say goodbye to Haibara.

You walked out of the room, the heaviness of the conversation weighing on your shoulders. You pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway, your emotions a turbulent storm beneath the surface. Your eyes immediately caught sight of Satoru, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed.

You knew, just by the way he stood, that he had heard everything. There was no need for words. His expression wasn’t the usual carefree mask he wore—it was more serious, though his eyes were still bright behind his dark shades, silently watching you.

You sighed, your frustration and exhaustion bubbling up. Without a word, you stepped closer to him and gently placed your hands over his ears, your palms lightly cupping the sides of his head. The sudden movement caught him off guard, and his eyes widened, blinking in surprise. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to understand what you were doing.

Don’t listen, you mouthed, your lips forming the words slowly and deliberately, knowing he would understand.

For a moment, Satoru just stared at you, his gaze flickering between confusion and something softer, almost curious. His lips pressed into a flat line, and after a heartbeat of silence, he nodded, an unspoken agreement passing between you.

He wasn’t going to argue. Not this time.

You let your hands fall from his ears, giving him a weary look. There was nothing more to say. You both knew the weight of everything that had happened, and for once, Satoru didn’t push. He just stood there, understanding what you couldn’t put into words. The hallway stretched ahead of you, quiet and still, but the heaviness lingered in the air.

You let your hands fall from Satoru's ears, giving him a weary look. There was nothing more to say. You both knew the weight of everything that had happened, and for once, Satoru didn’t push. He just stood there, understanding what you couldn’t put into words. The hallway stretched ahead, quiet and still, but the heaviness lingered in the air.

The two of you wandered outside in silence, the weight of recent events hanging heavily between you. The cold night air bit at your skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the emotions you both carried. You led the way toward the vending machines just outside the building, the quiet hum of them the only sound in the stillness.

You didn’t need to look at Satoru to know he was thinking about everything that had happened. It was rare for him to be this quiet, this subdued. You pressed the buttons on the machine without a word, watching the drinks tumble down with a soft thud. You handed one to him, the cold condensation clinging to your fingers as you took your own.

Satoru cracked open the can, the fizz breaking the silence between you. You took a slow sip of your drink before finally speaking.

“It’s not your fault, you know.” you said quietly, your voice steady but carrying the weight of someone who had seen this all before. "You can’t blame yourself for what happened."

Satoru didn’t respond right away. He took a long drink, his gaze fixed on the horizon, the usual brightness in his eyes dimmed by something heavier, more complex. He leaned against the vending machine, one hand loosely holding the can, the other shoved in his pocket. His shades were off now, dangling from his collar.

“I think it is, Genmei–senpai.” he finally said, his voice low, almost resigned. His gaze drifted down to the ground. “If I were just a little stronger, a little faster... if I had trained them better, maybe… maybe they wouldn’t be dead.”

Your chest tightened. You had heard these words before, a thousand times in different voices. From yourself, from others who had lost people they cared about. It was the familiar cycle of grief and guilt. Gojo Satoru doesn’t easily fuss over his feelings. This was the first time truly, you think, that he’d willingly told you what he felt. Without you having to ask. In a way, you think that has reminded you of yourself, even for a little bit.

"You can't control everything, Gojo–kun." you replied softly, stepping beside him. "Not even you. It wasn’t your decision to send them on that mission. You weren’t the one who messed up the intel. And you’re not the one who could have stopped it from going wrong."

He clenched his jaw, clearly wrestling with the weight of his own thoughts. Gojo Satoru—the strongest sorcerer alive, the one who always acted like nothing could touch him—was grappling with the very human feeling of failure. It was a rare sight, one that he kept hidden behind his usual bravado. But here, in the quiet, there was no mask to hide behind.

"Being strong doesn’t mean being able to protect everyone. That’s impossible." you added, your voice quiet but firm. "Trust me, I know. We all do."

Satoru stared at his drink, the carbonation slowly rising to the surface. He let out a long breath, his fingers tightening around the can as if holding on to something he couldn’t quite grasp.

"I don’t know if I can ever believe that, you know?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I’m not strong enough to protect them, then what’s the point of being the strongest?"

You didn’t answer right away. You let his words hang in the air, knowing that there was no simple reply that could ease his burden. The truth was, you understood. You had felt the same way when your precious Namie died, when Amanai Riko  was killed. The strength to protect felt meaningless when it failed you.

But you also knew that blaming yourself for every loss would only eat away at you, piece by piece. And you knew better than to wallow in it all. You wouldn’t be able to get up from your bed if it's all that consumes you. You didn’t want your dreams. You wanted to be awake. In your dreams, it was regret. In your reality, it was moving forward. And you’d choose a thousand cigarettes then see Namie’s eyes look at you like that again. You’d choose days awake rather than seeing Kaiko take her last breaths right in front of you again.

"The point, Gojo–kun," you finally said, your voice softer now, "is that you’re human. No matter how strong you are, no matter what kind of power you have, you’re still human, Gojo–kun. And that means sometimes... you’ll fail. It doesn’t make you any less strong. It just makes you... you."

He looked at you then, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his bright cerulean eyes—an acknowledgment, maybe. He didn’t argue, didn’t dismiss your words like he normally would. Instead, he just took another sip of his drink and nodded slightly.

“Maybe……” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

You stood there in the quiet, the weight of your conversation lingering in the cold night air. For once, there were no easy answers, no quick fixes. Just two people, sharing a drink, carrying the same burden of loss.

You tilted your head back slightly, looking up at the night sky. The stars were faint tonight, dimmed by the city lights, much like how everything felt dulled in the aftermath of grief. You took another sip from your drink, letting the cool liquid ground you in the present, away from the spiraling thoughts of what could have been.

After a long silence, you spoke again, your tone quieter, almost contemplative. "You know, you don’t always have to carry everything by yourself, Gojo–kun."

He glanced at you, but didn’t respond immediately, his eyes still clouded with that familiar weight.

"I know you feel like it’s all on you, Gojo–kun." you continued, turning your gaze to him. "Like you're responsible for every life, every outcome. But you're not. And it’s okay to feel... this way. To feel like you’ve failed. But that doesn’t mean you have."

Satoru stared at the ground, the quiet stretching on for a few heartbeats. Then, without looking at you, he spoke, his voice softer than before. “You say that like you don’t carry it, too.”

Your grip on the can tightened slightly. You felt the truth of his words settle uncomfortably in your chest. You did carry it—always had. The weight of those you couldn’t save, the memories of missions gone wrong, the faces of the dead. You carried them all, and sometimes it felt like too much. But that wasn’t something you would admit to easily.

"You’re right. Your senpai’s a hypocrite." you said after a pause, your voice barely above a whisper. A weary smile on your lips. "I do, don’t I? But I’m learning how to let some of it go. To not let it destroy me…..I have to learn, as you do.”

Satoru finally looked at you, his gaze searching, as if he was trying to understand something he couldn’t quite grasp. There was a vulnerability in his expression, one that he rarely let show. You know that you knew the answer. And so does he. But it was easy to ignore, when you’re given the world to carry.

"How?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

You looked away, your eyes drifting back up to the sky. "By realizing that it’s not all on me. That I’m not the only one who’s hurting. And by letting people in, even when I don’t want to. It’s not easy, and I’m still figuring it out... but I’m trying."

Satoru was silent, processing your words. You knew how hard it was for him to let people in, to show any weakness. He had built walls so high that even those closest to him struggled to see through them. But here, in this quiet moment, you could feel those walls cracking, if only just a little.

“I guess I’ll have to try that sometime.” he muttered, his lips curling into a faint, tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You smiled back, though it was small and fleeting. "You could start now, you know."

Satoru let out a soft laugh, the sound almost bitter, but there was a hint of something lighter underneath it. He took another sip of his drink, shaking his head slightly. "You’re asking a lot of me right now, Gen–senpai. You know that?"

"I’m just asking you to be human, Gojo–kun." you replied softly. “Just be yourself.”

The silence that followed wasn’t as heavy as before. It was the kind of quiet that settled between people who understood each other, who didn’t need to fill the space with empty words.

After a while, Gojo Satoru straightened up, his usual mask of nonchalance slipping back into place. But something had changed, even if just a little. He glanced at you, a glimmer of his old self returning to his eyes.

"Alright." he said, pushing off from the vending machine. "I’ll try not to carry everything on my back... but don’t expect me to go soft, okay? Can’t have everyone thinking I’m losing my touch."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at your lips. "Wouldn’t dream of it, Gojo–kun."

He chuckled, tossing his empty can into the recycling bin with a casual flick of his wrist. “Good. Now, how about we get out of here? There’s only so much doom and gloom a guy can take. I wanna go and eat some burgers! Oh, oh and have a milkshake. Come on Gen-senpai! Don't be such a slow poke!”

You watched as he started walking away, his usual swagger returning to his step. Despite everything, despite the grief and the guilt, he was still Satoru Gojo. And that, in its own way, was comforting. You lingered for a moment, finishing off your drink before following him. The weight of the night hadn’t disappeared, but somehow, it felt a little easier to bear now.

epilogue

The afternoon sun bathed the park in a warm, golden glow, casting everything in a soft light that made the moment feel almost timeless. It was a day without expectations or duties—a rare occasion for you and Satoru, a time when neither of you needed to be the strongest sorcerers alive. Instead, you were just yourselves, surrounded by the warmth of your little family.

You sat on a bench under the shade of a sprawling tree, the leaves swaying gently in the breeze. From your seat, you watched Tsumiki and Megumi, their carefree laughter ringing out as they chased each other across the grass.

Fushiguro Megumi’s small smile hinted at how much he enjoyed these quiet moments with his sister, even though he pretended to let her win. His protectiveness over Tsumiki was subtle but undeniable, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched their innocent game unfold.

Beside you, Satoru was sprawled out lazily on the bench, his sunglasses resting atop his head, soaking in the warmth of the sun. Satoshi, your energetic bundle of joy, was clinging to his father’s arm, trying to climb him like he was a human jungle gym. The sight of Satoru—so relaxed and utterly at ease—was a rare one, a moment where he let down his guard completely.

“Baby!” Satoru said, glancing over at you with a mischievous grin. “I think our son’s trying to take me down. Think he’s got the makings of a future jujutsu sorcerer?”

You chuckled, brushing a few strands of Satoshi’s hair out of his eyes. “Maybe he’s just training to be strong like you, don’t you think?” you teased, giving Satoru a playful look. “You’ll have to watch out—he might surpass you one day.”

Satoru sat up dramatically, hoisting Satoshi into his lap. “Surpass me? Oh no, not on my watch!” He declared, tickling your son until Satoshi was giggling uncontrollably. “Satoshi, my little dawn, promise me you won’t steal my title as the strongest!”

Gojo Satoshi, between fits of laughter, batted at his father’s chest. “Papa! No tickle!”

The sound of your son’s pure joy, Satoru’s playful antics, and the peace of this moment filled your heart. For once, there was no looming threat, no mission pulling you away. It was just the simple beauty of a family enjoying a sunny day.

Megumi, a little winded from chasing his sister, wandered over with his usual stoic expression, though you could see the faintest trace of a smile. You couldn’t resist teasing him. “Are you done showing off?”

Megumi shrugged, his tone as nonchalant as ever. “I wasn’t showing off. Tsumiki just needed to win.”

Satoru reached out and ruffled Megumi’s hair affectionately. “Such a gentleman. You’re really going soft on your sister, huh?”

Though Megumi swatted Satoru’s hand away, his eyes softened. “......She deserves it” he mumbled, trying to keep his fondness for Tsumiki hidden.

Tsumiki, noticing the conversation, ran over, her cheeks flushed from the chase. She flopped down onto the grass beside Megumi, leaning against him with a contented sigh. The two siblings sat close together, exchanging quiet smiles. You could see how much they meant to each other—the bond that had formed between them was one of the most precious things in your life.

Satoru stretched out his legs, balancing Satoshi on his knee. “You know, I think this is nice.” he said, his tone suddenly thoughtful. “We should do this more often.”

You turned to look at him, curious. “Do what? Actually relax?”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah. I like this better—just us. Just our little family, you know? No titles, no missions. Just being.”

There was something so genuine in the way he said it. You leaned into him slightly, reaching for his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours. “I like this too, you know?” you said softly, squeezing his hand.

He smiles back at you with the most beautiful, warm gaze. He squeezes your hand back. “I know.”

Megumi and Tsumiki sat quietly, watching your interaction with curiosity but not interrupting. You could tell they were starting to understand the unspoken bond you and Satoru shared—the love that transcended the roles you played in the world.

Satoru let out a soft sigh, leaning back against the bench, tugging you closer. Satoshi, who had grown tired from all the excitement, settled comfortably in his father’s lap, his small hands gripping Satoru’s shirt. The park, bathed in the soft afternoon light, seemed to wrap you all in a blanket of calm.

“If you weren’t around to keep me sane…..” Satoru mused, glancing over at you. “I might’ve forgotten what a day off even feels like.”

You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder. “Oh, I’m sure you’d figure it out. You’ve always been good at pretending the world’s problems don’t exist.”

Satoru grinned, though there was a softness to his voice. “Maybe. But this…” He looked down at Satoshi, then over at Megumi and Tsumiki, who were now engrossed in their own conversation. “This is real. This is what matters.”

His words struck a chord in you. For so long, your lives had revolved around the constant threat of danger, the weight of responsibility. But here, at this moment, it was just the four of you—your makeshift family—enjoying a quiet afternoon in the park.

Leaning into Satoru’s warmth, you whispered, “Yeah, this is what it’s all about.”

The park’s hum continued around you: the distant laughter of children, the rustling leaves, and the occasional chirp of birds. But in your little bubble, time seemed to slow down. For a moment, there was no past, no future—just the present, where everything felt exactly as it should.

You rested your head on Satoru’s shoulder, Satoshi nestled between you both, and Megumi and Tsumiki chatting softly beside you. In this quiet, peaceful moment, you realized that despite the chaos of your lives, these simple, precious moments made all the struggles worth it.

And for now, that was more than enough.

[pe4cht3a]

okay so i saw ur other oneshot and thought it was SO CUTE, but what abt overly affectionate killua obsessing over reader?????

⋆ ✴︎˚. Spellbound .˚⟡ ⋆

── .✦ a/n: tysm anon !! this idea lives rent free in my mind 😋

killua still vividly remembers the memories of his first encounter with you, it was the final year of high school.

“uh. excuse me, i think… its stuck.” you slowly but eventually pointed out to the dumb-founded albino. the poorly maintained vending machine at your school cafe was acting up again, unsurprisingly.

“bitch ass machine.” killua muttered under his breath, right as he turned to the vending machine and proceeded to start banging on the glass pane of the vending machine, desperately trying to some how trigger his juice to fall down from the impact.

“fuck it. i didn’t want that drink that badly anyways.” killua shrugged off as he stopped beating up the vending machine, discreetly trying to be “non-chalant” in front of such an attractive girl as you. “if it makes you feel any better.. you can have my juice.” you offered as you hurriedly started unzipping your backpack to pull out the juice your friend gave you earlier. “what? no, im good.” killua frantically spat out as he felt his face heat up. “nah, i don’t want it. a friend gave it since she got an extra on accident.” you smiled as you handed the juice to the very obviously flustered boy. “fine then, thanks.” the shy silverette huffed out, accepting your kind gesture. “oh yeah! im new. whats your name?” you almost forgot to ask for the guy’s name, you found him pretty cute so this was a very convenient start for a first interaction.

“killua, killua zoldyck. you?” he motioned his head towards you, as he started opening up the can of juice. “hold up.. is your brother that weird prefect who stares at everyone weirdly? uhhh… illumi zoldyck! almost forgot that weirdo’s name!” you teased as you giggled joyfully. “fuck off, i just pretend that guy isn’t my brother usually.” the albino bashfully declared, clearly embarrassed. killua’s whole body felt as if it was engulfed in flames. come on, you were pretty and so open to conversations with him! most people avoided him a ton due to his elder brother. how could he not feel flustered beside you?

“anyways, the names y/n.” you said as you placed yourself onto a table behind you, crossing your legs. “i see.” killua muttered as he looked down at the floor, barely audible to anyone else except himself.

that was a few years ago, now you both are in college and have a shared apartment in the heart of yorknew city.

sunlight greets your bedroom, as the morning sun peers through the window onto the nearby bed.

you groggily awaken from a deep slumber, rubbing your eyes as your eyes adjusts to the natural light in the room. you attempt to get up from the bed, but someone stops you from doing so. killua’s arm firmly holds onto your waist, as he big spoons you from behind. “not waking me up first?” half asleep as he holds you down. “i’ll wake you up laterrr, continue sleeping kil.” you playfully push his arm off, freeing yourself. you get up from the bed and stretch slightly before proceeding to the bathroom. as you walk across the room, you pass by the propped up picture of you and killua on your nightstand, your dear albino placing a kiss on your cheek as you have your arms around him in the framed memory.

“aughh, gotta start the day..” you sleepily encourage yourself as you step into the shower, turning the shower on. stepping out the shower, you put on a fresh pair of clothes for the day. you start brushing your teeth, eyes closed in the process, trying to savour some more short moments of rest before heading out. that is until, you feel a pair of muscular arms snake around your waist. “kil?” you call out, eyes still closed. “mhm…” the silverette assures as he places his head onto your shoulder, holding you from behind. “hug me later! im getting ready right now.” you open your eyes grumpily, pushing his arms off your waist. “yeah yeah, i know!” the silverette confirms, but less than 3 minutes later… he’s hugging you from behind again as you’re applying your skincare.

“babe, let go now. i have to go pack my purse, and you have to wash up now too!” nagging your boyfriend while he reluctantly lets go of you, pouting in the heart-wrenching process.

“love you! see you later!” you yell into the apartment as you’re rushing out the door. you have plans to meet up with your friends for breakfast at a cafe near campus before classes start. you were a bigger social bug compared to your introverted boyfriend.

the sunset was vibrant and full of life, as you returned back to your shared apartment, after a long day. before you could even succeed in pulling out your keys from your purse, the apartment door flings open. “I MISSED YOUUUU!” killua gushed as he immediately pulled you into a warm and sudden embrace, door still left open. “oh! i missed you too babe.. but let me lock the door first please.” you interrupt sheepishly. “later.” killua brushes off your request as he continues to hug you, as well as peppering kisses all over your forehead and face. you eventually stop protesting and just accepted your sweet fate. killua’s home earlier than expected, guess gon’s too busy for plans.

killua can get real annoying once he becomes clingy, good thing is he normally does not cling to anyone. unfortunately, you are the exception. whatever it is you’re doing, as long as you’re near him, he’ll be begging for your attention and desperately holding onto you, pawing for your love. your sapphire-eyed boyfriend first acted non-chalant and unfazed when you guys first became acquainted, but that was just high school killua trying to impress you, to be fair. in truth, as soon as killua got to know you more, he just couldn’t keep his hands off of you! even back in high school, he would always intertwine his hand with yours while walking, sitting, standing, basically constantly. it was so severe, you would have to purposefully distract him with something that interested him, just so you could get school work done! it was like as if you had killua under some kind of spell.

killua feels happy? kiss y/n. killua feels sad? hug y/n. killua feels angry? fuck y/n hard that night. killua feels scared? asks y/n to hold him. you are just simply everything to him. kil knows he might or might not be slightly too obsessed but you don’t actually mind, so he’s gonna keep being your number one fan!

