#lyrics from new year’s day - angel eyes

[hotwings-incorrect-quotes]

hawks: don’t you try to hide with those angels eyes

[saeun]

food for thought, except it’s unwanted jujutsu kaisen : fem-reader.

have you ever wondered about a scenario so much that you must ask? well that’s exactly the last thing they’d wish to answer.

+ love ‘su: gojo, geto, itadori + ‘live, laugh, love’ hater final boss ( sukuna )

gojo satoru ﾉ refuses to answer.

“do you ever think about how it’d be if we never met?”

“ha— no. don’t even go there.”

satoru stops you there. he doesn’t wish to hear another word from you— especially if it extends your former question. he thinks about it— daily, in fact. it's a scenario that crosses his mind whenever he finds himself drunk on the temporary love he receives from you.

you’ve sung the lyric ‘i’ll love you until there’s no more left’ almost every week for him, silently begging that he gets the concept of genuine love through his head.

“why not? imagine if my friends didn’t make that bet where i either hit on you or pay for the night.” you reminisced, remembering the very night you lost the last touch of shame.

he hums, drumming his fingers on your thigh.

“bet or not, we’d still be fated to meet. next question!”

“anddd what makes you so confident?” you threw another question at him. this time, it's lighthearted.

“mind you, i’m the second coming of an angel. i predetermined this since three years ago.”

glances were exchanged, an expression of a grinning fool met the expression of a glaring responsible person who’s the said fool’s other romantic half.

you should've been familiar with satoru’s ways. it’s your fault for expecting a deep-dive conversation with satoru. not quite his cup of tea!

geto suguru ﾉ expects it and tries to escape.

suguru's home was no new, unexplored area to you. you knew his home's blueprint like the back of your hand. if needed, you'd walk through his home blindfolded and still end up in the room you want to be in.

this isn't a good thing to suguru. there are days where the feeling of confusion as to who he is piles up on him, leading him to isolate himself.. until he forgets there's a spare key of his isolation cube in your hold so now the plan goes awry.

that is exactly what’s happening. after he sent the text ‘k bye’ and silenced his notifications, he felt an impending doom. the reason was unknown by then but he should've guessed it was you.

you marched into his home, readying yourself with suguru-loneliness-begone techniques and, of course, the question that's been wandering your mind since you woke up from a dream.

“babe, what if—”

“fuck,” he curses under his breath, too exhausted to put a hand over your mouth.

“what if we were the last persons on earth? would you recreate humanity with me or kill yourself?”

there it is: your special ‘what if’ questions that know no bounds when it comes to absurdity.

“when would that ever happen? please, stop this,” he groans, pleading with his eyes for you to stop.

“that's the thing— you never know! so, what option is it?”

“i'd kill myself a long time ago if possible.”

“so it's the second one?”

“i'm... not cut out to be a good father.”

“i hate an indecisive bitch, my goodness,” it's your turn to complain, a little let down at his grey answers.

suguru's equally offended. you're the one who jumped him with such a question— who even thinks about that?!

“(y/n), baby, has it ever crossed your mind that your thinking skills aren't quite normal?”

“are you calling me stupid?!”

itadori yuuji ﾉ just as stupid.

it's mango season— yuuji's most anticipated season of the year. mangoes are to yuuji what your lipbalm is to you. a necessity, a survival item, a lifesaver, an important part of his lore, something he worships.

peeling mangoes and slicing them to equal pieces has never brought him such satisfaction before. it immediately brightens his mood. this must be how his grandfather felt whenever he took a walk around the neighbourhood.

now you appear, yuuji's second most anticipated person. you to yuuji is what mangoes are to him. this causes yuuji's current happiness level to reach its peak today. such a great level of happiness can defeat any evil being with just being in its area.

“say, yuu,” you begin, stabbing one of the mangoe slices with a fork.

he nods, signalling that he's listening but still focused on his current activity. a true mulit-tasker.

“if one of your limbs happen to detach from your body, do you feel the pain or does the pain go with it?”

he stops, allowing the question to sink in. he's never been asked such a.. divine question before. what's the answer? does the pain go with the limb or does it stay?

“oh... i gotta ask nobara this, she'd know,” he suggests, placing the knife down. a question that'll haunt him if he doesn't act quick for the answer.

“yes, yes!!” you encourage his actions, mindlessly enjoying the mango slices. mangoes are truly a blessing.

sukuna ryomen ﾉ no. nice try, though! A+ for effort.

“ryo, have you ever wondered if—”

“no, i never.”

“you didn't even let—”

“i haven't learnt since two-thousand years ago.”

“you old fuck, let me finish—”

“it's truly been a while since i've wondered.”

“DAMN, BITCH!”

you threw the remote at him, ultimately fed up with him cutting you off before the peak of the sentence. it could've been the question of the year and he'd still dodge it.

sukuna invited himself over since he ran out of entertainment options and you're always there for him. unfortunately, you do not find him as entertainin. he's annoying, arrogant, and attractive so it cancels out the negatives about him.

of course, sukuna caught the remote. his athletic capabilities are its prime despite him being dormant for centuries. it'd be a white lie to say he's not interested in your question, however it is way more benefitting to push your buttons.

he throws the remote back onto your bed, drying his hands with your hand-towel before making his merry way to you.

“your bed's small.”

“well no shit. it's for ME.”

“you mad? you look mad.” his hand holds your chin, turning your head side-to-side to observe your expression.

you rolled your eyes, “i don't get mad that easily.”

“is this how people felt when i told them an obvious lie? i should repent.”

[jogetsobsessed]

Always an Angel - Paul Lahote

Ok, I've been obsessed with the lyric “Always an angel, never a god for a few days now. I don't know why all of a sudden but it's been all I can think about. I know there are a bunch of literal interpretations but I look at it as a version of “always the bridesmaid, never the bride”, always the side character, never the main character. So I hope this comes across how I want it to lol. 

Also, the timeline is kinda messed up in this, just live in ignorant bliss and ignore it pls, and thank you!

---------

Always the option, never the priority. 

Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. 

Always the lover, never the loved. 

Always the fighter, never the fought for. 

Always an angel, never a god. 

------------

You were used to being sidelined, looked right through. 

No matter what you were doing, or who you were with, you were never the main focus. 

Growing up boys never spared you a glance, your best friends being the main targets for their glances and flirty remarks. You were never the one asked to dance, always the one asked to hold a friend's purse or bag. If the car was full on the way to get ice cream, you were always the one that was going to be left out. You never learned inside jokes and standing alone at parties, you didn't even know why you went, it's not like anyone would notice if you left anyway. 

At night when you would break and confide in the one person you knew truly loved you she would always question why you remained friends with the people that caused you so much pain. And through your blubbering, you would look at her like she was crazy. Explain to your mother that it must have been too long since she was a teenager. Because that's not how it works. Living in a small town the pool of potential friends is small, and having friends that treat you horribly is better than having no friends at all. 

You would apologize to her years later, after maturing, and realizing that the remarks you directed towards her were uncalled for. The anger you threw her way was misguided and unfair. She didn't deserve the way that you treated her. 

When Bella Swan moved to town you thought everything was going to change. She was from a big city, you didn't know much about Phoenix but you knew they probably didn't harbor the same small-town mindset that Forks did. 

She had no clue who you were. She didn't know the unspoken reputation that hung above your head like a storm cloud. 

And at first, you were right. 

The two of you became friends quickly, Bella taking a liking to your quiet demeanor, such a drastic change from Jessica and her goons. 

Your friendship appeared surface-level, to everyone but the two of you. In school, you both kept to yourselves and didn't talk much, even to each other. You would drag her along with you when you gathered the strength to hang out with your old friends. But you didn't do that often, seeing as they saw her as a shiny new toy and didn't treat her as a second-class citizen. 

But after school the two of you would talk, your friendship would come alive in the comfort of your own homes, and you two would look like actual teenage girls and not two seventeen-year-olds who should be on the highest dose of Lexapro. 

She was the first person that you saw as a true friend, that was until she committed, in your opinion, a cardinal sin. 

Bella had gone off the deep end and you hadn't seen her in days. But that was normal, she would spiral, skip school, and then show up as if nothing happened. So you weren't concerned, sent her a few texts checking up on her and getting one-word responses back. Then the following Monday came around. You were waiting by your truck, lazily twirling your hair, eyes glazed over as you dissociated waiting for the bell to ring. 

But amid your dissociation, you were pulled back to reality when a shiny black Volvo came to a screeching halt a row over. You knew who drove the expensive car so you tried to be as nonchalant as possible as you peered over your shoulder to get a good look at the owner. 

You wished you hadn't. 

Because getting out of the passenger seat was the person that you considered your best friend. Your best friend was sitting in the passenger seat of the car of the guy you had a crush on since he arrived at Forks High School. 

She knew about your long-standing crush on Edward, she was the only person other than your mother who you had told. It came tumbling off your tongue one late night about a month after she had arrived in town. And you had sworn her to secrecy, begging her to never tell another soul. 

But now it seemed to not matter, she had broken your trust and your heart. 

------------------

The next year drug on. With Bella being completely infatuated with Edward you were left to crawl back to your old friends. They accepted you with barely open arms, reluctantly saving you a seat at the lunch table, sometimes sending you the location for Friday night activities. 

When the Cullen clan abruptly left Forks Bella did to you exactly what you had done to your friends months earlier. Part of you didn't know why, but you let her back in, although this time keeping her at an arm's length away, never fully trusting her, 

Eventually, however, Edward came back. First making his appearance walking hand in hand with Bella in the dreadful hallways of Forks High School after she had disappeared yet again for a few days with not even a courtesy text. 

This time seeing them together didn't feel like a hot knife was piercing your skin. How could it, you no longer felt the same that you had for Edward. Because he had proven himself to be just like everyone else. He made you feel invisible. 

------------

The heat of late spring had arrived and you took in all the warmth that you could as you walked down the small rocky path to the mailbox. Graduation had come and gone and you found yourself in isolation. The people you had forced yourself to be friends with in high school no longer mattered. You didn't have to play the uncertain game of high school politics anymore. Starting university was on the horizon and while you dreaded leaving the comfort of home you were excited, this was going to be your chance to reinvent yourself. You were no longer going to be the person no one cared to look towards. 

Pulling out the various envelopes you felt your heart stop beating when the light lilac envelope was pulled to the front. You knew what it was, you didn't even have to open it. But you did, ripping it open, praying that you hadn't torn apart the coveted invitation. Sure enough in bold letters, you read “Edward Anthony Masen Cullen and Isabella Marie Swan request your presence…”. 

The phone call with Bella that night was awkward. You haven't talked much since graduation but she assured you that she wanted you to be at the wedding. You had wanted to push and ask her why she was rushing to get married. I mean you along with everyone else knew that they had only known each other for a year and hadn't been dating for the entirety of said year. But she sounded happy, the happiest she had ever seemed. So you didn't say anything, instead prying for details about the impending nuptials. 

-------------

Thousands of flowers cascaded down creating a custom perfume in the air. Your eyes darted between the bunches of wisteria and sweet peas and you were in awe. The wedding had snuck up on you. So much had happened over the summer leaving you feeling unprepared to start school in the fall. Leaving you to make one of the hardest choices that you had ever made, deferring your acceptance into your top school to the following fall quarter. 

So when you got a reminder on your phone that read “Bella and Edward wedding tmr” you were at a loss for words. I mean you had everything you physically needed, a dress, a present, the right pair of shoes. But you had forgotten one important thing, a date. 

It wasn't going to be the first time you had shown up to an event without one, but it was probably going to feel the most embarrassing. 

So here you were, standing next to your group of “friends'' from high school as they gossiped about the possibility of Bella being pregnant. “What do you think?”Erik asked you, giving your arm a soft nudge with his. “I don't know guys '. Jessica of course had a counter, pointing out that out of the group you were the closest with her. Luckily before you had to come up with an excuse of why you didn't know for certain the music began, signaling that it was time for everyone to turn their attention to the altar. 

A few tears managed to slip down your cheeks as you watched your sometimes best friend say “I do”. In that moment all the turbulent times the two of you experienced didn't matter. You were just happy to be in the presence of two people who were madly in love and confessing it to each other, permanently sealing their love with a dramatic kiss. 

The reception area was decorated equally as beautiful. You were grateful that Bella, or more likely Alice had set you close to the dance floor. That way you could watch people without feeling like a total loser, hanging out in the corner by yourself. At least this way you could still enjoy the happiness of the other guests without feeling the gross amount of body heat from the dancing bodies. 

The ice was melting quickly in your lemonade, the night had not been rewarded with a cool late summer breeze so you were appreciative of the cool drink. The night had seemingly been going according to plan. Your ‘friends’ had migrated to another table across the dance floor with the excuse of wanting to talk to some of the other guests, but they had not returned in almost two hours so you were holding your breath. 

Mentally you were planning your escape plan, glancing at your watch. Waiting for an acceptable time to leave, not too early into the night but not too late that you were leaving only minutes before the bride and groom's big exit. As you granted yourself yet another glance at the heirloom watch you wore and looked back up a gasp unwillingly left your lips. 

The mystery man, who looked almost familiar, chuckled at your surprised look. Confidently he took the empty seat next to yours, turning his body to give you his full attention. “May I help you”, you didn't recognize your own words, your tone was a bit rude and you didn't even give him a second to introduce himself after she sat. 

“I’m Paul Lahote”. 

Once he gave his name to you your eyes moved up to meet him and the electric shock that you felt in your veins almost felt real. There was no doubt blush forming on every inch of your face and you were praying that the low light of the Edison bulbs did a good job at protecting some of your dignity. You gave him your name, barely squeaking out your last name. 

Things like this didn't happen to you. A man that looked like him didn't talk to you. A part of you wondered if Jessica or someone like her had already turned him down, because let's face it, you were always the option but never the priority. 

“I think you should share a dance with me, no pretty girl like you should be sitting alone at a wedding”. The flare in your cheeks was visible now, you were sure of it. No matter how low the light was you could have sworn a red glow was emitting from your body, like an accusing halo. 

“Paul…you don't have to dance with me, I was just getting ready to leave”. Gathering your belongings as you begin to stand up. “No!”. He said, eyebrows raising to the top of his forehead once he realized how loud he exclaimed. Sheepishly he looked around offering small smiles as an apology to a few of the guests who looked at him like he had three heads. 

“Please, I noticed you when I walked in before the ceremony and I haven't been able to shake you from my eyeline all night. I don’t think I can take no for an answer”. 

The fact that your heart was still caged behind your chest was an act of god. Because at this point it should have flown away due to how hard it was beating. You were at a loss for words. The thought that someone was putting you first, taking interest in you was unbearable. And you were crumbling at his gaze. 

His outstretched hand found yours that you slowly had begun to uncurl from against your body. Swiftly he whisked you out onto the dance floor, pulling your body flush to his. 

Clumsily your feat matched his falling into routine with his steps, your body swaying in unison to the light melody. He hummed along softly to the quiet music as he kept a firm grip on you, almost like he was afraid to let you go. 

The song ended and awkwardly you looked around not knowing what to do. Paul however looked happy as can be, letting go of your hand but keeping the one on your lower back in place. He led you back to the table where you had spent most of the night, pulling out your chair before you could even react. You thanked him as you sunk into the back of the chair trying to ground yourself. 

“Man, I feel like the luckiest guy here at this whole damn wedding I got to dance with the prettiest guest of them all”. He said matter-of-factly triumphantly, taking a sip out of the glass he abandoned when he first approached your table. You scoffed, there was no way he was being for real, the alcohol had to have been getting to him now if he was saying such an untrue statement. 

“I think you've had enough”. Your voice was shy and your eyes barely peeked through your almost closed eyelids. The embarrassment you hadn't felt earlier had returned and you were suddenly hyper-conscious of everything happening around you. 

“Doll this stuff doesn't make me feel anything, you, however, are making me feel alive for the first time”. His drink was abandoned yet again as he scooted his chair closer, invading your bubble, and causing you to squirm under his gaze yet again. 

“Paul, I'm flattered but again I think your choices are impaired. There's no way you feel anything like that for me”. 

Paul was out of his chair before you could continue your babbling, cutting you off by capturing your lips in his. 

After he pulled back for air his forehead rested against yours, the two of you matching your breathing. You were yet again at a loss for words, kissing the hottest boy at your best friend's wedding was not on this year's bingo card. But as per usual it seems Paul had the perfect thing to say, “My angel forgive me if this is forward, but l you need to let me love you, I have a feeling that you're gonna be stuck with me for a long time”.

[girlfromthecrypt]

Note: This is merely a pitch introduction post. My main project remains Such Happy Campers. I have no title in mind for this IF (suggestions are welcome), although I am very passionate about the idea and will work on it on the side while I write SHC.

You are... or were one of the most famous yet mysterious characters in the 21st century pop-rock scene. 

It all started when you discovered your love for singing during an extended stay at a psychiatric hospital as a teen. Music became your motivator, and from then on, you knew the stage was where you belonged. Your friends agreed… and that is how your band came to be. After years of practice in your friend’s mother’s garage and cheap gigs at dingy bars, your journey to the top begins abruptly when you team up with a skilled manager.

It's a meteoric rise— until it isn’t. 

And now, a decade after your band has withdrawn from the public eye, you’ve accepted an interview by the acclaimed Groove Magazine. You and your former band members have agreed to give them the truth, the whole truth; as ugly as that might be. 

Follow the story of your band’s rise to fame (and eventual fall from grace)

Play as a pop-rock vocalist

Name your band and customize your music, lyrics and image

Handle the media, interactions with pushy fans and your own repressed thoughts and fears 

Romance your coolgirl-bassist, the childhood friend you cut out of your life, your absolutely insane guitarist, or your biggest fan/stalker

Give one hell of an interview

Inspiration: Daisy Jones and The Six, Fleetwood Mac

TW: themes of mental illness, substance abuse, death, mentions of suicide, suicidal ideation and self-harm, unhealthy relationship dynamics

ROs:

Stevie McLaughlin, bassist (f) — “I suppose I was the sanest one in that bunch.”

She’s one of your oldest friends, and if you follow the clanking chain of cause and effect all the way back to the beginning, it is her you have to thank for your entire career. The band was her idea, after all. She’s level-headed, composed, and always there to talk you down when you need her. Sometimes, she acts more as your retainer than anything else…

Paul/Paulette Zima, lead singer & saxophonist (f/m selectable, trans) — “Trying to figure out where you know me from?”

Your band’s brand-new, second lead singer. Your manager says they’re going to give your music the kick it needs, that they’re the one missing ingredient to your success. You’re not entirely sure if you agree. Worse yet, you happen to know this person, and your time together didn’t end on a favorable note. They’re part of a past you would much rather forget. 

