#i wrote four years in one thread

[cleolinda]

AITA for banning my husband and father in law from the delivery room due to their intensely stressful/creepy behavior during my pregnancy?

There’s a famous Reddit post from 2020 where a pregnant woman wrote that her husband and father-in-law were a little too comfortable with their certainty that she was absolutely going to die in childbirth just like her husband’s late mother. It was to the point where her FIL was insisting that she go ahead and put all her clothes into storage, because she was obviously going to die in the hospital and it would save them the grief of packing up her things afterwards. Like. It was WILD.

When I tell my husband [that she feels suspicious of her FIL], he calls me paranoid, but I feel like my FIL WANTS me to die; his whole life identity for the past 35 years has been “amazing single dad” (never dated or had close friends or even hobbies really), and it seems like he’s looking forward to being able to guide my husband through what he went through. At this point, I’d honestly be happy to never see my FIL again, and I certainly don’t want him in the delivery room, especially since he told me he was “putting [his] foot down” about me not being “allowed” to have an epidural…. My husband, in addition to backing his dad on everything, acts like my due date is my death date, and has completely pulled away from me.

The commenters (and me, honestly) were convinced that the husband and FIL were either going to kill her outright to fulfill this expectation, or just make decisions about her care that might conveniently let her die.

And then she never posted again.

Over the last four years, people have frequently mentioned that post, always leading to a thread of people saying, “Oh god, I still worry about that woman.” I did too. It became one of those famous unresolved posts that people always wondered about.

Until yesterday, when someone on r/BestOfRedditorUpdates dug up a 2022 update she had posted on a different account:

TLDR; I had a beautiful and healthy baby girl, and I divorced my ex-husband. I lived, obviously.

She writes that she put her foot down about having her own mother in the delivery room rather than her FIL (!), and she WOULD be getting an epidural. Her husband lost his shit. And in his outburst, he let slip--

I admittedly lost my temper, and told him that I wasn’t going to die- it wasn’t my fault his father’s trauma wormed it’s way into his head, and that he needed to fix it without taking it out on me. He yelled at me that he didn’t need therapy. That caught me a little off guard; I asked him why he went to his therapist and was given advice about my death if he felt he didn’t need it. His expression gave it away, and he caved not long after. It turns out there was no therapist. It was just his dad. During the times he was supposed to be at therapy, he was with his dad. I’m still fuming.

And that was when she got the fuck out.

I’ll wrap this up- I’ve got an adorable little toddler tugging at my leg atm. I’m alive, I’m happy, and I’ve got my baby in my arms. Life is good.

I truly never thought we'd see a resolution to this, and I feel like there's probably a good number of people who remember it, so I thought you might want to know.

ETA: Brilliantly, I put the link in at the top; here it is again for convenience.

[pathologicalreid]

buried alive | S.R.

in which the BAU races against the clock to rescue you from a killer team

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angsty

content warnings: kidnapping, case stuff (murder yk), suffocation, being buried alive, hospitals, blood, nausea, CPR, funerals, use of pet names, guns, and drugs. i think that's all.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: okay, so i've been reading so much spencer fanfic and i started writing it and yesterday i realized i have 20 fics written and they're doing no one any good just sitting on my computer. i decided to finally try posting one. i wrote fanfic in high school (so like seven years ago) but this is my first time writing for a TV show. i've also never really posted on tumblr so please bear with me while i try to figure out formatting. tysm for checking out my post.

part two part three

You walked into the conference room and dropped the file on the table, allowing it to land on the wood with a satisfying splat. “The unsub’s burying them alive,” you said, letting the rest of the team know the conclusion you had come to with the medical examiner. “The M.E. found metal shavings and satin threads under the nails of our last victim. The most common materials to make up a casket.”

“There’s no way someone could bury someone alive in a casket alone, we’ve got to be dealing with a team, at least three people,” Emily concluded, standing in front of the evidence board.

It was the team’s third day on a case in Nebraska, four women had been discovered dead. Asphyxiation by hypoxia. Carbon dioxide poisoning.

“Approximately 420 people in the United States die from accidental carbon dioxide poisoning every year,” Spencer said, grabbing the file off of the table and flipping through it, taking a few seconds to read through it.

Rossi looked over Reid’s shoulder to look at the file, “but there’s nothing accidental about these deaths. Who would have access to these caskets?”

You shook your head, placing a hand on the back of Spencer’s chair, “A funeral director seems most likely.” You looked around at the Omaha field office, different agents running about in an attempt to solve these very murders. “They’d have the most access, write it off as displays. It could be hard to match the materials since they’re so common.”

Hotch leaned over the table and pressed the conference phone, “What can I do you for?” Garcia’s bright voice rang through the speaker.

“Garcia, I need you to look into funeral homes within the comfort zone. Look for a director who’s ordered more caskets than they’ve had funerals. Find anything, nothing is too small.” He told her.

“Absolutely, I’ll hit you back when I’ve got something,” she said, hanging up the phone.

There ended up being four funeral homes in the unsub’s comfort zone, so the team split up. You went with two locals to a family-owned business, Garcia had sent you all of the files you’d need on the location. “It looks like the Varn family has been in the funeral business since the seventeenth century,” you read aloud to the two agents you were in the car with.

“Does it mean they’re more or less likely to be the killers if they’ve been in business for so long?” One of the agents asked you, a younger man named Harrison.

You pursed your lips as you continued to look over the files, “I’m not seeing any glaringly obvious stressors before the murders started, but over the years I’ve learned that’s no reason to write someone off. Psychopaths can be tipped off by the slightest thing. Things none of us would bat an eye at.”

Harrison nodded in the passenger seat, looking over to his partner Jimmy, “You and your guy sure do make an interesting pair.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, so thank you.” You and Spencer never explicitly stated to the field office that you were dating, but you walked into the precinct this morning holding hands. The agents must have drawn their own conclusions.

The younger officer cleared his throat, “It is a compliment, ma’am. The two of you are very impressive, your whole team is.”

You smiled, “Thank you, Harrison.”

The funeral home was run by a mother and her two sons, you held up your credentials for the mother when you knocked on the door. “Are you Sheila Varn?” You asked her, raising your eyebrows.

“Yes, what’s this about?” She inquired. She didn’t really look the part of a serial killer, a middle-aged woman who was running her family business.

Pocketing your credentials, you spoke, “We’re investigating the recent murders in the area and we were wondering if you had samples of the materials your caskets are made out of. Might we be able to come in?” You asked, adding a charming smile for effect.

Something flashed across her face before she returned your smile, opening the door and welcoming the three of you inside. “Hold on, let me get my boys up here. They’re so much more versed in the goings on of the town than I am,” she said, opening the door and calling for her sons. Felix and Joss came up the stairs from the basement, now they definitely had the physique to load dead women into caskets and bury them alive.

“Why don’t you two men come with me? I’ll get you those samples,” Sheila said, motioning for the agents you were with to follow her. To your horror, they followed her around the corner. “Felix, Joss, show this young lady what you know,” she instructed.

You took a deep breath before you looked up at the two men.

They were tall, maybe Spencer’s height, but they were built like wrestlers. There was no way you could physically subdue them on your own.

You passed out before you even had the chance to pull your gun.

Hotch was in full Unit Chief mode, Spencer watched from the corner of the room as he separated people into groups and gave them specific instructions. JJ and Morgan walked into the precinct, “What’s going on?” JJ asked looking around the room.

“The Varn Family is the team; two agents were found drugged on the side of the road and when we went to the funeral home Y/N was missing. Her badge, gun, and phone were all there, covered in blood,” Spencer said morosely, watching as Hotch finished giving orders and called the rest of the team over.

Your picture was up on the evidence board with the word “missing” written in bold letters beneath it. All of your belongings had been put into evidence for the time being. “Reid?” Hotch said his name, causing his head to snap up. “Are you okay to keep working?”

Spencer nodded affirmatively, “Yes.”

“Good, I need you to estimate how much time we have, I want a clock on these screens,” he ordered.

Morgan turned to Reid, “What do you think she has, kid?”

“The tidal volume for the average adult is point five at rest. That ends up being about six liters per minute. The average casket is approximately 886 liters in total volume and the average volume of the human body is 66 liters, leaving 820 liters to be filled with air for her to breathe. If she’s been gone for half an hour already, I’d estimate she has less than five hours of breathable air left.” Spencer explained, doing all of the math in his head while Emily put a timer on the screen next to the evidence board.

After a moment, Hotch continued, “Rossi, JJ, go back to the funeral home. Tear it apart, there has to be something there we haven’t found yet. The rest of us will split the list of cemeteries in the comfort zone and search them.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover, we don’t have anything else to go on?” Morgan asked, looking at the list of burial sites he had been handed.

Hotch looked at Spencer, but Spencer stayed silent. “That’s all we have right now,” Hotch responded, “hopefully we’ll come across leads as we go.”

It smelled like a garden around you. The memory reminded you of spring with your mother, tending to the vegetable garden.

The only difference was that instead of the sun beaming down on you, it was pitch black. The space surrounding you was so dark that you weren’t totally sure your eyes were open.

Your head was throbbing just above your right temple, and you observed your surroundings. Slowly, you lifted your arm until it hit a ceiling.

Not a ceiling. A lid. You were in a casket. You pressed one hand to your chest and tried to slow your breathing. Chances were that the casket was already buried beneath the surface of the earth, trying to open it could be catastrophic. You patted the pockets of your jeans, only to find your phone missing, so the team wouldn’t be able to trace the location.

Even if you had it, there likely wouldn’t be service six feet under.

Your team would find you. They had to find you.

They found Spencer, they found Emily, and they would find you.

Spencer shifted in the passenger seat of the SUV, “You know, carbon dioxide poisoning is a rather peaceful way to die.”

“Reid,” Morgan said, turning the vehicle onto the main road, they had just finished scouring over another cemetery with still no sign of you.

He sighed and stared at his hands, “No, it’s good. We see so many people killed in so many different ways that it’s good that she won’t be in pain when she runs out of air.” He tried to convince himself.

Morgan cleared his throat, “We aren’t out of time yet, kid. We can still find her. Y/N’s smart, I’m sure she found a way to make more air or something.”

But they were running out of time, less than an hour remained on the timer set on all of their phones.

They pulled into the next cemetery, “There’s some fresh dirt over there, what are the names on the graves of people who were actually recently buried?”

Spencer starts to recite the names, and the two of them start to comb through the cemetery.

You had done enough research on this case to understand what was going on. The light-headed feeling had started not long ago, but now you felt like you were spinning, despite the knowledge that you were stuck in place.

It was a high. Not unlike the good kids high. Except instead of trying to chase a feeling, you were dying.

The timer went off when they were still scouring graves, shovels in hand. Derek stopped in his tracks, but Spencer kept going.

“Wait,” Spencer called out, reading the name on the card next to the fresh grave he was standing at, he moved to start digging. “Essie Dunbar was a thirty-year-old woman who was mistakenly buried alive in 1915,” he said, digging. “This has to be it.”

Derek called Hotch, putting the call on speakerphone so he could help Spencer dig. “Hotch, we got her, but she’s buried.”

“We’re on our way, Omaha police have one of the brothers in custody,” Hotch told Emily to have an ambulance dispatched.

What Reid knew that Derek didn’t was that it could take four hours to dig a grave by hand. The soil had been overturned, so maybe call it three. Your odds were still negligible. He didn’t stop, he didn’t stop when a caretaker came running at them, and he didn’t stop when Derek told him to get his digging equipment out here now.

Derek flashed his FBI badge to get what they needed. He had to physically pull Spencer back from the grave so the backhoe could dig, only going until there was less than a foot between them and the casket.

Spencer crudely attached a chain to the casket and the caretaker's vehicle. Carefully, the caretaker dragged the white container out of the earth and up a slant they had dug. It was locked shut, “Reid, move,” Derek ordered.

He leaned back and Derek fired at the lock, taking it off and opening the casket. Spencer gasped, there was blood on the side of your head, dried and raked through your hair. He was vaguely aware of Hotch and Emily arriving as they pulled you out of your satin prison. You had no pulse, but you were still warm. Immediately, Spencer started CPR.

“Reid let me do it,” Derek insisted.

What he was trying to say is that he shouldn’t have to be the one to try to save your life.

Morgan repeated himself and Spencer pulled away, allowing the other agent to immediately take over. There was a siren in the background, an ambulance. More people showed up, Spencer heard their voices, but he just kept watching you. CPR was effective if it was done shortly after your heart stopped, and even then, permanent brain damage was likely.

It had been eight minutes since they pulled you out of the ground. Clinically, you were dead for eight minutes before you gasped.

Spencer smoothed your hair back, away from your face, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You weren’t moving, and Spencer started running through symptoms of hypoxia. His biggest fear was brain damage, that they had done more harm to you in bringing you back than they would have had you died.

The EMTs came running over to where everyone had gathered, dispersing the crowd, and placing an oxygen mask over your face. As they were loading you on the stretcher, you started trying to talk, reaching your arm out to your side. “Wait, what’s she saying?” JJ asked.

“Sometimes it’s hard to talk after CPR,” the male EMT said as they moved you closer to the ambulance. He listened to what you were saying, “It’s not coherent.”

Spencer didn’t move, all of the adrenaline that had been coursing through his body all day was leaving.

Aphasia. They were saying the lack of oxygen to your brain was causing aphasia. “No,” Emily said, realization dawning on her features as she strained to listen to you. You were whispering, rasping the same word over and over again. “She’s saying ‘Spence.’”

He stood quickly and looked at you, sure enough, you were reaching out your hand and whispering, “Spence, Spence.” Your voice no more than a whisper.

Grabbing your hand, Spencer squeezed it, “I’m here,” he answered. “It’s okay, it’s over,” he told you, moving your hair out of your face. Spencer secured your oxygen mask over your face as you tried to take it off, “You have to keep this on, angel.”

To his relief, you squeezed his hand back.

You had been instructed to get some rest, but you couldn’t close your eyes. You asked Spencer to go back to the hotel and change his clothes because he smelled like dirt, and it made you nauseous. Your head had been bandaged, you’d been run through an MRI, and you did an EEG, so far, the only brain damage that had been incurred seemed temporary.

According to the doctors, the nausea and fatigue should wear off, but they hadn’t been able to fully assess if any permanent damage was done. At this point, the worst of your injuries had been caused by being given CPR, resulting in cracked ribs.

Despite your headache, you kept most of the lights on in your hospital room, not quite ready to be left in the darkness again. “Hey,” a voice called from your doorway, Spencer stood, waiting to be invited in. He was wearing different clothes, a button-up with a green cardigan thrown over it, and clean pants. “How are you feeling?”

A nasal cannula slightly restricted your movement, but you were sat up in the hospital bed, “Better than I was, but not perfect.”

He shook his head, walking in and taking a seat next to you, “No one expects you to be perfect right now.” Gently, he reached out and took your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “They found the mother and the other son, and all three of them are going to go away for a long time,” he told you, speaking in the kind of hushed, reverent tones that are reserved for hospitals.

You sighed and tilted your head back, “Good,” you maundered. “That’s uh, good,” your voice was barely audible.

“So why do you look so worried?” He asked, leaning in closer to you.

In an attempt to dismiss his concern, you joked, “I think I owe Morgan some sort of life debt now.”

Spencer offered you a soft smile, “The two of you tend to trade those off, I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to him.” He inclined his head towards you as if to silently say, So what is it really?

You swallowed thickly, “I’m scared to close my eyes, Spence.”

His shoulders dropped, “oh, Angel,” he breathed. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, looping a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Wait, what are you doing?” He asked, watching you as you lifted yourself, so you were on one side of the bed.

Shyly, you patted the new empty half of the bed, inviting him to sit next to you.

He had no choice but to comply, he had the hardest time saying no to you. Leaning the bed back slightly, Spencer kicked off his shoes before he laid down next to you, wrapping an arm around you as you set your cheek on his shoulder.

Your body relaxed into his and you sighed, “Spence?” You murmured.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “Yes, angel?” He whispered back to you.

“Thanks for coming to save me,” you mumbled, slowly relaxing enough to fall asleep.