[ladykailitha]

Crossroads

So I started writing this last night thinking it would be a short little drabble. At over 2k words, it is NOT a drabble. It is a full on fic at this point.

Enjoy!

*

Steve was at a crossroads.

To his right was his mother, calling him sweetly to come back inside so they can talk. Work something out. To stay with her and his father.

On his left was Eddie. Dear sweet Eddie calling out from him to run away with him. To get in his van and chase the sun for as long as they could and maybe find a new place to rest their heads. For a moment or to throw roots.

He could see the two paths before him as easily as he could see them standing before him.

If he went with his mom, they would convince him to give up his friends, Eddie. Well, they'd let him keep the Wheeler siblings and Dustin. But everyone else would have to go. Byers, Max, and Eddie because they were poor. The Sinclairs because they were black. He doubted they would keep him from El, considering who her adopted father was, but it would be a near thing. Robin would have to go. She would be a little too queer for their liking.

He would be forced to work for his dad where the employees would hate him and the managers would resent him. He would marry some dull woman picked out by them and have as many kids as possible.

Pretty much the life he thought he would have with Nancy their junior year of high school. He would be comfortable, well taken care of and absolutely fucking miserable. For the rest of his life.

If he went with Eddie...there would no certainty at all. It would very likely be hard. They wouldn't have a lot of money (the government hush money could only take them so far after all). It would a life on the road as Eddie and his band traveled the country looking for fame and fortune. It would be rough. Five boys in cramped quarters.

It's possible the band wouldn't even survive two days let alone two years.

But Eddie would love him. He would be loved. Not just by Eddie, but Robin and the kids. Nancy and Jonathan and even funky little Argyle. As their friends spread out over the country, Steve and Eddie would visit them all. And maybe someday they'd find their place. Throw down roots maybe even grow a family of their own.

Steve took a deep breath and started walking.

*

Eddie wanted to call out to Steve, beg him to stay. To give him a chance to be something. Together.

He watched in horror and disappointment as Steve took one step and then another toward his mother. He couldn’t look away as Steve reached her.

Steve’s name caught in his throat. Would she at least let them say their goodbyes or would the last memory Eddie had of the love of his life would be his back as he walked back into the house with his mother?

Steve kissed his mother’s forehead and then suddenly he was running.

Eddie barely had time to open his arms before Steve had filled them.

Eddie opened his mouth to ask, but Steve kissed him fiercely. “Come on Eds, let’s go.”

He pulled back and looked Steve in the eye. “You coming with me, darlin’?”

Steve nodded. He looked back at his mother and then at Eddie. “It’s for the best, I think.”

Eddie knew he was right. Knew it was the best thing for everyone. But he still couldn’t believe it.

“All right, baby,” he finally said after a moment of taking it all in. “Let’s go find that horizon, shall we?”

Steve grinned. “Hell yeah!” He swung into the passenger side of Eddie’s van and Eddie hopped into the driver’s side.

They had sold the BMW for extra cash as the van would be better suited for traveling cross-country in. It had been put in his name a long time ago and it was the last connection to his parents.

Steve kissed Eddie on the cheek.

Eddie laughed. “What was that for, sweetheart?”

“For luck!”

“You my princess, baby?”

Steve laughed too. “The van is in much better shape then Millennium Falcon, sunshine.”

Eddie cackled as he pulled out of the driveway. He was going to start a life with the boy of his dreams. Life really couldn’t be sweeter.

*

When Maureen Harrington saw her Steven start walking towards her, she knew.

She had lost him. Maybe she never had him. He was determined in a way she had never seen before. He was resolved.

“I have to go,” he whispered as though the answer was pulled from him.

She nodded, tears forming on her lashes. “I understand.”

He dug in his pocket and pulled out a ring. She looked at it and her heart sank.

“No, Steven,” she murmured. “Your grandfather gave that to you.”

He pressed it into her hand. “I know, but think of it as my promise to come back. To see you. That I’m not giving up on you, I’m just choosing my own path instead of the one you and Dad wanted for me.”

Maureen clasped it tight her perfectly manicured hands to her chest. “I love you.”

He nodded and kissed her forehead goodbye.

She watched misty-eyed as he ran to his boyfriend, tears streaming down her face. She stood in that driveway until they were both out of sight.

She wiped her eyes and went back inside.

“Where’s that wastrel son of yours?” Clint growled.

“Saying goodbye,” she lied.

“Good.”

He turned on his heel and then said over his shoulder. “I want him in office the second he comes in, you hear me.”

She nodded knowing that he would be angry with her later. But she also knew that he would blame Edward Munson and not her for Steven not staying.

Maureen paused. She did feel a little guilty about that, but it was unavoidable. She slipped into the kitchen. The one room Clint would never enter willingly and sat down next to the phone.

She had work to do.

*

Wayne had just settled in for the night when his phone rang. He heaved a sigh and got wearily to his feet. The government had paid a hefty sum for the witch hunt of his nephew and an even tidier sum for keeping quiet about the monsters, which meant he wouldn’t have to work another day in his life.

But he still got a nice little job down at the local plant nursery watering the plants a couple times a week for something to do. He had just gotten home from that when the phone rang.

“Hello?” he greeted.

“Hello,” greeted the warm female voice. “I’m looking for an Edward Munson, is he there?”

Wayne sighed again. “May I ask what this is regarding?”

“Of course,” she said brightly. “He applied with us a couple weeks ago and I was just getting back with him.”

“Ya just missed him,” he said. “He went on a vacation and won’t be back for a few days.” Weeks, really. But he didn’t want to scare her off in case she actually had a job for him.

“That is unfortunate,” she said softly. “I will hold on to his application of course, but I can’t guarantee the job will be there when he returns.”

Wayne sighed a third time. He knew it had been too much to ask, but it had been worth a shot.

“I appreciate you thinking of him,” he said.

“Of course, you have a good day.”

He cursed his nephew’s luck again. Just as things were starting to look up for him, he missed getting a job by mere hours.

That was the last he thought about that conversation for a few days until a large manila envelope came for Eddie and Steve care of him. The damn thing even read: Steven Harrington and Edward Munson, C/O Wayne Munson.

The boys had gave him permission to open anything that might come from the government or the kids in case it was urgent, but he wasn’t sure about this.

Thankfully he was save from something like indecision when his phone rang.

“Uncle Wayne!” Eddie cried cheerfully. “You’ll never guess where we are!”

“Disneyland?” Wayne guessed with a huff of laughter.

“Aww...you guessed,” Eddie pouted.

“A letter came for you and Steve,” he said. “You two want me to open it?”

He heard whispering and then Eddie came back. “Steve says go ahead.”

Wayne opened the envelope and as he read the contents, he put his hand over his mouth as tears streamed down his face. It took a couple of tries, clearing his throat before he said, “It’s from your mom, Steve.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a bunch of paperwork transferring your joint bank account with your parents to one with Eddie,” Wayne explained. “As well as your information about your trust fund.”

“Oh.” Steve’s voice is breathless. “God. I assumed that they nixed that when I failed to get into college. That’s what it was supposed to be for after all.”

“Not according to the documents your mom sent over,” Wayne explained. “It was supposed to be given to you under one of three circumstances. Getting into college–”

Steve scoffed. “There went that one.”

“Getting married,” Wayne said.

Again Steve scoffed. “Would explain why they weren’t a big hurry for me to get hitched.”

Eddie and Wayne both chuckled in stereo causing Steve to laugh at how similar they were.

“Or when you turned twenty-one,” Wayne finished. “Which means next year the money is yours.”

“How much money could there be?” Eddie asked with a snort.

“By the time Steve gets it, at current interest rates?” Wayne said. “A little over a million dollars.”

“What?” Steve asked, his heart in his throat.

“Yup,” Wayne said. “And according to the bank statements of the new account she set up for the two of you, it has about three hundred thousand in it.”

“How?” Steve stammered.

“Well, according the statements of your previous account that she also sent along,” Wayne said ruffling through the pages, “there were deposits of five hundred dollars a month since you were born. As well as your checks from your jobs; the community center, the mall and of course Family Video.”

“Okay,” Steve muttered darkly, “but that only makes up for about a third of what you said was in there.”

“Apparently your first payment for stopping the apocalypse was put into this account when you were under the age of eighteen.”

Eddie swore. “And they didn’t fucking tell you?”

Wayne hummed. “Looks like there were some large withdrawals at first, but they were put back in only a couple months later.”

Steve scoffed. “Probably my dad and my mom making him put it back.”

“I agree,” Wayne said. “That makes the most sense. So if we add what you got from the government for your subsequent apocalypses, you boys will never have to work a day in your lives unless you wanted to.”

“Holy shit, baby,” Eddie cooed. “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “It’s all unbelievable.”

Wayne nodded even though they couldn’t see him. “She also lists a couple of good financial advisors. I’ll give them a call and find one that fits, but you boys are free to do whatever the hell you want now.”

“Thank you, Wayne,” Steve murmured.

“Thank your mom, Stevie,” he mumbled. “She’s the one that did everything.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath. “I will. I promise.”

*

Steve slid down in the cramped little phone booth in shock. They had only meant to tell Wayne that they had made it California and that they were having a good time. He sure as hell wasn’t expect to have his life completely upended.

It was a good kind of unending. There was no doubt about that. But when he made the choice to be with Eddie, he made in spite of money not for money.

Eddie held out his hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s go make some noise in the happiest place on earth.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah. I can’t wait!”

As they walked through park slurping on sodas and laughing, Steve knew he had made the right choice.

Because really, falling in love with Eddie was the easiest thing he’d ever done.

*

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @redfreckledwolf @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @bookbinderbitch @littlewildflowerkitten @itsall-taken @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @vecnuthy

[charincharge]

I Don't Want To Wait, seventy-four

rowaelin high school bff au masterlist

AN: Well, babes, this is it. The final effing chapter of IDWTW. When I started writing this, almost exactly four years ago (chapter 1 posted on may 29, 2020!), I had no idea what it would become. I thought it was going to be vv casual prompt-based high school pining vignettes, simply to rewrite my own version of Dawson’s Creek – if you’ve ever wondered why it was called IDWTW, that’s why! It was a temp title that stuck! – but 375k+ words later… it’s become so much more. And that is because of YOU. Whether you have been here since 2020 or you joined along the way or you're finding this years after the face, I am infinitely grateful. I don’t know that I would have been able to pull through the last few years without your kindness and enthusiasm for these two idiots (and their friends and fam). I have loved telling this story, but mostly, I’m grateful that this journey introduced me to so many incredible humans and created a community of babes I will hold near and dear to my heart for literally ever (it’s true, I loved one of you so much that I drove across the country to meet her, and in a few short months she will be my WIFE!). This story brought so much good into my life, and I am hella proud to finally conclude it. From the incredible creators who made fanart, to the essays of comments on each chapter, to the back and forth of discussing consent, sexuality, and reproductive rights in my inbox, every gif, comment, reblog, message, ask, and interaction of any kind has been a joy. Thank you.

With all of that said, let’s wrap this mother up.

A soft glowing circle lit up the black beneath Aelin’s feet. Her stomach tightened as she rested on one leg and hitched to the side in a slow exhale. Her breath centered her as she pulled her pointed toes up her calf until it extended into a slow and steady develope. Just as she had barely met the apex of her leg’s vertical reach, she exhaled again and twirled to the floor. The music cascaded over her as she continued to move, her muscles moving on autopilot into seamless choreography. She had beaten out several far more senior company members for this solo and had practiced it so many times that it lived within her, sure to remain there for the rest of time.  With each of her graceful steps, the spotlight followed her and swathed her in its golden column, as if she were being beamed up into the sky above. With how much lift she got in her leaps, she felt like she was, too. Finally, the bass came in signaling the end of her solo and for the rest of the company to join her on stage, but even as the spot widened until it cast a bright haze across the floor, the floor remained empty.

Confused, she looked into the wings, but all she saw was blackness, not even the barely there violet glow of the stage manager’s lamp. She was grateful for her muscle memory, as her limbs continued their practiced movements as her brain whirled in confusion and panic. She was mid-twirl when the music came to an abrupt stop, and she had to put her entire energy into not tumbling over her own foot. When she finally regained her balance, she looked up and around in confusion. The audience, which she’d thought was packed, was emptied out, only one solitary figure remained. Even barely lit and in silhouette, Aelin would recognize her mother’s haughty posture and signature bouffant. Her slow, delicate clap was a stark contrast to the thrumming pulse of Aelin’s heart pounding against her rib cage.

“Mom?” she breathed, barely a whisper but it still echoed through the empty theater.

“A child bride,” Evalin replied with disgust.

Aelin’s brow shot up. “H-how did you—?”

Evalin cut her off. “You thought you could steal my wedding dress from my closet, and I wouldn’t know about it?”

Aelin looked down in confusion, but sure enough, her recital clothes had transformed into the ivory strapless column sheath she used to admire as a small girl. Rhoe had kept their wedding photo in his bedroom long after Evalin left, only removing the photo when a young Aelin commented with a wistful sigh that she’d never seen Rhoe smile the way he did in the black and white snapshot. The dress was stunning in its simplicity, all clean lines and structured satin.

Her hands pressed against the fabric, as if knowing this wasn’t right, but unsure of the how or why. A soft tinkling laugh drifted across the room, and Aelin’s eyes darted to the noise, hopeful that someone had come to save her from this bizarre encounter and nearly collapsed in relief when Rowan’s shock of icy hair appeared in the doorway.

He looked as handsome as ever in his lacrosse jersey, a wide grin on his face and a giant trophy in his hands. Her smile matched his, realizing that he must have come here straight from his championship. Winning his championship.

“Rowan!” she called out, but he didn’t look up. Instead, he offered his free arm to the source of the tinkling laughter. A beautiful woman accepted his bicep and wrapped both her manicured hands around his forearm possessively. He leaned down and brushed his lips against the top of her head in a gesture so familiar that it physically hurt Aelin to watch. “Rowan?” she called out again, this time much quieter.

Evalin’s cruel bark of laughter was the only response she received. “You offered him everything, and it still wasn’t enough. You’ll never leave this small town. You really are your father’s daughter.”

“No,” Aelin told her mom emphatically. “NO!”

“Yes,” she said simply.

“NO!” Aelin screamed again as unwitting tears streamed down her cheeks, hot under the persisting spotlight. “R-rowan!” she choked out, but he couldn’t hear her, too enraptured by the woman in his arms, eyes — and ears, apparently — only for her. “Rowan!” she sobbed. She went to leap off the stage, but she was caught mid-air, her back hitting something with such a force that it knocked the wind of her.

“Ace?” Rowan’s voice was in her ear, his hand rubbing at her back as she gasped for air. She cracked her eyes open and sagged as she realized that she was safely wrapped in Rowan’s firm embrace. “Whoa, you’re okay.” His voice was a reassuring balm to her heart, which felt bloody and bruised.

“I’m okay,” she forced out, though it came out so shaky that Rowan pulled back to peer into her eyes. She wanted to avert her gaze, hopeful that he wouldn’t be able to see the panic that was still coursing through her body, but the dark green of his irises calmed her, so she stared and focused and thought of things that reminded her of the deep shade of Rowan’s eyes. Emeralds. Yulemas garlands. The long row of lockers in their gym room. Grass and trees in the setting summer sun. The jade plant that Maeve claimed brought her good luck that sat on her kitchen counter. Moss. Green tea leaves. The fake snake he’d placed in her bed every prank week. That knocked her out of her tranquil stupor, and she couldn’t help but frown at him.

“Yeah, you’re okay,” he said, but continued to rub circles into the tense space between her shoulder blades. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Aelin shrugged. “It was weird.” She paused for a long while, trying to think of how to tell him about it. “My dance showcase went off the rails?”

Her admission had its intended effect. He squeezed her tightly and kissed the soft spot of skin behind her ear. “Well, that’s silly, brain,” he said, letting his kisses trail up to the side of her temple. “You already crushed your showcase.”

She grinned in response. It was true. She had crushed the showcase, and Rowan had been there just as she’d dreamed in his jersey and trophy in hand. They’d gone into double overtime, and he’d barely made it to her opening solo. With seconds to spare, he’d slid into a seat in the front row, so she’d be sure to see him cheering her on. But she’d known it the whole time. She could feel his gaze on her as she twirled across the stage. The end of that performance had been, well… not the same as her brain had rewritten it. But, Rowan was right. Her brain was being silly.

“Maybe it’s just acting out because someone kept me up all night,” she said, loving the way that Rowan’s ears still turned pink.

“It’s not my fault,” Rowan said, but his blush said otherwise.

“Sure it’s not,” she said with a lascivious smile.

To celebrate their final week of high school, Aelin and Rowan had planned a movie marathon on Maeve’s rooftop. It included a trifecta of essential graduation movies: Can’t Hardly Wait, Booksmart, and Grease. But what she hadn’t realized was that Rowan wouldn’t be able to help himself from singing along. And he knew what his singing voice did to Aelin’s libido. She couldn’t help herself. Somewhere in the middle of Greased Lightning, the movies were all but forgotten as the pair tangled themselves in each other.

Stretching his limbs to the sky, Rowan looked like a literal god. The early morning sun cast a glow across his stern brow and strong nose, making him look as chiseled as a marble statue.

“If you keep that up, I’m taking you right back to bed,” he said of her lusty gaze and hooded eyes. He poked her side, eliciting a loud squeal.

“Whatever,” she laughed. “It’s not like we have anywhere to be today.”

It was true. Today was the last Monday of the year. AKA, senior skip day. And she’d purposefully not committed to joining anyone’s plans, so she and Rowan could extend their marathon if they wanted to – she also had High School Musical 3, She’s All That, and Dazed & Confused lined up — or just laze around all day. But they had time. Considering where the sun was, it was still very, very early. She imagined Maeve would be in the midst of morning service and briefly considered heading downstairs to grab them some coffee and croissants, but instead she laid back onto the mattress and fluffed a pillow beneath her head. Rowan followed, nuzzling onto her chest. She stroked his hair, not wanting to separate herself from him with the tendrils of her dream still lingering in her consciousness.

“Last week of senior year,” he said. “In three days we’ll be high school graduates. How do you feel?”

“Terrified,” Aelin said, the word blurting out before she could filter it back. Damn that coffee-free brain.

She could feel Rowan tense slightly, but he let her early morning admission slide, and she was grateful for it. “Mm, me too,” he agreed. “The lacrosse boys signed up to do a car wash for community service day, and I’m worried I’m going to see things I can’t unsee,” he said with a shudder.

Aelin couldn’t help but snort. While today was a skip day, tomorrow was a service day. Each senior had to do some sort of community service in order to graduate. Ridiculous. Not like they hadn’t all passed their classes already. She supposed the sentiment was nice, but as someone who’d been volunteering with the hospital for the last two years, it felt a bit shallow. Unauthentic. Forced, if you will. And the athletic teams always used it as an excuse to strip down to their skivvies and wash horny housewives’ cars for an exorbitant amount of money. At least it was better than the Boy Toy auction Lorcan had told them they’d finally outlawed because of the gross raunch factor.

“Just tell them to use a sponge and that their junk isn’t for rubbing against dirty cars,” Aelin advised. Rowan groaned loudly.

“Great, now I can never close my eyes again,” he whined.