Angel Monsanto, guitarist (m) — “I was always going to make it big, with or without those guys. Only, I… I really wanted it to be with them.”

Your crazy but good-hearted guitarist. His passion for music borders on obsession, and he will stop at nothing to make a name for your band. Sadly, he’s very much of the conviction that all publicity is good publicity, which has encouraged him to pull some very questionable stunts in the past. 

Lincoln Saunders, groupie?? (f/m selectable) — “What can I say, I loved them. When they first walked out onto that stage, it felt like my heart was going to explode.”

Calling Lincoln a fan would be an understatement. Fanatic is more like it. You remember seeing them at your very first show, and you’ve continued to spot them at every venue you’ve played at since. You don’t know anything about them, and perhaps changing that would be a very bad idea. But maybe you still want to.

Others:

Fatima Shah (f), drummer — “I’m pretty sure they tried to make me disappear with their fog machine.”

After things didn’t work out with your original drummer, Fatima saved the day. She’s a sweetheart to you, but from what you’ve heard, she can be kind of a terrible person. Maybe it’s best to stay a little wary of her.

Kalena Graham (f), manager — “The first time I saw them… well, they kind of sucked. But I knew, I just knew, that they had what it takes to suck on an international level.”

Your band’s manager. You can’t believe how lucky you were to have caught her attention. She’s experienced, driven, well-regarded in the industry and… kind of mean.

Simon Young (m), reporter — “Start at the beginning. And then, don’t stop.”

The guy conducting the interview for Groove Magazine. He’s nice enough, if a little starstruck. It seems he has been waiting a long time for this.

[dividers by @thecutestgrotto]

Please consider reblogging if you like my work!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 4: Read Between The Lines]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Boulevard Of Broken Dreams” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

It is your first week of basic training at Great Lakes on the north side of Chicago, and as you lie in the top bunk of your assigned bed you wonder what the hell you’ve done. You enlisted right out of high school, eighteen, no driver’s license, no work history, never been more than fifty miles outside of Soft Shell, Kentucky. The drill sergeants are always yelling and you’re bad at push-ups; you can’t understand the recruits from big cities like Los Angeles, Miami, Las Vegas, Detroit, Houston, and they don’t seem to get you either, and aren’t interested enough to try. Sometimes you wish you hadn’t signed that five-year contract, but where would you be if you weren’t here? Home is not words but textures, colors, fumes that still burn in your sinuses: cigarette ash on rose pink carpets, red embers glowing in the wood stove, Hamburger Helper and Mountain Dew, coffee creamer in Hungry Jack potatoes, laughter and heavy footsteps and slamming doors, scratch-off games, dogs barking, collecting coins from couch cushions for gas money, scrubbing clothes in the bathtub when the washer quits, Mama taking gulps from her favorite cup—plastic, Virginia Beach, filled with equal parts Hawaiian Punch and vodka—when she thinks no one is looking, blue shows flickering on the television, Family Feud, Maury, Good Morning America, WWE SmackDown. For as long as you can remember you’ve known you couldn’t stay. Now you’re getting out, but nothing in life is free.

You are at Class A Technical School in Gulfport, Mississippi, and even though it’s hotter than some noxious, volcanic hellscape—Mercury, Venus, Io—you are beginning to like it. You taste the salt of sweat when you lick your lips, sugar in the sweet tea they serve in the chow hall. There’s a magic in building something where there was only empty space before, in patching roofs and painting walls. Here being quiet and watchful is exactly what they want from you: head down, hammer striking nails, measurements and angles and long hours under the sun with no complaints. You’re not just running away anymore. You are creating something new.

You are sitting beneath swaying palm trees and a full moon on Diego Garcia, draining cans of Guinness with Rio, and he’s telling you things he shouldn’t, too personal, too honest: Sophie wants to try for a baby next time he’s home on leave, and part of him wants that too but he’s terrified. As thunder rumbles in the distance and raindrops begin to patter on the waves of the Indian Ocean, you tell Rio you think he’d be a good father. He wonders how you figure that, and you say because he’s not like any of the men from home. He gives you one of his crooked smiles—a flash of teeth, knowing dark eyes—and doesn’t ask what you mean.

But of course, when you swim up from the inky currents of sleep you are in none of these places. You are curled up on the floor of a bowling alley in Shenandoah, Ohio, cheap worn black carpet peppered with stars and swirls in neon green, pink, blue. You stretch out with a yawn. Someone has left a Lemon Tea Snapple within reach; you twist it open and guzzle it, hoping to extinguish the pounding in your skull, a rhythmic thudding of warm maroon, half Captain Morgan and half misery. The music isn’t helping. From the green Toshiba CD player, a man is singing in Spanish. Aegon and Rio are sitting at the nearest table and playing Uno.

Aegon says as he ponders his cards: “You know Enrique Iglesias, right Rio?”

“You are so racist.” Rio puts down a wild. “And the new color is red. Racist.”

“So what’s he saying?”

“Aegon, buddy, I told you, I was born here. My grandparents came over in the 60s. I don’t speak Spanish.”

“You can’t understand any of it?” Aegon is skeptical. He plays a skip, a reverse, and a seven. “My dad never taught me a word of Greek but I can recognize plenty of phrases. Vlákas means idiot. Spatáli chórou is a waste of space.”

Rio sighs, relenting. He puts down a two. “The song is called Súbeme La Radio, Turn Up The Radio For Me. Bring me the alcohol that numbs the pain… I don’t care about anything anymore…You’ve left me in the shadows…”

“Damn, now I’m sad. Draw four, bitch.”

“When the night comes and you don’t answer, I swear to you I’ll stay waiting at your door…” Rio studies his cards. “What’s the new color?”

“Green.”

“Yes!” Rio slams down a skip. “Fleeing from the past in every dawn, I can’t find any way to erase our history…”

Everyone else is awake already. As muted late-morning daylight streams in through the small tinted windows, Aemond is weaving between tables, pointedly checking on each person. He glances at you, says nothing, turns around and walks the other way.

“That’s tough,” Rio says sympathetically, popping open the tab on a can of Chef Boyardee and shoveling ravioli into his mouth with a plastic fork.

Aegon gives you a smirk. “You want to fake date now?”

“I’ll think about it.” No you won’t.

Helaena appears, a prairie girl vision in a modest blue sundress and with her hair tied back with a matching scarf. She reaches into her burlap messenger bag and offers you a choice between a ranch-flavored tuna pouch or a silvery pack of Pop-Tarts. “Strawberry,” she tells you.

“I’ll take the Pop-Tarts.”

Helaena gives them to you and then shakes a bottle of Advil. You’re so groggy it takes you a few seconds to figure out what she wants, then you obediently hold out a hand. Helaena lays two tablets in the center of your palm and moves on, soundlessly like a rabbit or a spider.

You wash the pills down with Snapple. As you nibble half-heartedly on a Pop-Tart—trying not to look at Aemond, multicolored sprinkles falling down onto the carpet—your eyes drift to the tattoo on the underside of Aegon’s forearm. It’s not over ‘til you’re underground. You’ve spotted it before. Only now do you remember where you recognize the lyric from. “Is that Green Day?”

“Yeah,” Aegon says, enthused that you noticed. “Letterbomb.”

“I love that whole album.”

“Me too. I could sing it front to back if you asked me to.”

“I’m not asking.”

Aegon cackles and resumes his Uno game with Rio. Baela is wearing denim shorts and a crop top, slathering her belly with Palmer’s cocoa butter from Walmart as she chats with Rhaena and eats Teddy Grahams. Daeron is waxing the string of his compound bow. Jace is gnawing on a Twizzler as he scrutinizes Aegon’s map, annotated with Xs and circles and arrows in sparkling gel pen green.

“I’m going to be a thousand years old by the time we get there,” Jace mutters.

Aegon hits the table with his fist. The discard pile collapses and cascades, an avalanche of Uno cards. Rio, undisturbed, continues contemplating his next move. “You know what, Jace? The cities are full of zombies, the interstates are blocked by fifty-car pileups, if we bump into anyone else who’s still alive they’re just as likely to rob and murder us as want to be friends, and on top of all that I’m trying to do you the favor of preventing you from getting so irradiated you turn into Spider-Man. If you have a better route in mind, I’d love to hear it.”

“Spider-Man…? You’re such a dumbass, what are you talking about?!”

Luke says from where he stands by a window: “Aemond, someone’s outside.”

“What?” Aemond stares at him. “Zombies?”

“No. People.”

Aemond bolts to the doors, the rest of you close behind him. Rhaena turns off the CD player. You, Rio, and Aegon squeeze together to peer out of one of the windows. There are men—three of them, no, four, all appearing to be in their forties—passing by on the main road through town. They are armed with what are either AR-15s or M16s, you can’t tell which.

Rio whistles. “If you get shot by one of those, the exit wound will be the size of an orange.” Everyone looks at him. This was not an encouraging thing to say.

You elaborate: “Thirty-round magazines. Semiautomatic, assuming they’re AR-15s for civilian use. I guess they could have gotten ahold of M16s somehow. Those have a fully automatic setting.”

“So regardless, we’re out-gunned,” Jace says.

“If they know how to use them. Some men think guns are wall decorations, like deer heads or fish.”

Aegon recoils. “Fish?! What the fuck. I’m glad the colonies left.”

“Maybe they’ll keep walking,” Daeron says hopefully. One of the men stops and points at the bowling alley, saying something to his companions. They laugh and begin crossing the small parking lot. They are less than two minutes from the door. “Oh, great…”

“There’s an emergency exit in the back,” Baela says.

Aegon snorts. “Yeah, that we stacked about twenty boxes of bowling pins in front of to zombie-proof.”

“We won’t be able to get out before they hear us,” Aemond says. Then he abruptly orders: “Grab your guns, let’s go. Helaena, Baela, Rhaena, you’re staying here.” Aemond’s remaining eye—briefly, reluctantly—skates over you as Rio, Aegon, Jace, Luke, and Daeron scatter to obey him. “You too.”

“But I’m the best shot.”

“I don’t want them to know we have women with us.”

“I’m of more use to you outside.”

Aemond rips his Glock out of its holster, pointing it at the floor. His frustration is palpable, an electric shock, heat that refracts light rays until they become mirages on the horizon. “You’re going to stay here, and if a stranger comes through those doors you’re going to kill them. Okay?”

His urgency stuns you; his eye is blue-white summer storm lightning. “Okay.”

“Now get back.”

You soar to the nearest table, duck under it, reach for your Beretta M9 and double-check the clip, fully loaded. You click off the safety.

“Aemond, wait, let me go first,” Aegon is saying by the door. “I’m better at de-escalation, I’m less…uh…intimidating.”

“Less socially incompetent, you mean,” Jace quips.

“I’ll lead,” Aemond insists. “Aegon can talk. Rio, you’re up front with me.”

Rio pumps his Remington 12 gauge. “I’d be delighted.”

Jace is amused. “I’ve been demoted, huh?”

“He’s bigger,” Aemond replies simply, then opens the door and vanishes through a blinding curtain of daylight. The others follow closely; Daeron, the last one out—his compound bow in hand, the strap of his Marlin .22 slung over his shoulder—shuts the door behind him.

Very faintly, you can hear Aegon: “Hey, guys! What’s happening? How’s the apocalypse treating you…?”

Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena are under the table with you. They deserve to have options. You tell them: “If you want to go hide behind the lanes or try to get out the back door, now’s your chance.”

Helaena shakes her head, clutching your t-shirt: black, Star Wars, pawed off a shelf at the Walmart. “I want to stay with you.”

“Same,” Baela says determinedly, gripping her Ruger. She barely knows how to use it, but she’ll try. Rhaena is shaking, her eyes filling up her face, small fragile bones like a bird’s.

You can’t hear voices from outside anymore, but there are no gunshots either. You keep your M9 aimed at the doors, your breathing slow and deep, your heart rate low. Your hands are steady. Your eyes hunt for the slightest movement, for the momentary shadow of someone passing by a window. Against your will, your thoughts wander to Aemond. I hope Aegon is on his left side. Aemond can’t see there.

“Rhaena, get your gun out,” Baela says sharply. “Come on. Turn the safety off. What if you were alone right now? What if we weren’t here to protect you?”

Rhaena nods, fumbling to free her revolver from its holster. “I’m sorry…I’m trying…”

Now there is a stranger’s voice, gruff and deep. He must be just beyond the door, the farthest one to the right. There is a creak of hinges, a sliver of sunlight. “That’s just too damn bad, fellas. You got a nice little hideout here, and you’re gonna have to share it—”

The door opens. Two unfamiliar faces, too shellshocked to raise their rifles in time. You close an eye, line up your sights, fire twice, and that’s all it takes: one headshot, one in the throat, blood like a fountain, spurting scarlet ruin, thuds against the carpet strewn with neon stars, gurgling and spasms as their brains send out those final electrical impulses: danger, catastrophe, apocalypse. Rhaena is screaming. Helaena is covering her ears with both hands.

You run to the doorway; there are more booms of gunfire out in the parking lot. You cross into the late-morning light to see the other two men on the pavement: one with an arrow through the eye, the other with a gaping, hemorrhaging hole where his heart once was. Rio is admiring his work, holding his shotgun aloft. He scoops a handful of Cheddar Whales out of his shorts pocket and shovels them into his mouth.

“Goddamn, I love Remington Arms Company.”

“Oh, that was awesome,” Aegon says, wan and panting, hands on his waist. “Yeah, that was…that was…” He bends over and vomits Snapple and Cool Ranch Doritos onto the asphalt.

“Everyone okay in there?” Rio asks you.

“Yeah.” Behind you, Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena are stepping through the doorway. Your thoughts are whirling sickly: I killed someone. I killed someone. “They wouldn’t leave?”

“We told them the bowling alley was ours,” Aemond says, not looking at you. “We asked them very politely to keep moving. They chose to try to intimidate us into letting them stay. They weren’t good people, and these are the consequences.”

You click on the safety and re-holster your M9. You’re wearing Rio’s on your other hip. They seem to weigh so much more than they did ten minutes ago. I’m not supposed to be a killer. I’m a builder.

“Aegon, are you okay?” Daeron asks, a palm on his brother’s back.

Aegon retches again. “Shut up. You can’t even buy fireworks.”

“Zombies.” Luke is peering through his binoculars. “Not many, just two. Way up the road.”

“There will be more.” Baela’s cradling her belly; you don’t even think she’s aware of it. “They heard the gunshots, the sound carries for miles.”

“We’re leaving,” Aemond says. “Right now. Everyone get your things.”

As backpacks are hastily zipped and Daeron and Aegon stand guard in the parking lot, you kneel down beside the men you murdered and check their rifles. They are M16s, either stolen or illegally purchased: there’s a little switch by the trigger to choose between semi-automatic or the so-called machine gun mode.

“They barely had any bullets left,” you tell Rio. Just like us when we were trapped on that transmission tower.

“Yeah, same story for the other two guys. Four bullets in one magazine, a half dozen in the other. But it only takes once. We don’t have any ammo that will work with M16s, do we?”

“No, we definitely don’t.”

“Fantastic. Well, we’ll throw them in a Walmart cart and take them with us just in case.”

You’re staring down at the man you shot through the head. His eternal resting place is a puddle of blood and brains in a bowling alley in rural Ohio; surely no one deserves that. “He was a real person,” you say, dazed. “Not a zombie. Just a person.”

“Hey.” Rio grabs your shoulders and spins you towards him. From where he is helping Luke gather up the remaining food, Aemond’s head snaps up to watch. “You hurt him before he could hurt us. You did the right thing.”

“Sure.”

“I killed a dude too. I blew his heart right out of his chest. You think I’m going to hell for that?”

“No,” you admit, smiling. “And if you’d be there with me, I guess I wouldn’t mind so much.”

Rio grins, wide and toothy. “Well alright then. Let’s finish packing.”

The ten of you depart from Shenandoah, Ohio heading northwest on Route 603 just like Aegon marked on his map, Jace chauffeuring Baela in one shopping cart, Rio pushing another loaded high with food and M16s.

“It looks like rain,” Helaena says.

Everyone else peers up into a clear, cerulean sky, wondering what she means.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re a few miles north of Shiloh when the storm rolls in, cold rain and furious wind, daylight that vanishes behind dark churning thunderheads, jagged scars of lightning in an opaque sky. The road is only two lanes, surrounded by fields of wildflowers and ravaged crops and untilled earth; it would look like the patchwork of a quilt if you were gazing down from an airplane, but of course the FAA grounded all flights over a month ago when the world went mad: Revelations, Ragnarök, the fabric of the universe unweaving as death burned through families, cities, nations like a fever, like plague.

“Maybe we should cut across one of these fields,” Jace says, pointing. He is soaked with rain; it drips from his curls, runs into his eyes. Baela is in her cart again; each time she tries to get out and walk, she’s gasping and can’t keep up within half an hour. You’ve all taken turns pushing her, much to Baela’s dismay. She’d be humiliated if she wasn’t too exhausted to keep her eyes open.

“Here, let me do it,” you offer, and Jace gratefully relinquishes the cart. Baela gives you a frail wave of appreciation.

“We stay on the road,” Aemond insists, flinching as rain pelts his scarred face. “Farmhouses have driveways and mailboxes, we’ll pass one eventually. If we lose the road, we might not be able to find it again. We’ll end up wandering around in circles in the woods.”

“Just like the Blair Witch Project,” Aegon says glumly, his Sperry Bahama sneakers audibly soggy.

“There!” Luke announces, spotting something with his binoculars. “Up ahead on the left. Past the bridge.”

You can’t see what Luke does until there is an especially brilliant flash of lightning: a farmhouse, old but seemingly not derelict, and with a number of accompanying buildings, guest houses and stables and barns and towering silos.

“Home sweet home!” Rio says. “And I don’t care if I have to kill a hundred of those undead bastards to get in, it’s mine.”

“Well, hopefully not a hundred,” you reply, in better spirits now that a sanctuary has been found. Aemond keeps glancing back at you as you push Baela’s cart. If he wants to say something, he’s doing a good job of resisting the temptation. “We don’t have that much ammo.”

There is a concrete bridge over a river, probably unremarkable and only five or ten feet deep normally but now torrential with rain. Water rushes by beneath, a muddy incline on each side as the earth rises back up to meet the road. A reflective green sign proclaims that you are only two miles from Plymouth, which Aegon plans to skirt along the edges of. It’s a decent-sized town; he thinks you might be able to find a car to steal there, something with gas in the tank and keys on a hook just inside the house.