Spencer exhaled, “I’m always going to come to save you.”

part two

[pearl-nouveau]

A Woman's Purpose - Cregan Stark x Reader [chapter one]

summary: Your mother, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, has always prepared you to marry and you have always resisted, terrified that you will only ever be seen as a wife. But your heart is torn when love catches you by surprise.

contains: mentions of self-harm, aged-up characters (Jace is ~19 idk)

a/n: wow i have not posted on this blog in YEARS but i lurk in tumblr reader insert oneshots like it's my part-time job, and i wrote this on AO3 so i decided to post here and hopefully get some love. i really love posting my writing even if it is not perfect, it's just a passion. let me know if i should post the second chapter and my asks are always open! xx - pearl🦪

Beauty is power, my mother used to tell me, stroking my silver hair as if it were made of golden thread. She loved my hair. Use your beauty to set yourself free. I had no idea if she meant for her words to bring some kind of comfort to me - they did not. 

Sometimes, I hated her for bringing me into the world altogether. While Jace and Luke envied my resemblance to our mother, I detested sharing her light hair and lilac eyes. It seemed to me a symbol of my imprisonment - it became clear to me, hearing all this talk of my beauty and nothing else, that I was never to be loved or seen for anything else.

In my youth, the abstract concept of my fertility and status made me a formidable form of currency within the royal family. Jacaerys, older by one year, made his way as heir by training in combat and dragonriding and studying the history of Westeros and Old Valeria - I, however, was confined to studying the family trees of the realm's powerful houses, to perform the perfect Velaryon princess and eventually be bred like a cow.

I hated my life. 

Many attempts were made to rebel against my predetermined future. At ten and two I sliced all the hair from my head, leaving a shaggy, uneven mess of shimmering half-bald patches that took years to grow back. I had never seen my mother so angry until at ten and four I began slicing patterns into my arms and legs to scar the perfect pale skin everyone complimented me on. Soon she required a chaperone with me at all times, which only made me more furious, and I began picking fights with my cuntish uncles and coming back from dragon rides inexplicably soaking or covered in soot. I waited for my mother to attempt to put together the puzzle I had laid out in front of her; to figure me out and decide that her daughter - the strong-willed, intelligent, adventurous one - matters more than the empty shell of a married woman that I will surely become. 

At the very least, my mother allowed me the power to turn away whomever I wished. It seemed she hoped I would find someone who struck my fancy. But as time passed and my antics worsened, her grip on me tightened, and I began to fear the wost: an impending betrothal. 

She frequently asked me to rack my brain and think of any previous men she had introduced me to who I may want to explore further. But I was stubborn. I maintained that no one had caught my eye, and I insisted that I would never marry. Whenever I said such things, my mother would frown at me in a way that hurt my heart. She was my greatest antagonist, but I loved her, and I knew that it saddened her to put me through such pain. 

Even if there was one man who never left an impression on me, whose memory kept me awake in the darkness of night, I would never tell my mother. It was too humiliating after so many years of fighting marriage to be seduced by love.

Every so often I allowed myself to think about him before I went to sleep, to be swept up in the beautiful dream of someone's arms around me. I could imagine him saying to me, I choose you. That was what I always dreamt of hearing. I choose you, as you are. Just you. 

Jacaerys tried to sympathize with me but he would never truly understand. He did allow me to partake in his own pastimes to grant me a change of scenery from the walls of King's Landing. 

"It infuriates me that she herself is allowed to break barriers as heir to the Iron Throne and I must remain shackled to tradition," I complained to Jace as we sparred in a remote corner of the keep. "She gets to be immortalized as the first of her name while subjecting me to a loveless marriage."

"She was in an arranged marriage with our father." Jace pointed out, sending a particularly hard offensive move my way. I easily thwarted it. 

"Well..." I trailed off. There was nothing to say, not in words, about our parents, or our parentage. It was an unspoken issue, even between Jacaerys and I who were nearly as close as twins. We supposed it would always be shrouded in mystery. We were prepared to always wonder. It seemed unthinkable to ask our mother any questions, nor our father, nor... 

Strong boys, they said. 

Perhaps Jace and I wouldn't speak of it because our difference in hair color had always been a sore subject. I was broken out of my thoughts by another offensive move, this one catching me by surprise. I stumbled back but recovered, moving around the side of my brother as he laughed at me in the way only an older brother would. 

"I'll get you back for that," I snapped at him, but grinned. He smiled back, shrugging cockily. Bring it on, his eyes told me. 

We sparred a bit more until our breaths were heavy in our throats and our swings became more jests than challenges. Eventually, he tossed his sword on the ground and fell upon a sack of grain. I sat next to him and for a moment we were not prince nor princess. We were just two siblings. I sighed, knowing it wouldn't last for long. 

Jace seemed to decide to bank on the moment as well because he looked to me and spoke. "Was there really never anyone who caught your eye? Not in all those years of meeting suitors?" He thought for a moment. "There were some good ones."

"Some good ones?" I scoffed. "Who, pray tell?" 

After a few moments of consideration, he began to chuckle and I rolled my eyes. The chuckle became a cackle and at this joke, I did not laugh along. We both knew that most of the options I had been presented with were vapid, shortsighted, insecure children, as were most men.

I was about to hit him to shut him up when he stopped suddenly and his face brightened with realization. 

"I know a good one," Jace said, "Cregan Stark."

A flush crossed my face at the name.

Usually, I only allowed that name to cross my mind in the darkness of night, but Jace had disrupted that routine. "What about him?" I tried to ask innocently. This time my brother was the one to roll his eyes at me. 

"Don't play the fool, sister," he teased, "when he came to visit those years ago everyone could see that you both took a liking to each other. Even you couldn't fight him." He nudged me playfully with his elbow. "He fights like a Northerner, and he wanted to fight for you."

"Oh, hush."

"Why did you ever turn him away anyways?"

His question silenced me. It was a painful memory. Cregan had come to treat with my grandsire and pledge his support as Warden of the North, and in those two moons he stayed at King's Landing we came to know each other well. Perhaps the reason why I had opened myself to getting to know him was because he had not come for the intention of courting me. In fact, I found him wonderfully ignorant about the social politics of the royal family, and he did not know of my existence upon his arrival. 

The day we met, I was in the Godswood with a book and a porcelain cup of candied almonds. A midnight blue veil covered my thigh-length silver hair. I hated my hair, and I hated that my mother would not let me cut it. I refused to have it braided and let it fall unbrushed and wild down my back.

He had come into the courtyard without noticing me tangled in the roots of the tree. He came closer to examine the trunk thoughtfully, allowing me a glimpse of his face through the branches. I had heard of his arrival and listened from behind closed doors at their meeting, intrigued by his deep voice and foreign accent. I listened intently as he spoke a prayer in a hushed tone. All of a sudden, his gaze shifted to meet mine between the leaves as if he had known I was there the whole time. 

"Apologies, my lady," he bowed his head slightly. "I did not know the Godswood was occupied."

"There is room enough for two," I said shyly. I was not accustomed to being pleasant towards men. I was known for being a beautiful devil, a menace with a sour tongue. It made me self-conscious to think that I was changing my behavior for a man. But I was merely matching his politeness; and he had no reason to falsify his kindness, since he had no idea who I was. 

Luckily for me, I had no reason to overthink my words because he went silent for a long while, lost in a wordless prayer. After a quarter of an hour had passed, he came closer to me, and gestured to the root beside me. 

"Do you mind if I sit?" He had asked.

I shook my head and he moved his thick cloak to drop down beside me. 

"Pardon my intrusion, my lady, I find myself feeling lonely when I come to the South. The Godswood calms me."

"I understand, Lord Stark."

His eyebrow quirked. "You know who I am?"

"I'm afraid I do." I smiled. I loved having the upper hand. I decided I wouldn't tell him who I was. 

"What is your role here in the castle, my lady?" 

"To please lords like you." I jested. Cregan leaned back slightly, taken aback. I quickly realized the suggestive wording of my joke. "Not like that," I quickly corrected, "I was just... I mean-"

"I know who you are, princess." He chuckled at me. I was glad to be rescued from the embarrassment of my failed joke. I gazed at him questioningly. He leaned forward and gently removed the veil from my head. "Unfortunately your appearance does not allow you anonymity." 

I blushed. "What have you heard about me?" 

"Nothing, I admit, until your grandsire told me about you today. He told me of your age, not many years my junior, and I supposed-"

"- That I might make a fine breeder for you?" I snapped. There went the illusion of politeness. This was where they usually ran, when I became a beast instead of a beauty. A piece of work not worth the effort. 

Instead, Cregan merely chuckled. "Actually, I sought a companion. A friend. Being here is lonely for me, and I thought you might show me what life in King's Landing is like. If I am to swear fealty to your family, I seek to know your customs. Your mother has told me that you are the most well-acquainted with the keep of her children." 

You smiled. Had your mother truly said that? It was true, since you spent so much time darting around the palace avoiding her orders. 

"Would you mind giving me a tour?" He asked. His tone was so gentle, so uncomplicated. It was like no man had ever spoken to me before. With respect, as if he were speaking to a friend. It was refreshing.

For the next few weeks, Cregan and I formed a friendship based on mutual respect. He informed me of Northern politics and asked for my opinions on complicated political matters through a Southern perspective. I introduced him to my dragon, Vermithor. Afternoons were spent in the Godswood picnicking for the purpose of introducing him to local cuisine, and evenings were spent in the library discussing literature. The relationship felt as easy as breathing to me, and I could tell he felt the same. After close to two moons, it had begun to frighten me how much I longed for his presence when we separated at the end of the day. 

There had always been a tangible tension between us that toed the line between friendship and romance. Lingering gazes, intentional touches, and meaningful words kept me up at night. He opened up to me about the unique grief of losing his wife in childbirth and having to leave his infant son at home so soon afterward. I showed him the scars littered across my body, and explained to him how I hated my beauty.

He had taken my head in his hands and looked through my soul with those gray eyes. 

"Your beauty... It is just a fraction of you. What is truly incredible is your kind heart, your wit, your intelligence, your soul..."

I had been unable in that moment to keep myself from kissing him, so I let my mind empty and I surged forward to connect our lips. He responded with fervor, bringing me close, the pads of his thumbs barely grazing the peach fuzz on my cheek. I could not even bring myself to feel ashamed about grabbing his tunic underneath his cloak, my fingers unknowing but desperate. He had taken my hands and pulled back, only to kiss my nose, then brow, then the corners of each eyes, and then my knuckles. 

Suddenly I came too. I saw in front of me the path that had been laid for me - a wife, be it to a good man or a bad one. I was still determined not to let that happen. 

As I often did, I had fled. I had avoided him until he went back to Winterfell. Two moons later, a raven came from him. I didn't dare open it, too afraid to face my actions. Even if I felt that I knew what the contents were, Cregan was not like other men I knew - thus I had always wondered what the letter said. I wondered if it was true that he truly cared for me and saw who I was inside. The thought made me realize that even I myself did not know what path may be laid in front of me. My feelings confused me, and I decided to shut the Lord of Winterfell out of my mind forever.

Except on some dark nights. 

And except for now, when Jacaerys prods my arm and awaits the answer to his question. I realized I must have been silent for a long time as his voice began to register in my head. 

"Lost in thought?" 

"Ha-ha," I shoved him back. "Sort of." 

Jace's face became serious. "I was only jesting, but perhaps I shouldn't have brought it up. I know you truly did care for him."

"How could you tell?" I asked, genuine curiosity lacing my tone. It was past the point where it was worth feeling awkward about the truth of my feelings. I was only human, after all. 

"He was kind to everybody, but especially to you." Jace pursed his lips in thought. "Although at the same time, he does not treat you like you're soft. It was like he loved hearing you speak. Like your word was God."

I smiled. 

Jace nudged me. "And... he looked at you like you hung the damn sun in the sky."

My heart skipped a beat hearing that. I knew it was true, but I was used to people looking at me in awe. As if I were a ball of light floating in front of them, ethereal, untouchable. Cregan was not afraid to see through me, to touch me. He made me feel held.

Emotion overcame me in that moment. I quickly scrambled up from the bag of grain Jace and I were lounging on, grasping my sword and tossing my hair over my shoulder. 

"Well, it's too late now," I quickly said, "He's in Winterfell and it does not matter if he cares for me or not, I do not want the life of a housewife."

Jace stood. "Who says that getting married means you'll become a housewife? You'll be a lady, you could do whatever you please." 

"It isn't just the marriage, it's the principle of it!" I cried, moving away from him towards the main training yard. "As soon as I take those vows, it means my purpose is only to bear children." As we entered the larger courtyard and grew closer to other people, he grasped my arm and spoke to me in a lowered voice. 

"I know you think I do not understand, but I am soon to be betrothed as well, likely to someone I will never love."

"Well, at the end of the line, you have a throne." I spit at him, spinning on my heel and leaving him staring helplessly after me. 

[neil-gaiman]

Dear Neil, on the off chance you see this, I wanted to share a story with you. Four years ago, through the wonders of DNA, I found my only sibling, a half sister I never knew existed. We are remarkably alike in temperament and taste, but had wildly different upbringings and experiences. While discussing our favorite authors one day, she showed me her pile of Neil Gaiman books (none of which I’d ever read) and I exclaimed, ah! He’s the dude that wrote that Good Omens tv series with one of my fave authors, Terry Pratchett (whom she had never read, though she’d picked up a copy of GO years ago with best intentions). WELL, my sister declared, you take these, and loaded me up with instructions to begin softly with Stardust and go from there. I prodded her towards GO and Discworld (especially those featuring Granny Weatherwax). I’m visiting her this week, and happened to choose American Gods as my travel reading. My sister picked me up from the airport with my 9 year old niece, who was also deep in Gaiman land, half way through Coraline (in fact she’s so engrossed that she read it through recess today and got very teased). Now that school’s started again, my sister has time to watch GO 2, and I’ll finally get to scream with her about the finale. I guess I just wanted to say a very heartfelt thank you. It’s funny how fate works, and how threads meant to be woven together always find a way. It’s ineffable, maybe?

It's marvelous.

[astraystayyh]

Invisible Thread- two.

This is the second and final part of Invisible Thread. Here is the link to part one.

pairing: minho x reader. pre-established relationship. reader has she/her pronouns.

genre: fluff and domesticity. angst. healing. characters trying to become better. humans being humans.

cw: parent death. grief. talk about death. allusion to sex but no smut. suggestive at one tiny part but it's for the plot.

summary: In which Minho rewrites your entire relationship with love.

word count: 17k

a.n: this is, i hope, a gentle reminder to always be kind to yourself, and to the people surrounding you. this one is pretty personal because i see myself a lot in yn, but it was also challenging since i wrote about things i have never experienced either. so i hope you'll enjoy reading, and that the second part will live up to your expectations. it took me a long time to write this but it's okay!! English isn't my first language and this was also a reminder to be patient with myself. thank you. i love you all. truly. feedback is highly appreciated, as always <3

(here is a Spotify playlist i made for this second part, you can listen to it while reading if you'd like :))

Love. How lucky yet cursed we are to ever experience it.

The fear attached to this singular emotion seems ridiculous. Because we aren't afraid of experiencing anger, sadness, or nervousness. They might overwhelm us, but we accept them, we recognize them as they are and then we cope with them. Whichever way we know best.

But when love comes knocking on our door, we stray away from it, we try to shape it into something else- much gentler on the soul, less devastating if it were ever not reciprocated.

So, we name it a crush, attachment, infatuation; anything but the cursed four-lettered word- anything but love. As though merely acknowledging it would morph it into a sharp-edged sword, eternally wedged within us, making our blood dribble away slowly and with it, our souls awash.

You are no exception. Love has terrified you for the better part of your life. There was a time when the word did slip easily from your mouth, back when you were a child and your view of the world was still naive, undisturbed by what you now know. You loved ice cream, you loved candy, you loved your teacher who braided your hair.

But then the once light word grew heavy on your tongue. Because love is what made you crave your mother's warmth, only to find coldness awaiting you. It is love that made you seek shelter elsewhere, in the fleeting opinions of the people surrounding you, hanging your entire worth on the words they uttered about you- ones they forgot within hours but you carried for years.

But this view of yours got dismantled, slowly, day by day. You’ve come to learn that it isn't love that had hurt you, it was rather the lack of it.