“Are the cheerleaders also doing the car wash?” Aelin asked, definitely not thinking about her dream at all. But Rowan was definitely not going to let that comment slide. His head popped up, and she found herself ensconced in his shadow as he peered down at her with an accusatory glare.

“I think a few of them are,” he said. “But… you remember that I’m about to marry you, right?”

“A lot of married people cheat, Rowan,” she said, pushing him off. She hadn’t meant to be so pouty about it, but she couldn’t get the image of his arms wrapped around that dream woman out of her mind.

Rowan looked rightfully hurt, the corners of his mouth turned down and his brow furrowed as he stared her down. “You cannot be serious.” He knocked at her temple. “This has gone beyond your brain being silly. We are so many years beyond this. Do you have amnesia?” He knocked again. “Helloooo, Aelin, are you in there? Have you been possessed by the ghost of your past self?”

“Shut up,” she mumbled, pushing his hand away, but he persisted.

“No,” he said, pulling his pants from last night on. He searched for his shirt briefly, but unable to find it, he simply turned toward Aelin in stoic silence, arms crossed over his bare chest and face looking discontent. “I’m not going to let you say shit like that, Ace. That’s…” He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. To be fair, she was exasperating. “That’s hurtful. To me. I know you’re scared about the future, but I thought we established that I’m in this with you.”

Aelin scrambled to her feet. “We did.”

“So…?”

He stood there, tapping his fingers against his bicep which was curled protectively around his torso still. Not letting her in. Waiting.

But she couldn’t explain it to him. That lingering nagging feeling of insecurity and worry and failure. So instead, she apologized. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was good enough for now.

. . .

Instead of spending senior ditch day in bed, Aelin and Rowan joined their friends for a never ending picnic day in the park. Which wasn’t exactly what Aelin had wanted, but she had a feeling that she needed to loosen the reins on her panic, lest she piss him off even more. She had a feeling that maybe she’d loosened things too much, though, when she realized midway through her community service day that she hadn’t heard from Rowan in hours. She’d been helping the hospice section of the hospital, which was designated for those who needed round the clock medical care. Their rooms varied from being fully decked out with medical equipment and monitors to the one she was in, which simply had a low bed, a tv, and a chair. Not a monitor in sight. Had she not known the woman needed constant care and surveillance each time she rose from her chair to go to the bathroom, she would have thought she was in someone’s grandmother’s house. As the woman made her tenth trip to the bathroom, Aelin took out her phone. Just to peek. There was no text from Rowan, btu there was one from Dorian. It was a link to a TikTok with the side eye emoji, and she clicked it quickly.

She watched as washboard abs and pecs were drenched with soapy suds as they washed dirt-ridden cars. She bit her lip as Rowan came into view, his muscles rippling as he reached across the hood, his biceps flexing and unflexing with each wipe.

“Mmmmm,” Aelin’s elderly patient hummed appreciatively over her shoulder as she exited the bathroom and spotted the phone screen. She scrambled to put it back in her pocket, but her patient simply chuckled dryly as she snatched the phone into her wiry grasp. “A friend of yours?” she asked curiously, peering up from the screen where the video was replaying.

“Boyfriend,” Aelin admitted, her cheeks burning.

“Lucky girl,” the woman giggled, her hazel eyes alight with joy as she handed the phone back to Aelin where it made its way back into her pocket quickly. “What are you doing spending your time here with an old fuddy-duddy like me?” Aelin was about to protest, but the woman continued. “What’s his name?”

“Rowan,” she finally said as the woman wrapped herself in a thin blanket and tucked herself into her favorite upholstered rocking chair.

“Rowan,” she repeated back. “That’s a good name. A strong name. A reliable name.”

Aelin frowned. “Reliable?”

“Well, isn’t he?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Sturdy,” the woman continued. “In more ways than one. I can tell.”

Aelin gasped, chastising the woman for her forwardness but she simply laughed it off.

“You’re right,” she whispered, as if she were letting her in on a big secret.

“Go, get out of here,” the woman laughed.

“But I still have two more hours?” Aelin said of her unsigned sheet of volunteer paper, but the woman simply shook her head and beckoned for Aelin to come closer.

“I appreciate your service,” she rasped, “But I just want to nap, and it’d be a shame for you to watch me sleep for two hours. You’ll have the rest of your life to work,” she said signing and dating Aelin’s paper for two hours in the future. “You can fuck around for a few hours.”

Aelin gasped again at the profanity, but smiled regardless.

“Thanks,” she said, but the woman had already nodded off in her chair.

. . .

“Droooooool,” Lysandra laughed as she poked Aelin’s side and pulled her out of her skin-induced stupor.

“I—”

“Were staring?” Lys cackled, following Aelin’s eyeline to where Rowan was clad only in his old red lifeguard shorts. The backs of his thighs were exposed, the hem of the shorts riding up as he leaned down to clean the back bumper of a particularly dirty sedan. Unlike his teammates who were filming each other and tossing sponges back and forth, Rowan was focused on the task at hand, making sure that the car he was working on was well-cleaned. “I hate to interrupt your literal wet dream,” she continued, “But, I wanted to invite you to a party.”

Aelin grabbed the paper from Lysandra’s hands and looked down at it.

“You’re having a party?” Aelin asked, surprised by the idea of her sober friend having the graduation rager she’d always wanted to throw.

“It’s gonna have booze,” Lys said, “But… I will not be partaking.” She cleared her throat. “I know that this year is not at all what I imagined, but I finally feel like I’m okay, and I would feel like shit if I didn’t throw the graduation party of the century.” She flicked her brown curls over her shoulder. “Just because I’m sober doesn’t mean I can’t party.”

“Certainly not,” Aelin agreed. She looked at her friend who’d been through the wringer and spit out again and had come out seemingly unscathed and couldn’t help but wonder… “Hey, Lys?” she asked before her friend could move to the next person. Lysandra looked up, eyes curious. “Do your parents know you’re having this party?”

If Lysandra was surprised by the question, she didn’t show it. Instead, she half shook her head and half shrugged. “No.”

“Should I be worried about that?” she asked, but to that, Lys gave a hard head shake.

“No.”

“But you haven’t reconciled with them?” Aelin didn’t know why she was asking these questions, but at the same time, the answers seemed all too important.

“It’s hard to reconcile with someone who doesn’t care,” Lysandra finally said. “But, I will say that I’ve let it go.” She cleared her throat. “The needing them to care.” She smiled then, a small curve but Aelin saw it regardless. “I wanted them to care for so long,” she admitted. “For too long, probably. So I acted out. A lot. Willing them to pay attention, at the very least. But you can’t will someone to care, even your parents,” she laughed softly. “And I’ve been through enough therapy now that I’m starting to realize that as much as that hurts, it’s okay.” She paused. “I don’t need them to care. Because I care enough for all of us. And I realized there are a lot of people out there who care, too.” She paused, looking at Aelin, as if trying to cut through the bullshit and tell Aelin exactly what she wanted to hear, and in that moment… she did. “Does that make sense?”

Aelin nodded. “It does.”

Lysandra tapped the paper in her hands. “Immediately after graduation, and we’ll go all night. Bring your bathing suit,” she said.

“Will do,” Aelin laughed, but she couldn’t help but let her mind wander to Lysandra’s words. Her friend had laid it out plainly for her. What she’d been afraid to admit all along. That she maybe really seriously actually needed to go to therapy. The wounds her mom had imparted on her psyche ran deeper than she knew how to deal with. If her dream was any indication, her mom still controlled some part of her identity, and she needed to release that. Because that had nothing to do with who she was as a human. Not at all.

After the dream, she had thought that maybe she needed to call her mom and let her hear her thoughts, but Lys was right in her assessment: it was impossible to control someone else’s feelings. Even your mom’s. Yes, she wanted her mom to love her and want the best for her, but truly, her mom barely knew her. All Evalin knew was propriety and etiquette and history. She didn’t know that her favorite color was green, like Rowan’s eyes. She didn’t know that her favorite food was Maeve’s chocolate cake. She didn’t know that she was thinking about a career in medicine and how much she loved helping people. And she certainly didn’t know that Aelin wanted at least five kids and to make sure that every single one of them felt loved and adored by both their parents. No. She couldn’t make Evalin care, or pay attention long enough to even try to care. And she had to let that go. It would take a lot of work, but she had to.

With that in mind, she called out Rowan’s name, followed by a whoop and a loud expletive. His answering blush and crooked finger, beckoning her to wrap herself in his half-naked embrace was all she needed to know that she’d been forgiven. But she knew she had to explain anyway. He let his teammates know that he would be back in a minute and let Aelin pull him away from the long line of cars still waiting to be washed.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, tilting her head upwards where he loomed over her. He softly kissed the top of her head, warming her even more than the mid-afternoon sun. “I could say I don’t what came over me yesterday, but… that’d be a lie,” Aelin continued.

He squeezed her side in response, not interrupting her but acknowledging that he was listening and waiting.

“Did you know that the morning of my sixteenth birthday I woke up and resolved that I would kiss you that year?” she asked, and he barked out a confused laugh.

“Um, what?”

“I was so determined to do it, too. And do you know why?” she asked as she let her hands trace small circles into the soft skin of his back.

“Because you knew you wanted to be with me forever and ever and that we’re perfect together and meant to be and we’re each other’s soul mates and other halves and one of us just needed to make a move?”

Aelin snorted loudly. “No,” she laughed, screwing up her face. “Not at all.”

Rowan’s forehead wrinkled as his brow transformed into a deep furrow. Clearly her words weren’t at all what he expected to hear. But, she knew she needed to get this out.

“When I thought about why I wanted to kiss you so badly, I realized that it was a test. If I kissed you and blew up our entire friendship, then I’d be right about everything I thought about myself. That you could never love me as much as I loved you. And so obviously you’d leave. Because everyone leaves.”

Rowan’s grasp tightened around her waist, locking her against his chest. “But I’m still here.”

“You are.” She paused, finally letting the words come to the surface. “I think…” She shook her head. That wasn’t the right start at all. “I know… that my mom deeply screwed me up.” She took another deep breath. “And watching you get recruited and this whole college limbo thing has made it so much worse. Because every day it feels like I’m just waiting for you to get up and realize that you’ve outgrown me. But you haven’t done anything to make me feel like that at all. And so, I’m really sorry. My issues are my own, and I’m going to work on them.”

“Thank you,” he said. “For the apology, and for letting me know what’s going on in there.” His fingers tucked under the hem of her shirt and matched the circles she was placing on his back. “I’ll try and remember all of that when you inevitably freak out again, but I look forward to proving you wrong every day for the rest of our lives. Because I’ve said it a few hundred times before, but I’ll keep saying it until you believe it: you’re stuck with me. Forever.”

“Forever,” she echoed back.

“Whitethorn,” a rough voice called out. “We need you back!”

In his absence, the line of cars had somehow grown impossibly longer. “Looks like you’ve got work to do,” she said, raising her brow.

“Will I see you later?” he asked, and Aelin couldn’t help but scoff.

“Oh, you thought I was leaving?” she laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m going to snag a prime spot for ogling and then maybe we can hop into the jeep when you’re finished.”

“Really?” he laughed. “Even smelling like sweat and sunscreen?”

“Ohhhhh yes,” she said, practically drooling as he let her hands climb up the ridges of his defined abs. “That’s even better.”

He responded with a deep kiss that set her body ablaze, tingling from head to toe, that was interrupted by more panicked calls from his teammates. After prying himself away, Aelin found a spot on a nearby bench, giving her the perfect view to fawn over half-naked and half-wet Rowan for the next few hours.

. . .

The next morning, Aelin was awoken much too early. She was pulled from her easy slumber with a dance remix of Pomp & Circumstance coming from her phone alarm. What the hell? As she slapped at the table next to her, attempting to turn off the too-loud music in vain, she felt her dad’s hand cover hers and lead it to the offending object.

“Congrats, graduate,” Rhoe’s warm voice lilted as he gently rubbed at her shoulder.

“Dadddd,” she groaned as she attempted to put her pillow over her head. Now that that music was off she could go back to sleep. Or so she thought. She should have known better than to play tug of war with a man who could bench press and carry three times her weight. Rhoe’s soft laughter was a stark contrast to the forceful way he wrenched the pillow away. She managed to keep it within her grasp, but Rhoe’s strength kept it locked at a significant distance from her face. She tried to pull it closer, but Rhoe wasn’t letting that happen. She guessed it was time to wake up, per Rhoe’s request.

Defeated, Aelin let her fingers drop from the pillow, and finally cracked an eye open. Behind her dad’s head was a swath of green and gold, and she focused she could see that nearly ever inch of the room had been filled with balloons.

“Happy last day of high school,” her dad said with a too-wide smile given the early hour. When she opened her other eye, his smile widened even further, showing off two deep dimples that she recognized from her own reflection.

“It’d be happier if I could sleep more,” Aelin grumbled, but it wasn’t with any real mirth. Hung on the outside of her closet door, Rhoe had steamed her deep emerald graduation robe.

“I have one more day left with my high school student, and I plan on making every second count,” Rhoe said, causing Aelin to smile in reply.

“Tyrant,” she laughed. But she was grateful.

After allowing her to get ready, the pair made their way to Maeve’s, where she’d saved a two top for them by the window. Within seconds of sitting, a large hazelnut coffee and platter of stuffed French toast and bacon appeared in front of her. Yes, being in a small town was sometimes annoying – but no matter where she and Rowan went in the world, she knew a plate of Maeve’s home cooking would be waiting for her when she came back.

She and Rhoe enjoyed a lazy brunch, ordering second and third cups of coffee.

“Fourth?” Rowan asked, coming around with the coffee pot.

“If I have any more coffee I’ll be peeing every twenty minutes for the rest of the day,” she laughed, shoving him away. Though he hadn’t been able to join them for their breakfast because he was helping train a new staff member for Maeve, he’d dropped a soft kiss on her cheek every time he’d passed by their table. Which. Was a perfect way to enjoy her day. They’d planned to have a celebratory brunch the four of them, since they’d all be going to Lysandra’s (family inclusive!) graduation party following their graduation ceremony, but having it just be Rhoe and Aelin felt right, too.  

“As if you don’t do that already,” Rhoe scoffed. “I’m half expecting you to hop off the graduation stage as soon as they hand you your degree to take a pee break.”

“Dad!” she said, cheeks blooming with redness. Yes, she had brought up peeing first, but she couldn’t believe her dad would talk about her like that in front of Rowan.

“Please,” Rowan laughed. “As if I don’t know about your tiny bladder.”

“You’re both the worst,” she grumbled. “Can we talk about something else besides my pee schedule?”

“Yes, I wanted to ask what you’re wearing under your gown today,” he said before his brain caught up to what he said. “Not in a sexy way!” he said, blush raging as Rhoe raised a pointed brow in his direction. It’d been a while since she saw Rowan look so flustered under Rhoe’s gaze, and she forgot how amusing it was. “So we can coordinate,” he finally said. “For photos.”

“Not in a sexy way,” Rhoe muttered to himself. Something akin to a wheeze came out of Rowan’s mouth as he tried to correct himself again, but Aelin thought it was time to put him out of his misery.

“You can wear whatever you want,” she said. “Because I’ll be wearing a white dress.”

Rowan’s widened eyes darted to Rhoe and then back to her, and she didn’t miss the way his throat bobbed with a nervous gulp.

“A white dress?” he croaked.

“Mhm,” she said. “So anything you wear will go with it.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Speaking of,” Rhoe said, clapping his hands loudly and breaking them from their joint reverie. “We should head out so you can start getting ready.”

Aelin rolled her eyes, knowing that her dad was teasing her about how long it took her to get ready, but as she glanced at the time she realized he wasn’t entirely wrong. They had been so caught up in their lengthy breakfast that it was now well after noon.

With a small kiss, she told Rowan she’d see him out on the lacrosse field in a few hours. Unfortunately, Galathynius and Whitethorn were annoyingly far apart in their grade lineup, so she wouldn’t see him for real until after the ceremony. But all he did was send her away with a smile and a kiss.

“Can’t wait,” he said.

. . .

Of course they were graduating on the hottest day of the year. Though the weather forecast had predicted partly sunny skies and balmy breezes, instead they received a cloudless sky, still and relentlessly hot beneath the beatific sun. The thick polyester robe in dark emerald green created a tent of heat around her, and she could feel every inch of her skin beading with sweat beneath it. She hoped when she took off the gown she still looked somewhat presentable, otherwise her hours of preparation would be for naught.

True to her dad’s prediction, Aelin had taken a while to get ready, shaving her legs thoroughly and straightening each strand of her long blonde locks. Of course, beneath her cap and combined with the thick humidity, her hair was beginning to show its natural wavy texture again. And she had a feeling that as soon as her cap was off, she’d be pulling her tresses into a giant pile on top of her head, pictures be damned. Luckily, she’d sprayed her face with a few layers of setting spray so no matter how much she sweat, her winged eyeliner and flawless complexion weren’t budging.

Beside her, Dorian swiped a bead of sweat that had fallen down his temple. Not even his mop of thick curls was enough to prevent the amounts of sweat from cascading down his cheeks and neck.

“If this speaker doesn’t hurry up, we’re going to boil alive,” he whispered as their graduation speaker drolled on. The man was supposed to be inspiring — he was an author turned executive, but his slow talking pace seemed to be getting slower with each word. Not only that, but each word seemed to be the same tone with no inflection, and Aelin was worried all of them were going to fall asleep before their names were called. Maybe she’d be more inclined to listen to his words of wisdom if the hundreds of them weren’t swimming in pools of their own sweat.

Somewhere in her musings, she heard a round of applause, signaling the end of the speech. Thank god.

The next speaker was their class valedictorian, slash Prom Queen. None other than Elide.

“On behalf of the Seniors, I’d like to take a moment to thank everyone who has been a part of our success,” she began. “The last four years have been filled with bumps in the road, and it hasn’t been easy. But our success is a direct result of everything you’ve given us. Your care and belief in us and faith when we doubted ourselves have been integral in our quest for knowledge. That includes our teachers, who taught us not only school lessons but lessons in life. Our parents and families, who have been there since the beginning. And the families we’ve created along the way.” She paused, searching for a face in the audience, smiling widely when she found her teal-haired girlfriend smiling back at her. “The bond that links us isn’t one of blood. It’s forged in joy and tears and friendship and respect,” Elide’s eyes found Aelin’s at that moment, and she couldn’t help but smile at her friend. “And no matter where this crazy life takes us beyond today, we will always take this place with us. Because home isn’t just a place. It’s a feeling, it’s a light in the darkness. It’s hope. And so, to the Orynth High senior class, I say, as we forge new paths for ourselves, may we never forget home.” She cleared her throat and smiled widely. “Let’s hold onto the memories and camaraderie and picture-perfect moments, for they made us who we are. Congratulations… we did it!”

The whole class whooped and hollered and clapped wildly, none more so than Manon, who beamed up at her girlfriend from the front row.

And just like that, it was time.

Aelin held her breath as Principal Havillard took the podium and started calling out their names. Her heart raced as her row stood, waiting to take the stage. Her nerves were momentarily squashed as Manon made a lewd gesture with her tongue between her fingers after accepting her diploma. She watched as Lysandra proudly plucked the degree and held it over her head. She knew her friend hadn’t been sure she’d be able to graduate, and it was a relief to hear her name.