“I call the master bedroom,” Jace says craftily, rubbing his palms together. You’re near the center of the bridge now, another ten yards to go. “Nice big bed, warm cozy blankets, and I was up for half of last night keeping watch so tonight I am off duty, I am a free man, it’s going to just be me and my girl and eight glorious uninterrupted hours of sleep—”

Rhaena shrieks, and then you hear it over the noise of the storm, pounding rain and rumbling thunder: moans, growls, hisses like snakes. Not one zombie. A lot more than one. They’re crawling up from under the bridge, from the filthy quagmire at both ends. There was a hoard of them waiting, aimless, dormant, almost hibernating. But now they are awake. They are grasping for you with bony, dirt-covered claws. They are snapping with jaws that leak blood and pus and bile as their organs curdle to a putrid soup.

“Get off the bridge!” Aemond is shouting. He has his Glock in his right hand, a baseball bat in his left. He’ll shoot until he’s out of bullets, and then, and then…

Rio helps you get Baela out of the cart, then opens fire. His Remington doesn’t just pierce skulls, it vaporizes them. When he’s out of shells—there are more in his backpack, but no time to reload—he yanks the M16s out of the other Walmart cart and empties each of them, mowing down zombies as the rest of you scramble across the bridge. All around you are explosions of gunshots, thunder, lightning, zombie skulls crushed by bullets and blunt force trauma. Baela is firing her Ruger as you half-drag her, one arm hooked beneath hers and around her back. When the last M16 is empty, Rio starts clubbing zombies with the butt of it. You’ve all reached the north side of the bridge, except…

“Fuck off, you freaks!” Jace is screaming. They’ve backed him up against the guardrail, a swarm of ten or more. His Remington shotgun is out of ammo; he’s swinging it wildly, but he doesn’t even have enough room to maneuver. There are still more zombies emerging from under the bridge. You can hear them snarling and groaning. You swipe an M9 off your belt and put a bullet in the brain of a zombie as its fingers close around your ankle, then you start picking off the ones mobbing Jace. You aren’t fast enough. As they lean in to bite him, teeth gnashing at the delicious throbbing heat of his jugular, Jace throws himself over the barrier and into the surging water below.

“No!” Baela cries. She careens off the road and into the field, running parallel to the river as swiftly as she can. You are helping her, steadying her, firing at any zombies you have a clear line of sight on. The others are here too: slipping in the muck of the flooding earth, shouting for Jace. He surfaces through the frothing current, flails pitifully, disappears beneath the water again. You glimpse a white hand, a shadow of his dark hair, a kicking shoe. There are more zombies on the opposite side of the river, trailing after Jace, lurching and slobbering viscous, gory saliva. They cannot swim, but they can follow him until he washes ashore.

Jace bursts up through the waves, gasping. “Help! Aemond…Aemond, for the love of God, help me…” He blubbers and then is dragged under. Aemond and Luke are continuing frantically after him. Baela is hysterical, sobbing, trembling with adrenaline. Aegon is yowling as he swings at zombies with his bloodied golf club. Helaena is darting around almost invisibly, always cowering behind Daeron or Aegon or Rio.

You glance north towards the farmhouse, growing not closer but farther away. We can’t leave shelter. We can’t leave the road. You lock eyes with Rio. He’s thinking the same thing.

“Aemond, we have to go,” Rio says, but in the midst of the rain and the turmoil it barely registers.

“Jace, we’re coming to get you!” Aemond swears. The ground is increasingly sodden, deep, difficult to trudge through. Jace resurfaces, coughing and sputtering.

“Jace!” Aegon wails. He caves in the skull of a zombie who was once a registered nurse as Helaena crouches behind him. “Jace, I’m sorry! I’m gonna miss you, man!”

Jace splashes in the rising river, his arms flailing helplessly. He is being swept away far faster than any of you can move on foot. “Aegon, you dumb bitch!” Jace manages, then slips beneath the water and doesn’t reappear.

“Where is he?!” Baela is saying. “Aemond, where…?”

You are trying to soothe her, to bring her back to reality. She was always so pragmatic before; you have to wake her up. “Baela, listen, we can’t stay here, he would want you and the baby to be safe—”

“Aemond! Aemond, we have to go!” Rio catches him, wrenches him around, roars into his face as driving rain pummels them both: “We have to go, or we’re going to die here too!”

It hits Aemond all at once; he understands, horror and agony in his sole blue eye. “We have to go,” he agrees. And then louder, to everyone: “Get to the farmhouse!”

Baela collapses into the mud, howling, tears flooding down her face. “No, he’s still alive, he’s still alive, we can’t leave him!”

You and Rhaena are trying to haul Baela to her feet. Now Aemond is here, pulling you away from her—his fingers tight and urgent around your wrist—as he and Luke take your place. “Go,” he commands. “You run. Don’t wait for us. Rio?”

“I got her,” Rio replies, grabbing your free hand with an iron grip. Gales of wind rip at you; every millimeter of your skin is soaked with rain. As you flee across the fields towards the farmhouse, dozens of zombies pursue you. More are still staggering along the banks of the river, swept up in the hoards chasing Jace and the promise of his waterlogged corpse when it reaches its final destination. Daeron has run out of arrows and is shooting with his .22, which is very much not his preference. Aegon trips, getting covered in mud as he rolls, and Rio stops to help him. While he is distracted, you look back at Aemond. He, Luke, and Baela are moving quickly, but not quickly enough. A drove of zombies is closing in on them. You have a spare few seconds at last. You yank your backpack off, grab a box of ammo inside, and reload your M9.

“Chips?!” Rio calls over his shoulder.

“I’m fine.”

He knows you well enough to listen. The world goes quiet as your finger settles on the trigger. There’s a rhythm one slips into, an impassionate lethal efficiency. It’s easier to keep going than to stop and have to find it again. You fire over and over, dropping eight zombies. You sheath your M9 and whip Rio’s out of your other holster, the sights finding grotesque decaying faces illuminated by lightning. You pull the trigger: blood, bones, brains, corpses jerking and convulsing as they fall harmlessly to the mud. Aemond is here; when did he get here?

“I told you to run!” he’s shouting through the storm, furious. He’s shoving you towards the farmhouse. You resist him.

“Let me kill as many as I can—”

“Go! Now!” Aemond orders over the clashing thunder, and then sprints with you all the way to the front porch to make sure you listen. Everyone else is already there. Helaena has fetched a spare key from under the doormat and is turning it in the lock.

Daeron observes her anxiously. “We don’t know if it’s safe in there, Helaena.”

“Not in,” she says, insistent. “Through.” Through this building, and maybe through the next one too. The average zombie is not terribly clever. If they lose sight of you, without the benefit of the momentum of a hoard they are lost. Helaena opens the door. The living rush inside, and she locks it behind you. As you are bursting out the back door, you can hear zombies pounding their rotting palms against the front one. You soar through a stable full of dead horses and donkeys, leaving the doors open; this should keep the zombies distracted if they make it this far. Then you race to the farthest guest house. Luke, swiveling with his binoculars, spies no zombies approaching as you steal inside. There is no spare key this time; Rio punches out a first-floor window for you to climb through. Once everyone is inside, he and Aegon move a bookshelf to cover the opening.

You all stand in the living room, gasping and shivering, dripping rain down onto the rug and the hardwood floor. The air is dusty but clean of any trace of vile, swampy decay. Outside, thunder booms and lightning flashes bright enough to illuminate the lightless house. The sky is so dark it might as well be nightfall. Baela sinks to her knees, clamping both hands over her mouth so she won’t sob loudly enough for a zombie to hear. Rhaena and Luke are beside her, both weeping quiet rivulets of tears, trying to comfort her in whispers. Helaena is rummaging around searching for candles; she has already taken a lighter out of her soaked burlap messenger bag.

“Daeron, bro, come over here,” Aegon chokes out. He embraces Daeron, clutches him tightly and desperately, doesn’t let go. Rio is reloading his Remington 12 gauge.

Jace is dead. Jace is dead.

Aemond says to you, his voice low but seething: “What the fuck was that?”

You blink the raindrops out of your eyes as you stare at him, bewildered. “You needed help.”

“I told you to run.”

“I’m an asset, I have skills that can keep you alive, why am I here if I’m not going to be useful—?”

“You’re not in the fucking Navy anymore!” he hisses. “When I tell you to run, you run, you don’t stop, you don’t look back, because I can’t worry about you and take care of everyone else.”

“Nobody asked you to worry about me.”

“But I do.”

“Aemond,” Aegon pleads, waving him over. Aegon’s plump sunburned cheeks are glistening with rain and tears. “Man, it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters now. Please come here.”

“I’m going to clear the house,” Aemond says instead.

Rio raises an eyebrow at you—this is one fucked up guy, Chips—and then pumps his shotgun. “Me too.” He sweeps with Aemond through the main floor and then vanishes up the staircase.

Helaena is lightning candles she found in the kitchen and arranging them around the living room. Daeron starts gathering food from the pantry. Rhaena and Baela are murmuring to each other softly, mournfully. It doesn’t feel like something you should intrude on. Luke is peeking out of a window with his binoculars, vigilant for threats. Aegon sniffles, wanders over to you with large, sad, shimmering eyes, pats your shoulder awkwardly.

“Hey, Chocolate Chip. You doing okay?”

“No,” you answer honestly.

“Yeah. Me either.” Then he flops down on the hideous burnt orange couch and lies there motionless until Daeron brings him a can of Dr. Pepper. Aegon pops the tab, slurps up foam, and then begins singing to himself very quietly, a song so old you can remember your grandfather saying it was one of his favorites as a boy: A Tombstone Every Mile.

When Rio comes back downstairs—heavy footsteps, he can’t help that—you meet him at the bottom of the steps. “The house is good,” Rio says. “And Aemond’s in the big bedroom on the right if you’d like to go up there and talk to him.”

“I don’t think he wants to see me right now.”

“I could not disagree more,” Rio says with a miserable, exhausted smile. Then he goes to the couch to check on Aegon.

You pick up one of the flickering candles, white and scentless, and ascend the staircase. You find Aemond in the master bedroom, the same accommodations that Jace laid claim to when he was still alive. He is sitting at the edge of the bed and staring at the wall, at nothing. Tentatively, you sit down beside him, placing the candle on the nightstand.

“Aemond…what happened to Jace…it wasn’t your fault.”

“Criston said I was in charge, that’s the very last thing he told me. They might be the last words I ever hear from him, and I just…” His voice breaks; he wipes the rain and tears from his face with open palms. “I really wanted to get everyone home.”

“I’m so sorry about what I said at the bowling alley,” you confess, like it’s a dire secret. “I don’t want to fight with you, Aemond, I…I want to help you. I can see what you’ve done for everyone here, me and Rio included, and I believe in you. I want to be a part of this.”

He nods, an acceptance of peace, but he still doesn’t look at you.

“Can we start over? I’ll never bring it up again, okay? I wasn’t trying to guilt you or upset you or anything. I should have just dropped it. I overreacted. And I understand why being with someone like me maybe wouldn’t be…super appealing.”

“It’s not about that.”

“Then what’s it about?”

Aemond wrings his hands, shakes his head, at last turns to you, golden candlelight reflected in his eye, his scar cloaked in shadows. His words are hushed, clandestine, soft powerless surrender. “I’m already so afraid of losing you.”

He cares, he hopes, he wants me too? “I’m here right now, Aemond. I don’t know what else I can say. I’d promise you more if I could.”

He reaches out to touch you, to ghost his thumb across your cheekbone, wet with rain. Then he kisses you, so gently you cannot help but imagine the wispy borders of calm white summer clouds, the rustle of leaves as wind blows down the Appalachian Mountains. You don’t have to ask him what he’s thinking, what it feels like. You can read it in the startled, firelit wonder on his face.

You taste like the beginning of something, here at the end of the world.

[gucciwins]

A Family of Three Grows

A/N: Thank you to the lovely Nonnie who brought back inspiration for this story I wrote in 2020 and last gave an update in 2022. Who knew 2024 would be the year I brought it back. This was fun to write and go back to this family's dynamics. Hope you enjoy, my sweet friends 💜

Word count: 3234

Adore You / Three Time / Leather and Lace / Family / Ask

+

Harry loved his family. 

Y/N and Atticus were everything to him and when Y/N broke the news their family was going to be growing, he was over the moon. It’s something they talked about but never rushed because they had Atticus, their sweet angel who would not stop growing. 

Atticus was the smartest boy. He was the top of his class and loved to read chapter books with Y/N. Each night, they would read a chapter and discuss their thoughts over breakfast in the morning. Harry’s input was asking questions so he could stay in the loop. Harry still remembered a summer day where he went to run errands, leaving them at home reading in bed and came to find them cuddled with ten books laid on their bed. He knew his son valued this time with the woman he called Mum. 

Life had treated them well. Y/N was writing, going to the studio when Atticus was at school. Harry adhered to the schedule and was open to working extra hours. Y/N and Harry were the perfect team. She helped create the entirety of Harry’s house. It was an album he felt captured their life in their own way. The grammy’s that year were a pleasant bonus to round out the amazing year they had. 

Y/N and Harry were in the studio today while Atticus was at school. Harry was in no rush to push out a fourth album. He enjoyed being in the studio with Y/N. It made him fall in love with her all over again. The ideas she brought were something he didn’t take for granted.

Y/N was sitting at the piano wearing her favorite oversized Ferrari sweater. The girl clung to her worn-out shirt, despite its tears. Not that he would ever make her. He had his fair share of tattered shirts in his closet. 

She was beautiful. How lucky he was to have her as his partner for the past five years. Their family is everything he dreamed of when he was a young boy. Without looking, she called for him to sit beside her on the bench. He did so without a second thought. 

“I wrote a song–well, it’s unfinished,” she tells him as she plays the soothing lullaby she wrote for Atticus when he was six years old and was having a hard time sleeping through the night. It’s something she played repeatedly until Atty would fall asleep. 

“Can I hear it?” 

Y/N shifts. She seemed reluctant to reveal it to him. 

“Well, it might not be any good,” she defends, and she pulls her notebook. 

Harry frowns. Y/N being insecure in the studio is unheard of unless it’s something she’s been holding in her chest for a long time and is finally letting it out. She passes him the notebook. There’s a picture holding the place she wants him to read. One look at her is all the encouragement he needs to open up the book and read the first words: For Atty.

He reads line by line and by the time he reaches the last words, there are tears fighting to fall from his eyes. Y/N wrote a song for their song. It’s a rough draft, and he knows she wants him to help her finish it. 

“Atticus knows how much we love him–how much I love him. But I want him to hear this song and know that my love isn’t something that will ever go away. If anything, it’ll only get stronger.” She tells Harry. 

It takes everything in him to not break down because he never expected to be loved this much in life. He expected to be content, but this was beyond anything he could ever dream of. “It’s fucking perfect.”

Y/N shakes her head. “No, it’s not even–” 

Harry stops her, reaching for her hand. He brings it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on her hand. “It’s amazing. You wrote a song for our boy. Sure it’s not finished, but you wrote those lyrics calling our sun the light of our life. The reason the world turns. I have never been able to put into words how much he means to me, but you did it.” 

“I love you,” Y/N reminds him.

“Love you, too. So fucking much.” 

“Will you sing it?” Y/N asks. Those beautiful eyes are staring at him and there is no way he can tell her no.

After so many years together, Harry understands how Y/N writes songs. He can see the melody written out. It’s something that frustrates Tyler because he doesn’t pick up on her cues. Harry tells him not to sweat it, it’s something only they have. Something they have as the perfect pair. 

Y/N plays the melody on the piano as Harry sings the lyrics. The longer he sings, the more he feels his throat close up and by the final lyrics, he’s got tears streaming down his face. “I don’t think I can sing it without crying.” 

She laughs. “You’ll have to try. I want us to record it for Atty. Maybe get it on a record for him.” 

Harry gives her a long kiss. “That sounds like the best idea.” 

Y/N and Harry spent the rest of the day in the studio, knowing Atticus was with Anne for the day allowed them the extra time to be in the studio. By the time dinner rolled around, Harry had ordered them food from her favorite Chinese food restaurant. Y/N reminded him three times not to forget her spring rolls. Over dinner, they discussed the song and how they might want to surprise Atticus. Y/N made him promise not to tell him until they could have it produced by their good friend, Tyler. It would take some time, but it would be worth it. 

Y/N had a last surprise for Harry. They were back to sitting side by side on the piano bench when she passed him her notebook again. “There is one last surprise,” Y/N tells him. She flips the notebook a few more pages. There is a paper. He thinks nothing of it until Y/N turns it around for him.

A sonogram. 

It’s a black photo with a small gray blob in the center. Harry isn’t sure what to think. It can’t be true. Can it?

He squints, picking up the paper, and in the corner has Y/N’s hyphenated name.

“Baby, is this?” He gets out.

“What is it?”

“Are we–are you?” Harry lifts his head to meet her eyes that are brimming with tears. “Are you pregnant?” 

Y/N lets out a joyous laugh, one that finds a place deep in his heart. “Yeah,” she confirms. “I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.” 

“Oh, my goodness.” Harry looks back down at the sonogram. He wants to know everything, but all he can do is cry. Y/N stands up from the bench to move closer to him. Harry turns his body, resting his head on her stomach, Y/N settles her hands on his shoulder. She lets one run through his hair as he takes in the news that they are going to be giving Atticus a sibling. Something he would ask for constantly. They were making a dream come true. 

“Hi, little pea. I’m your Daddy.” 

Harry pulls away from Y/N when he hears a loud sob. “I’m sorry,” Y/N apologies for startling him. “That was–I don’t even know how to explain it, but fuck, you’re so amazing.” 

He drags Y/N to sit in his lap. Harry holds her close, rocking her back and forth, kissing her neck, whispering, I love you. This is something they talked about endlessly. Atticus was their boy. They had always said their family was perfect. Whether they added to their family or not, they are happy, but getting this addition into their life felt right. 

Y/N isn’t sure how much time passes, but she is ready to go home and be with Atticus. As they’re packing up, Y/N steps towards Harry, knowing he might be upset with the only downside to the news of her pregnancy. “H, we can’t tell anyone. Not Atticus. Not even Anne.” 

“But love, how do you expect me to resist?” 

Y/N’s smile is sincere. She knows he wants to scream it from the rooftops. “It’s early,” she stresses. “I want us to make sure everything is okay. That we make it past this first trimester. I know that’s asking a lot for you.”

Harry shakes his head. “Not at all, Lovie. I understand. Your health and the babies are important. I respect that.”

She gives him a kiss. “Thank you.” 

“Let’s get home to our sweet boy.” 

They leave the studio with their hearts full. 