It cannot be love that wound when it is the emotion swimming in your eyes, whenever they rest on Minho. You didn't dare say it to him, to name the feeling out loud. You were petrified that if it was ever out in the open, then the love would materialize into something tangible, and the universe would snatch it away, as it has done before with everything you've ever wanted.

But although you didn't say it, you felt it, deep within each one of your atoms. It spilled from you like infinite ink, rewriting your entire relationship with love, dismissing every wrong notion you've once established about it.

Love cannot hurt because you love Minho, and you'd hurt yourself before ever hurting him.

But maybe none of you would have to hurt. Maybe for once, you'd both be okay. That's what you'd like to believe as Minho's shoulders brush against yours. You are sitting at your usual table at Limbo, a gray cat sprawled on top of your laps. Finals ended three weeks ago. Summer break is here, the one time you've been dreading since you came to college. Because everyone is going back to their homes, but you don't have one to head back to.

"What will you do this summer?" Minho suddenly asks, putting down his iced americano. You scratch the cat's ears beside you gently- Lilia you've decided to name her. "I don't really have plans."

"Would you like to go camping?"

"With you?"

"I mean, unless you have another secret boyfriend, then yes, with me."

"Shut up," you giggle, swatting his arm playfully. "I'd really like that," you smile softly at him, to which he nods. "Oh, and we still need to celebrate your win this term."

"Mm. Let's just call it a date this time," he grins, taking a spoonful of the salted caramel cheesecake and bringing it to your mouth. "I need to go visit my family for a few days, and then we can go," he adds.

Sudden guilt floods your being. He had a family he could go to. It was selfish for you to want him to stay, to strip him from this privilege you weren't granted with.

"I don't want you to cut your time short with them for me," you mumble, eyes fixated on Lilia soundly dozing off on his lap. It still astonished you how all animals seemed at ease in Minho's presence. As if they could sense his gentle soul, carefully hidden behind his sarcastic retorts, and cheeky smiles- one you were lucky enough to have been touched with.

"I'm not. I just really wanna go camping," he says nonchalantly, but his hand raises to squeeze your shoulder lightly.

"You should go with them."

"I have a two-person tent in mind, it won't fit the three of us. And I want to come back to you."

His words painted a sweet picture- of him returning home after a long journey, and you were that haven he sought to rest. The idea that he'd discover such solace in you when you struggled to find it within yourself, seemed unfathomable to you.

So, you bite your lower lip slightly, before squeezing his knee in gratitude. "Okay. I'll be waiting."

✹✹✹

Blue and orange flames surge higher under the wind. You watch, mesmerized as their light dances upon Minho's skin, painting him with glistening, golden hues. Every feature of his face is chiseled to perfection, as if a sculptor spent hours perfecting his face, down to the tiniest detail. He looked in his element here, setting up your tent and grilling the meat and now looking up at the sky, a chilled lemonade in his hand. You should go camping more often.

Minho places his empty can of cola on the ground, before tapping his lap. "Come here," he smiles and you oblige, rising from your chair and settling on his thighs. You tuck your knees to your chest, curling yourself entirely in his hold. His arms encircle your body, making sure you don't slip down. You close your eyes, as Minho gazes up at the night sky before you. You are comfortable and safe. It is that safety that you've craved for so long. To be held and not fear the threat of a knife behind your back.

It still surprised you, how you came to crave Minho's presence. But it went beyond just being near him; you felt as if you needed to touch him, as if verifying his existence, ensuring he wasn't an ephemeral specter slipping through your fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass. Yet, even more surprising was Minho's own yearning for you. His hands were always drawn to you, subtly grazing your face, resting on your palm, skimming your shoulders. Each tentative touch filled an echoing void within you, slowly diminishing it until all that remained were faint whispers of it.

Minho has cared for you, long before he understood you. He saw snippets and fragments of you, and he cared for the patched-up version he made up in his mind. And when you unlocked your heart for him, he only cherished it even more, silently molding his behavior so he wouldn't cross any of your boundaries.

He was hesitant at first, in holding your hands and kissing your lips. He still asks for permission, in that gentle voice of his, to touch you, in case you’re uncomfortable. Which you aren’t, because his hands on you are infused with care, fingertips dripping with unguarded attention and softness, for you.

You sigh contently, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck as his arms tighten around you. Comfortable and safe.

"What's your favorite word?" he suddenly inquires and you giggle slightly. He often asks you these random questions, as though he wished to understand you in the most ordinary of ways and to care for you in each.

"I think it's the word soft. Whoever thought of the word really nailed it. Nothing else could have depicted softness like this one."

"The word does sound really pillowy, and gentle."

"See, I really love gentle too! Why is the word gentle so gentle? Does that make sense?" Laughter tings your question as he grins, his nose brushing lightly against yours.

"It does. They both remind me of you, actually."

"Really?"

"Mm. You're still so soft and gentle, despite it all... If they ever tell me there is one kind person left on this earth, I'd come looking for you."

Sudden tears flood your eyes as a shaky exhale leaves your lips. It felt rewarding, in a sense, to have someone acknowledge the strength it takes to be kind, in a world that had dealt you nothing but harshness.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

"Sometimes..." you pause, racking your brain for the best way to word this. "Sometimes it scares me how much I've come to care for you. How you make opening up not sound as daunting as before."

You grab his hand into yours, fidgeting with his fingers. The familiarity of their touch helps you calm down. "I'm not saying you'll hurt me. I just... I can't help this tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me to be cautious. It's gotten quieter, but it's still there."

"That's just your past selves trying to protect you," he smiles softly at you, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. "When I told you I'll be here, for as long as you'll have me, I meant it. Doubts and all."

"But I don't want to be closed off anymore," you admit. "It's very lonely that way."

"I know it is, love. But it's what you knew best back then, hm? You shouldn't feel bad about it, you did what you had to do to protect yourself. I'm just here to protect you too now."

"You think I can no longer do it myself?" you tease, your hand threading through his silky hair.

"Of course, you still can. But two shields are better than one. Also, this is exactly why I work out."

"Will your muscles protect me from my mind?" you giggle and he nods proudly. "Have you seen these?" he flexes his arms, before snorting, a bit shyly, eyes squinting closed. He's saying nonsense to make you laugh, and it's warming your heart beyond belief.

"I think these should just stay wrapped around me," you grin, guiding his arms around your back once again.

"No complaints," he smiles, as you settle against his chest. He places a soft kiss on the top of your head and you close your eyes. Safe and comfortable- Minho.

✹✹✹

Summer has been kind to you. Or maybe it was you who has been kind to summer, your laughter filling its air until it could do nothing but mirror your happiness.

Summer tasted like love with Minho by your side. In clementines he peeled for you, feeding you each slice with a soft smile on his face. In spontaneous bike rides at six am, to chase sunrises you've never witnessed before him. In numerous books he bought so you’d read them to him, his head on your lap, a tranquil expression coloring his face. And although the months have all been sweet, there are two days that you remember particularly.

You don't mark up the time with dates, but rather with the new feelings Minho bestowed upon you- the first time you wanted someone to stay, and they did.  

"Baby?" Minho’s hand brushes against your shoulder and you startle, turning around to look at him. "Are you okay? You zoned out."

"I’m fine," the rehearsed lie slips from your mouth, long before you could think about it. A ping of guilt swarms your heart, you’ve promised yourself that you’d tell Minho about your true feelings, even if he couldn’t help you with them.

"Are you sure? You haven’t said a word since I came over..." He quickly glances at his watch, "Three hours ago."

"I’m sorry," you mumble, your thoughts swarming your head once again. You felt horrible for wasting his time. He had better things to do than sit with you in silence.

"I’m not asking you to apologize," he says cautiously as if he’s aware he’s threading along a dangerous line. You stay silent and he shuts his eyes closed, hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I just want you to be honest."

"I am."

"Are you, really?"

"What do you want from me?" you ask a bit breathlessly. You don’t know what you are saying, but you can sense your walls building up, higher than you could ever reach them.

"You’re clearly not fine and I-"

"I am trying, okay? I’m trying, please." You plead; you’re unsure for what exactly. For him to stop prodding, because you don’t have answers for him, not yet. Not when you haven’t understood it yourself.

"I'm going for a walk," he says, abruptly standing. You stay frozen in your place, as he quickly slips his shoes on, before leaving your apartment. You’re trying and it isn’t enough for him.

You don’t move from your place as time slowly trickles by. The seconds morph into minutes and suddenly it’s been an hour and a half since Minho left. There is a tantalizing fear making you stay put as if you ever dare to move a limb, then the stillness would be shattered and Minho wouldn’t come back.

It’s hard to reroute your brain entirely- old habits creep up on you swiftly, and suddenly you’re pulled back into the old you, woven into the web of horrible thoughts stitching all around you. Change feels sweet, with Minho, it feels like hope and the taste of a new beginning, but it is scary and different. And the familiarity of what you were before him calls your name from time to time. It was horrible and lonely, but there were no surprises in it. You knew what to expect at all times.

You could’ve told him that you weren’t feeling good, that you didn’t feel like talking and Minho would’ve understood. Because this isn’t the first time this happened, and it happens to him too sometimes. So, he understands, more than anyone you know. But instead, you lied and denied and Minho left. And you can’t blame it on anyone but yourself.

You grab your phone, its sudden light burning your eyes. You blink repeatedly, as you dial Minho’s number. It rings and it rings, then it goes to voicemail. You try again, through blurry vision. It doesn’t even ring this time- straight to voicemail.

Minho’s left. He’s had enough. You can’t blame him.

Three swift knocks resound loudly on your door. You don’t remember reaching the doorknob, your body’s moving on autopilot, but you pull it open. Minho. Your hold on the handle tightens until your knuckles turn white. You can’t look at him, you don’t want to see his face as he leaves you.

"Why are you crying?" he whispers, dainty fingers gently wiping away your tears.

"Don’t go. Not you too," you manage to utter, and you hear Minho suck in a deep breath, before pulling you tightly to his chest.

"What are you talking about?" he says, as he buries your head in the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of his cologne washes over you- you’ve memorized its earthy notes by heart now, easily recognizable between a thousand smells.

"You've been away for two hours and I called and you- you didn’t pick up. I thought you wouldn’t come back."

"My phone died while I was outside and I lost track of time, and- please don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry." He leans away, cupping your cheek delicately. "Im here, you see? Let’s go on a walk, hm?"

"You were just out," you mumble and he smiles at you. "I wanna go with you."

Minho takes off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. He leads you outside, still clad in the bunny slippers he randomly bought you a week ago. His hand is warm in yours. His hand wouldn’t be warm if he was leaving you.

You walk in silence to the park near your home, and Minho sits you down on an empty bench. Your tears are dried up by now, cheeks cold from the night breeze; and his hand is still in yours.

"Chan didn’t leave our dorm for three days." He starts, clearing his throat. "He’s overworking himself, doesn’t even eat the food I make him. And I tried to tell him to take a break today. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t convince him. He’s probably still working on his music right now," he chuckles, but there is no trace of humor in the sound. "And then I come to you and you’re not okay. And I want to help but suddenly I’m pressuring you. And you’re trying, so hard and you’re doing so well and I’m pressuring you instead of helping. And I failed at being there for you both. What good I am if I’m not there for the people I lo- care about?"

"Don’t say that, please. You are good enough. More than enough," you cup his cheek, pressing his forehead on yours. "You’re always here. Don’t ever doubt that. I’m sure Chan appreciates everything you do for him."

"And you?" he asks, tone coated in such raw vulnerability that it knocks the breath out of you. At that moment, Minho was a plain hill, devoid of hidden nooks and crannies- nowhere for him to guard his emotions from you.

"Do you remember that night, when I asked you how I can help you feel yellow?" you ask after a while, and he nods, repetitive blinks rythming his silence. "I used to think that happiness was yellow, that sudden joy that drowns out the world around you. And I wanted to always feel yellow, the highest of highs. But that could only lead to another low, another extreme. I’ve since learned that true happiness is feeling peace when you lay in bed at night…  And for your heart to beat soundly from contentment."

"I remember feeling this way only once, a long time ago. I woke up to see the sunrise, but I was a bit late to it, so I missed the orange and the pink," you chuckle slightly, as the distant memory floods you. "But I saw the blue, this really soft blue, and as I looked at it a strange sense of serenity washed over me. As if, as long as I looked at that pastel blue, I’d be alright. And now…" You smile softly, your thumb delicately grazing his cheek, Now, I can just look at you. You are my blue."

Minho’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as he looks at you, mouth slightly hung agape. You giggle quietly, before patting his head gently. "Thank you for staying," you whisper, and a sudden smile breaks out on Minho’s face. It’s so radiant- as if every star in this galaxy was ground to fine dust and then sprinkled into it. You can’t admire it for long since Minho crashes his mouth on top of yours, drawing you in for a kiss that leaves you breathless afterward.

"You know I had a really nice dream yesterday," he finally whispers against your lips, a newfound lightness in his voice. "I think this is the first time where my reality is much sweeter."

✹✹✹

The first time you felt loved, truly.

It’s a couple of days into August when Chan tells you that he has signed up with a producing agency- it’s a huge step for him, one he’s been rambling about each time you met him for the past few months. So now you’re over at his and Minho’s dorm, attempting to bake a congratulatory cake for Chan. It was Minho’s idea, one he mumbled into your ear nonchalantly, as if he didn’t wake up really early to scout all the ingredients you might need.

"Why is baking so much harder than cooking?" Minho whines, burying his head dramatically in the crook of your neck. You giggle, patting his back in faux sympathy.

"So, you're admitting you're not good at everything?" you tease and he straightens up instantly, brows furrowed as he looks at you.

"I didn't say I'm not good at it. I said it's harder than cooking," he drawls out and you hum in reply, a teasing "sure, sure" escaping your mouth.

"Do you know how to crack an egg with one hand? That's the cue that you're a great baker."

"Why would I when I have two hands?" you chuckle and he smiles cheekily, raising his eyebrows at you. "Well, I can do it."

"Fine," you huff, grabbing an egg onto your hand. "Teach me?" you smile sweetly and he grins satisfied, "Of course."

"Here, you just need to crack the egg gently into the side of the bowl. And then lodge your finger inside, slowly pulling the shell apart. Like this," he demonstrates and you nod in understanding.

"Your turn," he smiles and you follow his instructions, tongue poking against your cheek in utmost concentration.  

"Min look! I did it" You grin widely, turning around to show him the egg now dropped into the bowl.

"You did! I’m proud of you," he smiles, placing a tender kiss on your temple. You pause, the egg’s shell still tightly clutched in your hand. You didn’t drop it into the bowl, and someone’s proud of you for it.

 It’s late into the night, and your stomach is aching from laughing for hours on end. Your plates of cake are on the ground, with only crumbs left on top of it. Minho invited two of Chan’s closest friends over- Felix and Han, so now you’re all playing rounds of Uno, and the poor freckled boy is losing each time.

"This isn’t fair," Felix whines, before stealing a bite of the leftover cake on the table. "This is really good by the way," he compliments and you giggle, turning around to point at Minho, only to find him already looking at you, a soft smile on his face.

"It’s all him," you say, and Chan gets his face impossibly close to your boyfriend’s, a teasing smile on his face. "You love me so much."

"I don’t. Get back," Minho pushes his face away, but you can tell he’s lying, from the fond smile threatening to spill over his mouth.

"Sure," Chan sing-songs, before turning to look at you. You wink at him and he ruffles your hair affectionately, as he always does when he wants to tease you. "Thank you for the cake, yn."

"You’re welcome," you grin as an unfamiliar warmth spread through your chest. Is this how it feels to have a family? People you care for and who care about you in return?

Minho notices the sudden bittersweet expression etched on your face, so he grabs your pinky in his hand, squeezing it slightly. You turn your palm around, before blindly intertwining your fingers with his- something you’ve gotten much better at lately.

"We’ll get going," Han announces when it’s nearly midnight, as he and Felix both get up from the floor. "Sure you don’t want to come to the party?" Chan asks, eyes trained on you and Minho.

"Yeah, we’ll stay the night."

You stand up as well, following Chan to the door and stopping him before he leaves. "You don’t mind me staying the night, right? It’s your dorm too, so I should ask."

"Of course not. You can come over whenever, even if Minho isn’t here. You don’t ever have to ask me, okay?"

"Okay, thank you, Chan," you beam at him, relief coursing through you at his words.