Before she could process anything else, she was walking up the stairs and hearing her name being called out. “Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.”

She nearly tripped over her own feet at the chorus of shouting that came from the back of the chairs. She looked over at where Rhoe and Lorcan were shouting wildly and realized that they were accompanied by the entire fire squad. Aelin’s breath caught in her throat at the display of raucous hooting and hollering. These people who had known her since she was a child had come to cheer for her and see her graduate. She had not anticipated that at all. And she found herself completely overwhelmed.

Beside the squad, Maeve cheered, and on the other side of the chairs, down by the W’s, Chaol and Rowan stood and shouted with hands on either side of their mouths. A thrill of love and support rushed through her. She couldn’t believe how many people were here for her.

She grabbed the diploma from Principal Havillard’s hands and raised it into the air, causing the cheering to explode again. She stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes, making a silly face in the direction of her family.

Elide’s words rang in her ears. Her family. The squad, her dad, Lorcan, Maeve, her friends, and of course, Rowan. That vast group was more support than most people got in their lifetime. She’d never forget that.

She made her way back to her seat, laughing as Dorian flipped off his father and then booked it away from him, cackling wildly. Always a troublemaker, that one. And finally, after what seemed like forever, it was Rowan’s turn.

“Rowan Eugene Whitethorn.”

Aelin shot up from her chair, screaming as loud as she could, and despite being many rows back, she could feel Rowan’s eyes lock with hers. His lopsided grin was just for her, and she felt a thrill of joy run up her spine at the look.

“I love you,” she mouthed to him, causing his grin to widen.

“And with that,” Principal Havillard concluded. “I give you the senior class. Congratulations, graduates!”

Aelin stood and joined in the cheering again, her voice starting to go hoarse with the efforts of her support. They did it.

. . .

“Congratulations, Fireheart,” Rhoe said, throwing his arms around Aelin. Despite the heat, she welcomed his embrace.

When he pulled back, she noticed a large bouquet of her favorite flowers in his hand. He held them out to her, the red and orange flowers flickering like a live fire beneath the late afternoon sun.

“Thanks, Dad,” she said, suddenly feeling emotional.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, and she could tell that despite his dry cheeks, he’d been crying. “And I love you so much.”

She hugged him again, pulling him tight and not letting go for a long while. After they parted, Aelin was passed around for hugs to the entire squad, each one of them telling her a story of something she did when she was a small girl hanging out at the station, imbuing her with joyful memories.

Then it was Maeve’s turn, who didn’t hold back her tears at all. Fat blobs rolled down her face, and she didn’t both to move them away, seeing as they were coming in a steady stream.

“Oh, hon, I’m so proud of you,” she said as she practically squeezed the life out of Aelin. She was grateful she’d unzipped her graduation robe, otherwise she was sure she would have passed out from heat stroke by now.

“And what about me?” Rowan low voice interjected. Maeve burst into a fresh round of sobs as she pulled him close.

She blubbered into his shoulder about how proud she was of him, of both of them, of all their achievements and how grown up they were, and Aelin could feel her heart expanding. It felt like she was going to burst wide open.

By the time everyone had said their piece, the field had mostly emptied out. Aelin heard a soft ripple of groans as a few of the firefighters took out their pagers.

“Fire?” Aelin asked as she peeled the sweaty gown from her shoulders.

Rhoe shook his head. “Worse. Graduation pranks abound, apparently.”

Aelin laughed, understanding that her dad was probably in for a long night of nonsense work.

“So I shouldn’t expect you at Lysandra’s?”

Rhoe shook his head. “You don’t want your old man crashing anyway.” He narrowed his eyes at her, as if he was blinking back more tears and sniffed loudly. “Have fun. You deserve it.”

“I will,” Aelin said, hugging her dad one more time. As he left her with a wave, she looked around for Rowan, who was standing just a few feet away, talking with Maeve. She took a deep breath and lifted her chin.

“Hey, you” he said, offering his arm out to her with a wide smile. She leaned into his side and took a deep breath, letting her happiness flow through her.

A flash went off in their face, and Aelin knew that whatever moment Maeve had just captured that she’d be framing it.

“You ready?” she asked, and his smile widened.

“You headed to Lysandra’s?” Maeve asked, completely unaware of the real conversation happening between the two of them.

Rowan nodded. “Do you want to meet us there?” he asked Maeve, but she shook her head and waved them off. Apparently she had a big night of dinner service ahead of her, but she sent them off with a joint hug and another tearful smile.

And just like that, it was time.

. . .

 In the days, months, and years that followed, whenever Aelin was asked about her wedding, she would say that it went by so quickly that she couldn’t remember it, and that was mostly true.

From the time the pair entered city hall to when they exited, a total of maybe ten minutes had passed. There was no aisle to walk down, no verbose exchanging of vows, no romantic readings or passages, but it was perfect nonetheless.

Aelin clasped her bouquet of kingsflames in one hand and Rowan’s hand in another, letting her skirt swish as she swayed back and forth. She had no idea what words the city official said. All she remembered was the brightness in Rowan’s eyes as they stared down at her and the way he kissed her when they’d been pronounced husband and wife.

As they made their way back to his car, Aelin was giddy. They rolled the windows down, letting the cooler air whip through the jeep, a wild giggle bubbling up in her throat and fizzing like champagne with each second that passed. Delicious and lightheaded inducing.

They had done it. They’d actually gotten married.

She looked over at Rowan, who was already staring back at her, a soft dreamy smile on his face. She couldn’t help but grin wider at him, laughing again as his smile pressed against hers. She loved when they kissed like this – a smashing of two smiles that wasn’t quite a kiss at all.

The stress that they’d felt over the last however many weeks, months, years, wasn’t present at all in his posture. She glanced down at his hands poised on the steering wheel, his fingers curling around the black leather in a loose grasp and tapping along to some silent tune in his head. The late afternoon sun filtered through the window casting him in a glow that made him look like a bronzed god, and Aelin sighed happily. This man was all hers. Forever.

FOREVER.

She’d always known their lives would be intertwined, but to actually make it official was something else. The light turned green and the car lurched forward as he pressed on the gas and began driving again. But the adrenaline surging through her was too much. She couldn’t just sit in this passenger seat, she needed to do something.

“Pull over,” she said, eyes flashing at their surroundings.

“Huh?” Rowan’s head whipped toward hers, confused.

“Pull over!” she said again, louder this time. Verging on panic.  

Rowan’s relaxed posture immediately reversed, the thick corded muscles of his shoulders and neck tensing as he looked for a spot to pull over.

“There!” she said, her pulse racing wildly.

Up ahead was the empty parking lot of the library. Though it was usually sparse there, there was not a car in sight, and Rowan wasted no time swerving into the lot and putting his hands on Aelin’s shoulders, examining her up and down.

“Are you okay?” he asked, green eyes taking in every detail of her body as if searching for a gaping wound or sudden injury.

“I’m perfect,” she replied. And she was. She was elated. Running on adrenaline and joy.

To calm her suddenly worried boyfriend — no, husband — down, she placed her hands on both his cheeks and kissed his mouth in a soft, sweet kiss.

“Keep the car running,” she said, picking up Rowan’s phone where it was plugged into the car and adding a song to his Spotify queue.

“What are you doing, Ace?” Rowan sighed, exasperated with her antics. Panic was nowhere to be seen anymore in his posture, only annoyance. Which only made her smile wider. As the first notes of the song came onto the stereo, she cranked up the volume and hopped out of the car. She smiled up at the sky, swaying to the beat, basking in the first signs of sunset and pink tinged clouds overhead.

To his credit, Rowan didn’t ask any more questions. He simply followed her lead and exited the jeep.

“Husband,” Aelin said, offering out her hand. “May I have this dance?”

Rowan’s returning smile was so large she thought it might crack his whole face. Gods, he was gorgeous.

He pulled her close, swaying with her as their song played. “I can’t believe our first dance is to Dancing In The Moonlight,” he chuckled.

“We wouldn’t be us if it weren’t,” she said, leaning into his chest as his arms circled her waist and pulled her close.

And though the song was upbeat, they stayed embraced and tangled up in each other, slowly swaying, chest to chest, hearts beating in rapid tandem with the beat of the song. They were so wrapped up in each other that Aelin barely noticed the sun disappearing behind an ominously dark cloud until a large raindrop plopped onto her nose.

And another.

And another.

She thought they would run back into the car and seek shelter, but neither of them made a move. In fact, the rain just seemed to invigorate them. Rowan stared up at the sky and laughed, Aelin following right after him. He lifted his hand and spun her in a circle, both of them laughing with reckless abandon as Aelin’s skirt flared out around them. He spun her again and this time ended his flourish with a dip, kissing her deeply.

Time seemed to cease to exist as they danced. Under the raining sky they became a mess of water-drenched spinning, laughing, kissing, and singing.

The skies continued to pour, until they were both soaked through. But as the last notes of the song played, their little magic bubble disappeared.

Aelin looked at Rowan and then back at her white dress, which was now dripping.

“Omg I look like a drowned rat!” she shouted through the rain.

Rowan laughed, pulling her back into the jeep and grabbing a towel from his back seat to dry his own hair off before sliding into the driver’s seat.

“But a very cute rat,” he said, causing them both to burst into laughter once again as they took off toward their graduation party.

By the time they arrived at Lysandra’s, they were still water-logged, giggling messes. Lys gasped at their disheveled appearance, eyeing them up and down with a wary eye.

“Ummm, no,” she said.

“No?” Aelin laughed, feeling drunk on endorphins.

Lysandra’s wary eye morphed into a blinding smile at the pair of them. “Get out of here and go celebrate on your own,” she laughed. “And congratulations,” she whispered.

“For graduating…?” Aelin asked, and Lysandra couldn’t help but snort loudly.

“Babe, you’re wearing a white dress and a shit-eating grin.” She paused. “I’m happy for you.”

She embraced the pair of them. “Now get out of here before anyone sees you.”

Aelin and Rowan didn’t need any more prompting. Apparently they were not subtle enough to pull off seeing other people right now.

“Where to?” Aelin asked Rowan as they slid back into the car.

Rowan smiled back at her. “Anywhere we want.”

“Let’s go,” she said.

And with that, they hit the road. Overwhelmed from the day, Aelin promptly fell asleep in the passenger seat, letting the feel of the car lull her into a dreamless sleep.

. . .

“Aceeee,” Rowan whispered, pulling her from her slumber. It was completely dark outside and the pair were stopped at a gas station slash motel. “You gotta get out of the car and then you can go right back to sleep,” he said softly.

“I’m awake,” she mumbled through a wide yawn. “Where are we?”

Rowan chuckled as she practically poured out of the car into his arms. She hadn’t realized how exhausted she truly was until after they’d checked into the motel, which was surprisingly not seedy, and she was sitting back on the bed. Her dress wasn’t wet anymore, but it certainly wasn’t going to be comfortable to sleep in. She wished they’d thought to prepare better for this sudden excursion. Of course, Rowan had.

“I picked up some essentials at a rest stop,” Rowan said, as if reading her mind. He pulled out an oversized tee that read “Geck Yo Act Together,” with a large picture of a gecko on it and tossed it to her, along with a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a little thing of mouthwash. He also pulled out giant sandwiches and chips and bottles of water and a Terrasen mountains tee for himself.

“Smart,” Aelin laughed, realizing the last time she ate was her (albeit giant) brunch, hours ago. “Is that where we are?” she asked, realizing she had no idea where they were.

“No,” he said, grinning softly. “I thought maybe we’d drive south. Explore for a while.”

“Is this our honeymoon?” Aelin laughed, looking around the small, dingy motel room. It wasn’t exactly what she’d imagined, but she also had never imagined getting married at eighteen.

“You told me you wanted to find the continent’s best chocolate piece of cake,” he said, and she couldn’t help but bark out a loud laugh.

“That could take weeks!”

“You got somewhere to be?” he asked, brow raised. And she loved the way his smile promised devious, devious things. And suddenly, she wasn’t so tired anymore.  

“I also got one more thing,” he said. She watched as he pulled a thick gold band out of his pocket, and she suddenly couldn’t breathe. He sat on the bed beside her and slid it onto her finger and her heart nearly stopped as he pulled another to slide onto his own. They were practically matching, except while a red stone sat in the middle of her ring, a dark green one that matched the shade of his eyes sat on his.

“Oh,” she said, her throat feeling remarkably dry. She tried to swallow, but it was too rough. A lump in her throat that wouldn’t abate. She tried again as she stared at the ring on her finger, her heart pounding as the red stone flickered in the dim motel room lighting. Why couldn’t she swallow?

“It’s just temporary,” Rowan rushed out, mistaking her silence as dislike. “The rest stop had a pawn shop, and I just knew we needed them, but they’re just for now…”

She cut him off with a swift and forceful kiss. “They’re perfect.”

“Hey, where’s my phone?” she asked. “I need to take a picture of this immediately.”

“I plugged it in,” he said, pointing to where he’d already set up a little charging station.

She picked it up, intending to take a picture of her ring, but an alert from literal hours ago disrupted that. She couldn’t believe it. An email in her inbox that read: Wendlyn University Admissions Update. Oh gods.

Without another word, she clicked into the email, heart pounding. Her eyes skimmed quickly, hoping to get the band-aid ripped off quickly, but she paused on the word CONGRATULATIONS.

“Oh my god. OH MY GOD!” she screamed, throwing the phone at Rowan. He picked up the phone and smiled widely, whooping and wrapping her into a bear hug so tight she couldn’t breathe.

“You did it,” he mumbled through kisses. “I knew you were going to do it.”

Unable to control themselves, their kisses increased, heating up wildly until his kisses seared through her, worshipping each inch of her skin. She was breathing hard as he peeled her out of her dress and pushed her onto the bed and continued to whisper adorations and plans of their future. How proud of her he was, and how he was never going to let her forget it. She shivered as he let his mouth skimmed against her, and she promised in that moment to never take him or his love for granted. This is why she didn’t need handwritten wedding vows — because they vowed to each other all the time with a simple kiss. And more than kisses. They brought each other to orgasm again and again, until they were both sweaty and spent and shaking with pleasure. They both poured every ounce of joy and relief into their intertwining bodies, finding their own perfect rhythm, until long after they should have gone to sleep. But neither wanted this magical day to end.

He was twirling the ring around her finger when Aelin remembered that she hadn’t taken a picture of it yet. She reached for her phone and started at a text from her dad, which just said: Checking in.

“Oh my god,” Aelin said again, bolting upright.

But Rowan just chuckled sleepily, reaching out with one of his hands to squeeze her bare backside. “Yeah, baby. Oh my god. You’re incredible.”

“NO, ROWAN,” she said smacking his shoulder. “What were we thinking? We got married! And then left home without telling anyone?” She actually couldn’t believe she had done that. What was she supposed to write back to her dad? “Rhoe is going to KILL ME,” she said, finally realizing what had occurred over the last twelve hours. “No, wait. He’s going to kill YOU! He’s going to arrest you for kidnapping his only daughter!”

At that Rowan really did laugh and pulled her back down into his embrace. “Ace, are you serious?” his laughter poured over her, silky smooth. “You think I would marry you and take you out of state without explicitly asking your father for permission and telling him our plans?”

Aelin’s eyes widened as she looked at Rowan with serious eyes. “He knew?”

Rowan kissed her shoulder and mumbled a soft, “Go to sleep. I’ll tell you everything in the morning.”

She paused. “You made a plan, but didn’t think to pack a bag for me?”

He chuckled again, pulling her tighter against his side. “I did pack a bag for you,” he said. ”I just forgot toothpaste and a nightshirt,” he said, his lips loosening as sleep threatened to take him over. “You didn’t need it, though.” And with that, he was asleep.

“I love you, too,” she replied, pushing his hair from his eyes and loving the way he smiled at her touch, even asleep. Unable to help herself, she laced her fingers through his and snapped a quick pic of their intertwined hands before sending it off to her dad. As she rested the phone down and closed her eyes, she felt ready for the next chapter. Except, it wasn’t really a chapter, she guessed. It was the rest of her life. A new book she was writing. She didn’t know what it would entail, but she knew that she couldn’t wait.

THE END

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Respectfully requesting an Aegon fic ♡

A couple weeks ago we were having a conversation about chubby Aegon and I threw this idea at you -

I'd love to read a story where reader is short and super slender, and people have told her that it's unattractive for a lady, that she needs to get thicker to be able to bear children for the king. And when chubby King Aegon sees her for the first time he's like "she's too sweet and precious, I want her as my queen".

Would you be willing to write something like that? Love you ♡

Existence of a Woman.

PAIRING: Chubby!King!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader

WORDS: 2,156.

WARNINGS: bullying, mentions of low self-esteem, misogyny, fatphobic comments/references, body contrast/size kink if you squint.

A/N - EZ I love our little convos, seriously you have no idea how happy you make me 🤍 this was an absolute pleasure to write xoxox hope you love it! and same to nonnie, I’ve just meshed the two incredible ideas together!!!

It was sheer anguish, having constantly been surrounded by the disheartening commentary regarding your own body. A body you were born and had grown into with much appreciation everyday for your vital health. A body that had no lesser value than the bodies of other ladies and women alike, and yet, yours was frowned upon relentlessly.

You may not have naturally had the adequate width of child bearing hips, nor the lustrous curves in all the right regions. Your breasts may not have been voluptuous enough, that your mother often worried if you would even be able to produce the Mother’s milk to provide for your own babe.

To make matters even more frustrating, you were in constant comparison and competition with your elder sisters. Their bodies, their curves, their bosom, in contrary to your own, had been approved since their maidenhood had struck. Praised by your own mother, your sisters were ignorant to the constant scrutiny you had endured for so long.

Bickering words from the ladies of the court, from your very own kin, were ruthless enough for bloodshed.

“You are far too slender my dear, and far too small to bear a child to full term. Eat, my dear. Are you certain you eat?”

“You must look promising for your husband, dearest. Or else he may have no desire nor purpose for you much longer… Women like yourself are often tossed aside, becoming a burden to their families.”

“The Gods have blessed your sisters with such elegance and beauty… Mayhaps, your spurt is somewhat delayed. Continue to do your prayers, and the Gods may be merciful.”

It was the endless scrutiny that made it unbearable to exist. You had tried many times to grow oblivious to such comments, yet counting your long, dull days, the voices grew louder and louder, more prominent as you reached a mature age to marry.

“Just as your sisters are, we plan to have you wed before the Winter. Although, be warned your sisters being older will come to priority first. Mayhaps we might be able to spare one year for you to, uh, ripen.”

Nonetheless, when your family had unexpectedly been bestowed a welcoming invitation to King’s Landing to attend a royal celebratory feast in honour of the name-day of their elder, royal son, Prince Aegon the Second, your family humbly yet more so keenly accepted. In a matter of days, your entourage assembled and necessities readied, you were on your way to the city: although this being your second trip, you could barely string a memory to thought, as you were only just a child the first time around.

Now a young woman of age twenty-and-one, despite your sister's enthusiasm, you shared no high hopes of scoring a marriage with any decent man willing to look your way. Far more keen to sight-see the city in all its glory, and with a memory you could reminisce...