+

It’s been three months and Y/N’s doctor gave them the all clear. Their sweet bub is growing at a good rate and Y/N is doing spectacular. No morning sickness, no weird food cravings (yet) and is glowing. Harry was excited because that meant it was time for them to share the news with their family, but most importantly, to Atticus. 

Harry spent the day getting the surprise ready. The vinyl was in a special box ready to be opened and then played. They’d be doing that first, then give Atticus the news. While Harry ran around getting everything perfect, Y/N laid in the hammock in their backyard with Atticus. They each had a book in hand. Atticus at 9 was reading the Percy Jackson series, something Y/N was excited about because they were some of her favorite books when she was growing up. Now she got to see her son experience everything she did at his age. It helped that she could answer questions he had, without spoilers, of course. 

Y/N set her book down, running her hand through Atticus’ brown locks similar to Harry’s. She knew he’d made a great older brother. She also feared he’d think she’d loved him less with a baby around, which was far from the truth. Atticus was hers, he was her baby boy and nothing or no one could take that from her. Harry likes to joke and say Atticus is her twin instead of his because he takes after her. Atticus has all of Harry’s looks but is everything her child for he has her love of reading. He loves the ocean and could spend hours in there with them. Atty was charismatic and had everyone’s attention as soon as he walked into a room. He exuded confidence and skillfully commanded attention with his voice. Y/N liked to say he picked up on both of their traits, but Harry assured her Atticus was a piece of her. It never failed to make her cry. 

“I love you Atticus.” Y/N told him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

Atticus bookmarked the page he was on. “I love you too, Mum.” 

Y/N wanted to blurt out the news to Atticus, but knew Harry would be upset she did it without him, so she held it in. 

“Forever going to be my sweet boy?” Y/N asks. 

“Course. Going to take care of you all my life,” Atticus promises. 

Y/N smiles. A very Harry answer. “Much appreciated. I think your dad has got you covered.”

Atticus shrugs, “two of us looking out for you isn’t bad.” 

“Glad I’m in safe hands.” 

Atticus goes back to reading but Y/N stays lost in thought, waiting for Harry to announce his arrival. It isn’t much longer when Harry rushes through the backyard, box in hand. Y/N sits up, eager to give it to her son, but Atticus doesn’t seem concerned about his reading. 

“Hi bud, got you something?” Harry shakes the box softly. 

“Two pages left,” Atticus mumbles. 

Harry frowns. “This is your fault.” He points at Y/N.

Y/N gasps. “Please, who bought him an entire library?”

“Again you,” he defends. 

“Technically, your money.”

“Our money,” Harry corrects. 

Atticus is entranced in his reading and Harry uses the time to steal a kiss from Y/N. They refrain from anything too much for Atticus’ sake, but he never minds seeing them give a bit of affection. 

“Chapter done,” Atticus shouts. “Gimme. Gimmie.” He makes grabby hands, but Harry shakes his head, telling him they had to head inside. 

Y/N holds onto Harry’s arm as Atticus rushes inside to the piano room. It’s his favorite room in their Malibu home. The view is perfect. You can see the tides rolling in, one landing on top of another. The sounds perfect to lull someone to sleep. 

Harry sits next to Atticus while Y/N kneels in front of him, her hands pressed together under her chin as she watches him tear the paper. Y/N remembers doing that as a child and knows her mother was a saint for the patience she had. Y/N is close to ripping it herself, but when she sees the brown box, she settles down for a single moment.

Atticus pulls out the record. It’s in a sleeve with a beautiful print of Y/N, Harry and Atticus running through the sand a few months back. Anne had taken it and it became their favorite picture as a family. Harry

thought it would be the perfect fit, and it was. On the top of the cover it read “Atticus’ Song”. His small hands ran over the words as he sounded it out. 

“Is this us?” 

Y/N stroked his cheek. “Yeah, bubs. It’s for you.” 

“Can you play it?” Atticus asks Y/N. 

Harry knew Y/N was nervous. Hell, he was too. There was no worse critic than an honest nine-year-old. As Y/N placed the record on the player, Atticus fiddled with the string of the bracelet he made the other day with Harry. They all had a similar one on their wrist, Atticus having made Y/N’s matching them. Y/N walked back, squeezing next to Harry. Atticus closed his eyes to focus on the opening notes of the song. He was just like Harry, a true critic and admirer of all music. This time was no different. 

The song was slow and had the melody of a lullaby. Harry’s voice welcomed them into the song, with Y/N’s joining him in the chorus. Y/N saw Atticus’ lip twitch during her solo and she couldn’t help but squeeze Harry’s arm. The song ran its course, and they waited patiently for his thoughts. 

“Nice. It was really nice.” 

Y/N let out a deep breath she was holding. Atticus cries, and Y/N panics as she swoops him into her lap before Harry can even move. She holds him tight to her chest as she meets Harry’s worried stare.

“Darling, my darling boy. I got you. I always have you.” Y/N whispers, brushing his hair back, trying her best to soothe him. Y/N rocks him back and forth, letting him get out all his emotions. 

Atticus pulls back, his sniffles the only sound in the room. “Promise I like it.” 

Harry laughs. “Tears would say otherwise, bud.” 

“It–I–I” Atticus isn’t sure how to explain what he felt. “Can we play it every day?” 

Y/N presses a kiss to his temple. “Anything for you.” 

“You wrote it Mumma?” 

Harry scoffs in defense. “What if I did? Huh?” 

Atticus giggles. “Okay, Dad.” 

Harry pouts. Y/N is the stronger song writer, there is no fighting it. “Fine, she wrote most of it.” 

“We did it together,” Y/N answers. 

“It’s my new favorite.” Atticus declares proudly. 

“Good. That’s good. We do have one last surprise.” Harry is eager to share the news.

He stands up and goes for the frame they put the sonogram in for Atticus to keep in his room. While Harry steps out, Y/N settles Atticus in the middle of the sofa for Harry to sit next to him. Honestly, she wants to record this moment but decides it’s better to keep it private between them. Harry comes back with his dimples on display and Atticus is quick to be suspicious. 

“Now close your eyes,” Harry orders. 

Atticus looks weary but does as he’s told. Harry places the frame in his hands and when Atticus opens his eyes, he is looking at their most recent sonogram. It’s clear there is a baby in the middle with its head and body. Atticus would be quick to put it together, but even if he didn’t, the frame reading “Best Brother” would be a dead giveaway. Atticus’ jaw drops at the news. His eyes were not leaving Y/N’s as if he was waiting for them to say “just kidding” because he had waited a long time for this moment. There was a baby in his mum’s stomach. He was going to be an older brother. 

“Is that why you’re always snacking?” Is the first thing Atticus says. 

“Atticus,” Harry shouts playfully. Harry spares a glance at Y/N, unsure how she will react. She’s been a weeping mess, even if she denies it’s the pregnancy hormones. Instead, she surprises him by laughing. It’s a full belly laugh that makes her tear up. 

It is true Y/N had been snacking recently, always something in her hand from a mandarin to banana chips. Harry had stocked up on different snacks on his weekly run to Tesco. He was sure Y/N had almost finished them, but he didn’t mind making all the extra runs out. Anything for his wife. 

“How long do I have to wait to meet them?” Atticus asks when Y/N’s laughter has died down.

Y/N places her hand over her stomach. She hasn’t popped yet, but her doctor told her it would happen soon. Harry had taken photos every day, so she had seen the difference. “About six months to go, Atty.” 

His eyes widened. “Too long.” 

Harry laughs, pushing back Atticus’ growing curls. “Trust me, I know. But we’ve got an important job during this time.”

Y/N smacks Harry’s shoulder. “You don’t have a job, baby. We want you to keep being you. You can talk to us about the baby, about anything.” 

“Can they hear me?” Is his follow up question. 

“Mmm, you can talk to them all you like. Your Daddy certainly likes to do so.” 

“Hey,” Harry pouts. “Thought you liked it.” 

Y/N gives Harry a kiss. “I love it. One of my favorite parts of the day.”

“Okay. Can I do it now?” Atticus asks. 

Harry nods and gestures for him to settle on the couch with Y/N. He sits on Y/N’s lap while Harry is quick to try to move him, wanting him to be careful with her. Y/N simply pulls him closer, and it reminds him of how perfect of a mother Y/N already is. 

He joins his family on the couch, all snuggled close, while they listen to Atticus talk to his sibling. It’s one of the best days of Harry’s life and he can’t wait to make more memories in a few months’ time. For now, he will enjoy these special moments. 

[cobrakaisb]

she's my new dream

summary: in a house in suburban connecticut, may castellan spends her days making peanut butter sandwiches, burnt cookies, and red kool-aid; luke spends his days at camp half-blood, dreaming of his future, an installment in the luke & angel series 

word count: 1.32k

featuring: fluff with a hint of angst? or angst with a hint of fluff? you guys decide, luke’s pov!!, set pre tlt!

song lyrics at the end: i want to write you a song by one direction

italics = may castellan flashbacks, everything else = current/luke’s daydreams

the house with the blue siding and white picket fence was located on the corner of an intersection. it was surrounded by serenity, shrouded from view. most people living there ignored it; they all heard the stories about its inhabitants, or inhabitant rather. the crazy lady, who’s son went missing at nine years old. the woman who spends her days waiting for him to return, who genuinely believes that every boy in the neighborhood is her son. sometimes, when the air is hot and humid, they can smell the burnt chocolate and see the thick, gray smoke floating out the kitchen window. sometimes, when the children are riding up and down the streets on their bikes, they can hear her calling. she repeats the same name, like a prayer. luke…luke…luke

“luke,” you snap, shaking his shoulder vigorously. he jolts awake, shooting upright in his bunk. he takes a deep breath, hands fisting at the white sheets. his head whips around, back and forth. he’s trying to pinpoint the smell of burnt cookies that seems to linger in his nose because he knows she’s not here. 

“luke, hey,” you say, calling his attention. seeing you, in your neon orange shirt, grounds him. he’s not at his mother’s house, he’s in cabin eleven at camp half-blood with you perched on the side of his bed. he meets your gaze, relief flooding his brown eyes. “sorry,” he mumbles. “bad dream?” you ask, looking at him inquisitively. he nods, and you don’t push him further than that, simply tracing the veins in his hands, which are still gripping at the sheets. he relaxes under your touch, finally letting go of the fabric.

the tension in his shoulders fade at the sight of your gentle smile. he feels one take over his own face, and he intertwines his fingers with yours. “everything okay?” he asks, looking at you. you shrug your shoulders, a carefree smile on your face despite the worry in your eyes. “just missing you,” you reply sheepishly, suddenly transfixed by a chip in his bed frame. luke smiles at that, his eyes full of mischief and arrogance. “oh really?” he teases, leaning his chin on your shoulder, so that his lips ghost against the shell of your ear when he speaks. you giggle at the ticklish sensation of his breath on your skin, shoving him back with a hand on his chest. “don’t be weird about it,” you say, standing up from his bed. “the only one being weird about it is you angel.”   

you roll your eyes at his words, shaking your head in disbelief. “i came here to check on you, out of the kindness in my heart, and this is what i get? unbelievable castellan,” you reply, leaning down so that your arms can wrap around his neck. luke grins at your words, dimples indenting his cheeks. “you love it,” he answers, leaning his forehead against yours. the two of you stay there for a moment, basking in the close proximity and quiet atmosphere of the hermes cabin. 

the door slams open, causing you to spring apart. chris storms into the cabin, a handful of other hermes boys following him. they’re all laughing and shoving each other, but one of them freezes when he notices you and luke. “thought you were sick castellan?” he teases, and the group laughs at luke’s red cheeks. “shut up andrew,” he mumbles, pushing the comforter off as he finally gets out of bed. his hand comes to rest on the small of your back as he ushers you out the door. “see you guys later,” chris calls. luke answers for the both of you with a middle finger. 

“that’s not my son’s fate,” she shrieks, vigorously shaking her head. the older girl grimaces at her words, but the younger one is confused, opting to hide behind the raven haired girl instead of facing the older woman. he stands between the woman and the girls, fists clenched at his sides. he wants to reach out, comfort her, but he knows there’s no hope when she’s having one of her episodes. he doesn’t understand what she’s saying, but he has a good enough idea. he lets his eyes drift to the other side of the kitchen, where he sees a plate with a sandwich and a glass of red kool-aid.

luke watches from across the dining pavilion as you cut up the food for a younger camper. they’re blabbing away about something to you, and the whole time you’re nodding your head and smiling, hanging on to each and every word. he sees your lips moving on occasion, adding something to the story the young demigod is telling you. for a moment, he's transported through time, standing in the kitchen of a house that he doesn’t recognize. there are two young children sitting at the table, watching as you make them a sandwich. they are clearly carbon copies of the two of you, and they eagerly take the plates from your hands when you’re done making them lunch. he looks at the food one more time, and realizes that the two kids are eating peanut butter sandwiches. just like him. 

“it’s our turn. get up,” chris says, shoving luke’s shoulder as he walks towards the giant firepit in the middle. luke grunts, disappointed that he couldn’t continue living out his daydream, but he stands up without a second thought. his brown eyes meet your intense stare from across the hall, and he’s met with a small smile that makes his heart burst. for the first time in a long time, he actually prays to a god, begging for his daydreams to become a reality. 

his shoulders are tense, back rigid, as he sits at the dining room table. his eyes dart across the room, following the woman’s every step. she stops in front of him, placing a sandwich and glass down on the table. “eat your lunch baby,” she mumbles, fingers brushing his black curls away from his forehead. he gulps, nodding his head as opposed to speaking. she’s present, but her eyes are in a far off place, seeing things he can’t understand while her ears listen to voices that aren’t really there. he’s waiting for an episode to break out; he’s waiting for his chance to leave.

“what if we just left camp?” luke asks, turning so that he’s looking at you instead of the stars. you laugh breathily at his words, “where would we go?” he doesn’t answer, instead opting to take the moment to look into your pretty eyes, shining with mirth. you blink, lashes resting on your cheeks. he can’t help but think that you look ethereal in the moonlight. “anywhere,” he finally answers, “as long as i’m with you.” you smile at his words, turning so that you're laying on your side, completely facing him. “we could escape to the countryside,” you say, an adrift look in your eyes as your mind wanders. luke’s does too…

a small house in the countryside, with just enough room for your little family. he sees the two children, the ones from before, running around in the grassy terrain. they’re laughing and giggling, completely carefree and unaware of the struggles their parents faced. he’s sitting on a wooden swing, with his arms wrapped around your shoulder. your back is to him, feet curled up to your chest as you read a book. it’s old and well-loved, just like the two of you, but he knows better than to disturb your reading. he can hear the children yelling, begging for luke to join them in their games. “they’re calling for you angel,” you whisper, still entranced by the words on the page. he hums, kissing your shoulder as he gets up from the swing, leaving the veranda. everything is peaceful.  

everything i need i get from you // and giving back is all i wanna do

[remlionheart]

* ˚ ✦ MDNI ✦ ˚ *

Marinade

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ when i first decided that i wanted to write some yuuji angst, i had a v vague idea in my head of what it might look like, but when i tell you that this fic took me for a ride, i mean it. angel boy yuuji itadori finds himself mourning his 22nd birthday rather than celebrating it. sitting alone at a bar, overwhelmed by grief when he's suddenly greeted by the one part of his past that doesn't hurt to look at. 4.9k words. hurt/comfort, angst, smut, fluff, slice of life, shonen, literally everything and anything going on here. i was crying and smiling and rooting for these characters and i'm not sure that i'll ever emotionally recover from writing this, but i'm really happy w the outcome so lemme know whatcha think, luv you ♡ (also shoutout to my girl @bratbby333 for always being my biggest hype-woman and proofreading for me when i've looked at a fic for too long and start to hate it) *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

now playing: marinade by dope lemon

Yuuji hadn't seen you since middle school.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

He remembered you as the girl who had pretty handwriting and a serious affinity for the color blue. The girl who would leave pastel origami hearts on his desk without ever saying why. The girl who'd hide away in the library during lunch instead of eating with the rest of the class. The girl who he'd watch on the bus ride home with a sinking feeling in his stomach, catching the way your eyes glossed over each time the driver stopped in front of your house.

He learned how much you loved to read and write that year. Glancing at you from across the study hall room, secretly jotting down what number was printed along the spine of your book so that he could get you the next one in the series. He'd leave it on your desk before class started, the same way you did with his origami hearts. Never saying a word about it.

He watched you fill countless journals, your face always so concentrated as you poured your thoughts into them. He’d stop by the shopping plaza near his house after school every time he noticed that you’d reached the last page, spending his allowance to make sure there was a new one waiting for you the next morning. Each one he gave you, a different shade of blue.

But it wasn’t until the last day of eighth grade that he finally mustered up the courage to break the not-so-silent-silence the two of you had been sharing for the last 6 months. He sat down next to you, introducing himself even though it went without saying. His eyebrows furrowed a bit when you wordlessly slipped out an earbud and handed it to him. A rare, but visible smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. He held it in his palm for a moment, his eyes drifting along your face as he brought it to his ear, letting the tangled white cord tether the two of you together.

He’d never heard the song before, but he still remembered thinking how fitting it was. Dreamy and melodic - just like you. The singer's voice was full of raw sincerity, adding another layer of atmospheric haze to the already heady beat while the chorus gradually filled the space between you.

He didn't have the right words to explain it at the time, but he felt lucky as he watched you stare out the window that day. Lucky to know how pretty you looked when the sunlight caught the side of your face. Lucky to know which fantasy novels you liked to spend hours losing yourself in. Lucky to know what type of music you listened to when you were deep in thought. Lucky, just to be sitting next to you.

His heart jumped around in his chest when your eyes met his again. Both of you exchanging the same somber smile as you realized what road you were on.

He handed his half of the headphones back to you, secretly relieved at how calm you still seemed despite the fact that your stop was next.

“That song,” he hesitated, the lyrics still swirling through his mind. “what was it –”

But his question came to an abrupt end as the bus began to brake, a new and overwhelming warmth dancing through his veins when he noticed how close you suddenly were to him.

His pupils doubled in size, his breath catching in his throat while you leaned in carefully, pressing the softest kiss against his boyish cheek.

"Have a good summer, Yuuji." you whispered, grabbing your backpack off the floor.

His hand rested where your lips had been, his gaze following you off of the bus. You made it about halfway up your driveway before pausing to look back at him over your shoulder, two lingering smiles blurring past one another as the driver hurried on with her route.

The next two months were filled with sunshine and soccer practice for him. Bike rides and camping trips and basketball courts. His days were usually full, but no matter what he was doing or where he was going, there was one song that was always on the tip of his tongue:

♫⋆｡ ♪ ₊ ﾟ“Do you want me? Just how I am? Do you need me and where I stand?”