Soon enough, the dorm is silent, and it’s only you and Minho once again. You go to clean up but Minho pulls you by your hand, ushering you toward his bedroom. "Let's leave it to tomorrow," he says, and his voice sounds like warm candle wax dripping down on you. You can’t say no.

You find that he’s already prepared a pair of pajamas for you, spread out nicely on the bed- his grey shirt and a pair of shorts he has apparently overgrown.

"You'll find a box there, under the sink, it’s for you," he announces, as you walk into the bathroom to change. It’s filled with anything you might ever need, tissues and makeup removal and pads and medicine, and your cherry shampoo.

"When did you prepare this?" you ask as you open the door wide for him. He peeks his head inside, eyes softening when they take a glimpse at your figure - wearing his shirt, in his bathroom.

"A month ago, or so. Just in case you ever needed to stay the night." He's so thoughtful, you're starting to believe that the word was molded after him. "Is it enough? do you need something else?" he asks tentatively and you shake your head, squeezing his hand lightly. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"Of course. let's brush our teeth?" he smiles and you nod, grabbing the blue toothbrush he bought for you. He squeezes some toothpaste into it, and your eyes meet in the mirror. You can feel a blush creep up your face, to match the tip of his ears turning pink. It felt innocent to blush at the mere act of brushing your teeth together- at the domesticity of it, and the future hopes that lay within it.  

Minho washes his face with his cleanser and you do the same. He suddenly hoists you up the bathroom counter, before standing between your legs. his arms cage your body, as his doe brown eyes look up at you. "Do my skincare for me," he pouts and you giggle, diligently taking the moisturizer and applying it to his face.

You take your time, massaging it into his skin, rubbing soothing circles on his cheeks and the tender skin under his eye. His eyes close at your touch, body leaning forward and pressing onto your legs. You grab his lip balm, applying it evenly to his puckered lips, and then you kiss him. Softly, tenderly, hands going up and down his arms. His own find your waist, encircling it, thumbs skimming your sides.

You lean away, a giddy smile on your face. "Thank you for the lip balm," you say, before kissing the tip of his nose.

Minho's room smells like clean laundry and vanilla, courtesy of the candle he lit up. You've been here before, but this is your first time sleeping on his bed. He goes in first, before beckoning you in. You lay down on his silky pillow, your hair fanning all around you. Some strands of it go into your mouth, and you giggle faintly as you pull them away.

"Here," he says, leaning over your body and opening the drawer next to you. He takes out a hair tie, and a faint memory dances around in your mind- you tying up his hair at the convenience store near Limbo.

"You kept it?" you question incredulously, voice coming out in a faint whisper.

"I did," he says simply as if it's ridiculous for you to expect otherwise. "Can I tie it up for you?" he asks and you nod.

His fingers gather your hair, making sure no strands of it are escaping. They're magical, relieving every tension you have in your body. You feel him twisting the tie around, securing your hair in a low ponytail.

"All done." his voice is quiet, and so is the kiss he presses onto your shoulder.

You both lay down, facing each other. It's silent but it no longer scares you. Not when your fingers are grazing Minho's palm, tentatively, the way one dips their toes into the water to test its temperature. Your hands are dancing around one another, not yet holding each other, as if engaged in a dance only your body understands. His eyes are locked on yours- a brown shade so mesmerizing you wish you could paint the entire universe with it.

His gaze is always soft when it comes to you, pupils slightly dilated, eyelashes fluttering with each blink. They're so quick you almost can't catch them, as if he unconsciously wants the time in which he looks at you to last longer.

Minho's hand reaches behind you, before pulling the slipping comforter over your body. He tucks it in your sides, and warmth surrounds you everywhere; from him mainly. He's been so attentive to you tonight- a silent care you only truly appreciate when you've experienced a lack of it. It's as if he's pouring years' worth of missed love back into your life, and in return all the love you've held within, never bestowed upon anyone else, has found its sole destination in the man by your side.

Your hand circles his once again, and you watch intently the way your fingers graze one another, delicately, as if skimming on the edge of holding one another. You give in first, intertwining your fingers with Minho’s and squeezing them gently. They fit his perfectly, this is where they're supposed to be.

"I don't know what you’re doing to me," he whispers, his eyes locking onto yours once more. There is a newfound emotion gleaming in his gaze- incredulity, at the depth of his feelings.

"What do you mean?" you question, nuzzling closer to him. Your head finds its rest on his arm and he responds instantly by patting your hair.

"I want to keep buying toothbrushes for you." His voice is hushed and yet it resounds loudly within your being, as if shouted from a sky-high rooftop.

You exhale softly, curling your hand around the back of his neck, and pulling him down gently to your face. You press your lips on top of his, and they move slowly, deliberately, like a painter's careful strokes. Each touch of his lips against yours is there to make you feel something- things that he can't bring himself to say, so he shows.

You finally break apart, dazed from the raw emotions barging into your heart. You then lift your head slightly, planting a tender kiss on his forehead. Minho closes his eyes, as your lips linger in there far longer than necessary. They remain closed even after you pull away, and it is the look on his face that pushes you over the edge. The serenity painted across his features, but particularly, the trust. As if you could mold him however you want and he'd be grateful you ever touched him to begin with.

"I love you," you confess so suddenly, and the words feel foreign yet familiar as they stumble out of your lips. You expect a shift in the universe, a disastrous change as you verbalize this sentiment that's long haunted you. And yet, all that happens is Minho's eyes shimmering as they look at you. And you realize that you aren’t scared he'd twist the words and stab you with them. You know he'd cherish them, even if he didn't feel the same.

"I love you," he says back, a radiant smile lighting up his face, coloring each of his features in unadulterated happiness. Hearing those three words from him made your heart leap in your chest. There is so much more of what you feel that you wish to express. You’ve told him, but you want to show, to press your body to his so the feeling would emit from your heart to his own.

Your hand trails across his chest, and you feel his muscles constrict under your touch. "Can I?" you ask, gazes flickering between his eyes and the hem of his shirt. It's always about permission to you both- permission to touch, to feel, to kiss and the answer is always yes. Yes, yes, yes.

"Please," he whispers, and you tug his shirt quickly over his head. You are a goner after that when his hands caress your skin like you're delicate porcelain. He’s hovering over you, the candle's shadow dancing across his body. Your fingers are tracing every inch of his skin graced by the flickering light, which meant your hands were everywhere, and every touch of yours was mirrored by him. Every kiss he returned ten times fold, every gasp he drank in hungrily, only eliciting a louder one in return.

"Tell me if you’d like to stop," he smiled tenderly down at you, his nose nuzzling against yours. You never felt the need to. And as the night marched forward, you gradually grasped what the poets meant by ‘making love’. You felt as if you were truly making love, as if your every move conjured love in its purest essence between the two of you. The ebb and flow of your bodies served as a spell, heightening your emotions into a raw fervor. It was love that orchestrated your moves, binding you both in a cacophony of sweet sounds, meant for you only to hear.

Minho's gaze remained fixed on yours, as he uncovered parts of you you've never dared to show anyone. It only cemented every feeling you harbored towards him. And the safety. The safety of being in his arms. To be as bare as one could possibly be, and yet to still feel blanketed by his soft eyes on you. 

✹✹✹

Dainty snowflakes coat the outside world in a pristine white blanket. It’s a mesmerizing view, one you’ve grown to be grateful for these past few weeks since it signaled the return of winter, and with it, Minho’s birthday.

It's hard to resent snow when it welcomes the existence of the person you’ve fallen in love with.

The outside might be cold but you wouldn't know, not when you are nestled close to Minho, his legs thrown over your lap. You stare fondly at his figure, too engrossed in eating the birthday cake you’ve prepared for him- a vibrant green frosting and a picture of his three cats printed on top, just like he requested some time ago. You lean in a bit, wiping away a trace of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth. He smiles at you tenderly, angling his head to press a soft kiss on your thumb pad.

There is a growing lump in Minho's throat, but it doesn't suffocate him, since it's formed by your love for him- you remembered what he said about the birthday cake. He was joking, obviously. But the fact that you brought his ridiculous wish to reality warmed him beyond belief.

You rummage a bit in your place, hands tucked under the pillows, and then you take out a purple envelope. "Open it," you say as you place it on top of his lap. Minho puts his plate down, straightening out in his place before looking at you, a curious smile on his face.

"More surprises?" he asks, referring to the gift you’ve already given him- a pair of t-shirts, all with cats and silly scriptures imprinted on them.

"Mm," you hum, as Minho finally opens the envelope. He pauses, as his eyes rack furiously over the content of the letter. "What's this?" he asks dumbfounded, trying to fully grasp the meaning of what he's reading.

"Because of constellations, people often think that stars always live together in a cluster. But oftentimes, they are alone. Or... if they're lucky enough, they get to roam the universe with a partner. They call them a binary star. Like you and me." Emotion simmers beneath your words, and you continue, your voice a gentle undercurrent.

"It's comforting to know that other versions of us are going through this world side by side too. To know that long after we're gone, there would still be two stars discovering the universe together, orbiting around one another. A token of the love we lived." You lift your gaze to meet his, to find him staring in awe at you. You take a mental picture of this moment, adding it to the collection of the ones you already captured of him.

"Our love may not be revolutionary, we're only two humans out of billions that have adored before us. But our love is grand to me. I try..." you bite your lip, reaching out for his hand- it will guide you as you try to speak. "I always try to find the words to describe how much you mean to me, to tell you how much you do to me. I used to always hold my hand out, in the hopes that someone would grab it. But no one did, so I curled it into a tight fist. And I thought it'd stay this way, for the rest of my life. Until you came, and you unclenched my fingers gently, one at a time, and then you grabbed it into yours." Tears are trailing out of your eyes now, but you show no effort to wipe them. Happy tears shouldn't be swept away.

"Thank you for existing, my Minho," you smile softly at him, and he nods, tears brimming in his waterline, cheeks flushed pink at your words. "Thank you for kissing my finger pads and reminding me that there is still softness in this world, all embodied in you." You cradle his cheeks tenderly in your hands, trying your best to let your love seep through your fingertips into his soul.

"I think you've carved yourself into me, carved your name into my heart. Your roots intertwined with mine, and thanks to you, I managed to crack through the hard earth and bloom again. Thank you for making me feel the warm sun again. I was so so cold before you." You whisper the last part, like a sinner's confession, eager for it to be carried away, forgotten.

Minho brings your body to his, as he buries his face in your chest. You can feel slight tremors shaking his body, and you place soft kisses on his shoulder blade- soothing, calming. You are safe in my love for you, they spell out.

"I can't believe you’ve named stars after us," he mumbles against you, and your fingers thread through his hair gently, flattening out stubborn strands of it. "It's nothing," you smile and he shakes his head vehemently. "It's not- it's not nothing to be loved by you. It's everything to me."

He leans away, bringing your head down to press his lips into yours. It tastes sweet from the cake and salty from his tears. It tastes like healing. You both kiss for mere seconds and yet it feels like an eternity to you. As if your mind stretches out time with Minho, knowing how valuable it becomes with him. He presses his lips onto yours one last time, before exhaling softly, melting completely in your hold.

"As long as you're with me, I don't ever need to look at the sky," he whispers. "There are enough stars in your eyes for me."

✹✹✹

It’s late December and the fragrant aroma of hot chocolate fills your apartment. You’re preparing two cups of the cozy drink in your kitchen, while Minho watches you fondly, leaning casually on the doorway.

"Are you just gonna stare at me?" you giggle, turning around to toss him a sly smile.

"Do you need my help making hot chocolate?" he raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, I wouldn't say no to a bit of emotional support."

"Ah, my bad," he playfully bows, walking over to you. Minho gently wraps his arms around your waist, leaning his chin on your shoulder. His bangs tickle the side of your face, akin to the brush of a butterfly’s wing, and a soothing sense of contentment washes over you as he holds you close.

Minho places a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, and the touch sends shivers along your spine. "This is for warming up the milk," he mumbles, adding another kiss to your neck, "and this for mixing in the hot chocolate powder," and a final one to your temple, "and this is for pouring it in cups."

"Why thank you," you giggle, turning around to hand him his cup. "Do you remember what episode we stopped at?"

"37," he replies instantly.

"I think you love this anime more than me," you pout jokingly. "I plead the fifth," he answers solemnly and you chuckle as you both make your way to the couch.

Merely one episode in and you can already tell that Minho is no longer focusing on the show. He’s absently swirling the drink in his hand, his gaze lost within his cup.

"What did the poor hot chocolate do to you?" you smile, a beacon of curiosity piercing through his daze. His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, turning around to look at you sheepishly. "Just zoned out."

"I noticed. What's on your mind?" you ask, lowering the volume of the TV to fully focus on him.

"There is an upcoming dance competition. It's at a regional scale and I'm just... wondering if I should participate."

"You should!" you fervently reply, "You're such a talented dancer. You deserve recognition for your hard work."

"I'll become very busy, though. It's already hard enough to manage this degree," he speaks softly as if he's not fully convinced of this excuse himself.

"I've never seen you as happy as you are when you're dancing. You'll handle it, and I'll be there for you too."

"I should do it, right?" he asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You really should," you echo, your hand rubbing reassuringly across his arm.

"Okay. I will," he nods, and you beam at him, before pulling him in for a comforting hug.

"On second thought... Everyone will now see how talented my boyfriend is and they will fall in love with you," you playfully muse as you hold him close.

"But everyone's already in love with me," he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Mm, the heartthrob of campus."

"People throw themselves right and left at me, it's exhausting," he sighs, the giddy smile easily heard in his voice.

"Okay, now you're overdoing it," you giggle and he further buries his head in your neck, inhaling the scent of your perfume. "Don't worry," he mumbles quietly, "I'm only ever yours."

As weeks meld into months, your days become a whirlwind of preparation for the dance competition; where each participant is required to create a choreography from scratch, for a song of their choosing. You witness firsthand the immense effort Minho pours into this, just as he does with everything he undertakes. He spent hours upon hours in the university's dance studio, and you were often there with him. While he practiced, you sat in a corner, working on your laptop. He only paused to kiss the top of your head before diving back into his practice.

He chose a song you've never heard before, called Taste. It was mesmerizing to witness him become a vessel for the melody, like an instrument attuned perfectly to the emotions the song tried to convey. His body moved sensually, flowing like fluid water, perfectly controlled by him. Every beat in Taste was matched with a move of his, powerful enough to capture you, gentle enough not to overwhelm you, like the ebb and flow of the waves brushing against the shore.

The first two months slipped through the hourglass of time in a breeze. And although Minho grew busier, you still both managed to carve out time for quick dates. Strolls by the ocean and spontaneous trips to the cinema- outings that helped you recharge fully once again. But the third month coincided with your midterm exams, casting a heavier cloud over both of your lives.

Minho became overwhelmed, quickly, bearing the weight of his two worlds. He was smart, immensely so, he could handle his classes with ease, retaining knowledge faster than anyone you knew. But the day only had twenty-four hours in it, and he couldn't possibly do it all- finding time to practice, study and take care of himself. So, you tried to handle the last part, as best as you could anyways. Exam seasons always took a heavy toll on you- both physically and emotionally. It also didn't help that you went down with a strong flu for two weeks, making your energy levels plummet to zero.

It was only three days before the start of your exams when a soft knock resounded on your door. You opened it to find an exhausted Minho. He’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, beads of sweat glistening on his upper brow.

"I'm tired," he whispers, eyes looking absolutely devoid of emotion as they align with yours. You smile softly, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside, "I know."

You lead him to the bathroom and he follows silently. He's so compliant in your hands as if all the energy in his body was sucked out of him. "Bad day?" you ask, as you peel away his blue hoodie.

"Very." He says, voice barely above a whisper.

"It's okay. You're here now," you try to keep your voice just as quiet as you take off the rest of his clothes. You undress quickly as well, before pulling you both to the shower.

Minho rests his forehead on your back, as you check the water temperature. When it's warm enough to feel soothing on his skin, you pull him underneath the jet, and you both stand in there for a while. His head hung low, now buried in the crook of your neck; his breaths growing slower, more even.

"You did well, my Minho," you say, voice threatening to get lost in the sound of the water hitting the tiles, but Minho catches it. He tightens his hold on you in response.