"Your Grace, it was an absolute honour receiving your invitation for tis evening's feast. I do hope our Prince has been enjoying himself-"

As your father lavished King Viserys with excessive compliments and many thanks, you could not help but eye each respective Targaryen sat atop the high table. The Dowager Queen, earnestly holding her sickly husband's hand in support, as she bobbed her head in acceptance to your father's words, further down the line, Princess Heleana oblivious to the crowd before her, too enamoured by some black stone or item in her hand, whilst Prince Aemond sat beside her vividly scanning the entire room, looking beyond the foot of the table where you stood. Prince Daeron's seat, you had assumed, empty, the youngest Prince mayhaps amidst the crowds, seeking entertainment and company. Although, it was Aegon who had ultimately caught your attention...

He was no doubt different to Prince Aemond, much larger and plumpier in size, nonetheless, still handsome [he was after all, a Targaryen]. Unlike his younger, menacing looking brother, whose jawline was distinguishable, face chiselled and figure slim and poised: Aegon's features were disguised with a softness, his jaw hidden beneath a subtle layer of fat, his cheeks reddened and full, it did not help that his mouth was constantly occupied with food and wine, as he gorged and guzzled the delicacies before him. As he sat back momentarily, wiping the food residue of his soft-looking lips, a portly belly that appeared rather tight against the restrictive fabric, bloated mayhaps, as the Prince tried to stifle a burp. An electrifying twitch twinged between your inner thighs, as Prince Aegon tenderly patted his distended gut, almost in a prideful manner.

"Aegon, dearest, show your guests the same regard and thank them for making the long trek," Alicent sternly indulged, as she persistently called for her eldest son. Aegon, although reluctantly, devoured his last bite, before heaving himself up with blatant difficulty, walked towards your centre.

"This is Aya, my eldest beauty and very diligent.. This is Sarra, she's got a rather wonderful melody, and isn't she just a sight for sore eyes? And this is Laila, quick witted, she'll keep you on your toes although a belle of the ball. Might I add, all unwedded! Pray the Gods be good, they grace our daughters with a potential hand..."

"And who are you?" Aegon abruptly interrupted, as your mother halted in her speech: her blatantly pathetic attempt to sell her daughter's hands. And although she did not acknowledge you, this had not been the first incident... You had grown accustomed to being invisible. Her cold words burnt into your mind;

"Standing beside your sisters, you might as well not be there... You must understand, dearest, your time will come. Just not now."

A faint, exacerbated breath escaped your lips, as your mouth hung loosely agape. Uncertain if the young Prince was glaring solely at you.

"Uh- th-this one? My youngest... Your Grace."

"Yes, the one who's existence you so obviously ignored," Aegon firmly proclaimed, earning a low, taunting chuckle from his younger brother [who continued ogling the crowd onwards], even drawing Helaena's attention unto him. However, his mother, Queen Alicent, rolled her eyes in defeat, whispering Aegon's name faintly towards him, almost in encouragement for him to settle.

"Apologies your Grace, our youngest is rather quiet and shy, although-" Your mother began to resist speaking, thickly swallowing her words in silence. Her cheeks instinctively flashed red, in exchange to the puzzling, glaring eyes of the royals, bashful against their hushed judgement.

"Th-This is Y/N, my Prince. Our youngest daughter."

"And is she wed?"

The swiftness of how haste Aegon enquired about your marital status, freakishly made your heart flutter, your rather ravenous stomach churning with uneasiness.

"N-No, your Grace..."

"Good-Good."

Aegon had finished sparing your tongue-tied mother further embarrassment, as she was meekly led by a servant to your table. Although, it seemed Aegon was not yet done with you...

An instinctual gut feeling of a pair of prominent eyes burned against your head, and despite your timidity to decipher who, your curiosity overtook... Mayhaps you overestimated your ability to gain someone's attention.

With intense anticipation and raw shock, your wavering attention was met with Aegon's brutal gaze. As his pudgy finger traced over the blunt edges of his goblet, a sly smirk brewed across his ample face, his focus still fixated directly unto you. And although you had initially struggled to reciprocate the same, unnerving attention, you naturally sought comfort busking in his holistic notice.

A few seconds passed, before an unfamiliar servant called upon you, whispering that you follow his lead into the royal gardens, under direct command of Prince Aegon. You had no apparent need to excuse yourself, as your mother now returned to her usual, collective self, flouncy in talk with other keen mothers, of their aspirations to wed their daughters, whom too were far too immersed in spying and gossiping over which young, unwed lords they would sought, you managed to sneak off subtly.

The crisp, chill of the night air was refreshing, inhaling the floral scent looming over the garden, ridden with a diverse range of captivating, flora species. Slowly striding towards a rose, fearful you would frighten the flower shut, your hand lightly grazing over the soft petal. You had never seen such a vividly red colour, vibrant even in the shadow of the night. Your thoughts silenced, easing into a peace unlike anything you had embraced before.

"There you are-" A disruptive, deep voice loomed from behind.

"I've been meaning to catch you... W-Who are you, my sweet Y/N?"

"Y-You honour me, your Grace. I-I hate to disappoint, although I am just a simple-minded, country girl. The youngest, as my mother insisted, I have come to honour your Grace... That is all there is to me."

Aegon took a stride closer towards you, a chubby hand, meaty fingers tightly adorned in golden bands, rested atop his swollen belly, caressing his pudgy flesh clothed beneath.

"No, no you did not listen to me, sweet thing... I said, tell me who you are."

Inhaling a rather gratifying breath, for what felt like the entirety of the night, you spent in the solace company of Prince Aegon. He devoured your every word intently, as he keenly did the prized hog that was relentlessly prepared for his name-day feast.

Although your truth saddened him deeply, Aegon was rather gentle with you, taking a keen interest in your story.

"You need not listen to what they tell you, dearest Y/N... Your beauty is one blessed and favoured, by the Gods themselves. They surely took their time with you... They do say envy is a green-eyed monster... I know, I am merely a stranger to you now, but I speak only the truth... You will come to know this."

Come to know this... His comforting words echoed through your wondrous mind.

In return, it seemed Aegon too, shared a rather eerily, unfortunate fate to that of yours, with his own family. Although he was the eldest, and the son King Viserys had so desperately prayed for, he was cursed to disappoint since his birth. Often reminded and outweighed by his failures, his larger weight did not help his cause. Born a larger babe than the rest of his siblings, he too, naturally had a ravenous appetite than that of his younger brothers. It somehow brought shame to his family, irreparable, Aegon refused to change.

Now having met you, he selfishly felt comforted... He was not alone in being solely judged by his appearance.

"Do not fret, Y/N. Your existence goes beyond that of child-bearing and sufficing a man. A man ignorant to your kindness and affections, is a stupid man indeed."

Whether it was a buried confidence now seeping through, or by some divine push, you gracefully succumbed to the urge that plagued your mind lustfully, since eyeing Aegon's soft lips closely. Your lips crashed against his, the bittersweet taste of red wine lingered over his mouth, as he too embraced the exchange. It was a solid, passionate kiss, your breaths growing denser, before breaking loosely apart, your noses grazing over each other tenderly, foreheads pressed against one another. Taking your hands in his, his thumb stroking over your soft skin, you felt more at ease than you did at home.

"Rest assured, Y/N. I will marry you, I will save you the torment your own family inflicts upon you. You do not need to suffer in silence any more. You will say yes, and prove them wrong, if that is what you desire... I will love you, all of you. I will make up for all the lost years, all the years you did not need to hear such vile things. I will protect you."

Hot tears swelled your eyes, yet not out of anger, nor frustration or agony. For the first time, you felt intense joy. Nodding in solid agreement, you promised Aegon to be a dutiful, loyal wife in return. One that did not care if his waistline grew or shrunk, one that did not judge a person by scales.

"In return, your Grace, my beloved. I will cherish the life you have granted me, and in return, I will do everything I can to return the favour and more... I love you, Aeg. May this name-day be one that you remember with a warm heart."

"This name-day, Y/N, is one I have dreamt of for all my life. Finally, the Gods have blessed me, gevie ābra [beautiful woman], one I will take great care in. If it is not obvious, I am quite full... Do not be frightened, I will not break you."

"Aeg- That is the least of my worries... In fact, I don't mind this-" You cheekily tease, innocently poking at his round gut, provoking a growling chuckle from your betrothed to be.

"If I'm being honest, I find it quite... Invigorating."

"Is that so?"

general taglist [bold means I could NOT tag you] - @evenstaris @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @hightowhxre @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1

Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit @bucknastysbabe @jawline-of-steel

credit for dividers - @/firefly-graphics

[c0wb0yenthusiast]

Country Boy - Part II

Phillip Graves/Fem!reader

Summary : There’s a little tension between you and Phillip, but surely you can avoid it? Not when you get tipsy at your welcome party and share a rather intimate moment, revealing some feelings in question to each other.

Word count : 3.4k

A/N : was about to post this earlier then realised a funny glitch had happened and the whole beginning had been deleted…. So I had to redo it and I PRAY it’s not choppy or anything!! Anyways thank you to everybody who read part 1, I appreciate all of your support and hope this part lives up to your expectations! :))

All morning, your mind seemed to be preoccupied.

You prepare your tea in utter silence, finding peace in the soft clank of utensils on plates while your parents eat at the table. Your shoulders are hunched and your back is to them, which allows a little more privacy to let the events of earlier sink in.

Phillip Graves.

Phillip Graves was on your porch. He teased you.

And you let him.

You’re busy pouring hot water into your mug, now attempting to recover everything about that meeting that your mind allowed you to.

It was almost horrible how good he looked, prompting you to keep your head low as you approach the table with your mug cupped in your hands.

He was so tall, so broad and so much more handsome. However, now he brandished a scar sliced deeply into his cheekbone from what you saw. It contrasted his tanned skin and stood out among the small nips and marks he’d collected on his skin since seemingly forever.

His hair fit perfectly under his hat, small dirty blond strands peeking from underneath. You felt as if he was teasing you. Look at me now, look at what you missed out on.

You blow on your tea quietly, hiding the fact it’s actually a deep exhale to comprehend the sight you saw this morning.

Leaning against the arch of your porch, he was wearing a red flannel which managed to hug him in all the right places. His broad shoulders were now defined and so were his arms. The plaid flannel pulled up to reveal his strong, muscled forearms wasn’t warding you off at all.

It’s embarrassing that you remember these features from such a short meeting, causing you to raise your mug to your mouth slowly in an attempt to cover the sheepish smile appearing at the memory of how he used to hold you back then. The way his warm hands cupped your face perfectly, as if they were two pieces connecting in a jigsaw puzzle. You now wished you could’ve gotten a better glimpse at them this morning.

“Is something wrong, dear?” Your mother takes notice of your silent routine, which makes you eye her nervously.

“Nothing. Just.. Phillip-“

“What does that boy want?” Your father interrupts, facing you with an accusatory glare.

“He said your fencing had arrived, wanted you to pick it up.” You mumble awkwardly, wishing you could sink into your mug of coffee and never return. It’s barely been a day and the city seems to be calling your name already with open arms.

You would’ve happily embraced it again, but now you’re here. No regrets, right?

“Oh. Alright.” He shrugs, stretching and getting out of his chair.

Alright?

What is going on?

Ten years ago, your father and Phillip’s rivalry seemed to be unmatched. It pretty much was the talk of the town - the love-struck teen and the unmoved father.

You don’t respond, draining your mug and sitting there stock still. There’s a lot to process this morning.

Like the way Phillip barely looked at you. His eyes only grazing over your face for a split second before directing his attention to his truck or the front door. It’s a little obvious if you say so.

But you can’t help but mourn over the way his gaze would tenderly trace over your figure, how he took his time to memorise any scar or beauty mark somewhere across your body. He’d always run his thumb over his gently at first, but as the two of you got more comfortable in the relationship he learned how much you loved it when he kissed any of your birthmarks.

You stop yourself; you have a husband, you can’t be thinking like this. You’ve moved on.

And clearly Phillip has moved on too. Probably for the better, you reassure yourself. It’s been 10 years, everyone seemed to have given up on chances of you returning.

You’re rinsing your cup in the sink when your internal argument seems to be intercepted by your father.

“I’m heading into town to pick up some equipment, would you like to come, dear?” As he finishes his sentence, his warm hand pats your shoulder gently.

You try not to give off any startled reaction to this sudden touch, you don’t want your family catching onto your mental battles with the memories flooding back so quickly and harshly into your mind once more.

You watch him for a second, he’s pulling a very hopeful yet playful smile, raising his eyebrows in invitation.

“Sure, Pa. I’ll come along.”

He cracks a grin, clapping your shoulder happily before turning away.

“Be dressed by 10!”

You’re overthinking this.

They’re just clothes, you reassure yourself but can’t help shrinking from the intimidating way the assorted pieces of garments glare at you from their position on the bed.

It never used to be this difficult, or at least you don’t remember it like this. Maybe it was because you were a teenage girl and wore all the cute little dresses and cropped items you could get your hands on. You never used to worry like this.

Probably because of Phillip.

You tense a little at the thought of him again. Yet you do remember how he’d savour every outfit you wore, even if you’d worn it before.

“You look great, honey.” He’d whisper to you at some point in the day, his hands comfortably stroking your waist as his eyes would examine every inch of you.

You caught yourself smiling fondly at the memory, but it’s countered by the sudden remembrance of his coldness this morning.

You don’t waste any more time, grabbing whatever catches your eye to throw together an ensemble. It’s not like anyone will care.

The town is sure lively. You’re trying not to act surprised at the influx of new faces meshed with old ones and little children running around, sharing old traits from former classmates.

Just a reminder of how far you’ve seen to have gotten in your marriage with Louis. The only success being his job - you’re just working in his office so he can keep a very inattentive eye on you. You groan and lean back into your seat, trying to shield yourself away from prying eyes that throw cursory glances at your father’s large, quite obtrusive car.

Thinking about Louis and the city was enough to completely lower your mood, including the past memories and flickers of Deja vu when one of your senses encounters something vaguely familiar. It’s like a magic spell of some sort, fleshing out your life 10 years ago and how it may have affected you if you’d stayed.

The car reverses into a parking spot and you hear the thud of the drivers door slamming shut.

“Sweetie, hop out. I’m sure uncle Jimmy will be shocked to see you.” He adds, grinning and patting the car firmly. It seems playful but in reality it’s a bit of a threat.

You slip out hesitantly, allowing the beams of the full sun to encase your body with warmth as well as the now very noticeable sounds and voices flowing around you.

It’s so much quieter than the city yet very distinct, while on your painfully slow journey to the entrance of the shop you overhear someone reciting their shopping list, gossip between two old ladies and complaints about the weather.

This all leaves your mind the minute the shop bell rings as you push open the door.

“Finally, what took you so long?” It’s a rhetorical question. Your father stands by the counter expectantly, looking eagerly to you then to Jimmy at the counter.

He’s not really your uncle, just a saying.

Just a neighbour who used to bring his daughter around, then stopped frequenting after an ‘incident’ broke out at your school and realised it would be a hazard to bring the bratty 13-year-old over again.

He’s not a bad guy, you reassure yourself. Sauntering up to the counter with a smile across your face, he returns it and chuckles at the sight of you.

“You’re all grown up now! I remember when you were just a small thing, hon.” He gestures with his hand, amusement clearly visible on his face at this ‘rare sighting’ of the girl who finally came back.

The city mouse becoming the country mouse she used to be.

“Just what I said! She’s all big and successful in the city, you see, Jim? Even married too!” He exclaims.

Your dad has a habit of doing this, which you’ve grown used to - showing off in front of any other middle aged man. Maybe they’re competition? Who knows.

You’re smiling very calmly, nodding and chuckling lightly just to ease the time and escape from this conversation. The words only begin to sink in once you hear a very specific sentence. More like a word.

A name.

“Yeah, how’s your nephew Phil doing? He an errand boy now? Came round this morning to tell me about those fences.”

“Oh yeah, he’s doing just fine. Pretty damn skilled too, if you need some help with those fences I’ll send him over later.”

You almost freeze.

You can’t interact with him more than once today. You need a break from his painfully pretty face, silky smooth voice, breathtaking blue eyes-

“No need for a later, Jim, I’m right here.”

It’s coming from behind you.

No time to shrink or hide, but that would be futile anyways. It’s almost silly how worked up you’re getting.

“Speak of the devil, Phillip. Sorry I missed you this morning.” Your dad turns and greets him happily, you can hear the clap as their hands collide into a hearty handshake.

You also turn to face him, forcing a smile as his gaze lingered on you.

“Nice to see you back in town, Y/N.” He comments, his hands drifting to hold onto his belt rather than shaking your hand. Or touching you at all.

You think it’s because of the tension, the unresolved problems left behind 10 years ago that are apparently prevalent now still as you can’t seem to look at him for too long.

From the way his hand tightens around his belt loop, he’s feeling similar to you.

“Phillip? You mind coming round sometime to help an old man out?” Your dad interrupts this strangely intense moment, as Philip’s face seems to ease to his usual soft smile and attentive manner.

“Sure can do. But I don’t want to interrupt that party you’re having later with the neighbourhood.” He adds, probably an attempt to weasel out of seeing you again today.

“Nonsense! You’re practically family so don’t give me any excuses, just get your ass over there.”

And with that, your father lets out a hearty laugh and claps a hand on your shoulder. You try not to look as winded as you are from the utter force he exudes.

“I’ll see you soon then. Tom. Y/N.” He addresses the two of you with a fairly civil tone, but it’s hardened at the edges.

He walks out and you desperately drag your wandering eyes away from his form fitting flannel and jeans.

The party is civil.

That’s all you can say about it, because there’s not much else to really pay attention to other than the small, seemingly riveting conversations everybody seems to be having apart from you.

Obviously people come and ask how you’re doing and what your current life goals are, but you just throw out a few repeated phrases you’ve found reassures them the best from the masses of people who flocked to you when walking around town earlier with your father.

It’s not exhausting, but more nerve-wracking. Not everyone wants to see anybody apart from their own family achieving something more in their lives. At least, that’s what you look like to them.

You’re just tired.

So, so tired.

You’re observing the overall party from a swing in the backyard. Your dress delicately spread across the seat and hanging off of the seat a little. It’s a bright pink, which your mother insisted didn’t ‘wash you out’ whatsoever and was the perfect choice for a party.

That is if you’re attending a five year old’s tea party. Which you would rather.

Kids don’t tut at you when you explain your job to them, neither do they spout vaguely critical comments when they believe you aren’t listening.

“It’s nice to see her back after so long, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes, she’s definitely… blossomed… into that beauty of hers.”

“Exactly!”

You can only sit and watch, unbothered at this rate. You’re married and have your life together; people just want to pick at anything they can.

Everything seems to change when the familiar honk of a horn rings from the front of the house. You’re practically leaning out of your chair completely to catch a quick glimpse.

However, you instantly relax once more as your father comes into the backyard accompanied by Philip Graves.

White button up, soft blue blazer thrown on lazily and jeans. You don’t want to linger on him, it’s not right. It’s not fair.

So you get up and do something about it.

You stumble out of your chair, walking down to where everybody seemed to be congregating and looked around for the bowl of your mother’s special punch.

Maybe if you drowned yourself in punch it would avoid having to look at his pretty face. His infuriatingly beautiful face.

Your movements begin as careful, long pours of punch with the ladle into your glass as you throw around polite smiles and chatter. As you refill your glass more and more, the familiar sound of punch swishing in the cup begins to ring in your head. And so do the conversations around you.