One song that would forever remind him of you:

"Let's go steady, let's make a plan. Marinade on that for a little while." ⋆｡ ♪ ₊♬ ﾟ。

And he did.

He marinaded on the infatuation he felt for you the rest of that entire summer.

When August arrived that year and brought everyone back for high school, he was ready.

There were stories he wanted to tell you, questions he wanted to ask you. Playlists he wanted to make with you. Books he'd found while thrifting that he wanted to give to you. Daydreams he had of roaming the halls and laughing with you. Visions of bringing his lunch into the library so he could eat with you. He couldn't wait to hear about your summer. Couldn't wait to catch up with you. Couldn't wait to see you.

Unfortunately for you both though, life had other, much darker plans in store for the pink-haired boy who just wanted to carry around your books for you and hold your hand during passing period.

He was called out of class early on the first day. Forced to leave the building before he even had the chance to see you as he frantically tracked down the nearest shuttle and rushed across town to get to the hospital. His grandpa’s health had been on a slow decline, but after his most recent fall, it had suddenly started to plummet.

Yuuji missed the majority of that week, dedicating all of his time to the man who had essentially raised him. He would bring him food and sit with him for hours even though he was mostly incoherent. He’d tell him about his day and leave flowers by his bedside. He'd watch reruns of old game shows with him that they used to watch when Yuuji was little, completely ignoring the nurses who would say things like, "You need to give yourself a break.”

The hospital staff tried their best to get him to take a day off. To go back to school and live his own life, but Yuuji just couldn’t. His grandpa was the only family he'd ever really had. There was no way he was going to leave him. He ditched the comfort of his bedroom and began sleeping on the cramped hospital futon next to the grey-haired man, teaching himself what each machine hooked up to him was responsible for and what vitals they monitored. He’d sometimes leave throughout the day, but it was only for a couple of hours at most. He'd return with more flowers and books to read to him. By the third week of school, he'd missed almost every single one of his classes, but he didn’t care. His priorities were firm.

Yuuji stayed by his side - day in and day out, until the very end.

When he woke up to the sound of erratic beeping and codes that he didn't understand being called out by nurses, he knew. He knew in his heart that this was it. Amongst the chaos were two sets of shaking hands reaching for each other, his grandpa's last words hanging heavily in the space between them,

“Yuuji... You're a strong kid, try your best to help others, okay?”

He remembered thinking at that moment that there couldn’t be a worse feeling. That he couldn’t possibly have anything else left to lose. He was only 15 and he was now officially all on his own as he watched the only parental figure he had let out his last breath of air.

He had no family, no future, no chance.

Fate was a cruel and calculating thing though. A few days after the funeral, Yuuji discovered that he did have a future. One that was irreversibly sealed the minute he stepped foot into Jujutsu High. He had to let go of everything he'd known in exchange for the damning task of becoming a vessel for Ryomen Sukuna. He had to trade in his mundane role of being a high school freshman for the daunting responsibility of becoming a first-year sorcerer. And arguably the hardest thing of all, he had to give up the simple pleasure of sharing a set of tangled headphones with you to try and save a world that didn't truly care about him.

There was no room for normalcy anymore. This was his new life and it was ending, one day at a time.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

He sat at a nearly vacant bar by himself, staring down the empty glass in front of him, watching the ice melt as he ran a shaky hand along the back of his neck.

It was 4 o'clock and he was only one of two people here this early. The lights and music were still being adjusted by the workers. Cups being stocked and coolers being filled for the inevitable Saturday-night rush that would come in the next few hours. His goal was to be absolutely obliterated by then - to already be on his way back home before the swarm of college students took over.

He paused, noticing the calendar hanging by the craft beer list in front of him. His heart stuttered a bit as he blinked back at the date. No wonder he'd been feeling so reminiscent lately.

He leaned over the counter hoping to find the bartender who'd poured his first drink, but to no avail.

He grabbed his glass, sucking down the very last drop of whiskey it had to offer, trying desperately to drown out the realization that today was his 22nd birthday and the people who should be here with him weren't.

Almost every friend he'd made over the last ten years had been ripped away from him. They were scattered memories. Familiar voices that he did his best to hold onto. Faces, names, deaths that followed him everywhere he went.

Middle school and the innocence of just wanting to hold a pretty girl's hand while she walked down the hallway were long gone. He was an adult now. A very tired and traumatized adult.

He peered around the corner again, half-tempted to jump over the bar and pour himself another drink when the stereo kicked on, an overwhelming wave of pure, deep blue nostalgia flooding over him without warning.

His back straightened, his eyes suddenly darting towards the speaker as the lyrics drifted across his skin, causing every hair on his body to stand up at once.

"She wanted to die by a river. She wanted the tide to come up and drag her away, so that when she's dreamin', she can watch the tree line fall away." ⋆｡ ♪

It was the same hazy melody that he'd spent an entire summer listening to on repeat. He still knew every word, every beat. It was muscle memory the way his fingertips began to drum along the counter when a bartender finally emerged from the back.

"Sorry, do you need a –"

Time stilled, the glass nearly slipping from his hand as your gaze caught his.

"Yuuji?"

Despite how much you'd changed since the last time he saw you, your voice was somehow just as soft as he remembered it being.

He stared back at you in quiet disbelief, guilt quickly settling in the pit of his stomach as he thought about how fucking strange and unexpected this all must feel for you too.

From your perspective, he'd spent all of 8th grade trying to befriend you only to up and leave without even saying goodbye. And now, 7 years later - he was at your work, looking back at you like you were an actual angel, and forgetting every word he knew.

Your eyes stayed locked on his for another moment, both of you studying the person in front of you before you finally let out a shaky breath and smiled at him.

"Here," You offered, suddenly feeling the need to soothe your own nerves too. "On the house."

He tried to tell you that he could pay for it, but it was too late. You were already pouring two shots and motioning for him to put his wallet away.

"Okay, fine. But..." There was a glimmer in his eye as he pulled his glass away from yours. "What are we toasting to?"

The smile he gave you felt like a warm hug. One that you didn't realize you needed until you had it again. "Oh," You stammered, trying to ignore the blood that was rushing to your cheeks. "What about... To old friends?"

He nodded, still wearing the same expression as your drinks lightly knocked together. "To old friends."

He couldn't help but grin again at the little shiver that swept across your body as you finished yours.

Your hair was longer, your features a bit more mature, but your mannerisms were all the same. You were still the girl that was made up of mid-day sunlight, handbound books, and shades of blue that were too pretty to exist in this world.

You grabbed a beer out of the cooler and slid it to him, once again ignoring the credit card he tried to hand you. "Yuuji, relax." you leaned against the counter, resting your head in your hands so that you were eye-level with him. "They're not gonna go bankrupt over a $2 IPA, I promise."

"If you say so."  

You both exchanged the same small smile, his finger lightly running along the counter. "So," he cleared his throat, completely unsure of where to start. "How've you been?"

It was a loaded question, maybe even a dumb question considering how much time had passed, but he didn't care. He really did want to know how you'd been. What you'd been up to. What type of things you'd been writing about. What your Spotifty playlists looked like. What you did on your days off. He wanted to know everything. All of it.

"Well," you exhaled, trying to find an easy way to condense the last seven years of your life. "My parents..." your eyebrows furrowed, realizing that you'd never gotten the chance to tell him why you used to dread your old bus route so much. "My parents finally got divorced..."

“Oh shit, I’m sorry -"

“No,” You said swiftly, not wanting him to feel bad for asking. "It was more of a relief than anything. They used to fight, a lot. My mom wasn't always the nicest when she drank... It probably should've happened way sooner to be honest."

His breathing slowed as memories of you with tears in your eyes walking up your driveway smashed through his mind. He'd promised himself that he would ask you about it one day, but he had no idea it'd be this much later on. He'd wanted to talk to you about it as kids. Wanted to know what scared you so much about going home, but he didn't know how. It was the reason why he left journals on your desk. The reason why he never let you go without the next book in your series.

For everything he couldn't say, he tried to show. But he'd failed you on both accounts the day he disappeared.

"My parents separated my -" you paused, eyes dragging to his as you corrected yourself. "our graduation year."

He nodded, doing his best to digest the thought of you walking down the aisle in a cap and gown with the weight of your parents' downfall on your shoulders.

"But, after that," you smiled slightly. “I applied to college and got accepted. Started working here. Got my own apartment. And I don't know...” you shrugged, "I think in a weird way, things happened the way they were supposed to. It was like everything needed to fall apart before it got better, you know?"

He smiled back at you, your last sentence lingering in the space between you as he reached for your hand. He probably wouldn't have understood that sentiment a year ago, but watching your eyes widen while your fingers slowly tangled into his, he knew exactly what you meant now.

"I'm really sorry I wasn't there..." His thumb brushed against the side of your hand, steadying himself as he let 15-year-old him and 22-year-old him come together to say what they had both been holding onto for so long. "I didn't want to leave. I just -"

Your heart swelled in your chest, watching him blink back tears he wasn't prepared to shed. "Life got really hard for a really long time for me too. But, whenever I felt myself drifting... I thought of you. Thought of the way you'd glance at me from over your book during class. Thought of the way you smiled when you thought no one was watching. I thought of you... all the time. And it was like, no matter how dark things got, it reminded me that life could be good, because it was at one point. So..."

Your hand tightened around his, two sets of glossy eyes now staring back at each other as he forced himself to say what he should've years ago. "I'm sorry that I wasn't there, but... I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere."

You were dizzy with emotion. Swimming through feelings that you'd kept buried for nearly the last decade. The thoughts you'd only been brave enough to write down. The overwhelming urge to kiss him again and again and again until neither one of you had any air left in your lungs.

Your mouth opened and then closed, your body saying more than you were capable of with how desperately you were holding onto him.

You weren't sure what you were doing. Didn't have time to think or care about the repercussions of your impulsiveness.

"Hey Mai," You called out, "I'm really not feeling well. Think I'm gonna go home."

Yuuji's head was shaking no, but the surprised smile tugging at the corner of his mouth was saying otherwise. "What're you doing?" he whisper-shouted, watching you run around the bar to grab his hand again.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Mai yelled from the back, but it was too late.

You and Yuuji were already gone, practically sprinting alongside each other, laughing as you booked it across the parking lot.

"First the free beer and now this?"

"They won't go bankrupt over me missing one day." You winked. "C'mon, I wanna show you something."

You may have been leading the way, but he was still the athlete between the two of you, purposefully slowing himself down to not be right on your heels. But when he noticed you starting to pant as the road curved into an upward slope, he reached out for you, gently spinning you around to face him.

"Come here." he knelt down, positioning himself so that you could easily wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

He carried you piggy-back style up the hill, the sun fading into an array of pink and orange as you pointed out every bookstore around campus, explaining which ones were your favorites and why. Promising to get matcha with him tomorrow at a local coffee shop you passed. Asking him about his time at Jujutsu High and trying to wrap your mind around what little he was able to tell you as he swore that he'd fill you in on the full story when the time was right. You caught him up on what he'd missed the last three years of high school and how your college classes had been going. You talked about libraries and ghosts and laughed about how in 7th grade he'd joined the occult club just because he thought it'd be an easy after-school credit.

By the time you'd finally reached the spot you'd wanted to show him, the moon had almost completely replaced the sun. Your cheeks hurt from smiling and your hands were full of a mixture of different flowers that he'd picked for you along the way.

"This is..." he trailed off, watching the sky shift into a deep blend of blue and silver. "Beautiful. How'd you even find this place?"

It was an abandoned park surrounded by overgrown trees that overlooked the city, only one rusted swing set left to its name. The hike you had to endure just to find it had more than likely been the cause of its demise, trekking up here with a backpack was hard enough, let alone a stroller.

"I kinda found it by accident." You shrugged. "I was working on an art project and needed a good view of the skyline. I looked up a bunch of different places online, but then I saw this spot and just knew."

Yuuji pulled off his hoodie, sweat trickling down his neck from the late-summer heat as the two of you sat in the grass, his arm gently wrapping around your waist.

There had been so many times you'd sat in this exact same spot by yourself, wondering what the odds were that you were both somehow looking up at the same star.

Your head rested on his shoulder, a warm gust of air swirling around you as you both looked out into the distance, watching the way the stars faded into the Tokyo lights.

"Hey, Yuuji?" You twirled a blade of grass between your fingers, not wanting to ruin the moment, but still needing to be sure.

"Yeah?"

"You promise, right?"

"Hm?" He could hear the concern in your voice, his grip tightening as he pulled you closer.

"You promise that... you're not leaving again?"

"I swear, I'm not going anywhere. And if I do," His eyes returned to yours, his free hand attentively resting under your chin. "I'm taking you with me."

You nodded, warmth washing over you as he traced along your jawline, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

Your fears were lost to his touch. Your worries dissolving into the sincerity of his voice. Your need for reassurance wholeheartedly met when his hand cupped your cheek and his lips finally caught yours. Seven years' worth of pent-up feelings pouring out between the two of you, hands roaming and little moans slipping out between breaths while you tugged on the collar of his shirt to bring him closer. He was gentle but eager. Soft but secure. Perfect, in every way.

He hovered over you, easing you onto the grass as he made a makeshift pillow out of his hoodie for you to rest your head on.

You smiled as his lips drifted from your mouth to your neck, his palm delicately traveling up your shirt, pulling your bra to the side while he helped slide your tank-top up over your head. He kissed your collarbones, whispering sweet little praises into your skin. "You're gorgeous, you know that?"

He rested a hand under your back, steadying you as his tongue flickered across your chest. He took his time, making sure to give each nipple the same amount of attention, still humming things like, "the prettiest girl I've ever seen" while his hand traced over your hip.

He tugged at the waistline of your shorts, looking up at you through his lashes as he began to leave featherlight kisses along the inside of your thigh, his blood racing at the sounds you were suddenly making.

"Does that feel good, baby?"

You whimpered out a broken "yes", practically dripping when his fingers spread you apart. He watched you writhe beneath him, drawing slow but firm circles around you. Trying not to lose himself to the way your legs were already shaking for him.

"Yuuji," you whined. "I -" his mouth was ghosting your center, his fingers still playing with your clit while he held you in place. "I n - need you." your voice was heady, lost somewhere in the clouds the faster he went. "I wanna f - feel you, so bad."

"Yeah?" He smiled, his breath still fanning across your core as his digits prodded carefully at your entrance. He groaned at how beautifully your walls swallowed him. "I wanna feel you too."

Your head lulled back, eyes pointed at the sky while your hand tangled into his pink hair. His mouth was warm and heavenly, his tongue running uppp and dowwnnn your center, saliva mixing with slick while his fingers plunged into you.

"Oh, fuck."

He only went deeper the louder you got, flattening his tongue against you with just the right pressure to keep you saying his name. His ring and middle finger hitting spots you'd never been able to reach yourself. You were clenching around him, your thighs locking around his head as you rocked against his tongue.

"Yuuji - you're gonna make me -" he thought it was adorable the way you struggled to get more than two words out at a time. "Fuck, I -"

"Mhmm, just like that."

He was in the same daze you were, sliding in and out of you feverishly until he finally felt the blissful release of your walls spasming around him. Your body suddenly unable to hold it in any longer as you gave him the privilege of really tasing you.

"Oh my god," he moaned, faithfully lapping up every bit of you he could get, only pulling away when you started begging for him.

"Yuuji -" It was needy and light-headed. "Come here, come here. Please."

The way he lifted his head up, smiling at you with your cum dripping down his chin made something inside you ache.

You pulled him towards you, desperately wrapping your legs around his waist as he began undoing the buttons on his pants. He kissed you, again and again and again, using it as a pleasant distraction while he wriggled himself free.

He took a breath, both of you watching in blitzed out awe as he lined himself up with you. "I love you." he whispered, your eyes widening from the blend of his words and the feeling of his tip slowly entering you. "Always have."

His hair brushed against your forehead as he parted your lips with his tongue, your nails digging into his neck with his first full thrust. You were so tight and warm around him.

He tried to ease into you, encouraging you while also making sure you were comfortable. His voice sweet as honey as he asked you things like, "Is that okay, baby?" and "Aw, you like when I go deep like that, huh?"

Your gaze locked with his, your eyebrows knitting together the faster his rhythm became.

You'd thought about this moment before. Thought about what it might feel like, but nothing could've prepared you for the way your heart would race at the sound of him moaning, "You're doing so good for me." The way he'd hold you, looking back at you with stars in his eyes as he filled every inch of you.

"Yuuji -"

"Let it out, baby. S'okay." He whispered, his hand reaching for yours. "I've got you."

Your vision was blurred by the feeling of his tip meeting your cervix, warm summer air brushing against your skin as you reached your breaking point.

"I love you." The words left your mouth so fast you barely had time to register them, but then... they wouldn't stop. It was the only phrase you remembered how to say. The only emotion you remembered how to feel. "I love you." you whimpered again, feeling yourself tighten around him as your confession became more frantic. "Oh - mygod, Yuuji. I love you. I love you. I love - you."

His movements were suddenly beyond his control, his body completely succumbing to the grip of yours. "Fuck, baby - I -" He didn't know if he should pull out. Didn't know if he could pull out. His head was everywhere, his mouth dropping open the longer he watched you.

Your legs locked around him in heady reassurance. "Mm'mm, d - don't stop." You panted. "Cum with me."

It was a sentence he'd only ever thought he'd be lucky enough to hear you say in his dreams.

His hips stilled after one more thrust, your walls holding him tight as he began to twitch inside you. His forehead pressed against yours, his arms struggling to keep him propped up.

You exchanged the same exhausted smirk, leaning up to kiss him while he carefully pulled out of you. A blend of fluids spilling out onto the grass beneath you as he laid by your side with his forearm over his face, trying to regain his composure.

There was a calm silence that settled between you, the both of you looking up at the stars before you rolled over to reach for your shorts, letting him catch his breath while you dug something out of the back pocket.

"Here." You said, unraveling a tangled pair of headphones and handing him one.

His eyes widened with the same curiosity they had 7 years ago as he held it to his ear, your head resting on his chest while a song he knew all too well flowed through the small speakers connecting you. A smile splitting across his face as he held you closer.

"You know, I think you were right." he exhaled, running light fingertips along your arm. "Everything did have to fall apart before it got better."

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[space-matt]

Against time

chris sturniolo x reader

summary: many moments, laughter and 'I love you,' but is time on their side?

request: no

author’s note: hello there! I got the inspiration while listening to the song mentioned in the story, I hope you can appreciate it :)

tell me what you think!♡

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺

English is not my first language, if you see grammar and typing mistakes, I apologize in advance! I just ask you not to be rude to me ♡

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺

The city of Los Angeles sprawled out before us, its lights shimmering like a sea of stars dancing on the rain-soaked streets, casting an otherworldly glow.