Minho can feel you reaching over and grabbing something from the rack behind him. He recognizes the smell of your shampoo as you pour it in your hands, before lathering it gently on his hair. He almost starts crying right there and then, as your fingers skillfully massage his scalp. You are everywhere, pressed to his body and your hands in his hair, and your cherry scent that’s washing all over him. And the outside world suddenly seems so far away.

You rinse off the shampoo, before grabbing your conditioner and threading it through his hair, making sure that every strand is evenly covered. He shuts his eyes closed, as your hands move to his neck and start massaging it. He's so sore from all the dancing, tired from the studying he has to catch up on. But you’re making him feel okay now, as you unravel his nerves without uttering a word. How do you do it? He wants to ask; how do you always paint his world blue?

Your hands are trailing over his body now, not sensually, just easing the knots in his muscles. You're spreading body wash all over him, and his eyes are still closed, as he feels you place tender kisses on his soapy skin. ‘I love you', your voice reaches him like a faraway lullaby, 'you've been working so hard', 'I'm proud of you'; and your comforting words morph into hot tears lodged into his waterline, begging for an escape.

You finally turn the water off, before pulling him outside and wrapping a towel around his waist. He sits idly on the edge of the bed, as you quickly put on your clothes, before walking over to him. You help him wear his pajamas, the ones he's left in your apartment since he often stays the night. He can't move a limb, but you're doing it in his place- as if the life in you was blown into him, and he's only breathing thanks to you.

Once you’re both fully clothed, you sit behind Minho on the bed, legs on either side of his body. You grab a towel you warmed in advance and begin to gently dry his hair with it, patting each strand with care. As soon as you're done, Minho turns around, nestling his head against your stomach. You let him, hands rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"I already told you, but I'm very proud of you," you say, head lowered so he'd be able to hear you. "I'm so amazed by your strength and hard work. You inspire me a lot, Min. Just keep on going, and if you need a break, you can rest by my side, okay?" You place a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

"I love you," you add softly, and Minho tightens his hold on you. And then he crumbles. Completely.

He falls apart in your arms, painful sobs racking through his body. You panic, as the unfamiliar sounds knock your breath away. You've seen Minho cry before, single tears that managed to escape from his eyes, trailing on his cheeks. But you've never seen him so shattered, so consumed by his pain that he could no longer contain it. You’re caught in his storm, as uncharted waves of his hurt crash against your shores. Has he been hurting all along? Were you this oblivious to the pain brewing inside him?

Your body’s shaking as you press your chest to his back, your arms cocooning his curled-up figure. You try your best to shield him; you don't know from what exactly, but you know it has to go through you first to get to him again.

"I'm so- sorry you have to see me this way," he hiccups, his words digging their claws deeper into your chest.

"Don't say that, baby, please. It's okay, you can cry as much as you want. I'm here."

"I'm sorry," he repeats, voice quivering, and you can feel your heart slowly cracking, hurting in depths you haven't thought existed before.

"Minho, I don't- I don't only love you when you're happy. I love you when you're angry and frustrated and when you're sad. You deserve kindness and you deserve to be kind to yourself because you are still Minho. My Minho. No matter what emotion you're feeling."

"Please stay with me," he pleads softly, and you bite your lower lip, as traitorous tears escape your eyes and land on his shirt. "Where would I go, love? You're my home. I'm here."  

✹✹✹

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish. 

The thought that's been reverberating within your mind, echoing since the moment Minho crumbled in your embrace.

Selfish. 

Of course you are, since you remained oblivious to his own struggles as he slowly chipped away, until he shattered unexpectedly. Akin to a seemingly sturdy building, struck by a minor vibration and suddenly reduced to ruins.

Selfish. 

Each time you sought solace in him, you failed to realize that he was stripping away his layers to shelter you. You took and took from him, each time you called, each time he came over to brush away your tears. Your endless bad days didn't leave room for his struggles, unperceived amidst your turmoil.

Selfish and horrible. You weren't made to be loved. 

Minho is sleeping right next to you. He looks peaceful, endearing bunny-like teeth peeking through slightly parted lips. He's undisturbed, like a placid river, until someone selfishly decides to skip some stones in it- you. 

His chest rises and falls, erasing all remnants of his previous breakdown, like a scripture on sand washed away by the waves. You could almost forget it ever happened if it wasn't for the persistent echoes of his sobs. Raw pain had seeped through him, yet it could have been different. If you had asked more, he might have unraveled slowly. He would have talked and he would've never had to explode. 

Selfish and guilty. There's a bitter taste in your mouth. It doesn't go away when you hastily gulp down water.

You'll keep your problems to yourself. There is enough for him to bear already. By sharing your load, you aren't diminishing it, only adding more to his. 

You can't let your mother be right. Not about this. Not when it comes to Minho. You can't ruin his life too. 

✹✹✹

You are being distant. 

Minho notices it straight away when you stop coming over to his dorm. When you find excuses to not come to Limbo anymore, accounting it for the exams you're both taking. But he knows it's just excuses. You are straying away from him. Your light that shone on him every day suddenly turned into a distant lighthouse beam. 

And it's his fault. 

He's embarrassed by his outburst. How he broke down right in front of you. How he clung to your arms, counting on your words and touch to stitch him back together. How he wasn't enough for himself, but you were. 

Guilt floods his being, making you sadder when you're already dealing with so much. He recounts your tears dripping into his hair, as you hugged him tightly to your body. He made you cry; he shouldn't have broken down. That's why you're staying away. He can't blame you. 

He misses you. He saw you this morning and yet he misses you. Because you weren't there with him, you were somewhere else, in a faraway place in your mind. What if he can't reach you anymore? He wasn't sure what to do with himself without you. 

It's 11 pm, and he's knocking softly on your door. You open it and he smiles tightly. You smile back. 

He hovers around the entrance of your apartment, hands tightly clasped behind his back. You unclasp them, interlocking your fingers with his and leading him to your couch. You are warm, he missed you. You are here and he misses you. 

You both sit down, and you're looking at him curiously. His eyes fall to your lips, pillowy and rosy and he can't help pressing his mouth onto yours. It'll give him the courage to speak. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers against your lips and you lean away, confusion clearly written across your features. 

"For crying the other day," he clarifies. "I've made you uncomfortable and you feel like you have to be cautious around me, and I'm sorry, I won't do it again." 

"What are you saying? You didn't- you never..." you suck in a deep breath, inching closer to him.  "Minho, don't ever apologize for that. please. You should never apologize for being human."

"But you are being distant," he says in a small voice, avoiding your eyes. 

"Minho, I..." you bring your hand to his cheek, locking your gaze with his. "It's not what you think. I promise."

"Then what is it?"

You bite your lip, sighing loudly before speaking again. "You sobbed. And I had no idea you were hurting that much inside. I am so reclined on myself that I didn't notice. And I tried to distance myself so I'd sort my thoughts out. So, I could be there for you, fully. You're always here for me, and I feel... As if I failed you." 

It's now his turn to cup your cheek, his thumbs gently brushing against your skin. 

"I felt so loved by you that day. That's why I cried. because I've never felt that way before," he's quick to explain. "Yes, I was stressed and overwhelmed but it's not your fault. You were there for me when I needed you most. You didn't fail me; how could you think that?" 

"Because it should've never gotten that bad. If I had noticed before, then I would've helped you and it wouldn't have gotten that bad for you. You don't deserve to feel sad, not when you’re... You. Someone like you shouldn't feel sad." 

"Didn't you say we're humans? Isn't that what humans do? They fall down and they get up, I can't always be fine. It's not your fault." 

"Minho you don't understand... How much more of yourself can you give to me, without hurting yourself in return?" You're so sure of these words you're uttering, as if you've drilled them into your mind by now. You couldn't be more wrong. 

Minho blinks repeatedly, trying to gather the words in his mind properly. You weren't distancing yourself from him, because he had hurt you. But rather, so you wouldn't hurt him anymore. So, you'd be there for him more. A sudden relief floods his being. He isn't losing you. 

Minho can't help the chuckle that escapes his mouth. He shakes his head slightly as he brings you to his chest. You're so warm as you wrap your arms around his waist. He still misses you but you're here, you aren't going anywhere. 

"You memorized my coffee order. And my favorite pudding. You always bring me one when you come over. When you find a new flavor, I haven't tried, you always buy it for me. You look at me so excitedly when I try it. As if me finding a new favorite pudding brings your personal joy," he's talking softly, slowly, in the hopes that you'd understand what he means. 

"You love spicy food, but you always cook without it when I'm with you. Because I can't handle it as well as you. You put snacks and water in my bag when I have dance practice, and then you come to check on me, even when you're busy too. You bought me an umbrella, and you placed it near the entrance of my dorm, so I wouldn't forget it. You give me the opened chopsticks package first, and you blow on my food so it wouldn't burn my tongue. And you let me pick the movie, every time. You let me pick it," he places a soft kiss on your shoulder, tightening his hold on you. 

"You brush my hair away from my eyes when you think I'm asleep. And you make sure the blanket covers my body entirely, even if it means it doesn't cover you. I've never had that. Never had someone care for me this gently. Even when I'm not awake and I can't give them anything in return." 

He leans back, smiling softly at you. There is a new palpable emotion in the air- love, in its most unconditional form. It smells fragrant and sweet- like you and him. 

"I notice everything you do for me, every way in which you love me. You're here for me in more ways than you can ever imagine. And I love you. Please don't stray away from me. Promise me," he pouts slightly, nudging his pinky toward your face. You giggle in defeat, before wrapping your pinky with his. 

"Didn't you think pinky promises were silly?" 

"Nothing you like is silly."

"Not even that cheesy drama I watch?" 

"Okay. Maybe that one is. But it makes you laugh," he trails off. "If it makes you laugh then I like it too." 

"You'll talk to me more, right? About whatever's bothering you? When you're not feeling black yet?" 

"I will, I promise. You too, right?"

"Mm. I will too." 

"Good," he smiles, pecking your cheek softly. "I've missed you. And I don't mind feeling all the colors of the rainbow, as long as you're near me."

✹✹✹

The voices of your friends singing you happy birthday reaches you like the distant chirping of birds, fading away in the back of your mind with each passing second. You know that Mina is smiling at you, her head resting on Jeongin’s shoulders. And that Chan, Han and Felix are all clapping excitedly, their voices blending together in a somewhat harmonious melody. But you can’t seem to focus on any of it. Your eyes are set on Minho, who’s walking over to you, a vibrant pink cake in his hand. The surface of it is covered in candy- marshmallows and macaroons, and a dozen of lit candles. Their light flickers on Minho’s face, casting an ethereal glow on him.

And as your widened eyes meet his, he knows that it all just clicked in place for you.

Four months ago.

"What did you like to do, when you were younger?"

You stay quiet for a few moments, mulling over Minho’s question. The waves crash softly at your feet, the sound of them and Minho’s arms around you serving as a perfect cover to thread through your childhood once again.

"I had a bunny plushie. My aunt gave it to me one day when her daughter didn't want it anymore. She was going to throw it out, but I took care of it. We took care of each other, in a way. I used to stay alone at home a lot, and Caramelo would keep me company."

"Caramelo?" he giggles and you pinch his arm playfully. "I was six when I named it, sue me."

"Mm, and where is Caramelo now?"

"I left it in the house. I packed in such a hurry and it didn't fit in my suitcase. But I really wanted to bring it," you smile sadly and Minho can sense a shift in your tone, so he trails his hands across your arms gently, pulling you even closer to his chest.

"What else did you like?" he asks, placing a kiss under the shell of your ear.

"Playing in the playground, there was one really near home. I'd sneak out and go play in the swing, but there was no one to push me higher there," you chuckle slightly, burying yourself further in Minho's embrace. 

"Oh, but I met a girl there when I was eleven, Lydia, I think. She was our neighbor, and she invited me to my first ever birthday party. Her parents prepared this huge cake for her, it was all pink with so much candy on top. I kept dreaming about having a similar one for my birthday. We also painted each other's nails and put on facemasks, and then we watched a movie. It was really fun," you recall, a wave of nostalgia washing over you. You were really shy and didn't talk to the other girls present, staying away in a corner. But Lydia grabbed your hand and pulled you next to her. She didn't let go during the entire movie.

You hoped she was okay, wherever she might be now.

"And... my mom took me one day to a hill near our home. We sat on a bench there, overlooking the city's lights. We didn't talk but she braided my hair since it kept getting in my mouth. That's my favorite memory with her."

Your voice is carried away with the wind, drowned in the waves. You hoped that one day your childhood memories will come back to you, like the sea foam dissolving at your feet. Gentle, incapable of hurting you anymore. 

"You know what I really want now? A big cake for my birthday too," Minho suddenly whines and you giggle, turning around to look at him.

"Want me to bake it for you?" you tease and he nods, cradling your face between his cold hands. They warm up once they rest on your cheeks.

"Yes. I want the cats’ pictures printed on it, and..." he trails off, looking up at the sky. "I want it to be green.”

"Green?" you chuckle. "Isn't that a bit weird for a cake?"

"Are you questioning my vision?" he wiggles his brows at you, his hands coming to your sides.

"I am," you laugh, as he starts to tickle you, unwaveringly. You fall to the sand, and he's on top of you, hands roaming your body as loud laughter erupts from you.

Minho’s eyes soften as he gazes at your laughing figure, but he doesn't stop, not until you tap his arm multiple times, happy tears trailing from your eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Green is perfect, you are a genius!"

"Why thank you," he smiles, before leaning down and kissing your tears away. You shiver slightly, from the cold and the feel of his soft lips on your skin. He notices.

"Come on," he outstretches his hand and you grab it, standing up and dusting your pants. Minho squats slightly in front of you, and you giggle before climbing on top of his back.

"Don't you ever wonder who was the person who invented tickling? They were just sitting down and then they touched someone and they started laughing,” he suddenly muses.

"Right! And then they decided this was something they should keep on doing, and it stuck around for centuries."

"I think it's really cute. It says I love the sound of your laugh so much that I will sit there and tickle you just to hear it."

"And you just tickled me," you trail out. "I know," he mumbles, the tips of his ears suddenly turning pink.

"I like your laugh too, Minho."

"Just like?" He teases, in a futile attempt to diffuse his shyness. 

"I love it. I love it so much I could pay my entire life savings just to keep on hearing it again."

"Stop," he whines and you giggle, swinging your dangling feet in the air.

"Have you ever heard your laugh? No other melody can compare. At this point, musicians should just retire."

"You're insufferable," he finally laughs and you sigh, melting into his back.

"And you like me."

"And I love you."

Present time

The realization dawns on you like a floodgate- Minho is recreating your happiest childhood memories.

From the pink cake of your dreams. To the obnoxiously glittery nail polish he brought home three days ago, spontaneously, you foolishly assumed. He insisted on having a pampering night, where you both applied face masks to one another, bunny headbands tucking your hair out of your face. You giggled as he painted your nails with the utmost concentration, and then begged you to paint his in return. He didn't explain why he wanted pink nails suddenly, you should've known. 

You should've known when he suddenly knocked on your door at midnight, taking your sleepy figure to the playground near your apartment. "Why are you here so late?" you questioned, rubbing your eyes tiredly. 

"We are sneaking out," he whispered in your ear, and you didn't question his flawed logic- who were you sneaking out from exactly? But all was forgotten as he pushed you in the swing, fueled by your growing high-pitched giggles. "Higher?" he shouted and you laughed loudly, the sound of it echoing around the park. "Yes, higher!" Until you felt as if you were close enough to touching the stars. 

You should've known. 

Minho places the cake on the table, his warm hand finding your lower back. He rubs it soothingly, as you mouth a heartfelt "thank you" to him, hot tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. You couldn't speak, afraid of bursting into sobs in front of all your friends. He understands what you're referring to.

It's far later into the night when your friends finally leave Minho's dorm. You've all cleaned up the place, soft music emitting from the speakers. You didn't need songs to fill the silence, the conversations flowing easily between you all.

You gather all the gifts you've received and take them to Minho's room- a pair of shoes you've been raving about from Mina and Jeongin, and new headphones from Chan, Han, and Felix, since your old ones stopped working not too long ago.

"You're okay?" Minho asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

"Better than ever," you beam at him, cupping Minho's neck and meeting his lips in a tender kiss. 