You don’t know how long you’ve been idly sipping punch for, but it’s enough time to let the effects of the rather strong beverages -mixed in by your mother- take effect.

You forget that you’re a grown adult now who probably shouldn’t be drinking like a party girl on a weekend. But that thought slips out of your head too quickly to develop into rational feelings, so you just laugh it off and sloppily place the glass on whatever stable surface is the nearest to you.

Wandering through the groups of people, sometimes barging past and almost tripping headfirst into the grass or just walking right in the middle of a conversation just for the convenience of it.

At this rate it’s only to justify why your head feels like it’s melting. God, what was in that punch? It’s not like you’re the biggest lightweight on Earth, but it’s been awhile since you’ve drank that hard in such a short period of time.

At least, that’s what you realise looking back on the situation.

Right now you’re just trying to get back to your seat. Solace away from all the faces you keep bumping into. Somewhere that isn’t spinning, and spinning and spinning.

And spinning.

You slump back into your chair, utterly drained from the strenuous journey of climbing three steps while drunk. It’s such a huge achievement that you smile to yourself, satisfied with your efforts.

You’re busy taking a moment for this newfound quiet to settle into your raving brain when a blur of blue and brown seems to appear in the corner of your eye.

“Here’s the girl of the hour.” He’s suddenly next to you, leaning against the wall of the house with his arms crossed over his chest.

Now that he’s here, you’ve been dying to get a better glimpse at his muscles than this morning.

You only smile passively at him, letting the words flow into one ear and out of the other as your eyes are now fixated on his strong arms.

Phillip isn’t offended by your lack of response, more so concerned at the blankness in your expression.

“Sugar? You alright there…?” He questions, a little amused at your wide eyed, careful examination of his muscles.

Without thinking - which you seem a little bad at doing right now - your hand reaches out and your fingertips glide over his bicep. It’s solid, sturdy and hugs against his blazer in a flattering way.

Now you’re smiling even harder, fondly remembering how he’d carry you home when you were too tired to walk after a date. Or his joy when you’d run to him and he’d instantly wrap his arms around you and spin, your dress would almost float.

You don’t know why these memories seem to flood back at this very moment, but it furthers this euphoric state that you’re slowly slipping into.

“Remember when you used to hold me like a princess?” You murmur, looking up at him with a tenderness evident in your gaze.

He attempts to hide the way his eyes widened at your question, or how he’s beginning to falter or look away. You’re not very aware of it in that moment - but it haunts you afterwards.

“I do. Because you were. Are.” He adds, almost firmly as his hand moves to yours and his fingers brush against your knuckles. It’s funny how he seems to instinctively slow his movements purposefully just so he’s gentle with you, as if you were a doll.

“I’m not.. I’m not a little girl anymore..” you sigh, accepting his fingers intertwining with yours now. His rough, calloused fingers that always seemed to soften in your grasp. The hands that always seemed tense or even clenched in fists most of the time, but were always laid out for you to touch to your liking as your relationship progressed.

He doesn’t initially notice something nudging on his fingers, but glances down at your hands out of curiosity.

There’s two rings on your hand. One on your ring finger and another on your middle; it’s easy to tell which one was made by a lovestruck boy professing his dedication to a high-school sweetheart, whereas the other is flashy, decorative and unthought of. It didn’t strike him as something you used to wear, especially when it clashed with the other ring. His ring.

The ring he saved up for and pleaded for ever so desperately as he handed over his wages to his uncle, asking him for advice on what to make for his girlfriend at the time.

But that didn’t seem to matter anymore. Not when this ring was clearly an engagement ring.

I was planning to come here when I got married, the statement rings in his mind.

“I know. You’re a big girl now, hm?” He chuckles dryly, using humour to cope with the fact you’re touching him. Even after your tense conversation this morning; the conversation that mostly consisted of him speaking and you watching, mouth agape as if you’d just seen a ghost.

He thought he’d been dead to you anyways, especially with your sudden disappearance and lack of communication. Was he that insignificant?

Clearly not, he interrupts his doubts. Clearly not when you’re touching him the exact same way you did like 10 years haven’t passed and you weren’t already taken by some lucky bastard. Engaged. Basically married at this rate if he’s lucky.

His hand slips out of your grasp seamlessly. Deep down he’s berating himself, practically begging himself to hug you, hold you, kiss you so hard his lips bruise and he cannot possibly breathe anymore.

But he doesn’t do any of these things.

You’re looking up at him plainly, waiting for his next move. There’s no animosity or embarrassment clouding your face like the way it was in his uncle’s shop or your front porch.

It’s just you.

The dreamy, doll-like girl he’d happily mapped out his future with while she listened attentively, chirping in her thoughts about what she wanted to do in the future alongside him.

“Sorry, sugar. I’ve got to go to work now.” He whispers, turning away and walking off again. Walking away from the one thing he craves. He’d lost his chance, so what was the point?

He may as well just watch you succeed from afar, living a life that doesn’t involve a country bumpkin from her past ruining her plans.

His footsteps become a little forceful, digging into the dirt and kicking any little stones out of his way.

God, he probably looked so stupid.

He drives off without another word, leaving you a little dazed as you lay back into your chair. You don’t want to even try to think about what just happened, so you just sit there for what feels like forever until people begin to disperse.

Slowly but surely, the crowd grows smaller and smaller and the minute everybody is gone, you run up to your room.

You run as quickly as you can, not waiting to hear your parents’ questions or concerns. This was all a mistake.

A really confusing mistake.

[devondespresso]

My Sunshine

G | 815 words | also on ao3 | cw: minor reference to child neglect and a dysfunctional household, mild blood

STWG prompt: Sunshine

Thank you so much to @stellarspecter and @vegasol for betaing and helping with clarity! You guys are truly amazing 💕💕💕 Dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 💛

Steve is 8 years old again.

That’s old enough to form memories that will last longer than a year or two, and he's starting to hate how that's the way time has to work, with the old stuff mostly forgotten. This memory, even, he didn’t realize had slipped away.

But all it takes is the vague tune of a song, and he's 8 years old again.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine."

Steve is 8, before she learned about the cheating, before he had to learn what that meant, before screaming, and before all of that was taken to New York, Chicago, then Seattle, because she said too quiet was better than too loud. 

"You make me happy, when skies are gray."

He is 8, and he is laying in bed. He has two scraped knees and an ever uglier elbow that Mrs. Hagan almost fainted at the sight of. He is a little tired, but he is not ready for Saturday to end.

"You'll never know, dear,"

But his mom is sitting on the side of his bed and running a hand through his hair. She is wearing her rose-tinted Sunday best. And she is singing.

"How much I love you."

Steve isn't eight years old.

And he definitely isn’t 8 years old.

He's nineteen, too close to twenty, sitting in the doorway of a room that isn't his, in a house he didn’t grow up in, stopping himself from getting comfortable leaning back on a door frame despite the current strain in his back, because it would only hurt the wound there more.

He's on the outside this time, looking over because no one told him he had to leave yet, as Ms. Henderson sits on the side of Dustin's bed and hums the tune like he isn't nearly fifteen years old.

And then, of course, the song is over, because it's always been too short.

And Steve is not eight years old.

There's too much strain on his back, so he brings his legs in carefully and pillows his head on his knees as she starts humming a new song that’s not as familiar.

Tews pops his little head into the room, looking at all his options before deciding to bump his head into Steve's legs and start purring, like he doesn't already have plenty of food in his bowl.

"You have food, you little rat," he whispers, petting Tews' head.

Tews leans into his hand, but still meows, circling to his other side to bump into his other leg.

"Mhm, pretty sure it was still half full five minutes ago.”

Tews meows again and darts behind him, trying to lead him back down the hall. Steve leans back a bit to try and find him, but he can’t.

Tews sticks a paw on his stomach, right where his bites are freshly bandaged, clearly thinking he was jumping on a lap before Steve yelps and shoots a hand over to get him off.

“Tews, Tewsie, c’mere,” Ms. Henderson calls from the bedside, a hand still in Dustin’s hair, and with a little sound all cat people somehow know how to do. Tews meows at him again with the same tone, then runs over to Ms. Henderson.

“Sorry, bud,” Steve whispers, holding the spot as he tries to relax again, laying his head back on his arm.

Tews bumps his head into her ankles, circling back and forth before meowing again.

“Too sweet for your own good,” she chides, picking Tews up so he can curl up in her lap.

And she starts humming the song again.

And Steve is not an eight year old.

“You okay, honey?”

Steve looks up.

“Yeah, just hit the edge of it, it’s probably not bleeding or anything.”

She nods, but she doesn’t believe him.

“Alright, Tewsie, up–”

“No, I can get up,” his hand finds the door frame to make it easier, and he stands without a fuss. “There, easy peasy.” 

Then he joins her and Tews, because it’s easy. 

Ms. Henderson pats the bed, just barely so it doesn’t wake Dustin, and Tews goes to the spot. Steve pats his head again.

Ms. Henderson stands, and offers a hug.

Steve’s nineteen, but nobody can really say no to a Henderson hug.

She avoids poking at the wounds on his back that are too fragile to handle it right now, somehow holding only around them, almost like there's nothing there. Steve might be bleeding.

And she starts singing a song only moms seem to know when to sing.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.”

And he closes his eyes. 

“You make me happy, when skies are gray.” 

And he hugs tighter.

“You’ll never know, dear,”

He’s bleeding, and it’s going to fall onto the shoulder of her sweater.

“How much I love you.”

And–

“Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

And Steve is 19.

[tr-mha-fan]

🥀Memories🥀

Baji Keisuke x female reader

PART 2 HERE

AU where everyone is alive and friends until they got into a fight and went their separate ways (except you and Baji, who stayed friends and eventually dated)

⚠️Trigger Warnings ⚠️ blood, death, crying, robbery (is that even a warning???), Guns

This was just supposed to be a normal date with your boyfriend, so why?

Why could you hear muffled screams inside the cafe?

Why were their masked people, stuffing money into bags?

Why were you on your knees?

Why were you grasping your chest?

Why was there blood oozing out from between your fingers?

Why were there two bullet holes right where your heart is?

Why could you hear your boyfriend's muffled screams for you to stay awake?

Why could you see, with your blurry vision, the tears that streamed down your dear Keisuke's cheeks?

Why was Kei now carrying you on his back?

Why were your arms lightly wrapped around his neck, your grasp loosening every second?

"Y/N, stay awake, please, I'm begging you..." Keisuke's voice wavered as he spoke to you, running as fast as he could towards the nearest hospital.

"Kei..." you called, voice low and exhausted. "I won't make it, don't tire yourself."

"No! You're staying awake! You're staying with me! You're surviving this, you hear me?!" Your heart ached at your dear boyfriend, you didn't like it when his voice shook. It barely ever did. The only time you remember him being this scared was when his mom got severely injured in an accident. But, you found it hard to keep your eyes open any longer. Your eyelids felt heavier than Burj Khalifa. (This sounds kinda outta place in such a serious moment)

"I wish...I could've seen them...one last...time," a tear finally found its way out your tear glands and down your cheek.

Memories started flooding your brain in your last minutes

~

"Kei, I'm so sorry.." you shut your eyes closed as a twelve year old Baji looked at you confusedly.

"What are you talking about?"

Before you could even answer, Kazutora had already dumped a bucket of cold water on Baji's head.

"I'M SORRY!! I WAS BRIBED WITH ICE CREAM AND ANIME!!" You frantically screamed as you made your escape, Kazutora not far behind.

"COME BACK HERE YOU FUCKERS!!!" Baji angrily ran after the two of you, as you hysterically laughed.

~

"Guys look!" Sanzu barged into Toman's hideout, holding a katana in his hand.

"Wooah! A katana?! Where'd you get it from?" Chifuyu asked in awe.

"I bought it!" The proud smile on Haruchiyo's face made your mischievous demons whisper to you.

Without a second thought, you snatched the katana and took it out of its cover thingy.

"HAAH?! GIVE IT BACK!" The pink haired male called after you as you ran away, katana in hand.

"NEVER!!!" You saw Mikey in the distance and decided to mess around.

Long story short, you ended up getting lectured by Mamasuya for almost injuring Toman's president.

~

Many photos passed your mind, you and Chifuyu reading manga, you and the girls hanging out at the mall, you being Mitsuya's fashion model.

No words could explain the deep wave of regret which you felt that moment. The fight was over a trivial matter, but it ended up splitting you up. You never even got the chance to apologize to anyone.

"Kei, could you...maybe tell everyone I'm sorry? Make up with them for me, ok?"

"Y/N, you apologize to them yourself, once you get out of the hospital." The tears streaming down his face only increased.

"I'm sorry Kei, I love you..." your arms suddenly went limp around Keisuke's neck. Your skin went cold. The short frantic breaths you were heaving a second ago stopped.

Baji's steps slowed and came to a compete halt. His eyes widened, his breathing picked up.

He had, just now, and in his own arms, lost the love of his life. And what made it worse, the engagement ring in his pocket, the one he never got to give you.

______________________________________________________________

Hello there hoomans! What a lovely day for angst 😍! In case you didn't notice (I'm sure you did) this was very much inspired by Emma's death 😈)

Ahhh, I sure love writing heart breaking angst

Anyways, hope you liked it!

Kazutora out! 🐯

[brainwormsdepository]

To Take Up the Shawl (2/3)

Pairing: Liandrin Guirale x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

Notes: In the show, many of the Aes Sedai have been aged up rather considerably (ie. Liandrin being 100-110 years old in the show and being 34-ish or so in the books. So I shuffled around some characters to account for that. Also this story takes place around 990 NE, 8 years before the book/show begins. Lastly, I don’t own any of the books beyond Eye of the World. So the descriptions of the final test are slim and just there to get the point across.

After your night in the garden with Liandrin, things had shifted. You could find neither hide nor hair of the red sister anywhere. Without her guidance, you forged ahead, studying alongside Desandre Sedai more closely than you ever had before. The Yellow sister was as haughty in attitude as she was strong in the One Power. If any of your weaves were less than perfect, you were ordered to take a chore off a novice and burden yourself with it instead. And there were few better motivators than keeping that list of responsibilities as short as possible. But perhaps more than anything, the increased workload kept the vacuum left by Liandrin’s absence at bay. That is, until the day your final test arrived.

You were once again brought to the basement of the White Tower, just as all those years ago. In the center of the room was another ter’angreal, different from the silver arches and in the shape of an oval ring. In attendance stood seven full sisters poised and ready to administer the test, amongst them your mentors: Liandrin Sedai and Desandre Sedai.

You watched as a complex weave channeled using the combined strength of all present Aes Sedai activated the oval ring. It shimmered with various colors and you knew the path was open. Words were spoken and warnings given, but you could pay little attention to anything other than what horrors awaited you. Not that it mattered. By the time you had stepped through, all was forgotten. There was no memory of being in a test. The world you saw was your only reality. You would be thankful after that so few sisters knew you well, their attempts to distract you weak as a result. But Desandre knew you buckled most for children and elderly alike and Liandrin knew the worst of it: your need to protect both herself and her fellow Reds.

You almost failed because of her. The expectation was full detachment, something you could not manage completely. You saw a figment of Liandrin and channeled when you weren’t supposed to, the call to protect her from danger too great to ignore.

One hundred otherwise flawless, well-timed weaves and innumerable tasks and distractions later, you emerged from the mirror world, injured but victorious. Alive. You passed, just barely. Your compassion was a stain, but your skill with the One Power undeniable.

The rest of the night was spent in contemplation and prayer. Time passed quickly after that. Raised to the shawl in the morning, ajah chosen and oaths made; everything had changed and yet you felt the same. Maybe it was because there was little joy in your success. Liandrin wasn’t there and Desandre seemed disappointed in your choice. Never had an accomplishment felt so meaningless.

You knew what you had to do if any of this was going to feel right. Things had to be reconciled with Liandrin and whatever wrongs were made had to be corrected. You just needed something first.

ᕦ ˚✧˳ ˳✧˚ ˚✧˳ ° ˳✧˚ ˚✧˳ ˳✧˚ ���

“Two honeycakes, please.” You smiled to a familiar old woman. You had come to her stall many times over the years, finding her sweets the best the city had to offer and the company even sweeter still.

“Of course, dear!” She was all smiles until she saw the ring—now with stone—on your hand. Her lips made an ‘O’ and her eyes widened with shock. “Sorry, Aes Sedai,” she corrected.

“Thank you, Galaina,” you managed meekly, feeling momentarily self-conscious. “But you don’t ever have to be formal with me.” The woman looked ready to counter, but when she saw the pleading look in your eyes, she nodded her head in acquiescence.

“Alright, sweetie.” She finished wrapping up the honeycakes and gave them to you with shaking hands.

“Are they hurting again?” You asked as you slipped extra coin into her palm, a habit she long since stopped questioning you over.

“I think it might rain today.” You nodded in understanding, pulling the woman aside and sitting her down. You had developed a weave of your own just for her which used not only the typical flows of air, water, and spirit, but also fire. You both found that it would ease her pain for about a month, sometimes more, without Galaina feeling too fatigued after. After five minutes of careful, practiced healing she sighed with relief and thanked you. “You work wonders for me.” You kissed her knuckles and rubbed her hands affectionately, which drew her eyes back to your ring. “So you’re a Red sister now. I’m a little surprised.”

“Well, I couldn’t join the Yellow, you see. Can you believe they want healers? I haven’t the Talent for it.” Galaina swatted you gently on the arm and made a tutting noise.

“Are you going with the others today then?”

“The others?”

“Yes, the other Red sisters. They were here in the market earlier buying some last minute supplies.”

“No, I—I have to go. Thank you, Galaina.” You kissed the shopkeeper on her forehead, and hurried off back toward the tower.

ᕦ ˚✧˳ ˳✧˚ ˚✧˳ ° ˳✧˚ ˚✧˳ ˳✧˚ ᕤ

“You promised!” You barged into Liandrin’s room without so much as a knock at the door.

“I promised nothing.” To her credit, Liandrin didn’t even turn to look at you, her body turned away as she gathered what remained of her travel gear.

“‘I would like to, I think.’” You recited her words back at her, almost mocking if not for the obvious strain of hurt in your voice.

“Those words do not a promise make, child.”

“But they were as good as to me. They carried me in your absence and they were my guiding light during the test. Despite everything thrown my way—everything you threw my way.” You were a full sister, just like her, why had things not changed for the better? What good was being an Aes Sedai of the Red Ajah if you could not be at Liandrin’s side? “I should have chose Yellow. At least then your indifference would feel warranted.”

“You are no longer Accepted. Reign yourself in, girl.” Liandrin hissed, turning toward you in acknowledgement. Unlike the irritation in her voice, her face remained an exemplar picture of Aes Sedai calm.

“I thought you were different. But I see now I was foolish to think otherwise.“ Your hands shook in quiet anger and you felt the weight of the honeycakes you had purchased. You looked down at the beige wrapping encasing them and saw a tear drop darkening the cloth. Of course. You stepped further into the room, fighting the urge to drop them on the floor and instead left them unceremoniously on the nearest table. Liandrin simply watched you and said nothing even when you turned and left. “Light shine on you, Liandrin Sedai.”