It was Friday night, and the traffic moved at a snail's pace as I gazed out the window, enveloped in my own thoughts.

Chris was at the wheel, his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, his expression grave. Despite his serious demeanor, I could sense the underlying concern in his eyes. We had been inseparable over the past year, but something had changed in recent months.

The easy laughter had disappeared, our late-night phone calls had dwindled, and the deep, meaningful conversations under the starlit sky seemed like a distant memory. Now, everything felt uncertain.

The tender melody of "Time is Not On Our Side" by The Vamps filled the room, its bittersweet notes weaving through the air.

As the lyrics washed over me, a profound sense of melancholy settled in my chest. It felt as though the song was speaking directly to the fleeting nature of my relationship with Chris.

Time was slipping through our fingers, and I couldn't shake the feeling of irretrievable loss.

"Chris," I whispered, my voice cracking with emotion. He tore his gaze from the road, his expression etched with concern as he looked at me.

"What's the matter?" he inquired, his voice gently carrying a hint of weariness.

I hesitated, the weight of my unspoken thoughts pressing down on me. After a moment, I mustered the courage to voice the question that had been haunting me for weeks. "Do you ever get the sense that we're running out of time?"

Chris gazed at you, his expression heavy with emotion. "Yeah" he murmured, his voice tinged with sadness. "I feel it every single day."

His words landed like a blow, confirming that the feeling wasn't just in your mind. He was experiencing it too.

"I always imagined we'd have more time" Chris confessed, his voice steady but weighted with feeling.

"More time to savor life, to discover new things, to navigate our path. But time keeps slipping away from us."

His words resonated deeply, echoing the truth you both struggled to confront. The whirlwind of obligations and responsibilities had taken its toll, gradually driving a wedge between you, even when you were physically together.

"Remember our time in Boston?" Chris interjected, breaking the heavy silence that enveloped you. "It was winter, bitterly cold outside. We cocooned ourselves under the covers for hours, losing ourselves in movies as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist."

You nodded, a wistful smile dancing on your lips. It was a treasured memory, a time when everything seemed to align perfectly. Time stood still, and you were simply two souls in love, unencumbered by worries or doubts.

But now? It felt like a distant dream.

"I don't know what changed" Chris confessed, his voice quivering with emotion. "But I miss that time. I miss you."

His words pierced through your heart. You longed to express the same sentiment, to convey how much you missed him even when he was right there beside you.

Yet, the words seemed to choke in your throat. There was an ocean of unspoken feelings between the two of you, and time never seemed sufficient to confront them.

"I don't want to lose you" Chris interjected suddenly, his tone tinged with urgency. "I can't fathom my life without you, but..."

"But what?" you murmured, anxiety quickening your heartbeat.

"But time isn't on our side." He turned to meet your gaze, his eyes filled with anguish. "We're being pulled in different directions by so many things, and it seems that every time we attempt to mend things, something else drives us apart."

The myriad of emotions reflecting in his eyes left you feeling overwhelmed, as if the world was crumbling around you, and all your opportunities were slipping away with the passage of uncontrollable time.

"What do you want to do?" Chris questioned, his voice tinged with desperation.

You were at a loss for words. Undoubtedly, you loved him. However, love no longer seemed to be enough. The burden of time, the weight of expectations, and the harsh truth that life waits for no one all crowded your thoughts.

"I don't know" you finally confessed, the strain evident in your voice. "I don't want to lose you either, but it feels like we're helpless against all of this. Time... it's slipping through our fingers, and I don't know how to halt it."

Chris peered out of the window, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. “There’s a part of me that just wants to escape from all of this, to abandon everything with you and leave the world behind. But I know we can’t do that.”

The notion of running away together and starting anew, leaving everything behind, had always lingered in the depths of your minds. However, both of you understood that it was merely a figment of imagination. Reality was far more intricate.

You let out a deep sigh and locked eyes with him. "Do you think there’s still a chance for us?"

Chris didn’t respond immediately. A prolonged silence enveloped the room, interrupted only by the gentle melody playing in the background.

Eventually, he turned to you, and in his eyes, there was a glimmer of something that had been absent for a while. "Yes" he murmured softly. "But we both have to desire it. We have to figure out a way to halt time—or at least not let it govern us."

Those words, despite their simplicity, ignited a faint glimmer of hope within you. Perhaps not all was lost. Maybe, if both of you truly exerted effort, you could salvage what you once had. Maybe you could still defy time, at least for the two of you.

"If we both believe in it, we can make it" you responded, clasping his hand.

Chris nodded, and even though you were aware that the path ahead would be arduous, in that moment, with your intertwined hands and the world outside continuing its motion, you sensed that, at least for now, time was finally on your side.

--------------------------------------------------------

Taglist:  @xoxo4chrisss @soimightlikeoldmen69 @bernardsbendystraws @tillies33ssss @junnniiieee07 @ivysturnss @sturniolosreads @mayhem-72 @dracoflaco @lyzsaphrodite @ifilwtmfc @c00ch13destroyer

[solaireverie]

sv5 | stars all aligned and they intertwined

pairing: sebastian vettel x f!singer!reader

summary: [ social media au ] despite parting ways years ago, you and sebastian somehow find each other again (or: sebastian becomes your wag after his retirement)

warnings: language

faceclaim: anne hathaway + pinterest

author's note: seb is literally the definition of a wife guy. i love him so much. enjoy!

liked by phoebebridgers, oceanblvd, sebastianvettel and 3,459,127 others

yourusername the biggest thank you to everyone who came last night. i adore adore adore all of you with my whole entire heart ❤️

view comments

user MOTHERRRRR I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THANK YOU FOR THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE!!!!!!

↪ yourusername i'm so glad you enjoyed it 🥰

↪ user holy shit y/n l/n replied to me i can die happy now 😵‍💫

user the finger in the first pic??? y/n girl are you trying to tell us something 🤨

↪ user i don't get it? does it mean anything special?

↪ user it's one of the most famous celebrations of ex-formula 1 driver sebastian vettel. they dated a while ago and he was at her concert last night!!!!

↪ user awww that's cute 🥺

sebastianvettel Always lovely to see you again 😄

↪ yourusername likewise 💕

liked by sebastianvettel, gigihadid, charles_leclerc and 874,935 others

tagged: sebastianvettel

yourusername behind the scenes 🎥

view comments

user new music soon??? 👀👀👀

↪ yourusername maybe 😉

charles_leclerc 🤍🤍🤍

↪ yourusername ❤️❤️❤️

user seb and charles in the likes 😳 ariana what are you doing here?

↪ user seb's also tagged lololololol the rumors are terrible and cruel but honey most of them are (probably) true ✨

sebastianvettel Mein engel ❤️ [ my angel ]

↪ yourusername mein weltmeister (und fotograf) 💕 [ my world champion (and photographer) ]

↪ user absolutely unwell over this interaction. what do you mean seb took the photos. why are they calling each other pet names in german. UNWELL.

↪ charles_leclerc trust me it's worse in person

liked by lewishamilton

↪ user charles?!?!?!??!?! lewis?!?!??!?!??! y/n's collecting all the fast car boys fr 😭

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo, charles_leclerc and 481,359 others

tagged: yourusername

sebastianvettel These hands had to let it go free and this love came back to me

view comments

yourusername this love is alive back from the dead ❤️

liked by sebastianvettel

user THEY'RE SO FREAKING CUTE?????????

user so happy for them 🥺 it was really obvious that they were in love and that it was just bad timing the first time around...

charles_leclerc mom & dad :)

↪ yourusername who taught him this??? charles darling i'm afraid i'm not quite at that age yet

↪ danielricciardo i claim the fifth

↪ yourusername you're not even american 😑

user the caption sounds a lot like a lyric 👀

liked by yourusername

liked by sebastianvettel, dyl.an, billboard and 7,936,872 others

tagged: sebastianvettel

yourusername I fell terribly in love with someone when I was in my mid-twenties, before either of us knew who we were. It was a love that people write tragedies about, a cautionary tale told to children for years to come, a car wreck you can’t look away from. In the end, I walked away from everything we’d built with tears in my eyes and walls around my heart. 

I don’t regret the paths I chose and sacrifices I made. The starkest realizations I’ve had about myself came in the days after, when I cried myself to sleep and pretended I didn’t know his name. I created some of my most beautiful music when I couldn’t enter a room without seeing him in the crowd. I grew from the experience the way forests grow back after a wildfire.

However, I always regretted letting go of him. He was the one I knew I could always count on, the one who held me in my darkest days, the one whose smile I searched for wherever I went, despite knowing I was the one who erased it from my life.

Ten years later, after I had already buried everything we once shared, I received a text from an unknown number. 

What came next is well-documented in pictures, notes scribbled on coffee cups, and train tickets across Europe. While we may have been the right person at the wrong time a decade ago, patience rewards those who wait.

I found myself falling for him all over again. It felt like a homecoming and a rebirth at the same time. We had changed and matured in our time apart, but we still knew each other like the backs of our hands. At his core, he is still the man I loved, and something in my soul knew that. 

Love is a strange thing. It is something we feel deep in our beings yet something we will never fully understand. It is untameable, maddening, and fickle. It is also enchanting, captivating, and thrilling. If there’s someone in your life who loves you, count yourself lucky. If you love someone, I hope they appreciate you.

This album is both a love letter to him and for him. It is an ode to his figure against the sunrise and arms around my waist. It’s a time capsule of carnival games, elaborate bouquets, and endless late-night conversations. I treasure each and every second I get with you, especially the ones we spent writing some of the tracks together.

My love, adore adore adore is yours.

comments on this post have been limited

likes and reblogs are appreciated!

masterlist

for the nerds like me, here's a breakdown of y/n's music in this verse

[neptunesgrl]

Things that my redacted favs do that are true because I said so

SWEETHEART, LASKO, GUY

SWEETHEART:

- Calls Milo angel in private, had a couple drinks and it ended up slipping out in front of the pack. David looked very confused for the rest of the night and proceeded to call SH in the middle of the night to say “what do you know”, “what did they (Angel) tell you”, etc. Angel found it incredibly amusing.

- Drinks scotch. Rarely, since it makes Milo uncomfortable. They had it in their apartment once and after they’d learned of his father’s struggle with it, they made sure to keep it out of sight when he came over. Hasn’t bought a bottle since they moved in.

- Reverse pick-pockets everyone. Hates when people make a big deal out of apologies or big emotional things. Their way to avoid it is to make silent apologies. Often but not limited to leaving a couple hundreds in their wallet, cause we all know SH makes bank.

- Nicknames for Milo include: Mi, angel (as previously mentioned), hun/honey, babe.

- Takes the NYT crossword incredibly seriously and looks forward to it more than they’d like to admit

- Raised in New England. Hopes to move back if they decide to have kids, that is until they gain their powers, and need to move back to Dahlia.

Side note: Their child listening to ‘California’ by Chappell Roan on full blast in their room and giving SH war flashbacks

- Has gained a slight NJ/NY accent from Milo. Slips out when they get mad. Specifically with the words: ‘jackass’, ‘told her (so i told ha)’, ‘off (awf)’, ‘call (just cawl me)’, etc.

LASKO:

- Constantly holding Dear’s hand. At first, it was difficult for him to initiate, but once he realized it was the least embarrassing thing he could ask for, it became habit. Sometimes Dear slides their thumb to his wrist to check his pulse when he’s nervous.

- (UNEMPOWERED AU) Dear is an EMT. Sirens used to startle and disturb Lasko, now he finds comfort in knowing Dear is getting to save people (corny and tooth rotting fluff ik)

- Once, Lasko wore Dear’s fleece that went with their uniform since they’d left it at his place and it was too cold to go out without one. It took him 10 minutes of pacing at the front door to go outside and grab the food he ordered. Just in case someone on the 2 second walk down there would need medical attention and thought he could help since he’d be wearing the EMT jacket.

- He owns every single PJO book and shamelessly reads them at least once a year. He’s in the Zeus cabin (obviously). Grover’s his favorite, because in his words, “he’s the only one worried about the logistics.”

- ‘Guilty as Sin?’ is THEIR SONG. I will not be taking any criticisms at this time or ever. It’s just the lyrics about feeling guilty for thinking about the other in that way. Like are you kidding me. ‘I’ve screamed his name, building up like waves’ DEAR WE KNOW ITS YOU IN THE WRITERS ROOM.

GUY:

(these are mostly fem leaning i am so sorry)

- Watched The Real Housewives. Insists Jersey is peak, Honey agrees. They take the finales very seriously. Honeys favorite is Margaret, Guys favorite is Melissa. He insists Honey and him are exactly like Joe and Melissa. I have RHONJ brainrot save me.

- Uses a sleep eye mask from dollar tree that says ‘nap queen’ on it. Found it in Honeys childhood bedroom.

- Raised in NYC (Brooklyn), insists he knows how to use the subway and always gets lost. Honey cracked the code within 2 days.

- Had headgear in high school. No further explanation. That’s it. That’s the HC.

- Child of…

🥁

🥁

🥁

dddiiivvvooorrrccceee!!!! i’m projecting He is so Chandler Bing coded don’t lie.

- Somewhere down the line, he’d like to write a book about him and Honey. Whether they work out or not. Very “You were a wonderful experience” / “You were…everything.” coded. Can you tell that not only am i awful at it, but I hate angst?

- Love letters EVERYWHERE. On dressers, in nightstand drawers, on the windshield of Honeys car, this man will find anywhere to put one of the many notes he has written gushing about his partner.

☕️📰🤍

This has been in my drafts for so long I feel emotional posting it. Please take good care of my baby.

[bachissidehoe]

it's only just begun - isagi y.

chapter 1 of 7 of the blue lock band series. chapter 2. chapter 3. chapter 4. chapter 5. chapter 6. chapter 7.

synopsis: y/n was the number one fan of the underground alternative rock band known as "Blue Lock", who after earning a well-deserved following through a viral single, left her wondering if they'd even remember her if they saw her- if he'd remember her. and why would he? y/n's no longer the only Blue Lock fan to have an unrequited crush on their lead singer.

warnings: smut; fingering; penetration; overstimulation; degradation; unprotected sex; dominant isagi; fem reader; minors DNI

disclaimer: all songs referenced are credited to THE DEEP END

note: my first fic on tumblr! pls show some love and i'll be posting more content here from now on :)

w.c. 4.3k

And just like that, Blue Lock was no longer her secret little band that she felt like she had all to herself. It was fun while it lasted, but when their single “It’s Only Just Begun” took off almost a year ago, y/n slowly fizzled out of Isagi Yoichi’s life into the category of just another fan of his. 

She can’t help but feel a little upset at times, she really enjoyed talking to Blue Lock’s front man nearly every day. It felt like she was part of it. She remembers when they were writing their hit song and Isagi would run some lyrics by her- after all- it only makes sense that Isagi would take his #1 fan’s professional opinion into consideration. 

As for the other band members- it’s likely they knew of her. They followed her on Twitter and occasionally replied to some of her comments. But it was nothing like her closeness with the lead singer. 

Regardless, she still follows every single one of them on all social media and keeps up with their new releases. She even follows their manager and their stage director. And she’s proud of them, too. They’re a good band, they deserve this. They’ve always deserved to become as famous as they are now. So when their tour dates were released, y/n was the first in the queue, purchasing a single ticket.

And now she stands among the large crowd, the large crowd they deserve, listening to the beautiful sound of Isagi Yoichi’s voice followed by cheers and screams from his thousands of adoring fans. She can’t even bring herself to sing along, not even with the harmonies of the other band members, she doesn’t want to drown out any of his hypnotic, captivating voice. The way his mouth moves against the microphone, his vocal fry when he hits a high note, how he tosses his hair to the side to shake the sweat away, his smiles to the crowd- she wonders if he remembers her. 

Alright, fine. Maybe y/n had a crush on Isagi Yoichi: the lead singer of Blue Lock, the man of many talents who not only sings like an angel, but plays guitar, keys, and even the saxophone. Maybe y/n still does have a crush on Isagi Yoichi. 

She probably wouldn’t be waiting with a crowd of much younger teenage girls by the backstage exit in hopes she’d get to catch a glimpse of him on the way out of the venue if she didn’t have just a slight crush. She probably wouldn’t be telling herself “I’ll wait all night if I have to” if she didn’t have just a little crush on-

“Excuse me?” 

Y/n turns around, catching the eyes of a woman about her age, dressed in the venue’s work uniform. She points to herself, mouthing “me?” to the woman. 

The woman nods.

“Yes, what’s up?” She asks, stepping away from the crowd so she can hear her. 

“I just have a quick question, do you mind stepping off to the side?” The woman asks politely, professionally. She works here, obviously, so maybe it’s important. Maybe they found something of hers she dropped somewhere.

Y/n shrugs, looking back at the crowd for a moment. She’ll surely lose her spot, maybe even lose her chance to catch the eyes of Isagi Yoichi on his way back to his hotel. But it’s probably dumb anyway. She seems to think seeing him will make him want to talk to her again, maybe even fall in love with her, maybe even-

“Sure.” She says, ditching her childish chances to date the band member of her dreams. 

“I’m sorry to pull you away.” The woman says. “I just didn’t want to say anything too loud over there.”

“What do you mean?” Y/n tilts her head to the side. 

“Are you l/n y/n?” 

“Yes.” 

“Great! I was told to look for the girl dressed in the blue skater skirt and fishnets, but there’s quite a few of those around.” She chuckles. 

“What is this about?” Y/n asks again. 

“Oh, my bad. One of the band members said he knows you. So he was hoping you’d wanna come back and say hi.” 

Y/n’s heart flip flops in her stomach, and she instinctively squeezes her legs together to prevent the inevitable moment where said heart drops out of her body entirely. He remembers her- or at least one of them does. Enough to notice her in the crowd and ask to see her. She could scream. She wants to run back over to those teenage girls and tell them they lost. 

“Are you fucking with me?” Y/n asks, a look of shock plastered across her face. 

The woman laughs. “No, no. I’m serious.”

“I- I-” She stutters, trying to collect herself. It shouldn’t be like this. They’re just old friends, she doesn’t need to act like a deer caught in the headlights. She takes a breath. “I’d love to say hi.” 

Suddenly she’s being snuck around to the back of the venue, through a door, and down a long hallway. She considers the possibility of this being a joke and her being robbed and murdered, but she’d honestly rather that than miss the chance to see Isagi Yoichi. 