"I'm still not done," he smiles secretly, brushing his lips against yours once more, before pulling away. You watch, curious as he heads towards his closet and takes something out of it. Your eyes grow wide as they settle on the gift in his hands. You can feel your lip quivering as you walk hastily over to him. 

"Is this...?" you ask incredulously and he nods, a happy smile on his face. "Your Caramelo."

"How... When?" you stammer, as happy tears blur your vision, "How did you do it?"

"I have my ways," he smiles assuredly at you. "Do you like it? I'm sorry if I overstepped by bringing it to you," he adds softly, a hint of vulnerability in his words.

"No, Minho, this is the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I can't believe it- I... I don't even know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he smiles, his hand rubbing your arm affectionately. "I figured this plushie should be in a loving home, with you. It helped you back then and now you're strong enough to help it in return."

There are overwhelming emotions that we can't quite express with words- like sorrow, sadness, or in your case, happiness. That's why touch was invented, you believe. As you pull Minho for a bone-crushing hug, Caramelo snug between your chests, you hope that he can feel everything you failed to express through words. That your soul will speak to him in a way your mouth couldn’t. 

"When you told me there is a friend of yours, who lived in my town. There was no friend, right?" you mumble into his neck.

"No, I just wanted to know your address," he whispers, arms tightening around your waist.

"Did you meet my mom?"

"Yes. She's the one who gave it to me."

"Did she tell you anything... about me?" you ask cautiously.

Minho remembers snippets of his conversation with your mother- the indifference she showed towards you, as if it wasn't her daughter, her flesh and blood that she discarded away so easily. 

"Nothing of importance. I promise you."

"Thank you," you whisper, voice caught up in your throat, bound by the ropes of your overflowing emotions. "Thank you for healing me."

Sleep didn’t come easily to you that night, and as Minho snored quietly next to you, you untangled your limbs from his, before heading to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. 

You find that the lights are already on and that Chan is working on his laptop, eyebrows furrowed as he gazed at his screen.

"Hey," you greet softly, careful not to startle him. 

"Our birthday girl," Chan grins and you chuckle quietly, before settling next to him on the couch. 

"What are you working on?" you question, taking in the different settings displayed on his screen.

"Just a new song," he shrugs sheepishly, "I'm almost done with it." 

"That's nice," you mumble, tucking your knees into your chest. 

"I suppose Minho already gave you your gift," Chan speaks softly and you startle, turning around to look at him. 

"He didn't tell me what it is, don't worry. But I assume he pretended as if it was no big deal, that he got it." 

You nod silently, fearing that speaking would stop Chan from talking. 

"I told him that he should just walk up to your house, present himself, and then ask your mom if he can take some of your stuff for you. But he said it’s too risky, and there is a chance she might say no. So, you know what he did?" Chan chuckles softly, and you feel the breath slowly escape your chest. "He spent weeks researching all the moving companies that work in your town. And then he bought us uniforms that looked like one of theirs. With the name tags and all. We rented a truck and we drove there, so we’d pretend as if we were moving the rest of your belongings. Your mom didn't question it thankfully, and I've never seen Minho as relieved as when he climbed back into the truck."

An overwhelming need to cry threatens to consume you, and you bite your lip harshly to stop it from taking over. Not in front of Chan.

"For him to go these lengths for you, means that he loves you a lot. But also, that he feels really loved by you. So, thank you, for loving Minho. I'm very happy you guys are together now." Chan smiles softly at you, before getting up and ruffling your hair slightly. 

You quickly go back to Minho's room, before bringing his body tightly to yours. And as soon as you touch him, he mumbles your name in his sleep before throwing an arm over your waist.

"Thank you for loving me. I love you so much too," you whisper into his back, as your tears dampen his shirt. You wished that the words would reach him in his dreams, making them sweeter for him.

You didn't make a wish that day, as you blew the candles, foolishly believing that everything you've ever wanted was already around you. But you should've.

Maybe that would've stopped the anguish to come.

✹✹✹

There is a bad feeling nudged into the space between your ribs. You rub a soothing palm across your chest, in the hopes that it will calm your spiking anxiety. But you only feel your heart growing more erratic in your chest, and the sound of it only makes you panic ten times fold.

You’ve just woken up. You can hear the water running in the shower. Minho has stayed over since you both studied late into the night. You listen intently, a small breath of relief escaping your mouth when the water turns off. He’s okay.

You drag a hand tiredly across your face, before shaking your head left and right. You’ll have a good day, you’ll open the blinds and the golden sun will stream through your windows, and you’ll feel okay.

You don’t.

The dread lingers in your being throughout the day, making the simple act of walking weigh heavily on your bones. You try to distract yourself, by focusing on your classes and listening to Mina’s rants about her latest date with Jeongin. But to no prevail. So, you surrender to that feeling, today’s a bad day, but tomorrow doesn’t have to be. You’ll make sure of it.

It’s five pm when you finally walk up the stairs of your apartment. Minho went to grab you both something to eat since you’ll be studying again tonight. You wish he’d come home quickly, so you wouldn’t attach your anxiety to him. As long as you see him, then he’s okay.

You open the door, pausing by the front entrance. Something in you tells you to flee, to turn back, and never set foot inside. You don’t listen to it. If you paid attention to everything your mind tells you then you’d never truly live.

You quickly change out of your clothes, before turning on the TV. You mindlessly scroll through the show suggestions, and settle on one you haven’t seen before. You turn up the volume, making sure that the voices of the characters would drown the ones in your mind.

But then, your phone rings. It vibrates from the coffee table, the name of your aunt illuminating your screen. She calls you from time to time, but why is she doing it today? You don’t want to answer, not when there is a bulge in your throat suffocating you.

You watch numbly as the phone call seizes. You breathe out a shaky exhale. You’ll call her tomorrow.

The phone rings again.

You bite your lip harshly, hands shaking as you bring the device to your ear. You’re overreacting, you tell yourself. Nothing’s wrong. Minho will be home soon.

"What’s going on?" you ask immediately, the question slipping out of your mouth before you even thought about it.

Your aunt sighs softly, and then her voice floods your being. It sounds hoarse like she’s been crying. "Look, I…" another sigh, and you imagine her fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She always wore dresses. All seasons mingled. With pretty flowers sewed into them and sometimes even-

"Your mother died in a car accident."

Silence. You can't hear anything after those words are uttered. You know that your TV is still playing in the background and that your aunt is still talking on the phone. But it's completely silent. For five seconds. Where the world stills, as if to allow you a brief moment to process what you just heard.

Your mom. Gone.

But then, sounds crash upon you like a relentless wave. The shatter of the characters in the background, the ticking of your clock, the dull buzz of the refrigerator. And your aunt, she's still talking, telling you about the funeral and when it will be held and you can't believe what you are hearing.

It's all too overwhelming, everything surrounding you is too much to bear so you simply hang up.

You put your phone down on the table. And then you turn it off. That's one sound dealt with.

You turn the TV off and dismantle the clock from your wall so it wouldn't tick anymore. You then unplug your refrigerator. Has its buzzing always been this loud? You wonder. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Now it’s silent. It's what you crave.

Minho will come home soon. You should make him something to eat. You think to yourself. A fruit salad. It's warm outside and the fruits are refreshing.

So, you grab a knife from your drawer, and then you start peeling an orange. Then an apple. It's rugged, and half the fruit is wasted with the peel. You've never really known how to peel the skin properly. So, you put the knife down. The blade is slightly red, you notice. There is blood oozing from your finger. You cut yourself. But it doesn't hurt, so you leave it be.

Light floods your apartment, a stark contrast to the shadows within you. But you want it to be dark, and silent. You already took care of that last part. So, you pull down all the blinds and turn off the lights one by one. Now it's pitch black. Now it's quiet.

You sit on the floor, running your hand across the tiles. You count them, one, two, three. When is Minho coming home?

The floor is cold underneath you, the sensation heightened since your every other sense is muffled. You can't see, you can't hear, but you can still touch. You wished you couldn't anymore. The smallest sensation overstimulates you.

The front door unlocks, but you don't hear someone coming in. You imagine Minho standing by the door, looking around in the dark. It's okay, he'll find you. He always does.

"Honey?" he calls out and you reply from the living room, "I’m here."

You don't have to yell, it's quiet enough for your voice to be carried around your home with ease.

Minho has his flashlight on, you notice. He's looking for you and he finally spots you on the ground. You move a strand of your hair behind your ear, and you feel something warm smear across your cheek. You forgot about your cut- a reminder of the pain lurking beneath the surface, waiting patiently to consume you.

"Baby?" His tone is soft and careful, and you can see the worry brewing in his brown eyes. Why was he worried? You're okay. Nothing happened.

"I made you a fruit salad. It's in the kitchen. Can you please turn off the light?"

"Okay." His voice is calm, and you don't mind him talking. You could bear it. He was different after all, to you.

He’s pulled into the abyss with you, as he sits down next to your rigid figure. His hand rests on top of your pinkie, but you recoil from it. Not because you hate it, but his hand is warm and the floor beneath you is cold. That's a contrasting sensation. You don't want that. You just want a stillness, to feel like a straight line. Straight lines are always sure of themselves, of where they're going. You were tired of feeling like a bent one at the hands of the universe.

"What happened, baby?"

"Nothing."

"Okay. What did you do when I left, hm?"

"Nothing much. I was watching this new show, I think you’ll like it. And then my aunt called. She told me my mom died in a car accident. And then I went to the kitchen and I cut up some fruits. But I didn't know how to peel them. Can you believe it?" you giggle, your voice suddenly high-pitched. "I mean who- who doesn’t know how to peel the skin of an apple? Isn't that such a basic skill?" You're laughing now, you don't know what's funny, but you're laughing.

"And I cut my finger, but I didn't feel anything, Minho. I don't- I don't feel anything," you're still giggling, hot tears trailing down your cheeks rapidly. "My mother died and I don't feel anything. Why- why can't I feel anything? Minho, I can't- I can't-" You're hyperventilating, words straining to come out of your mouth. The breath is knocked out of you and white spots cloud your vision, like the stars that dance around Minho’s eyes. They seem kind enough so you don't fight them. You want to welcome them in the hopes that they'd take this unbearable weight off of you.

"Yn, yn, breathe for me, baby. Listen to my voice," Minho calls out and it's as if you're pulled in two opposing directions. He sounds scared, so you try to do as he says. You don’t want him to worry about you.

"You're doing so well, breathe with me, okay? Breathe in... Breathe out... Perfect, let's do it again," he instructs and you try your best to follow suit. You can feel yourself shaking, your hands moving as if they have a mind of their own. You are cold, too cold, and you can't help but wonder if it's how your mother is feeling right now too.

The thought seems to drive you over the edge and you let out a guttural sob. It racks from within you, reverberating from the depths of your splitting soul. It's a pain unlike any you've ever felt. You try to find something to compare it to, a sensation you imagine must hurt the same. But you can't find any. You can't find a metaphor to make the pain more bearable.  

So instead, you let out a heart-wrenching scream, slicing through the silence you tried desperately to maintain. Your throat aches from the strain on your vocal cords but you pay it no mind, not when there is a pain bursting open every seam of yours, undoing every thread you so carefully stitched back into your soul.   

Amidst your pitch-black apartment, you see yourself quivering in the corner, head buried in your hands. And then it’s thirteen years old you sitting there, the one who wished for something so horrible to happen on the birthday she spent alone, yet again. Your wish came true, you want to tell her. You tried to take it back, but it came true.

Minho gathers you in his arms, and you clung to him. You know he's trying to wrap you up the best he can, his arms around your back and his legs pressed on you. He's trying his best to stop you from falling apart. From breaking beyond the point of no return. And you think to yourself that you've passed it. You've passed it and he's clinging helplessly into your remains now.

✹✹✹

The funeral went by in a blur, its details elusive in your memory. At times it felt like a fever dream, a mirage conjured by your mind. And sometimes you tried to believe it, to lull yourself into a comfortable thought. Where you don't talk with your mom and she doesn't know how you are doing, but she's still alive. On the other side of the country. She's still breathing.

But this fleeting comfort is quickly shattered. The thought barely lingers, like a whisper in the wind, never staying long enough for you to finally draw in a full breath. Because the grief clings onto your skin, and you carry it with you everywhere, like a stench that won’t quite leave you. You wonder if other people can smell it on you too.

Minho hasn't left your side, once. He's always next to you. His hands are resting on your back or brushing your cheek tenderly. They are always near. And you hold them tightly. You practically memorized the lines etched on his palm. It's all you stared at during the funeral.

It felt wrong and unjust to be somewhere where everybody knew your mother, except for you. You felt as if you were left out, robbed of happy memories to mourn as well. So, you remained silent, gaze fixed intently on Minho's palm. And he didn't mind; he never does when it comes to you.

He's gentle with you, he's always been, but he's particularly gentle with you these weeks. The countless times he's cared for you blur together- his soapy hands skimming your body, massaging the shampoo into your hair when your limbs felt too heavy to move; the meals he cooked for you, making sure that each bite was cool enough before feeding it to you. How he always told you he was proud of you, at random times throughout your days. ‘What for?’ you wanted to scream, ‘I'm barely alive as it is’. "For breathing," he'd add as if he heard the thoughts swirling in your mind. "For being here. For waking up today." 

He did your laundry and he folded your clothes. Sometimes he even picked your outfits and dressed you in the morning. Leaving pecks all over your face after each worn clothing. You wanted to smile, to tell him how much you loved him. How his love felt like a sun ray peeking through the cell hole of a prisoner. But you couldn't speak. So, you hoped he knew.

He unburdened you of all these mundane tasks, so you'd focus on other ones. Like attending classes and taking notes and writing essays. Because as much as you wished for it, the world did not pause for your sorrow. In the grand tapestry of existence, where did you stand exactly? You were nothing but a mere speck of light. Your emotions, as profound as they were to you, did not hold the power to halt the world's march, to compel universal mourning.

But Minho made your world stop, just like he promised, almost a year and a half ago. When you finally found your voice, he'd listen to you talk, your head on his lap, his fingers weaving through your hair gently.

"I feel like I’m mourning two people. The person I knew and the person she could have been," you told him one night and he hummed, listening intently to you.

"The what-ifs are killing me Minho. It feels like I’m suffocating each time I think of what could have been. She left so suddenly. But she should've stayed. Maybe our relationship would've gotten better."

"Maybe… or maybe not, you can never truly know. And it’s not your job to find the answers to the questions she left behind. Maybe she didn’t even have them herself."

You appreciated how his hand never left yours, as you journeyed through seas of uncharted emotions. The anger- that came with her leaving so abruptly, leaving you behind with a heavy baggage to dissect. The sadness- from losing the woman who will always be part of you. Because we don't kill our hopeful past selves, we simply bury them and they remain just under the surface of our souls, a testament to everything we've been through.

The nostalgia- that creeps in from time to time, conjuring rose-tinted memories in your head. Maybe her voice was softer here. She did ask about your day one time. Wasn't that her sitting on the benches in your musical play? But it wasn't, it was just your brain trying to soften the harshness of losing her.

It is how our minds cope with grief, your therapist says. Minho convinced you to go see one. Because love doesn't mend everything. And he needed you to be okay again, for yourself.

He's always waiting for you after your sessions end. With coffee and a fresh pastry. You didn't eat them at first, because they tasted bland and you'd rather not waste them. But one time you bit into the strawberry muffin and it tasted sweet and citrusy. And you smiled at Minho.

He stared at you in awe that day, and then he kissed you softly, pressing his pillowy lips against yours. His eyes mirrored galaxies, tears tracing constellations down his cheeks. "You look so pretty when you smile," he whispered tenderly and you felt emotion bubbling within you, stuck in your throat. But you didn’t want to cry. So, you only smiled more brightly at his words, and you kept his compliment stored safely within you, right beside every sweet gesture of his since that day.

Minho didn’t have the answers to all your questions. He didn’t always know what to say to make it feel right. But he stayed there, he tried his best, to heal parts of you that you never knew could be bruised.

You tried one day, to go through the day normally. You woke up, opened the blinds, and then you made Minho breakfast. You ate lunch with Mina, making some jokes here and there. And when you saw Chan in the line of the coffee shop, you went up to him to talk.