Fifteen minutes later, Liandrin had joined her sisters at the stables. There was an eagerness in the air. Her particular group of Reds were so used to constant travel that staying in the tower too long made them all restless. The White Tower, as luxurious as it was, would always be steeped in political intrigue and machinations, her own included. Sometimes it imposed a certain mental drain that even the most veteran and steeled of the Aes Sedai needed breaks from. Sure, the Red Ajah was tasked with punishing any misuse of the One Power and it was by no means an easy task, but the travel between it all? The open fields and still mountains? The camaraderie between women with a common goal? It was a welcomed reprieve even at the worst of times.

Courser saddled and bags tightly packed, Liandrin prepared herself to mount until she noticed something was off. Only four horses were readied. There should have been five. Someone was missing.

“Where’s Cariandre?” Liandrin swung her head side to side, but the dark haired sister was nowhere to be seen. None of the horses had her tacky grey, embroidered shawl thrown over them either.

“Ordered to stay in the Tower by Pevara Sedai,” answered a sister to her right.

“What in Light’s name does a Sitter need with her?”

“It wasn’t said, but if our eyes-and-ears near Illian are to be believed, the man we hunt is strong in saidin and a sennight away from claiming he is the next Dragon Reborn. If he hasn’t already. Maybe we should—”

“They all think themselves the Dragon Reborn. They’re mad!” Liandrin snapped back.

“But would it not be wise to bring another sister? Perhaps our newly raised friend.”

“How strong are her stunning weaves? Hard to justify throwing her to the wolves so quickly.” Piped up another sister, erring on the side of caution despite her own apparent curiosity.

“She trained with Desandre Sedai. Say what you will about our Yellow sisters, but they are not weak. At the very least, we can keep her in the back for protection, as well as her healing Talent.”

“Fine!” Liandrin relented, “I’ll get the girl.”

ᕦ ˚✧˳ ˳✧˚ ˚✧˳ ° ˳✧˚ ˚✧˳ ˳✧˚ ᕤ

You stood at your window, eyes fixed on Tar Valon’s gates. Liandrin and her band hadn’t yet left. You would know. You were all but nailed to your vantage point since you returned to the room. The tears you shed had dried, leaving in their wake salt on your cheeks and a pounding ache at your temples. All your studies for the past four years as an Accepted were geared toward this one, singular purpose. Without it, you felt hollow and directionless: adrift at sea. The same way it felt the first time you channeled saidar. If life was a wheel, it had looped back around to the beginning.

Then to your left, the door swung open, loud enough to startle, but controlled enough to not cause a commotion. Liandrin stood within the threshold, her face stern and as unyielding as the day you met. She tossed a brown saddle bag into the room.

“You have thirty minutes. If you are not at the stalls by then, we leave without you.”

[missmaywemeetagain]

Something Blue, A Pink Scarf Universe Story

A/N: Ohhh, so y'all forced this out of me, what with all the talk about the "Blue Scarf" and expanding the "Scarf Universe" thrown at me this week! 😂 (I hear you, I hear you!) Be careful what you wish for, lil' darlin's!! Honestly, though, I've known since I ended Pink Scarf that this was something that was going to happen in this particular way to our dear Reader and E, I just never knew if it was going to see the light of day. And with this week's prompt, all the inspiration and stars seemed to align at once on Sunday, so this came out rather quick and may be rough, and it's possible I might go back and tweak it later, but I'm happy with it for now. I hope this satiates you for the moment. I hope it gives you all the feels. And, yes, perhaps I may expand this little Blue Scarf into a series and include a spicy story or two later, if you all are good lil' babies for me. 😏 💙🧣💙 Let me know in the comments and reblogs...😉

Thanks always to my sister wives @thatbanditqueen @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @be-my-ally and @vintageshanny for allowing me to skirt by late with this week's prompt. 😇

Prompt: “How are we going to solve this problem?”

Rating: PG (ish?) || Word Count: 2.7k

TW: Fluff, angst (always), infidelity (sort of??), no smut (so sorry loves)

Something Blue, A Pink Scarf Universe Story

August 1971

It’s fitting, you think, that today of all days, you’re wearing his blue silk scarf in your hair. Elvis hasn’t worn it much since that fateful summer a couple of years ago—and only for a few more shows and a couple nights out—so you had absconded with it and made it your own, as you’d managed to do with many of his things. You loved how it smelled of him, the silk doused in his musk and cologne, and how it reminded you of the not-wearing-a-shirt-under-a-jacket/jumpsuit phase he gone through that summer and fall of ‘69. Lord, you’d loved that phase. It had been so easy to lay him bare before you.

Heat floods your cheeks at the thought of what this particular scarf has seen between the two of you, and then at the fact that this might be the worst possible time for a thought like that to pop into your head. You know it’s the shock of the bomb that just dropped on your lives that has your brain short circuiting a little. Because neither of you ever expected this.

You nervously twist the platinum and diamonds on your ring finger, the ones which pledged his love for you in front of your family, friends, and the world. Thoughts fill your mind of your lovely, small wedding, how this scarf had been there for that important moment, too, tied around your waist, cinching your white dress—being both your “something borrowed” and your “something blue.” Elvis loved that you’d included it, this piece of him, as part of your gown.

He also loved untying it at the end of the night and letting it flutter to your feet with the rest of your dress.

It’s counterpart, the pink scarf, had been tucked into the pocket of his suit jacket, a little secret for you both. You’d enjoyed it, as well, later that night.

“Y/n, did y-you hear me? I-I-I-It’s me,” Elvis says, snapping you out of your memories, his hand lingering on the phone he’d just placed back on its cradle. “How are w-w-we going to solve this problem?”

The wavering fear in his voice is palpable and in any other circumstance it might scare you, but a strange sense of calm falls over you. Somehow the domino effect of both of your actions two years ago have led you to this very moment. Tragic as it is, it seems meant to be.

Just like you and Elvis.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you breathe deeply. Yes, there is a part of you that is still jealous and angry about what brought you here. But you knew, even back then, that it was possible he’d been with others in your month-long absence, that his fear of losing you plus old habits could have driven him into the arms of another. It wasn’t a new revelation, just one neither of you had wanted to talk about after all was said and done. And it hadn’t been an issue since, so you figured bringing it up would be more trouble than it was worth.

Pushing that hurt aside, a much bigger feeling swells within you—one you’ve been hesitant to name for fear that it would not come to fruition. But now everything has changed.

“It’s not a problem,” you state, your voice surprisingly steady.

“W-w-what?” Elvis questions, those oceanic eyes of his widening in disbelief.

“It’s a gift, Elvis. From the most unlikely and sad circumstances, yes, but a gift all the same. Isn’t it?” You’re not quite sure if you are trying to convince him or if you are just stating the obvious, but those feelings continue to rise in you and have for days. And they overshadow the fading fissure of anger and the burgeoning fear that you refuse to let consume you.

Hope. Joy.

“A gift?” he repeats, letting the words roll on his tongue, letting them sink in. He blinks slowly, gaze shifting off into the distance for a moment. Then, he looks down at the paperwork on the table. At the picture. “Oh. Oh.”

A shuddering breath shakes his shoulders, his ring clad fingers clawing at his knees. It’s when the tears pool in his eyes, finally betraying his sensitive vulnerability after so many days of keeping it in, that you slide out of your chair and rush to his side.

He immediately buries his head into your belly, his arms circling around your waist, clinging to you. A sob wrenches out of him, one so deep that it brings tears to your eyes.

“I-I-I’m so s-sorry. I-I didn’t think...I-I-I din’t know,” he hiccups. You’re not sure if he’s apologizing to you or her or him. Maybe his apology is for all of you.

“Shhh, hush, it’s okay,” you coo, tears trickling absently down your cheeks. You run your fingers through his soft hair before pulling back, cupping his cheeks so he is forced to look at you.

He is so wide-eyed and young-looking staring up at you, his eyes now matching the scarf in your hair with their electric blue, a dramatic contrast against the redness caused by his tears.

“It’s not a problem, honey, it’s a gift. He is a gift,” you say, wiping the tears that linger on his prominent cheekbones. “We can do this. I want to do this. If you do.”

Elvis blinks up at you, surprised. “Really?”

“Yes. If he’s a part of you, he’s a part of me, too. And—and,” you choke up, swallowing your past sorrows, “you know it’s something I’ve always wanted. Something I never thought we could have. This is…a chance to make something wonderful out of something tragic.”

You’re aware the reality is likely going to be much more complicated than either of you can fathom in this moment. There is a part of you that is utterly terrified it won’t live up to the miracle you want it to be and that you won’t be worthy of the task. But that is not what Elvis needs to hear, not right now. Your insecurities can wait.

Elvis looks down at the picture resting on the table of the young woman and her baby. Your gaze follows. The first time you saw it, you knew, based solely on the fact that the woman looked so much like a younger version of you, that something had happened between them in those weeks you’d escaped from Vegas to California, when you left him, trying to figure out if you could forgive him. When you were trying to recover from your life turning upside down.

Her likeness plus the look of horrified guilt on his face upon seeing the picture told you all you needed to know about that. His begging and pleading for forgiveness at your feet solidified it.

But it had been the way Vernon had blanched white as a sheet when seeing the baby that you understood the true consequence of Elvis’ dalliance.

It was a punch in the gut, at first. Of course, it was. But logically you knew that he’d been hurting in those weeks without you, unsure if you’d ever come back to him. It wasn’t altogether surprising that he’d sought out comfort from a girl who looked so much like you.

You wanted to be furious at the fact she had gotten pregnant by him so easily, but you knew that was a futile road to go down, especially after what happened to her.

According to the letter she’d given to her lawyer, who had sent it on to Elvis, the cancer within her spread like wildfire. It was too late to save her by the time her pain had sent her to the doctor. She—Theresa—had never planned to ask Elvis for a thing, she reiterated. Theresa had been content to raise her son by herself. But she had no family to take him in when she was gone, and she could not bear to think of her son alone and unloved.

“You don’t have to take him, Elvis, truly. But I beg you, please, please make sure he is placed with a nice family, that he is loved and taken care of. I cannot leave him all alone.”

His lawyers weren’t convinced, however, and didn’t want him to even entertain the thought. It could open you up for all sorts of future problems, Elvis.

But that didn’t stop him from finding out for himself because, as all of them knew, nobody tells Elvis Presley what he can and can’t do. He tracked her down, in Denver of all places, and took you and Vernon with him to the hospital to see Theresa. You didn’t know how you would feel seeing this girl Elvis had been with in a moment of weakness. Would you want to slap her face? Would you want to cry and scream? Would you want to tear her apart?

Instead, it had shocked you into silence, seeing someone that resembled you so closely withering away from disease, as if it were some sort of eerie harbinger. It made your skin prickle. But then compassion filled you, more so than you ever expected. The poor woman was on death’s door, but you’ll never forget the relief in her eyes when you all walked through the door. That look was something that couldn’t be faked. Nor was the toddler playing with the nurse in the corner, the little boy who Vernon looked at like he’d seen a ghost.

The boy was the spitting image of his father.

But that didn’t stop Theresa from encouraging a paternity test. She was well aware of what a mess this could be for Elvis, and she didn’t want there to be a shadow of a doubt for anyone involved. She wanted him to be sure.

“I don’t want to ruin your life,” she’d croaked, her emaciated frame limp and barely able to produce the tears she was trying to hold back. “I never want him to be a burden.”

The tiny blonde child chose that pivotal moment to break away from the nurse, waddling over and grabbing Elvis’ flared pant leg with chubby little fists, commanding Elvis’ attention downward. His chin tucked, gaze following the movement at his feet, and you watched him wrestle with what to do, what the protocol in this sort of situation was. It was intense, this first moment between them, and the boy’s all-too-familiar crooked smile and slow blinking blue eyes made your heart clench.

You watched Elvis come to an unspoken decision, and he lifted the boy easily and almost too naturally tucked the boy into his hip. The room collectively held its breath, watching the scene unfold. You’d never seen a child snuggle up to an unfamiliar person like that before, the way he buried his head into Elvis’ shoulder as if drawn in, inexplicably trusting. Granted, Elvis had that preternatural way about him, his essence bringing people to him constantly. But this was different.

Heart fluttering into a gallop, you watched Elvis take this moment in before nodding solemnly, sucking in his lip. With the child tucked into his side, it was obvious to you that he was holding back his pressing emotions to stay in control. Nevertheless, he was unwavering when he told Theresa, “Even if he’s not mine, I’ll make sure he finds a good home. I promise you that.”

She’d closed her eyes then, and when they opened, you saw a gratefulness and relief so strong it nearly bowed you over.

Elvis had done the blood test right then at the hospital. Everyone was quiet on the plane ride home. Elvis, pensive and withdrawn, clutched at your hand so tightly it tingled from the loss of circulation. And when the call came the next day that Theresa was gone, your heart broke for her. Sheer willpower had kept her alive long enough to make sure her son would be safe. A mother’s love.

You’d wept for her. You’d wept for you and for Elvis. You’d wept for that little boy.

Nicholas. Nicholas Aaron.

You didn’t tell Elvis that the moment you saw the 16-month-old toddle towards you that you knew. That you loved him instantly, like something magical locked into place. It was too early, too soon. But you knew.

Elvis hadn’t wanted to talk about it much as you all waited for the results. He was antsy and on edge, everyone giving him a wide berth. His guilt was trying its best to distance him from you, that deep seeded, insecure vulnerability in him trying to simultaneously push you away while needing you close. It was evident in the way he clung to you in his sleep. But you did everything in your power to let him know you didn’t hate him for the indiscretion, that you still loved him unconditionally, no matter the paternity outcome.

Of course, your mind whirled in overdrive, circling the drain around your surprising emotions about Nicholas. You found yourself worrying your nails down to the quick about whether he was safe and who was caring for him since his mother died. Your heart felt like it was tearing in two whenever you thought about it. You knew you shouldn’t get too attached, but you couldn’t help it. It was primal and biological, this response.

So when the phone rang this morning and Jerry had so seriously handed it to Elvis, you knew what it was, your breath catching in your throat. This was the moment that would change everything. And you hoped it was for the better as you sat across from him, wringing your hands in your lap. Silence filled the room as Elvis listened to the voice on the other end, his face going Hollywood blank, giving you nothing to hold on to. Your heart threatened to explode right out of your chest and onto the table.

He thanked the voice on the other end and hung up the phone.

“E, what did they—” you started.

“I’m his father,” Elvis finally whispered in shock.

And now you are here, holding him to you, being his rock while in your own state of disbelief and wonder. A thousand emotions roll through you all at once: Hope. Joy. Sorrow for Theresa. Guilt for being happy in the face of Nicholas’ tragedy.

“Do you want this, to take him in, Elvis?” you ask, prompting him to look up at you once more. You pray you know the answer.

“Of course, I do. I’m his father. He’s my son,” he says, as if the unfamiliar words have finally landed and he believes them. Then his signature 1,000-megawatt crooked smile spreads across his face. “I have a son! We have a son!” he adds, proudly.  

Elvis jumps up, grabbing you by the waist, spinning you around until the room tilts on its axis. You laugh breathlessly, arms locked around his neck, wondering how in the world you’ve managed to get here after all this time, in the most unlikely of ways.

A son.

When he sets you down, he looks at you, grinning from ear to ear with an unbridled passion like you’ve never seen from him before. It’s not sexual, and it’s different from the passion he has for his music. It’s the love of a new father, you realize, something you never thought you’d get to see. It makes your heart swell uncontrollably.

“Are you absolutely positive this is what you want, lil’ mama?” His questioning eyes search yours as he cups your face, his fingers catching in the blue scarf in your hair. The pet name suddenly takes on a whole new meaning, releasing butterflies in your stomach.

Excitement has your heart racing and your breath short, but you beam, winking, “Oh, I’m one thousand percent positive, Daddy.”

Elvis kisses you deeply, as though he’s merging with you, engulfing you. It takes your breath away completely.

“We have a son,” he whispers, smiling against your mouth. “Let’s go get our son.” There’s something in the way he includes you in this, a pointed clarity that you are not an outsider because you aren’t Nicholas’ biological mother. No, he’s telling you in no uncertain terms—this is your boy as much as he is mine.

And after so many years thinking it could never be, it finally, truly hits you, without a doubt:

I’m going to be a mother.

*

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[myladysapphire]

His Sapphire Princess (V)

After the night in the brothel Rhaenyra is married to Laenor Velayron to protect the birth of her child. who in the years to follow is the only one of Rhaenyra's children that is believed to be his, she is loved by all in the red keep, even queen Alicent adores the girl, so when Rhaenyra proposes a marriage between Aemond and Rhaenyra's daughter Visenya, Alicent happily agrees.

The children having been best friends in their youths are more than happy to be wed but when the incident at drift mark occurs things change, will it be for better or worse?

word count: 1,536

CW: abadonment

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen (can be read as x reader)

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

disclaimer:  i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and  fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his  except for my OC

Visenya was in and out of consciousness for four days before waking fully, she had hoped for Aemond to be by her side or at least her mother and brothers. And yet she woke to find her room empty.

There were no sounds of nurses or maesters tending to her. Of anyone praying for her to wake. She was all alone.

In truth, she did not remember how she got here, or that night at all. Just the feel of a knife slicing her skin, of blood coating her hand. Why and how that happened she had no clue. She did not know of the guilt of her brothers, the maiming of her uncle, just that she was alone, and in pain, with no one to care for her.

The only sign that anyone cared was a short note left on her bedside, besides it a flower, and an evening star (her favourite). Aemond.

It was his handwriting, and only he knew of her favourite flower.

Her throat was sore and dry, with no water in sight. Her eyes were unfocused, and her vision blurred.

She felt weak, drowsy and in pain. If she had received milk of the poppy it was clearly wearing off.

 She tried to call out and catch the attention of a maid walking the halls, but a sharp pain greeted her at even the simplest of movements. Leaving her only option to lay there and wait.

Luckily for her, a maid entered shortly after, gasping and running off at the sight of her awake, before returning with a maester and her grandmother.

She was too weak to walk, speak or even move her head too much, leaving her to spend the next week lying in bed, with books as her only distraction.

Every few hours someone would come and change her bandage. Her grandmother would visit her often, though the ruling Driftmark often dragged her away.

It took a week before she could bare the pain of speaking. Though everyone refused to answer her questions.

She had managed to read Aemonds letter.

‘Dear Visenya,

The maesters told me you may not remember what happened that night, that the damage to your neck may damage your brain and your person as a whole. I will not tell you what happened, I believe it best you do not remember the horror of that night, of me.

I will miss you greatly Senya, I have been told we will not meet till the moon of our wedding if your mother does not succeed in her endless attempts at ending our betrothal.

Write to me when you can, and every day after that, I will be waiting.

Yours, Aemond’

She only had more questions after that.

‘Dear Aemond,

I woke up a week ago, though I have only just gained to strength to read your note.

Indeed, I do not remember that night, every question I ask has gone unanswered, and now I am told of everyone’s wishes to keep me in the dark. And on top of that, we shall not see each other for years to come.

I do not believe my person was damaged, though memories are blurry. I remember little of that night, only blood and the slicing of a night.

I beg you Aemond, what happened? Why does everyone look at me with pity? Why did my mother abandon me?

My questions are endless.

I have been told you claimed Vhagar, I am so proud of you! it is wonderful news, I cannot wait to take to the skies with you by my side. Though the maesters worry I will not be able to ride for some time. The damage in my neck seemed to have affected my arm, it acks and jolts as if it has its mind, the maseters feat I will not be able to gain full control of it again, so I simply must learn to do everything one-handed!