“You found her!” An ever familiar voice, a gorgeous one. It reaches her ears and penetrates the deepest reserves of her brain that she’s set aside for content relating specifically to him. 

And he’s there, sitting on a plush beanbag clutching his guitar, his hair sweaty and stuck to his forehead. 

“Isagi.” Y/n breathes out, smiling, her heart racing. It feels like it’s going a mile a minute. It didn’t actually fall out of her chest before, but it very well might now.

And Isagi, he’s beaming. He’s cheerful as ever, likely hyped from the amazing show they just put on. 

“Y/n!” His expression changes to a light, playful smirk. “Thought I told you to call me Yoichi.” 

“I- um-” She stutters, wishing she’d just be able to play it cool. “You’re right. I guess it’s been a while.” She scratches behind her head, becoming increasingly aware of the many eyes on her standing at the door of their backstage common area. 

“I missed you!” He stands up, leaving his guitar strewn on his beanbag chair as he walks over to her, wrapping his comforting arms around her shaky body. 

He missed her.

“I- missed you- too.” She manages. “You’re amazing.” 

“Oh stop.” He shrugs off her compliment with a kind smile. “Guys, remember y/n? She was one of our OG’s.” He turns toward his band mates, one of his arms lazily strung over y/n’s shoulders. It might actually send her into a psychotic spiral. 

“How could I forget the one who helped us decide on “always be the anchor in the back of my mind” for that verse?” The gorgeous lead guitarist flashes her a flirty smile. 

And y/n’s attention is suddenly directed toward someone besides the lead singer- the other six people in the room besides a few workers- the members of Blue Lock, the up and coming alternative rock band. 

Isagi Yoichi: Lead singer, keys & guitar Chigiri Hyoma: Lead guitar, vocals Nagi Seishiro: Backup guitar, vocals Itoshi Rin: Bass guitar, vocals Itoshi Sae: Drums Mikage Reo: Band manager Bachira Meguru: Stage director

“Chigiri, yeah. I did help out with that one, huh.” She giggles. “Great to see you again, and um, great to meet you.” She directs her attention to the manager and stage director, who were relatively recently brought into the scene. By the time Mikage and Bachira were hired, the band had already gotten fairly famous, and y/n had already basically lost touch with the original five members. 

“It’s an absolute pleasure.” Bachira smiles.

“Great to meet you, Blue Lock’s number one OG fan.” Mikage greets her. 

Of course, in obsessively keeping up with Blue Lock’s endeavors even after Isagi stopped talking to her personally, she’s well aware of the story behind Bachira and Mikage’s addition. Bachira is Isagi’s high school best friend, and Mikage is Nagi’s high school best friend. When she found out the two of them were brought on, she honestly was a little jealous. But they’re just as gorgeous as the band members, and meeting them in person is sending her body into overdrive. Plus, with Isagi’s arm still over her shoulders, she may as well be dripping down her leg. 

“C’mere, we have so much to catch up on.” Isagi leads y/n over to the couch, sitting her next to Nagi as he sits back in the beanbag chair across from her. 

“Are you catching up on the bus ride? Because we’re leaving for the hotel.” The unbothered drummer speaks up. “Or you can stay here and fuck her on the couch for all I care.” 

Y/n can almost feel her skin melting off at Itoshi Sae’s comment. 

“Hah! Well we’re not playing here again, so who cares?” Chigiri chimes in with a laugh, slapping the older Itoshi’s back. 

“May as well go back to her place.” Nagi shifts his body slightly, bringing his left thigh flush against y/n’s on the couch. It looks like he’s hardly noticed, but y/n definitely has. It makes her want to press harder into him, maybe even lay on top of him- the irresistible snowy-haired fan favorite. “I’ll come too.” 

“No you won’t.” Isagi playfully rolls his eyes. “And nobody’s going back to anyone’s place! I just wanted to say hi and talk to her!” 

“Unfortunately, Isagi, Sae’s right and we do have to be heading out.” The manager chimes in, holding his phone to his ear as he talks to who y/n can only assume is the tour bus driver. 

“Gonna have to talk to your lukewarm girlfriend another time.” The younger Itoshi slings his bass over his shoulders. 

Itoshi Rin was definitely insulting y/n just now, but she still feels an electric pulse rocket through her body when his emerald eyes meet hers. He could insult her any time. Plus, he called her Isagi’s girlfriend. 

“That’s all good, um, I’m glad I got to say hi-”

“No! Sae’s right, just come back to the hotel and hang for a bit.” Isagi suggests. “I feel bad, I haven’t talked to you in forever, I missed ya.” 

Y/n feels like she could combust, knowing that everyone else in the room is considering Isagi’s potential ulterior motives. She only wishes that were the case. She could only dream of him wanting her in that way. Even in all their time talking, he never made a move on her. They only met in person a single time and he was nothing besides friendly, so it never made sense for her to be forward with him about her little crush. 

“On- on your bus? To- the hotel?” She gulps. 

“Unless you have something to do. Don’t worry, none of the fans or paps will see you or anything if that’s what you’re worried about. Reo will handle all that.” 

Right. They probably do this all the time with girls. Obviously they’d have a protocol when bringing a girl back to their hotel. Even so, that’s not what she’s worried about at all. 

“I don’t have anything to do! I’ll come with you!” 

“Y/n, do you have a car here?” Mikage asks, already thinking ahead with making arrangements.

“No, um, I took the train-”

“Great!” He turns around, typing feverishly into his phone. 

“When you’re done with her, send her over to me.” Chigiri winks. He was always the shamelessly flirtatious type, frequently jumping into frame when Isagi was facetiming her just to make a quick flirty comment. 

“No way dude.” Isagi jokes. 

And with that, she finds herself shuffled away and snuck onto the tour bus, snuck off the tour bus, and snuck into Isagi Yoichi’s hotel room. 

“I wanted to say I’m sorry, you know, for like stopping talking to you.” Isagi walks around the room, a singular white towel around his shoulders, his hair still wet from the shower he must have taken while waiting for y/n to be gracefully snuck inside. 

“Oh, um, I-” Y/n struggles to focus, given that Isagi Yoichi is standing shirtless in a pair of gray sweatpants in her direct line of vision. And his body is fucking incredible. “It’s fine, um, I dunno, you got popular, uh-”

“Yeah I got popular, but it all went right to my head. I cut out so many people and I’m just glad you’re not upset with me. I know I’m touring now and stuff but I felt like seeing you at the concert was a good opportunity to apologize-” He trails off, noticing y/n’s dazed expression as she looks at him. 

“T’s all good.” She says, sounding like she’s from another world. 

“Uh, you okay?” He chuckles nervously. “You tired? Sorry for bringing you here I know it’s late-” 

“No! No I’m not! I want to see you, don’t apologize I understand I just, um, I miss being close with you and all, but you’re famous now! And you deserve it so-” 

“I know, it feels pretty good. But you didn’t deserve to just be unadded and unfollowed one day. It wasn’t fair, you were always so good to me and the boys.” 

“I- I was sad for a bit but I get it!”

“You were sad? Fuck, man.” Isagi sighs. “I know I hurt you, we were friends and I just threw it away because the fame got to my head.”

“No, no, I was barely sad- uh-” She panics, trying not to make him think he treated her anything besides perfectly. The last thing she wants is for him to remember her as that one salty fan he ditched. She’d rather him remember her positively, like someone who’s sweet, kind, an old friend. “I just missed you, it’s so good to see you! I never stopped listening to your music and supporting you, and when I saw you were coming here on tour I just had to go! I really am surprised you remembered me at all.” She chuckles nervously, her palms clammy and her eyes shaky. 

He’s really just standing here, trying to apologize to her, with his shirt off. How can she possibly focus on a serious conversation?

“You’re surprised I remembered you?” He tilts his head to the side. 

“Uh- well- I just felt like since you didn’t like me like I liked you I just thought you probably had other girls you were talking to or you know getting famous you’d want to like have girls and not really want me talking to you all the time-” It’s like her words are spilling from her lips before she can stop them, her eyes darting everywhere in the room besides Isagi. It’s like the things she’s been wanting to say to him can’t be stopped. 

“Hold on.” He stops her. “You didn’t think I liked you?” 

“Um, um at least not like that uh, you know-” She panics, her heart beating out of her chest and a layer of tears forming over her eyes. 

“Y/n, I wanted to apologize to you because I did like you, and I didn’t want to tell you that because if I was going on tour, I wouldn’t be able to see you. And I just cut you out instead.” He sighs. 

The words don’t even fully sink in at first. “Oh, okay.” 

“I liked you, like, the whole time. So I just wanted to apologize.” 

It finally starts to make sense. “It’s- it’s okay. It’s okay. I- you-” 

Isagi chuckles. “Maybe I can’t date you, but-” He leans down, placing a finger under her chin, forcing her nervous gaze into his deep blue eyes. “I could make it up to you, if you like.” 

His gaze is hypnotic, just like his voice. “I wanna, um, I- you- your-” She takes a breath. “Sorry.” She squeaks.

“Tell me what you want.” His voice is softer, slower, closer than before. She hasn’t heard this version of his voice before. It’s beautiful.

“I want, I want-” She takes another breath, a deeper one, one that lets her fully realize what she’s about to do. “I want you, Yoichi.” 

“Hm.” He breathes out. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He closes the gap, bringing their lips together, his finger still under her chin as he leans over her. 

Her hands grip the sheets, her legs shaking as she sits upright on the bed. Suddenly she feels like this is her first kiss ever, like she has no idea what she’s doing. 

His kiss starts out soft, but quickly devolves into something dangerous, something ravenous. His hand traces from her chin to her shoulder, his fingers pressing into her skin to push her backward. 

And she lets him. How could she not? His fingers feel like they’re leaving permanent marks on her skin, like she’ll never forget where he touched her chin, her neck, her shoulders. She finds herself looking up at him, reaching for the towel around his neck to bring his lips back into hers. 

In no time he’s on top of her, hungrily making out with her like he wants to devour her, his strong arms holding his body above hers as if he’d crush her if he were to let his weight crash down. She wouldn’t mind though, she’d be totally okay with him crushing her. 

“Always wanted this.” He breathes out, leaving a slight space between their lips only briefly before reconnecting them. His tongue slides effortlessly against hers, his saliva dripping from his tongue to hers. It’s so wet, and it tastes so damn good. 

She can only whine in response, reveling in his taste. She doesn’t have the space to talk anyway, not with his lips drinking up every single one of her noises. 

“Love those pretty sounds, fuck I’ve been missin’ out.” He shifts his weight to one side, tracing his other hand down her body to the hem of her shirt. “Want this off, baby.” 

Y/n licks her lips, completely dazed. “Off, baby?” She repeats, as if she’s shocked he would even say it. 

“Want it off, so fucking bad.” His voice is so lustful, filled with such a different tone than his normal, upbeat, kind attitude. He’s horny. 

“Mhm, please-” She lets him grab her collar, forcefully pulling her up so he can swiftly lift her shirt over her head. 

“Ahhhh-” He groans. “And I’ve been missin’ out on that?” His movements are rough, his hands forceful, needy. Within seconds her bra is discarded on the opposite side of the room, his tongue cascading over her nipples like he’s painting them with his saliva. 

She can’t stop herself from whining, moaning, it’s the only thing her brain can do while he sucks her tits like he’s trying to drink from them. He’s so different right now, he’s so dominant with her. She wants to sign her body over to him, she feels like her body should belong to him. 

His other hand slides to her untouched breast, his fingers moving to pinch her other nipple, kneading it as if he’s trying to bruise her. His hand trails further, traveling smoothly under her skirt to rest on her plush thigh. 

“G’na need these off too~” He slips his finger under the waistband of her panties, popping his mouth off her nipple to get through his sentence. 

“Mhm~” Y/n nods, her hands resting her hands behind her head as she lets his expert movements own her body. 

She’s dripping, she knows she is. The thin fabric of her panties wasn’t doing a great job of protecting her from her own arousal, but he slides them down her legs anyway, the soaked fabric leaving a trail of wetness down her thighs. 

“Hm~” Isagi chuckles, his lips wrapping back around her nipple like it belongs there, dipping his middle finger into her soaked cunt. “Look at you, such a wet little pussy for me.” He says, adding a second finger.

Her body is a mess, her voice is fried, her brain is mush. She can’t do anything besides submit to his fingers etching themselves into the memory of her walls like they’re shaping her body for him and him only. His mouth makes a mess of her breasts while his fingers make a mess of her inner thighs, pumping easily into her slick hole. 

“You’re already so ready f’me, but I need y’to cum first.” He gives his mouth a break, a final bead of saliva dripping from his tongue and landing on her already well-coated nipple. Without his mouth occupied, he goes harder with his fingers, curling them into her g-spot like he was the one who put it there in the first place. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck- ahh~” The breathless gasps leave her lips, her eyes snapped shut as she feels the aggressive knot grow in her stomach. 

“Y’need more? Hm? Bet you do, such a slut for my fingers.” He slurs, his thumb moving to rub quick circles on her throbbing clit. 

“I- gonna- Yoichi~” She whines, the knot exploding ferociously as she cums around his fingers, leaking out of her hole as if it was too full to stay inside.. 

“Ah there ya go, dirty girl.” He spits, sliding his coated fingers out of her aching pussy, directing them immediately into her mouth. “Clean me up, will you?” He forces them between her lips, her tongue circling over his fingers, soaking up every bit of her own cum. It’s demeaning, it’s degrading. But it’s so damn hot. 

“Taste good sweetheart?” He smirks, using his free hand to step out of his sweatpants he probably shouldn’t have put on after his shower in the first place. 

“Hm, f-fu-” She tries, her mouth too full to let any coherent words form. 

His cock springs out of its confinement, finally freed from the shackles of his boxers that struggled to keep him contained at all. And seeing the size of him- y/n wonders how any boxers would be able to survive without being shred to pieces by his gorgeous, thick cock. She wonders how she’ll be able to survive without being shred to pieces. 

“Scared baby?” Isagi smirks, forcing her gaze from his cock to his dark, lustful eyes. “Don’t worry, you can take it.” He leans down to kiss her, a menacingly soft, degrading kiss. “Either way, you fucking have to.” He places one last threatening kiss against her lips.

Before she can process it, his arms are wrapped around the backs of her thighs, sliding her ass slightly off the edge of the bed as he lines his cock up with her desperate cunt. The oversensitivity of her orgasm makes his tip against her hole even more intense. She can’t help but writhe against his grip almost animalistically, like she wouldn’t be able to stop if she tried. 

She’s wet enough for him to slide in easily, filling her up as if he’s carving out her hole himself. She wraps around him perfectly, squeezing around him in a way that causes his breath to catch in the back of his throat as he sucks in through his teeth. His nails dig deeper into her thighs, likely leaving a set of gorgeous nail marks she’ll surely cherish later. 

“Fuck~” His saliva pools in his mouth as he speaks, threatening to drip onto her exposed skin. “It’s like you’re sucking me in babygirl.” He breathes, holding her thighs tight as he begins fucking into her. 

Her fingers grip the sheets so hard she feels like she might rip them, she couldn’t have imagined being fucked like this, no matter how many times she got off to the thought of him back then. No matter how many times she’d play their songs in the background while she pleasured herself. She couldn’t have forced her brain to come up with a scenario where he holds her over the edge of the bed and fucks into her like she’s a doll. 

It doesn’t take long for his thrusts to become relentless, her cunt squelching with each forceful plunge of his thick cock. 

“Fuck, flip over.” He demands, though doesn’t give her any time to move her body on her own, flipping her body himself using only his tight grip on her thighs. “Knees.” He commands, and she does exactly as he says, propping her ass up and leaning forward on her elbows. 

“Damn, what a fucking nice ass.” He slaps her once, gripping the plushy skin as he sheathes himself inside her once again. “G’na fuck you hard ‘till I cum, kay?” He uses his other hand to grip her hair, shoving her face into the mattress. “Be a good toy f’me.” 

“Mhm~” She whines, though he wasn’t waiting for her confirmation anyway. 

His thrusts are somehow harder from behind, wrecking her pussy with every forceful push of his cock between her slick walls. He pounds into her, leaving her nothing but a whiny mess as her pleas are muffled under the weight of his hand pressing her into the bed. The pain is overwhelmingly masked by the pleasure of being fucked by him, Isagi Yoichi, the lead singer of Blue Lock, but even she knows she’ll struggle to walk- or even stand- after this.

“G’na cum, g’na fill you~” He grunts, sloppily thrusting a few more shaky times before painting her insides white, his cum overflowing her cramped pussy. He pulls out, finally letting up on his tight grip on her hair and ass, his cum spilling out along with him.

“Yoichi-” She finally manages, shakily rolling over onto her back. “That was-”

“Hm? You think we’re done?” He stands over her threateningly, immediately sliding one of his fingers between her used, overstimulated folds. 

“Babygirl, it’s only just begun.”

[hokusu]

Post-breakup dabihawks artist AU where they just release nasty songs about each other until they finally get back together.. 

'I hope you hate this song like I hate you too / when you hear my voice, I hope it makes you sick / next time you sing along, you can choke on it' (x)

. . . . .

They break up. And make it everyone's fucking problem. Tabloids can't keep up. They're on every front page of every celebrity magazine over the span of months. They air all their dirty laundry out into the public, not shying from the specifics or the too much information, not shying from all of the worst about each other. Because no one knows them better than the way they know each other.

And they know how to hit where it hurts, they know how to dig under each other's skin and there's so much bitter, resenting unresolved anger about everything  between them, they can't just let it go. So they don't hold back and they get back into the studio, do the only thing they have left without each other, lyrics flying off the tip of their tongue as they sing about how much they hate each other on every song to their new album.

Because surprise surprise, they're competitive assholes both releasing new singles. New albums. Thirteen songs. Thirteen tracks solely about each other. To be released on the same date.

If they weren't so damn good at what they do, they'd surely be committing career suicide.

They're not subtle, they throw digs about each other on every interview and talkshow host they get invited to to promote their album. The inspiration to their songs, the meaning behind their lyrics, it's all painfully each other and they don't pretend it's not.

And their singles all sell off the charts, doing numbers they've never done before, taking turns beating each other off the number 1 spot with every week that goes on. No other artist even comes close. It's just... them. Tied for topping the charts. Weeks after weeks.

The public doesn't know if it's a blessing or a curse, but their music is on fire and their lyrics are downright nasty, but it's also some of the rawest and honest emotions they've heard and they can't get enough. 

Their fans feud, but most of all, many of them overlap.

Like their lives. Their music. Their inevitable everything. They're attacking each other on every soundtrack but it's almost like... their albums compliment each other when listened to back to back.