And then you got home and showered, put on makeup, and waited for Minho to come to you. As soon as he opened the door, you were on him, hands busy unbuttoning his shirt, your lips pressed wildly on top of his. You missed him, missed the way he made you forget as he touched you, everywhere. As he showed you how much he loved you.

"I want you, please," you whispered, your lips grazing the shell of his ear, your hands roaming across his chest. Your tone was begging and Minho could feel the urgency in it, so he nodded, he could never say no to you. He watched as you guided him to the couch, as you straddled his lap. You kissed his neck and he tilted it back to give you more of an opening. His hands were on your thighs, cautious. Your lips on him felt heavenly but he couldn’t allow himself to get lost in the pleasure, he had to keep an eye on you.

You were urgent, with the way you sucked the tender skin above his collarbones, how you grinded your hips into his. As if you were on borrowed time and you had to make him reach his high as fast as possible.

"Tell me you’re mine," you muttered, between the kisses you imprinted onto his chest. He could see the lipstick stains you left behind as if you needed to mark him up for everyone to see.

"I'm yours," he says, his hand smoothing the top of your hair. He could sense that something was wrong now, because your eyes were glazed over, and your kisses were getting sloppy, as if your mind was somewhere else. So, he grabs your hips to pause you. "I'm yours, angel. You hear me?"

"Tell me you won’t leave, tell me you’re staying," you take his hands away from your sides, clasping them in a tight hold. You capture his lips in a desperate kiss, and Minho can feel the tears streaming down your face. "Tell me you’ll stay, please, I can’t- can’t lose you too."

"Hey, hey, love. It’s okay, calm down," Minho easily frees his hand from your grasp, bringing you closer to his chest. It’s all it takes for you to start sobbing. "Who said anything about losing me? I’m still here, I won’t ever leave you," he shushes, his voice sounding like honey to your ears. It manages to muffle the sound of your erratic heartbeat.

"I'm so so tired Minho, so tired," you sob, burying your head in his chest. You felt as if there was pain igniting the end of each of your nerves. You couldn't run away from it because the pain became you. "I try to be strong, but I can't. It hurts to wake up and- and to try to go on as if nothing happened. The thoughts in my head don't ever stop and I can't- I can't do this anymore. Please make it stop. Make it stop hurting," you press your palm onto your chest, a useless attempt to soothe the burn within.

 Why did it feel as if in your attempts to put out the fire raging within you, you only ended up fueling it even more?

"I would- I would if I could but I can't do that, I wish I could-" his tone is desperate, raw pain dripping from it.

"What if I'm not strong enough to do it myself?" you cut him off, finally asking the question that's been haunting you. "What if I can't fill this hole within me and it keeps on growing until it swallows me whole?"

Minho tightens his hold on you, rocking you gently in place, trying to lull your heart to sleep, so it'd stop hurting, even for a moment, even for a second. You know it's selfish to expect him to have all the answers, but he's all you have. He's the only voice you can bear listening to.

"I can't promise you that you'll ever fill the void left by her absence. It will keep on bleeding and throbbing, begging for a temporary patch-up. But one day it'll stop, it can't bleed forever. And around that hole flowers will bloom, like a sanctuary, watered by your overflowing love. Because it is your love that's hurting you, not your anger. Do not kill your heart to stop feeling, please. It will do that on its own, it won't hurt more than it can bear."

"It will take time. And if you run out of your time, I'll give you mine too. You aren't alone in this, we are a binary star, right?" he smiles softly and you nod slightly against his chest. "I read that to the invisible eye, they look like a singular star. I hope that to the universe we'd look like one person too, so they'd pass some of your pain to me."

✹✹✹

It’s been a few months since your mother died. You didn’t like the term passing away, because it entails that it was gentle, in passing, as if you were expecting it. But her death was sudden and it made your entire world flip upside down.

"Would you like to talk to her?" Minho suggested one night, his knuckles brushing against your cheek softly.

"Will you come with me?" you ask quietly.

"Of course. If you want me to, that is."

"I can try."

Minho drove you to the graveyard the following weekend. It felt weird to see her name etched on the grave, a reminder that this was all real and not a figment of your imagination. 

"I'm not a daughter anymore." You speak after a while, tone coated in sadness, and acceptance. "But I think I’ve never truly been one, since you were never a mother to me."

"Is it weird, that I miss you? I don't even know what I miss exactly since you were never there. But I miss you. I miss having a mother. And I'm sorry, that you were so angry at the world you couldn't find it in you to love me." You pause, blindly reaching out to hold Minho's hand. He grabs it instantly. "But I won't carry your anger anymore. I don't want to be mad at you, for leaving so suddenly. I want to be happy. I deserve to be happy. And I hope that you are too, wherever you are now."

You turn around, a small smile gracing your lips, and Minho wastes no time in wrapping you in his arms, your cheek resting against his shoulder. He's proud of you, the emotion shines clear as day in his eyes. 

"I wanna take you somewhere," he tells you and you nod, wrapping your arm securely around his waist.

The drive is short and you recognize the place fairly easily. It's the hill you told him about a long time ago, the one that held your happiest memory with your mother.

You both sit on the bench, your head finding solace on his shoulder. The view unfolding in front of you is still as breathtaking, and with each passing moment, the tightness in your chest seems to ease. Memories of your mother and this serene spot intertwine like delicate vines, bringing you a bittersweet sense of comfort. Because mourning someone isn't straightforward, not when humans are this complex, never strictly good or bad.

"Cold?" Minho asks and you shake your head no. "You're a human heater."

"Only near you," he smirks and you giggle slightly.

"I remember your hands used to be so cold."

"So, I could find an excuse to hold yours."

"Are you flirting with me?" you chuckle and he nods, a proud smile on his face. "Is it working?"

"I haven't run away yet, so I suppose it is." There is a newfound lightness in your voice, one you’ve been achingly missing for the past months.

"Come here," he taps his lap with his hands and you promptly lay your head on it.

"Look at the sky," he instructs and you do as he says, squinting your eyes. "What am I supposed to see?" you giggle, but then you feel it, the faintest snowflake falling on your nose tip.

"Go away, I don't want to watch the first snow with you," you tilt your head towards Minho, who's watching you, a soft smile on his face.

You giggle at the distant memory, when you both left Limbo, two years ago. The first time Minho rewrote your memories.

"As if I could ever love you, that'd just be signing a death warrant," you repeat your words from that night, a knowing smile on your face.

"How's that death warrant going?"

"Horrible, so so horrible," you say as you intertwine his hand with yours, squeezing it lightly.

"Mm. I suppose we can't be the exception to the superstition."

"How unfortunate," you smile as he leans down to press a kiss on your forehead, before looking back at the sky again.

He looks perfect from your view. You can clearly see the mole on his nose, the pucker of his rosy lips, and his long eyelashes framing his eyes. You are overcome by a feeling of love for the man beside you, and you stand up from your place to pull him in for a deep kiss.

"What was that for?" he smiles once you lean away, his fingers gently grazing your lips.

"Thank you, for today and for every day since I've met you."

"Of course, my love. You took a big step today, what color are you feeling right now?"

"Whatever color loving you is."

✹✹✹

Hills covered in verdant hues, rows of flowers bursting with vibrant colors, stretching before your eyes. The birds are chirping somewhere near, intermingling with the faint melody of the wind brushing against your skin.

"Here," Minho comes from behind, placing his knit jacket on top of your shoulders. Its warmth seeps through you, and you lean your back against his chest, melting into his embrace. His arms encircle your chest, resting comfortably on top of your heart as if guarding it from harm.

You feel your breathing slow down as you both look out the window. You are somewhere far from the city and its buzzing lights, a small white cottage surrounded by nature, where only you and Minho exist.

Minho nuzzles his chin on your shoulder, placing a chaste kiss under your ear. A light giggle escapes your mouth, as goosebumps rise upon your skin. Your body still reacts as sweetly to Minho, proofs of his love imprinted all over you. His touch is familiar to you but still as soothing, never losing its effect on you. You believe it never will, even when you're both withering down; his touch will still be the only thing making you bloom.

"This is nice," he whispers, sighing softly and you nod against him, raising your hand to settle on top of his. His fingers instinctively find your wedding ring, playing with it as they've done for the past two years.

"It's always nice with you," you say and he smiles softly, squeezing your hand lightly. You remember how it felt when he held it for the first time. How he hasn't let go since. It was only ever his to hold.

"We did well, don't you think? For our first time being alive."

His words make a gentle warmth stir within you. It is your first life, and you're lucky enough to spend it with him.

"We did," you turn around, to find him already looking down at your figure, a fond smile on his face. "To think we probably wouldn't be together if it wasn't for our law classes."

"No," he shakes his head, hands gently cupping your cheeks. "I would've found you. On a random evening when you'd stumble onto Limbo. In the supermarket where you'd buy your cherry shampoo. In the park you used to play in as a kid. I would've found you."

You've once read that when humans are about to pass away, a film of their happiest memories plays in front of their eyes. You know that many years down the road when you're on the brink of going away, you'll remember this moment clearly in your head. You'll remember the cicadas chirping far away, and the zesty smell of the lemon muffins you made earlier today. You'll remember the cold breeze ruffling your hair, and Minho’s warm hands on you. And you'll sigh contently, from having lived a life filled with love.

"My soul is dipped in yours. It will always find you too."

[thisismeracing]

Your time | LH44

― Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x singer!reader ― Warnings: mentions of cheating; lots of rumors about lewis being an a*hole; mentions of juliana nalu and shakira, but all fictional. ― Summary: A couple months after the biggest breakup in the F1 paddock, your song gets leaked and the internet uproars about your relationship again. This time they have more ammunition than ever to feed the narrative that Lewis Hamilton cheated on you. Are they right though? (based on this request).

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September, 2023

paddockgossip

liked by ynfan, haileybieber, and others

paddockgossip how would you guys feel if your man goes out with another singer and looks this cozy while you’re out there on tour working your ass off? 👀

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sunshineyn you know shits real when her friend hailey likes the post…

⤷ pinterestyln I thought the same

leclercnation you guys forgot to add that yn and shakira aren’t friends, were never seem together, couldnt bother to talk about one another, yet this is the second time we see her around lewis this week…

randuser @ yourusername bestie come get your man!

schumakatchau this looks oddly like a double date

raintyres GUYS HIS HAND PLACEMENT!!! HES HOLDING SHAKIRAS WAIST 😭😭😭😭

tomdayastan my girl Yn doesn’t deserve this

evansnature are you guys really that surprised? He’s a man, I expect anything from a man

January, 2024

February, 2024

f1wagsupdate

liked by pierregasly, mbappeworld, and others

f1wagsupdate According to our sources Yn Yln and Lewis Hamilton broke up ealier this month. There is not an official reason yet, but most fans believe that cheating was the cause of the downfall of the four-years-long relationship.

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user44 is true love even real?

gomezracing I hate it in here

drugobitch what if its because of the cheating rumors?

⤷ rand32 but why would she wait weeks after it?

likedbypgasly and so it goes the best wag of the paddock :(

mclarenmason did you guys see that thread someone made about Yn's looks on the paddock and her cheering for lew, and them matching sometimes *sobs into my hands*

yourusername

liked by roscoelovescoco, k.mbappe, and others

yourusername making music and enjoying some free time after touring 💞

view all comments

mbappeworld I wish Lewis and Kyllian weren’t friends bc I kinda ship him with Yn 😭

hailyebieber 😍😍😍😍

sza waiting for our collabbbbb! ❤️

⤷ ynfan the day these two write a song together is the day I’ll be stuck in my room crying for a week straight

ynnation She looks so relaxed, more than when she was with Lewis

hardtyres_ I wish I could be like this after being cheated on, when my ex did this to me I had to go to therapy for at least a year before going back on social media

⤷ agoradoja there’s no proof he cheated on her

⤷ winteryln sure, except for the hundreds of pics of him with singers and models 😍 but y’all taking it too serious, he was just friendly with them

⤷ agoradoja maybe he was just friendly, Lewis is famous, dare I say even more than Yn, so being friends with different famous people is part of his life.

⤷ bonoschumi I’ll have to agree with agoradoja, there’s nothing too incriminatinf, maybe we’re just trying to find a reason because we don’t accept that they fell out of love

⤷ leclercmcqueen she literally wrote “its just us against the world” for him, wdym they fell out of love????

bieberfantasy yeah but how about roscoe liking the post????? It's making me hopeful

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi! I hope you guys liked this piece! It was kinda short, but hopefully worth the reading :D let me know your thoughts!

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©thisismeracing ― do not copy, steal, or translate my work; do not repost on a different media platform.

― Reminder: None of the pictures used are mine, they are all from Pinterest and other apps, but the work is, and I do not allow it to be published on a different platform. I would appreciate it if those things could be taken into consideration 💛

[uvobreakmylegs]

Set Pattern

it has been far too long since I wrote for the trash clown

Hisoka x reader

Warnings: stalking, blood, mentions of death, depictions of violence, noncon

Word count: 8.7k

….. Was this really where you were supposed to go?

That was the question going through your head when you found what was at the end of the alleyway. Wherever the map was supposed to lead you, it seemed odd that it would lead you here.

Maybe you had messed up at some point along the journey here, perhaps by way of misreading the map completely and making a wrong turn. But when you looked down at the map you'd gotten from the man who you met when you came into port, the directions you had followed appeared to be correct: the route provided to you led to this spot.

But it couldn't be right. Why would the map lead to a dead end?

Looking back up to the area before you, you scanned over it again, trying to see if there was anything of note in the open area. All you saw were piles of garbage sitting next to a metal trash can that looked as though fires had been set in it regularly, and opposite that stood a large but flimsy sheet of plywood with a bit of cloth hanging over the edge as it leaned against one of the four stone walls. Aside from old cobbled surface beneath your feet and the small flight of stairs you had just descended, there was nothing else, and you once again looked back to your map, looking over the highlighted route and trying to figure out where you had messed up and where you were really supposed to go for the exam.

Once again, it didn't appear to be wrong. This was where the map had wanted you to go.

Sighing to yourself, you put the map into your hoodie pocket as you figured that you should at least investigate the area.

Though while your hand was in your pocket, you instinctively reached for the weapon you were keeping hidden in there, your hand brushing up against the hilt. Despite the feeling of apprehension that this spot was giving you, the knife in your pocket gave you some sense of security. Though you knew you shouldn't bring it out now in case someone was watching. Better to keep it hidden and not reveal your hand too quickly.

Now there was a lesson you had learned the hard way.

You shook your head, as if the physical action would send away those thoughts from the past – both past and recent – as you needed to be focused on the task at hand. A lot of time had been spent researching the Hunter's exam. You'd looked over discussion threads and testimonials from people who had claimed to have attempted the exam, and while there had definitely been a few entries where the authors had clearly either been greatly exaggerating or flat-out lying, the one thing you could say for certain regarding the exam was that you needed to be on your guard at all times.

So it was better to not focus on the unpleasant memories regarding your stalker.

You craned your neck as you took a step forward, trying to see around the round metal can without getting too close, though there was nothing to be seen outside of the piles of garbage and a few odd planks of wood. And when you looked to examine the wall behind you, there was nothing aside from the opening to the narrow alleyway and the stairs that led up to it. No doors, no windows, nothing.

Was this really a dead end?

Or was the door hidden?

Ah, that could definitely be it. This place certainly felt a bit odd – why else would an alleyway lead to an open space with seemingly no real purpose? Maybe it was meant to deter those who wanted to take the exam, make them turn themselves around and then get lost trying to find the “right” location, and while they were doing that, they missed out on the window to officially enter the exam and be forced to wait until the next year.

That seemed in line with what these examiners might do, if that ship captain was anything to go by.

Feeling a bit more confident, you began to walk towards the area in the space that seemed as though it was hiding something – the piece of plywood, and when nothing happened after taking the first few steps, you quickened your pace, hurrying over to the wall as you glanced up to the sky above you. It was late in the day, but not close enough to be the evening. The captain didn't tell you how much time you had to make it to the official gathering spot for the exam, but with how fast you had found the other examiner at the docks, you felt that you were getting through the stages at a decent pace.

That certainty increased when you pulled the plywood away and found that there was a door in the wall that had been hidden behind it. A door that was locked, but still, what else could a secret door be for? You probably just needed to find the key somewhere in this area, and then that'd be another part of the exam under your belt.