Oh Aemond, I do wonder if your claiming of Vhagar anything had to do with this, I remember my prompting of claiming the she-dragon. or was it you? either way, I am proud of you no matter what, and I will miss you dearly.

I woke alone and heard no word from my mother or brothers, only my grandmother remained by my side.

I hope we meet soon, not in years to come.

Yours, Visenya’

on the tenth day since waking, she found her mother had left for dragon stone, they had not even waited a day for her to wake, she felt as if they were hiding from her. It was even worse when she found she would neither be returning to KingsLanding or Dragonstone, instead, she was to be warded at Winterfell.

‘Aemond,

I know you have most likely yet to receive my first letter yet, but I write with urgent news.

My mother has left me and has no plans to see me! I will be sent to Winterfell for a year and a half, in a moons time. I do not know what I have done, or what she has done for this to happen.

You spoke of my mother wishing our betrothal to end, and I pray this has no link to it.

Why would she send her heir, the future princess of Dragonstone to the wasteland that is the north? What use do I have there, but a lordlings wife and my brother made heir in my stead!

I have no purpose there, what would she even gain from it? Support? There has never been a stark who broke their oath and yet, she abandons me, with no farewell.

What of me? What of my happiness?

I wish I could see you, I wish I know what caused this split, I had hoped that Driftmark would be the cause of a reunion, and yet we are more divided than ever.

I will miss you Aemond, write often I beg, you are the only person I seem to have left.

Yours, Senya.’

A week before she was set to leave for Winterfell, after receiving a letter from Jace, would she finally begin to receive answers.

‘Visenya,

I am so sorry for what happened, that we left. Mother insisted our departure was urgent, that we could not stay any longer, and that you may not survive the journey.

So much has happened since we last saw one another, and I am sorry for not writing sooner, Mother insisted you needed to recover, so we waited, but she told us the news today and I could not let you got to Winterfell without telling you.

The night we arrived at Dragonstone, Mother and uncle Daemon were wed!

I know, so soon after father’s death-‘

she had stopped reading then, no one had told her, and no one had hinted.

Her mother and daemon wed, Laenor dead, perhaps killed. She would not put it past them, if the rumours of Daemon were true it made perfect sense.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, barging into Rhaenys solar.

“What?”

“My father is dead, my mother remarried. What happened? Why am I told nothing?” she demanded, voice near tears.

“Darling, come here” she beckoned over. “We…I had hoped your memory would return, but the maesters fear you may never. It was a traumatic night, there were great losses, and only more losses followed…”

And like that, Visenya was told the truth. Of how Aemond claimed Vhagar, of how the twins and her brothers fought him. She was the peacekeeper it seemed and yet was attacked, head bruised, and throat slashed. Of how she would not wake, of how her mother left like a coward in the wind, despite her brother’s tears. They left mere hours after her father’s funeral, her father was murdered by his lover. And mere hours after their return to Dragonstone her mother was wed.

She was at a loss for words. Tears building, in her eyes.

And only more tears would follow in the week coming. She received no letter from her mother, only reading the rest of Jace’s letter, and the small letter Luke had written to her, pleading his apologies. She did not know what to think.

Her Aemond was hurt, she did not remember what happened, but she knew Luke was at fault.

Was it true? did Aemond try to kill Jace? or was he simply fighting back in a 4v1 fight?

The day she left for Winterfell, the sky was cold and grey. Fighting seeing as that would be all she would see of the next eighteen moons. At least she would finally get to see snow, and perhaps Direwolves.

“It won’t be so bad” Rhaenys reassured “and if it is truly terrible…you have a dragon, you can always fly back”

She nodded, face glum, Aemond had even written to her, reassuring her. Saying her grandsire would never allow her mother to displace her as heir, that going north will give her much-needed space from her so-called ‘family’. And he was right, she did not think she would be ready to face them for some time yet. And who knows perhaps the north wouldn’t be so bad.

next chapter

Taglist (bold means could not tag)

His Sapphire Princess: @cathy1514 @iiamthehybrid @melllinaa @aleemendoza2425-blog @cassandra1999-blog1 @deltamoon666 @aelora-a @riyana99

HOTD: @taragryenmoony @theanxietyqueen17

Aemond: @blossomedflowerofluv @violet-potter

[eboneeblak]

Touched (Short Story)

A supernatural Southern Gothic tale. (6 minute read)

CW: Ableism, Murder, and Domestic Violence

Everything is black, an endless pit of nothingness. In the void, where no constraints exist, I gleefully experience many sensations. The sound of ambiance lingers around me. The air feels…fuzzy on my skin. The cool grassy earth beneath me sinks. Gravity weighs down on my shoulders, rendering me still. I wince. There is a sharpness that pokes at my flesh. Annoyed, I clench my hands and pull!

Go away.

Go away.

Go away.

GO AWAY!

“Ophelia, baby!”

I hear a voice from outside, and the comforting blanket of nothingness passes away. Finally, I open my eyes; it is my mother. Her eyebrows furrow with concern. Her velvety, well-manicured hands clasp mine. I see a clothing tag in it.

Stupid itchy tags.

“Baby, Sister Inez was askin’ how

speech therapy was goin’?”

It was dark now, and we were still alone in the church's parking lot. Choir practice only lasts two hours. However, in my mother’s usual fashion, her chatting forced us to stay late. My eyes glaze over Sister Inez, and I notice her scowl. Her burgundy lipstick lips tighten.

“It’s going okay.”

I look down at my shiny black shoes that Mother bought, notice the cute bows, and excitedly squiggle my toes inside.

“Ophelia has only been in it a few

weeks; the therapist says it can take a

while for her to catch up to regular

kids.”  

Sister Inez’s judgmental eyes gawk at me, sharp enough to pierce a gaping hole.

“That daughter of yours reminds me of

someone; she was also a little…

different.”

For a woman who proclaims to be so holy and sanctimonious, Sister Inez has barely mustered an ounce of empathy and kindness towards me and my mother since we arrived several months ago.

         “We’ll pray and hope she turns out

better.”

Mother and I had to travel across four states to escape my father’s abuse; the place where we are supposed to be safe has yet to make us feel welcomed.

“I’m afraid we can’t pray away what

Ophelia got goin’ on.”

“What a shame.”

My mother’s soft palms began to feel clammy and tense; I must escape this conversation.

“Water.”

I make a beeline for the church.

“Ophelia, don't take too long, dear.”

Cold water splashes into my mouth. A creaky air conditioner buzzes above, and the sound is deafening. I look around, continuing to quench my thirst. New Hope A.M.E. has seen better days; vinyl walls peel away, revealing the 200-year-old frame. Beneath the wooden floors is a mismatched array of new and old bark, with small cracks cascading across the floor, each getting larger and larger….

“What is that?”

It’s a shadow. My eyes lift, revealing a dark figure of a woman. I blink, and she vanishes. A chill shivers throughout me. My body stiffens; a deep scream traps itself in my throat. Slowly, my eyes search the room. Passing the wooden doors, there's a loud creak; instinctually, I follow the sound.

Moonlight beamed through the colorful stained windows, accentuating the dusty pews. As I inch down the aisle, the old floor bends under my weight with each step.

Demons?

My eyes examine the small, quaint church back and forth. The pulpit sits steeply above the congregation. “Minister Hezekiah Thomas” is embellished in gold on an oversized dark cherry chair. It stands tall like a throne directly in the middle of the pulpit.

A foggy memory clouds my mind.   

                                                      

Evil…

Minister Thomas’s boisterous sermon lingers in my head.

“Demons often disguise themselves as human and come to earth to harm us good Christian folk.”, so he says.

But why didn’t that woman hurt me?

Could she be something else?

Gravity rushes past me, I'm suddenly falling. Bracing my hands, I strike the hard floor, wincing in pain. I had just fallen on the edge of a staircase. The red carpet is beaten and worn. Flustering, I push myself up. There's a shrill, almost childlike cry from above, then I see her…

Her eyes glowing…

                   Her face was veiled in black.

                                 She stands still…

                                                 Watching me…                                          

“Who are you?”

Before I could utter the last syllables, she vanished. Footsteps run above me. I dash past the staircase, loudly creaking as I stomp my way up.

At the top, there’s a small corridor. A small bulb dimly lights the hallway. To the right, a door is wide open. Hanging from it is a sign that reads “Minister’s Office.” I catch my breath. A cold breeze brushes past my body. Trembling, I tread inside.

The smell of mothballs burns into my nostrils. Minister Thomas’s office is quaint but heavily decorated. White curtains cover a large window that overlooks the church’s parking. A worn bible is on his desk, and a family portrait is next to it.

I pick it up; it's Minister Thomas; he wears large silver-wired glasses that match his salt and paper hair. Next to him is First Lady Thomas and his four teenage sons; they all smile except for her. I place the framed picture down and notice an open drawer below.

I persist through piles of paperwork until I notice the back of a photo. I turn it around and see a couple, but I could hardly make out their faces.

Quickly, I pull the curtains back and re-examine the photo.

The woman’s smile is bright, her coily hair is pulled tightly into a French roll, and her eyes shimmer with colorful eye shadow. Next to her is a visibly younger Minister Thomas.

                    “Could this be her?”

I look out the window; Mother and Sister Inez are gone. The office doors slam behind me! A familiar chill touches my skin; a strong force holds me still. I look down and see no arms. My heart palpates. Slowly, I turn my head, quivering in fear.

Large, black, and socketless eyes stare back; a decaying black veil covers her face. What should be her mouth widens, and an ear-splitting cry erupts.

The scream wrestling within me explodes. There's a loud banging on the door. I shut my eyes.

                          “Ophelia!”

I cry out in terror, stricken with fright.

                             

  “Please don't hurt me, demon!”

I am held tighter.                   

                   

            “Ophelia, open your eyes, baby!”

It’s my mother's voice. I open my eyes to see her warm almond ones staring back. Relief washes over me, and I collapse into her arms.

“This girl has no business being in

Minister Emmanuel's office. It is

strictly off-limits!”

My mother's soft, plush skin calms me.

—————————————————————

           “What scared you back there,

honey?”

I squeeze Mr. Charlie, my stuffed bear. The old Honda Civic bumps over the dirt road leading away from the church.

“Was Minister Thomas married to

another woman?”

My mother has a stunned look on her face.

          “Why do you ask that, baby?”

I shrug my shoulders.

                      “Just curious.”

She sighs.

     “He was a long time ago, according to

Sister Inez. Her name was Violet. She

was quiet, kind of like you.”

       “Do you know what happened to

her?”

My mother stares at me through the rear-view window; she grips the steering wheel harder.

“Well, Sister Inez says Minister Thomas always seemed angry at her. Said she couldn't bear any children for him. After a while, she stopped showing up at church. Then, one day, Minister Thomas announced to the congregation that the poor girl cracked her skull on a gardening hoe and died. There was no funeral; she just disappeared, everyone moved on, and he got a new, pretty wife, First Lady Thomas.”

I look down at the photo studying Violet’s face.

           “What you got in your hand,

baby?”

I stuff the photo into the pocket of my velvet dress and lean back into my seat. I watch the maze of trees pass us by.

      “You saw her poor ghost, too,

didn't you?”

I stare at my mother through her rear-view mirror; slowly, I nod my head.

   "I don't believe a garden hoe killed her,

Mama."

My mother rolls down the window and lights a cigarette.

                   "Me neither, baby."

I sink back into my seat and close my eyes, waiting for a pool of darkness to embrace me and retreating into nothingness. Instead, a pair of large socket-less eyes gaze back at me.

Demons ain’t the only ones harming us.

                                                                                                                                                            THE END.

[fandoms-in-law]

How I'll Play

Summary: Steve's grandmother sends him an investment and big collection of gifts for his 21st. Small thing is, She thinks he's her Granddaughter.

Authors Notes: Playing with the idea I had yesterday over Steve liking Sylvanian Families and only playing D&D with them, Thanks to @frostfairysteve for the information on when they came out. (also for the fact I know those 2 D&D races XD)

Continued in Come Play With Us

/\/\

Steve family are all rich and all distant. He remembered once as a child a family reunion being arranged and being scared of all the strangers there. Apparently his father had 3 brothers all older and all with their own families, but also his grandparents had invited second cousins and cousins once removed and for whatever reason everyone had made time for it.

Looking back at the event now, Steve was pretty sure the main reason everyone turned up was that they were hopeful this could be a chance to increase the inheritance they could get from his grandparents. He doubted that would have been effective for anyone and is relatively sure that except for occasional cards on holidays and birthdays still considered most of his relatives as strangers.

It did encourage him not to have too much fun when taking himself to a city for a weekend away, simply because he didn't want to accidentally seduce a relative into a one night stand without knowing it. The joys of things that teach safe sex for the strangest reasons.

He didn't usually think about his family beyond that. They were just people who shared in his gene pool, just like the parents he barely saw any more.

Except his Grandmother seemed to challenge that when his twenty-first birthday came bringing a delivery with a note from her.

'Dear Steven,

I cannot recall why your mother decided on such a name for such a charming girl as you were at the family reunion so many years ago, but for all my grandchildren I've brought investments in a company as well as a large collection of the things they make as they turn 21.

For you, and your fascination with figurines and dolls that I remember, I chose to invest in Sylvanian Families. They're almost as adorable as you were when young.

A very happy birthday to you and remember to manage your investments wisely.

Your Grandmother,

Antoinette Harrington

He had to read the note 3 times before bursting into laughter. He knew his family was distant, but apparently they're distant enough to have changed his gender in their memories, although he does recall for a short time enjoying dolls before his father dictated otherwise and forbid him from them.

It had only been recently, and only around Robin, that he'd began allowing himself to be curious over typically feminine things beyond his hair since that time, but it was flattering to think that somehow he'd acted feminine enough the only time he'd met his grandparents that he was remembered as such.

“Steve? You remember we said we'd go shopping together for birthday looks for tonight, right?” Robin asked, letting herself in since he was laughing enough he hadn't heard her knocks. Steve had tried to insist he could pick her up, but according to her, he shouldn't be driving everyone around on his birthday, so she got Eddie to agree to play chauffeur for the day.

“Read this and tell me I'm not imagining things, Robbie. Please tell me I didn't misread that. Also I need to see just what is in these packages before I go anywhere.” Steve grinned over at her, waving at Eddie as he leant around the door.

Eddie came over too, leaning over Robin's shoulder as she read since Steve hurried into the kitchen for scissors to open the parcels.

There were 4 big parcels but as he got the boxes open only 2 of them had big items in them, what appeared to be dolls houses and furniture. The rest were filled with solid dolls, slightly velveted of every kind of animal he could think of, all in families, or separate babies that matched one of the family groups and dressed in adorable slightly old fashioned looking outfits.

“You're her granddaughter now. I'm sorry Stevie, but for a gift this big and the investment that was also in the envelope behind this is big, you have to be female from now on.” Robin teased, snickering herself and sitting on the floor beside him to see everything he was pulling out.

Steve shrugged a little. “You tell me what dress size I should get and I'll be the belle of the ball for the party Joyce is insisting on throwing.”

“How long ago was this reunion? Any you're happy about that?” Eddie asked, visibly stunned, but not annoyed or any reaction that left Steve concerned.

“Thrilled. Robbie and I have been trying make-up looks and I was already wondering if I should try a skirt tonight. This seems like a sign that I definitely should.” Steve grinned up, answering the second question first. “And I honestly don't know. I think I was maybe five, possibly younger. Definitely wasn't allowed dolls for too long before my father banned them.”

Eddie shook his head, coming to sit beside him too finally, “Cool, I'll kill the boys characters in the next session if anyone says anything about that. If you do get a dress, that is.”

Steve's grin gentled to a smile, before a thought struck him at the allusion to D&D. He'd seen their figurines before, had let them host Hellfire at his home a few times now, enough even Eddie's bandmates were beginning to relax and suddenly thought he wouldn't might playing in a similar way with these cute guys. “Hey, you can get animals walking and talking in D&D, right?”

For a moment Robin and Eddie blinked at him, then Robin started cackling. “I bet even if they don't Eddie is about to figure out how to, Stevie! Hell, I'm joining in too.”

Eddie blinked at her too before slowly nodding, “Normally called other things, like Procyons and Avalis but yes, there are bipedal intelligent animals in D&D.”

“Tell the party to start making characters like that to play and help me and Bobbin to do so if you want me to play a campaign. I'll only play if these are the figurines used for everyone.” Steve decided, “And look, you even have sets for places we can go to make the mapping even more exciting.” He gestured to the buildings, and some shop sets that he'd pulled out of the packages but hadn't opened unlike a few of the families that had caught his eye.

“Fucking Hell, Yes! I can do that! Can I stay here to plan the campaign too, check what I've got to work with?” Eddie's smile grew slowly but was soon almost wider than they'd seen it before.

Steve nodded, “Definitely. And this just means we're all more excited for getting back from the shopping trip I was promised. I'll go get ready to head out.”

As he walked away Robin started to calm down but one look at the pout Eddie had over being told he couldn't jump straight into planning set her off laughing uncontrollably all over again.

[divinehedons]

i propose: self-deprecating king joel miller dealing with the fact that he gets to have you, goddess divine and eternal.

we're talking about a man who felt too old taking care of baby ellie despite being the most girl-dad girl-dad there is. we're talking about a man who has spent twenty years of the end of the world keeping to himself and pushing people away because he thinks it would make things better.

so when you came, doe-eyed angel with the libido of the devil, it would have taken no time for him to start thinking why you would be better off with someone else. he's fuckin' ancient, knees always aching, and... things don't work as they used to anymore. he's not the gunslinging knight he once was some age ago. and whether or not you admit it, he's an old man who sleeps in more and more the longer you date.

all that doubt comes seeping out one evening in jackson, when you're both walking home after a night out on the town. "sorry to cut the fun short, doll," he had been saying, arm around you as you huddle closer for warmth. "and for an achin' hip, nonetheless."

you laugh, moving to squeeze his hip with one hand as you shake your head. "are you kidding? my feet are both cold and hurt. i'm glad you suggested it."

a long breath emanates from him, painted by a cloud of fog in the cold night. "just feels like i'm not lettin' you have your fun." you know that tone, that unassuming, almost invisible shadow of self-deprecation you've been hearing more and more nowadays. and, knowing he'd feel worse if you mentioned it, you were momentarily struck by a legible course of action.

and then it comes naturally to you.

you squeeze his hand, planting a warm kiss to his stubble with a chuckle. "you now what sounds good? cuddling in bed while we're waiting for a pot of coffee to brew." you feel his cheeks spread unconsciously, a chuckle escaping him before he could stop it.

you take care of him that evening, telling him to prepare the bed, saying, "i wanna do it, baby, pleaaaase!" you both stay up, reminiscing the memories you shared, your laughter barely muffled, knowing the two of you are entirely isolated in your own little world.

"you know how i knew i was in love with you?" you whisper, snuggling into his side as you both hid under the covers. "when you patiently taught me how to hunt. that, no matter how clumsy i was, you cared enough for me." you kiss him chastely, feeling sleep creep into your skin as your eyes turn heavy. "and i thought to myself: dear god, you deserve the world."

with a final giggle, you succumb to your exhaustion.

"and you always will, joel."