Hidden behind every message of 'fuck you', like an unhinged love declaration.

On the day of their album release, they sell out through every store across the nation.

Months later, they are both  nominated to win awards for album of the year, song of the year, best vocals, best lyrics, so on and so forth...

It's the first time they're cited to attend a public event together since they broke up and the whole country is watching. 

And when they win, arms full of awards, in their final acceptance speech, Hawks calls Dabi to join him on the stage

Their eyes level, a careful raised brow and a taunting challenged smirk on their lips. The room is silent. 

Hawks hold the mic up, but his eyes never leave Dabi's, has never really left his since the moment they walked away from each other, and he inhales a breath and then exhales, "I personally want to thank Dabi for all these awards. Because I wouldn't have done it if I didn't fucking hate you. So thanks, sweetheart."

And Dabi laughs, mean and just as amused as he raises his own awards from the evening up to Hawks and mouths, "Fucking hate you too, angel."

Everyone holds their breath, there's so much heat and intensity between that single moment, like they're all witnessing the most private moment to their lives, the chance of a fight not out of question.

No one expects Hawks to reach out and pull against Dabi's tie, fingers fisted against silk as he leans over and kisses him hard, right there right then.

And Dabi's free hand goes to tangle into Hawks', fingers tugged roughly into golden locks and kisses him back, just as hard.

In front of the audience and live streaming award show for the world to see, right as they just won best everything for the album on how much they hate each other.

The lights dim, the music starts and Hawks breaks into performing his song of the year– and Dabi sings right along with him. Because of course, every song that Hawks has released he knows by heart now.

He hates those fucking songs.

And he fucking love Hawks.

[starrydixon]

Sweet Melody

Era: Alexandria (Pre-Negan) Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Pronouns: None-Specified Word Count: 1,104 Warnings: none, just fluff!

Even though you were only a little more than halfway up the street from the house you shared with your boyfriend, you could already hear the electric guitar riffs and booming bass of the drums of the metal music Daryl was blasting through the record player in his garage. The idea of Daryl putting on music as he worked on his bike caused a smile to stretch over your face and your steps to quicken.

The closer you got, the more distinctive the music of Black Sabbath became. Although you were eager to get to Daryl, you slowed the pace of your steps as you began to hear the faint sound of an unsuspecting voice singing along to the song. It was hard to picture Daryl singing as you had never even heard him hum a tune before, so you couldn't believe what your ears were hearing until you saw it with your own two eyes. Your lungs had practically stilled as you strained your ears to hear more clearly. Pausing just before the open garage door so you were still hidden from view, you carefully peered your head around the corner to peek inside the garage.

Your gaze instantly fixated on the sight of the angel wings that were on his back. With a slightly ducked head that caused his dark unruly strands of hair to cover his face, he stood by his work bench fiddling with a piece of an automotive part that you couldn’t identify even if your life depended on it. As the music of Paranoid filled the garage, Daryl’s head bobbed slightly from side to side in rhythm with the song. 

Your heart melted at the sight, and you had to place a hand over your mouth as you tried your hardest to not audibly swoon over your adorable boyfriend. Tentatively, you took a few more steps forward so you were leaning against the door frame. With your arms crossed over your chest in a way that made it seem like you were hugging yourself, you bit your lower lip as you could clearly hear Daryl humming along to the song under his breath. 

You couldn't stop the smile from stretching out across your face as you basked in the sight of Daryl singing along to the lyrics that he knew like the back of his hand. Even after all these years of knowing him, Daryl still managed to surprise you every day.

As the song began to fade and a new one began to start, Daryl had finally felt your presence. Carefully, he turned his head to the side to look over his shoulder. The archer didn’t seem alarmed at the sight of you, as his body language only seemed to relax more knowing you were there. Turning to face you fully, Daryl gave you a lopsided smile and a small wave of his hand that was covered in grease and oil.

“Were you just singing to yourself?” You couldn’t help but ask as you stepped further into the garage. Finding the black stool that Daryl barely used, you took a seat.

“Oh, uh-“ Pausing, a sheepish look suddenly formed across his face at the knowledge that not only had he been singing out loud without even realizing it, but that you had heard it. Rubbing at a non-existent itch on the back of his neck with his hand, Daryl struggled to finish his sentence. “-guess so. Sorry- didn't notice.” 

Daryl wasn't the kind of guy who normally cared about what other people thought, especially when it was about him. As he'd never had an audience to impress, he never cared if he was able to hold a tune when singing along to a song. However, now that you had heard him sing, the one person whose opinion actually meant something to him, he hoped he had been somewhat decent at it. 

With a slight shake of your head, you slowly stood up from the work stool and strode over to Daryl. The closer you became, the lower Daryl’s gaze ducked away from yours. When you were standing in front of him, you instantly placed your hands on his chest while a warm smile spread over your lips.

“Don’t ever apologize, it was nice. You should keep singing.”

Daryl’s gaze instantly lifted back up to meet yours, and he couldn’t stop the warm blush from dusting over the tops of his cheeks that reached to the tip of his ears. You were looking up at him with so much adoration in your eyes that it was almost overwhelming. The longer you stared at him with all that love in your eyes, the warmer his chest felt and the deeper the pink became on the apples of his cheeks. Letting out a gruff chuckle, he shrugged his shoulders dismissively.

“This ain’t a free show, y'know. You’re gonna have to pay if ya want more.”

As your warm joyous laugh reached his ears, and he felt your body lean into his as you laughed at his lame quip, it was Daryl’s turn for his heart to completely and utterly melt. He snaked an arm around your waist so that his hand was pressed against your lower back for support. A rather smug smirk uplifted one corner of Daryl’s mouth as he watched you laugh. 

With a grin so big it threatened to split your face in two, and with a rather mischievous glint twinkling in your eyes, you moved your hands up Daryl’s chest so that your arms were now wrapped around his neck. The slight change in your demeanor sent an electric shock to shoot up Daryl’s back as he anticipated on whatever you were about to say. His hold on you tightened slightly.

“I think I can spare a little change.” Your voice was softer now as your fingers began to play with the ends of Daryl’s hair. It made another spark shoot up his spine and goosebumps to raise over his skin. 

“Ya think I’m only worth a little bit of change?” He scoffed again at the notion as if it offended him and pulled you in even closer against his body. “Gonna have to bargain with a little more than that, sunshine.”

“How about I add some kisses, too?” Your question was teasing and hypothetical. You already knew what his answer would be.

Just as expected, Daryl’s only response was raising the hand that wasn’t currently holding you so he could cup the side of your face. Your arms tightened around his neck as his lips came crashing down on yours in a sweet and electrifying kiss.

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A/N: This idea was just too cute to not write and share! I hoped you enjoyed and thank you for reading! <3

[luminoustarlight]

"Slut!" | Modern!Anakin Skywalker

a miss americana and the heartbreak prince story

(modern!au / high school!au)

High school culture in this series is extremely dramatized and fictionalized. As mentioned in the series masterlist, the characters are 18 years old. Padmé is very out of character in this series as well. There are lots of nods to Taylor Swift lyrics in this, too. So it's really fun for swifties and star war babes.

Slut

noun

a woman who has many casual sexual partners.

The definition of “slut” more accurately describes Anakin rather than you. Afterall, he is the Heartbreak Prince of Lucas High School. But men never pay the price for sleeping around. They’re awarded a higher social status. Or in Anakin Skywalker’s case, you become the Senior every Freshman boy wants to be. 

Anakin Skywalker used to be a player. Anakin Skywalker used to go through girls faster than the news could spread around school. He had no qualms with one night stands or taking a girl’s virginity because she asked him to. He was honored to be a girls’ first time. 

He dated Padmé Amidala exclusively from January until June. When the new school year began, everyone wondered who would be the next one to get their heart broken by Anakin. Nobody could’ve guessed it would be Miss Americana. 

The crowd at the Homecoming game nearly quieted when Anakin spun you around in the middle of the field. When he nuzzled his sweaty face into your neck, kissing your warm skin as if it was a greater reward than winning the football game. It took you by surprise, to say the least. You’ve only been seeing each other for about a month and had yet to interact or show affection at school. It was quite the announcement. And the message was loud and clear. Anakin had a new girl and she’s nothing like his ex. 

Padmé had watched you and Anakin with a fire fueled by jealousy in her stomach. You had a stupid, naïve smile on your face as you walked off of the field with Anakin’s varsity jacket draped over your shoulders. That should be me. Maybe it’s all an act to make me jealous. 

So that’s how the whispers began at the Homecoming dance. Padmé had rallied her cheerleading friends to start spreading rumors. By the time you walked through the gymnasium doors attached to Anakin’s arm, everyone had made up their mind about you. You’re nothing but a slut and a man-stealer. 

It’s unnerving having so many eyes on you at once. It’s like they all have a radar when Anakin walks into a room. He’s just that magnetic of a man. And he’s used to it. But it makes you uncomfortable and Anakin can sense it. 

“Are you alright?” 

You swallow and plaster on an unconvincing smile. “‘M fine.”

“Hey,” Anakin says gently. He cups your elbows and rubs his thumbs over your arms. “We’re all dressed up, you look stunning and I’m having a particularly great hair day. They might as well look at us. I want you to enjoy yourself tonight. Do you think you can do that for me?” 

Maroon 5’s Moves Like Jagger thrumming in your ears makes it difficult to think or to argue. Anakin is right. You didn’t spend $120 on an aquamarine dress for nothing. “Fine,” you concede. “But if I hear people talking about me, can we leave and go to Denny’s?” 

“They’re going to talk about you, angel,” Anakin kisses you on the cheek. “It’s just how it is. But none of it means a thing. C’mon, let’s dance.” 

You dance for about twenty minutes before needing to get something to drink. Of course it’s the same time Anakin meets up with his football friends, leaving you at the snack table with a target on your back. Serena and Molly, Padmé’s closest friends slither up next to you. 

“Hey, Slut,” Serena jeers. That insult was bound to reach your ears sooner or later. It’s by no means true or accurate but they don’t care. They’re not about to bad mouth Anakin. 

“So… you and Anakin, huh?” Molly begins. “He’s a bit out of your league, isn’t he?” 

“Don’t worry, Mol. She’s just his rebound. He’s gonna get back with Padmé when he realizes what a loser she is. No offense,” Serena adds insincerely. 

“That definitely felt like something you wanted me to take offense to,” you say. You scan the gym for Anakin, hoping he’ll see the situation you’re in and rescue you. But when you put it like that, you sound so pathetic. You can get out of this yourself. “And I’m not his rebound.” 

“No?” Molly puts her hands on his hips. “That’s not what I heard…” 

No, you tell yourself. Don’t indulge her. Whatever she has to say isn’t true. 

Serena laughs at you. “You don’t honestly think Anakin actually likes you, do you? He’s just using you to make Padmé jealous. You’re all part of his plan to get her back.” 

Even though you know Serena is lying, her words still manage to plant seeds of doubt in you. But they don’t know anything about you and Anakin. There is something special kindling between the two of you. Anakin cares about you. It’s in the way he drops off a Dirty Chai latte on your porch before going to school. It’s written in the notes he stealthily slips into your locker when he says he’s going to the bathroom in the middle of class. It’s the sweatshirts he lets you borrow and the sleepless movie nights eating buttery popcorn and stale Red Vines over the last two weekends. 

“You’re wrong,” you say with a slight quiver in your lip. You hate how Serena has made you question everything with Anakin. If it’s all just for show then why does he kiss you when no one is watching? Why did he insist on keeping your new relationship private if not to nurture your budding romance without prying eyes? 

He’s ashamed of you. 

Then why did he ask you to the dance? 

To humiliate you in front of the whole school. 

This is just a game to him. Your embarrassment is the prize. 

“Aw, I think we hurt Little Miss Americana’s feelings,” Molly feigns a sad face, dragging her finger down her cheek as if it’s a fallen tear. “I hate to make it worse but it looks like he and Padmé might be making up right now.” 

Molly and Serena point in Anakin’s direction, where he is indeed speaking with Padmé. It’s the first time you’ve seen her all night and she looks breathtaking. Her chocolate hair is curled to perfection, bouncy locks cascading over her shoulders. A plunging neckline draws your eyes down her chest and seriously, she was allowed to wear this to a high school dance? 

She’s throwing her head back dramatically, as if Anakin just told her the joke of the year. And then— dear God, you want to throw up— he’s hugging her. You count the seconds. 1…2…3… you can’t watch it anymore. You turn away from Serena and Molly abruptly and make your way out of the gymnasium. 

“So long, slut,” Serena waves. 

The brisk October air assaults your skin and invades your lungs, but it’s welcomed compared to the betrayal you feel coursing through your veins. Is this the end of Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince? You’ve only had a month with him but you want a dozen more. You’ve barely had time to discover what your relationship could become. 

Perfect pearls of salt begin falling down your cheeks. How could you have been so lovelorn? How could you have gotten it all wrong? You were too blinded by Anakin’s charm to see that it was always meant to be temporary. 

“Y/N!” Anakin calls for you. He spots you sitting on the curb with your head in your hands. 

A little piece of him crumbles. Someone has hurt you. Little does he know it was him who did. 

He rushes over to you and lays his arm over your back as he sits down. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” You let yourself relish in the feeling of having his protective arm around you. It might be the last time. “Go back inside.” 

“No,” Anakin replies, tilting your face toward him with a finger beneath your chin. “You’ve been crying.” 

“What an astute observation, Anakin.” 

Okay, so apparently you’re going back to the days when you hated each other. Right. Great. Why? 

“You’re… mad at me…?” Anakin thinks out loud. 

“I’m-” you stand abruptly, making you dizzy as all of the blood rushes out of your head. You wait until you can see clearly before continuing to speak. “I’m confused, Anakin! I’m angry at myself for falling for you, I’m angry at myself for being so naïve in thinking this was as real for you as it was for me. I can’t believe I was so fucking stupid-” 

Anakin stands as well. Clearly, something happened in the gymnasium. Someone said something to you. Or you saw something that wasn’t what it seemed.  “What are you talking about?”

“You and Padmé.”

“Are over,” Anakin emphasizes. 

“But…” you close your eyes, replaying the scene you saw before you. Padmé laughing, Anakin bringing her in for a hug… it was all so friendly. 

“But you saw us hug?” Anakin asks calmly. You nod. “But you didn’t hear me?” 

“No,” you reply shamefully. 

“I told her that I don’t want to get back together with her. My relationship with her was the first real one I’ve had and it taught me a lot, but it is not what I want. It’s not what I need. She is not who I want or who I need.” 

“Ani…”

Anakin shakes his head. “I’m not done. Look, I know we’re only 18 and I know we have our whole lives ahead of us but let’s not think about that. Think about right now,” Anakin grabs your hands. “This is real for me. You’re my favorite person to spend time with. I’m so fucking excited that everyone at this fucking school knows we’re together because now I can kiss you whenever I want. I can push you up against the lockers and make out with you until we get yelled at by Mr. Windu.” 

That makes you giggle. You can totally hear Mr. Windu telling you to get off of each other before he gives you both detention. 

“I don’t have to be so fucking sneaky with putting notes in your locker. You can wear my Varsity jacket at games. We can actually go out to a restaurant and go on a date. Don’t give up on us, baby. We’ve only just begun.” 

It’s not a proclamation of love or anything, but it’s enough. Everyone wants Anakin Skywalker and that seems to be your crime. You stole him before anyone else had the chance. 

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[chilling-seavey]

Winter Warmers: Day 24 — Crying & New Traditions

↳ Summary: Before the children are tucked in on Christmas Eve, there is a moment shared in the warm light of the living room that brings tears to your eyes.

↳ Word Count: 662

↳ Winter Warmers Prompt List | The Way It Goes Masterlist

With George on bath duty, you took responsibility for cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. It was Christmas Eve and the sun had long since set over the snowy backdrop of the English countryside, your children equal parts eager to go to bed so Santa would come and wanting to stay up late to enjoy the festivities just a little longer. You could hear their muffled giggles and chatter from upstairs behind the veil of Christmas instrumentals you had playing through the built-in speakers throughout the main floor, blanketing your home in a fuzzy feeling of love and comfort. 

The dishwasher was turned on and the pots were washed and you wiped down the counters as you hummed while you worked. Soon, George appeared in the kitchen doorway with a gentle smile. 

“Come here,” he encouraged in a whisper, cocking his head a little. 

Without questioning him, you draped the kitchen cloth over the faucet and followed him out into the hallway and over to the living room. George stopped you in the doorway with a loving hand on your shoulder to keep you from interrupting whatever was going on inside, both of you peeking into the room. 

Soft instrumental Christmas music played through the speakers in the living room, the cozy space dulled down to the warm lights of the Christmas tree and a few flickering candles. On the couch, your son and daughter sat in matching festive pyjamas, hair wet from their bath, sharing a book of carols between them that almost looked bigger than both of their heads. 

At only three-years-old, your daughter was more so just sitting and enjoying the moment, trying to share in a few lyrics where she could. But her big brother, at six-years-old, sat close at her side, pointing out the words to the carol they were singing, helping her to follow along and try to read.

It was a scene straight out of a vintage magazine as you shared in the adorable sight of your children singing Christmas carols in their sweet voices, momentarily angelic. Life wasn’t this perfect all the time; your children often screamed and pulled each other’s hair and gave you headaches at any and all times of the day. But, sometimes, when the time was right, they would find each other for a quiet moment, all on their own. 

“Silent night. Holy night.” your son sang along with the music, his young voice almost speaking more than singing but it was entirely endearing nonetheless. His finger trailed over the words in the book.

His little sister followed his guidance, echoing him off beat with her own shy little, “Silent night. Honey night.”

“Holy.” your son corrected her gently. “Like cheese.”

“I offered the carol book to them…” George explained to you in a whisper so as to not interrupt the two, his thumb gently rubbing along your shoulder over your shirt, “I didn’t know they’d take so eagerly to it.”

You couldn’t answer him at first, too entranced by the sight before you. Your little family; all that you had ever dreamt about and all that once felt so out of reach. Now, a pair of beautiful children, made up of the best halves of each of you, filled your heart and your home. Motherhood brought with it a sense of gratitude unlike any other, something that you often took for granted in the moments when life got hectic and messy. Here, now, it was an opportunity to appreciate just how blessed you truly were.

You hadn’t realized you were crying until George’s lips pressed to your cheek, kissing away the tear that slipped from the corner of your eye. Shifting beside him with a small inhale, you reached up to wipe your eyes. His head rested against yours in silent solidarity, holding you close, sharing in the moment of familial adoration.

Sniffling for a moment, you then pitched your suggestion softly, “We should sing carols every Christmas Eve.”

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