Another step towards the protection and security that had evaded you for a while now.

Now for the key.

Your eyes naturally went to the trash can and the bags around it, though you questioned yourself on that almost immediately as it felt too obvious. But if not that, then what?

You looked about the area again, glancing at the stairs and then at the cobblestones.

….. Could they have hidden it underneath one of those?

Within an instant you were on your hands and knees, pulling at the individual stone pieces in an effort to find one that was loose. This seemed right. This sort of trickery felt in line with the things you had read during your research. The Hunter Association didn't want just anyone joining them, so you needed to do more than just follow instructions and a map. You needed to have some brain power if you were going to get that license. That was fair.

You paused briefly after having that thought, focusing in particular on the word you had used.

'Fair'

…. No, it really wasn't. It wasn't fair at all.

There was nothing fair about the fact that you needed to go this far just to get some safety.

Your mood fell as those intrusive thoughts came to mind again, and this time you weren't able to push them away so easily.

It really didn't seem like the Hunter's Association did much good for the world. More often than not, it seemed as though the majority of those who worked for the association had joined just to take advantage of the protections that it offered. Before everything with your stalker had started, you had heard in passing about a few horror stories of the deaths of civilians at the hands of Hunters, and how those Hunters in question were rarely punished for it. It was only in the truly gruesome and egregious cases that made headlines where the association was forced to make a statement and do something about it, and those cases were few and far between.

So most of the time, all those Hunters would do when caught was flash that card of theirs and they were off the hook.

A sight you had seen all too often by now.

But it would be okay, you told yourself as you continued moving from cobblestone to cobblestone while prying at them with your fingers. You'd get that Hunter card, and then he couldn't do anything to you anymore. And sure, the exam itself would be tough, but you were confident that you could get through it.

Just keep your guard up and your mind focused.

It looked like you finally found what you were looking for when one of the stones in the middle of the open area moved when you pulled on it. Of course, it wasn't coming out easily, and in an effort to force it out, you changed your position and moved so your back was facing the alleyway opening. The stone came out a bit more when you tried from that angle, but it still didn't want to give.

You continued like that until you stopped to take a break, at which point you reevaluated your thoughts.

Was this right? Would an examiner really hide a key underneath the cobblestone? Was it something more elaborate? Or were you right earlier in thinking that maybe it was in the oil drum? Maybe you were overthinking things.

Fuck, maybe there hadn't even been a hidden key. Maybe all you needed to do was knock on the door and it would open. Maybe you had wasted a lot of time doing something stupid.

You sighed to yourself as you wished that you didn't need to be here, and you began to get up so you could check the door again.

“Is there a reason that you're trying to pull apart the pavement, pet?”

The sound of the voice combined with a presence that was suddenly standing behind you had you freeze in place, and after a few moments as reality sunk in, you felt your heartbeat starting to pound as you were immediately aware that you knew that voice. You knew it better than you wanted to.

There was no mistaking that disgustingly playful tone of voice.

That day he'd been waiting for you when you got home, and he kept quiet until you entered your bedroom, at which point he announced his presence by giving you a cheerful 'hello', like he was supposed to be there.

The sight of him lounging on your bed made you panic, and after a few choice words and demands that he leave which were all met with a flippant refusal from him, you pulled out your phone to call the police.

You weren't even able to put in the first digit before the phone flew out of your hand and straight into his.

Fear and confusion hit you then, while he told you not to be so dramatic.

In that moment, being around him felt far more dangerous than it had in those previous meetings, and all your brain was telling you to do right then was to run.

You managed to turn around and step out of the room-

But that was as far as you got, as something pulled you back in. And just like your phone moments earlier, you were pulled into his grip.

You tried to keep your breathing level in an effort to keep calm. Panicking never helped you when it came to dealing with him. It was hard, but you needed to do that much.

Although you didn't want to, eventually you managed to compel yourself to turn your head and confirm visually what you already knew the instant you heard his voice:

Hisoka had found you.

He stood at the top of the stairs, the signature star and teardrop painted beneath his eyes and clad in one of his usual gaudy outfits. He'd also changed his hair color since you'd seen him last, having gone from orange to back to pink.

Despite your sullen expression, he was as amused as ever when your eyes met his. Raising up one hand, he waved at you as he said “I saw that you were taking a trip to Begerosse, so I thought I'd surprise you.”

When you didn't reply, Hisoka continued with “well, pet? Aren't you happy to see me?”

He was smiling when he said that, knowing full well that you were currently the furthest thing from 'happy' whenever you saw him. And especially now.

No doubt he'd realized what it was that you were trying to do and was here to put a stop to it.

As easy as it would have been to admit defeat while falling into despair, you reminded yourself that you weren't helpless, not completely. For now, try to keep him talking while you figured out what to do from here. At least that part would be easy enough – Hisoka loved to talk.

“So you lied about going to Heavens Arena,” you finally said.

“I didn't lie,” he answered, “but there was nothing interesting going on, so I left early.”

He pulled out a deck of playing cards, and he began to shuffle them from hand to hand as he continued with “it's a good thing I did. If I hadn't seen you heading off to the port, you might be in a terrible situation right now.”

“It's hard to imagine that anything could be worse than being alone with you,” you responded flatly.

Instead of being insulted by your jab, Hisoka smiled. As usual, nothing you said was able to upset him. You could've spewed out the most hateful, vile words towards him (and you had a few times when you'd reached your limit) and he was only ever proud of the fact that he'd managed to get you that angry with him. Nothing ever phased him. Nothing that you were capable of, anyway.

A majority of the cards in his hand disappeared, and he was left with a smaller selection of around five or six. You weren't sure if there was any significance to what he was doing. You were inclined to doubt that there was; Hisoka wasn't one to stay idle for very long.

“Despite how you view me, I'm actually quite nice to you, pet,” Hisoka told you.

You scoffed.

“It's not very nice to stalk people,” you answered.

“And yet, it was quite good for you that I did just that in this instance.”

He pulled out a random card from the selection in his hand and turned it so you could see the face of the card.

Whichever card that was, you didn't know. You were more focused on the bright red blood spatter on top of it.

Somehow, for a few moments, you'd managed to forget that he used those cards as weapons. Though you'd never seen it in person, your curiosity had driven you to watch the recordings from the arena, allowing you to get a glimpse at what the clown was capable of.

“….. You killed someone?” you asked, to which Hisoka smiled while he put the card back with the rest and began to shuffle them again.

Your voice was far more quiet when you asked that, and it shook slightly despite how hard you tried to keep it steady. Truthfully, this scenario happening was one that had crossed your mind. While you had hoped that it could be avoided, it was ultimately wishful thinking that he wouldn't find out and confront you on the way to the exam site.

But it was the fact that he'd killed someone that rattled you. That he was willing to cut down members of the association just to keep you in this game of cat and mouse that he loved so much. That his obsession went that far.

“Won't you get in trouble for killing someone from the association?” you asked. Your voice was stronger that time.

He cocked an eyebrow at that, asking back “who exactly did I kill from the association?”

“One of the examiners.”

“You aren't at the point where you'd be meeting any examiners, pet,” he corrected, “until you reach the starting line, you're only in the pre-exam.”

“… Fine. One of the pre-examiners.”

“And what makes you so certain that I killed one of them?”

“The next checkpoint is right there,” you answered, pointing at the door as you said “if I'd gotten in there before you came, I could've continued.”

Hisoka stopped shuffling the cards as he looked to where you had pointed, staring at the door for a few moments before looking back to you.

And then he started to laugh.

You didn't really want to ask, but knowing that he likely wouldn't tell you on his own, you were compelled to ask “what's so funny?”

“You haven't figured it out? You still think you're in the running for the exam?” he asked.

Your brows furrowed as you answered “of course I am. I got the map from the guy at the port.”

“And that was where you went wrong, pet,” he began, “because you weren't supposed to get any map. The man who gave it to you wasn't working for the association.”

“And how do you know that?” you asked.

“Because the person you were supposed to go to was the woman in the crab boat at the other end of the port.”

“How do you know that?” you asked again.

“From the captain. I overheard him speaking to the three of the others who got off the ship with you,” said Hisoka.

“And he told them and not me?”

“Clearly he must have felt that you weren't suited to take the exam. And I have to agree with his judgment on that. You couldn't even see the obvious trap that you walked right into.”

“What trap?”

“Do I really need to go into that much detail, pet?”

His tone was mocking, and you hated it. And what you hated even more was that you were starting to believe what he was telling you as you thought back on the man you had run into at port.

He was tall and had an eye patch, and he had scared off another man who had approached you with offers to sell you the information you needed to get to the next point of the pre-exam. The man with the eye patch had been polite to you, handing off the map while telling you to be wary of people who were looking to take advantage of newcomers to the exam.

Had all of that been an act? Was that first guy in on it and only there so you would trust the one with the eye patch?

“Why did that guy tell me to come here?” you asked.

Hisoka hummed. He was having too much fun with this.

“Do you know how many people die or go missing during the Hunter's exam?” he asked in response.

“A lot,” you answered.

He nodded.

“On average the number is in the triple digits,” he continued, “and with so many people vanishing or dying around the same time, it's not much of a surprise that there will be those who try to take advantage of that.”

“And how was he going to take advantage of me?” you asked.

“His friends were going to kill you.”

You stayed quiet as Hisoka continued with “that man was part of a group that murdered would-be participants of the Hunter exam so they could sell the pieces of their victims on the black market. And if everything had gone as they'd wanted, the ones who were waiting here earlier would've jumped you the instant you walked down those stairs, and by now you'd be dead in that building while they scooped your organs out through your stomach.”

He clapped his hands together and pulled them away, revealing that the cards in his hands had disappeared completely.

Then he smiled as he said “luckily for you, I prefer that your insides stay where they are.”

… He could be lying, you reminded yourself.

“If these people were known to kill participants, why didn't the association do anything about them?” you asked.

“They likely hadn't found out about them yet,” Hisoka answered, shrugging as he continued “it's not as though they're the only ones to take advantage of the opportunity the exam creates. And I'd guess that they were smart and never took out too many at one time; the ones who get caught are the ones who get greedy.”

“Though they won't be continuing their operations anymore,” he added, “so you're welcome, pet. I saved you from a horrific death. I do hope you appreciate the things I do for you.”

You looked to the door before looking back to him.

“This really isn't the next point for the exam?” you asked.

“Would you like me to break down that door and show you the state those people are in now?”

After a moment, you shook your head; based on that response, it seemed pretty likely that he was, in fact, telling you the truth.

Which just made this whole thing worse.

You'd been tricked. In your desperation to get that license, you went with bad intuition on who to trust at the port, and because of that, you hadn't even managed to get to the true start of the exam before Hisoka found you. Hell, he was aware of what had happened at the port you'd gotten off at, so he'd been watching you for a while. He could've stepped in at any point, no doubt he just chose to do so when he felt that his entrance would be sufficiently dramatic enough.

It left a bad taste in your mouth that you should technically be grateful for him since he did save your life.

Though if he hadn't been the one to stalk and harass you, you wouldn't have even been here.

Hisoka brought your attention back to him when he called out to you.

“Well, pet? Don't I deserve some gratitude for my efforts?”

“….. Thanks for not letting me die.”

“You're welcome,” he cheerfully replied, before continuing with “now, how about we head off?”

“No.”

You finally pulled yourself to your feet while Hisoka watched, staying quiet for once. When you looked at him again, you told him “I'm going back to the port. I need to take the Hunter's exam.”

He cocked an eyebrow as he asked “what makes you think you still have a chance of taking it?”

“I'm sure I'll find that woman. It hasn't been that long since I left and it isn't that late.”

“Hm. I suppose I should rephrase that,” he said.

Those golden eyes seemed to pierce through you when he spoke again.

“What makes you think I'll let you go back?”

…..

You weren't sure what to say at first. When he asked that, there was an intensity in him that you weren't used to, and you weren't sure what to make of it. Was he upset? That would be a first, though since he'd let you go as far as you did, it seemed unlikely.

Maybe he wanted you to give up and go back quietly when he revealed himself to you. Realize that this escape route was just as much of a dead end as the others you'd tried. Go back to that house and let him feel like he'd won. Again.

Fuck him. You weren't going to give up that easily.

Eventually, you asked “what would be the alternative if I can't go back to port?”

Hisoka's more cheerful demeanor returned when he spoke again.

“I was thinking I'd take you back home,” he answered, “the exam simply isn't for you, pet.”

“I can handle it.”

He laughed.

“It's very cute that you have so much confidence in yourself,” said Hisoka, “but if you were to actually make it to the starting line, you would have a very harsh reality check.”

“I'll take my chances,” you replied, “it can't be any worse than living with you constantly breathing down my neck any opportunity you get.”

At that, he actually shook his head, saying “you're a tad delusional, pet. You always say such cruel things about me, but if you were to enter the exam, you'd find yourself at the mercy of hundreds that would have no issue throwing you under a bus if it meant they were one step closer to getting a license for themselves.”

“Some of them wouldn't even do it for the license,” he added, “some would do it just for their one amusement. So despite how you feel, I'm afraid that I have to put my foot down on this matter, as I have no desire to see you kill yourself by way of your own stupidity.”

Hisoka held out his hand towards you and said “now, lets head home.”

You looked at his outstretched hand and then back to him. And then you shook your head.

“I'm not leaving without taking the exam,” you told him.

There was a silence after you spoke, as Hisoka didn't say anything at first.

If he was really having enough of your stubbornness, then this conflict would be over quickly. Hisoka was far stronger than he looked and it took next to nothing for him to restrain you.

But that he hadn't felt the need to go that far yet.

That was at least something in your favor.

After several moments of that awkward silence continuing between the two of you, he spoke again.

“Tell me something; why do you want to take the exam so badly?” he asked.

“Why does it matter?” you asked back.

“Because I've never seen this desire to become a Hunter before,” he replied, “and I'm curious as to where this suddenly came from.”

“Maybe I'll tell you after the exam.”

“Mm, I don't think so. Like I told you pet, I don't want to see you kill yourself doing this.”

“Then I guess you don't get to know,” you said, before adding “I'm not telling you anything without you working for it first.”

That seemed to get his interest, as his eyebrows raised and he hummed to himself.

“You do know that I can just make you come with me if I really wanted to, don't you?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you replied, “but I also know that you wouldn't find that very entertaining.”

He laughed, and seemingly agreed with your statement.

Was this going in a direction where he'd let you go take the exam? With how adamant he was on you not being able to handle it, it was hard to think that would be a possibility.

And as much as you'd rather not do it, you did technically have a plan B if things were to escalate, though the thought of going through with it scared you even more.

You'd never heard of it happening, but it seemed likely that a civilian could get into a lot of trouble if they managed to kill a Hunter.

“It's been some time since I've seen you so determined about something, pet. I can't help but be intrigued about why you want to take the exam so badly,” Hisoka said.

You didn't respond. And in the moments after, it seemed that he had come to a decision.

“Since we seem to be at something of an impasse, how about this: if you can land a single hit on me, I'll take you to the true starting point of the exam.”

“Land a hit?” you repeated.

Hisoka nodded, adding “you can attack me for as long as you like, and it'll only end when you choose to give up. Or if you take so long that you can no longer be part of the exam, though I doubt you'd be able to hold out that long.”

He smiled then, asking “how does that sound, pet?”

The smart reaction would've been to refuse. You'd seen the videos from Heavens Arena – you knew how brutal he could be when it came to beating down opponents. Hisoka was strong. Far, far stronger than you. A true one-on-one fight between you two would be extremely one-sided and end quickly.

But if you wanted that Hunter's license, you needed to be a little tough, right?

For that reason, when you spoke next it was to ask a question.

“What kind of hit are we talking about?”

Hisoka seemed a bit surprised, given the way his eyebrows lifted some when you finished speaking. But he got over his surprise quickly and the grin on his face that formed after was one of excitement.

You didn't comment on that as you added “can it only be a punch? Or am I allowed the use of a weapon?”

“Any attack will count, as long as it lands. Weapons are allowed,” he replied.

“And what about you?” you asked, “if you get a hit in on me, does the fight end then?”

“Of course not,” Hisoka answered, smiling pleasantly as he said “it would be over too quickly if we did that.”

Disregarding the obvious provocation, you were about to agree to his terms when he spoke again.

“And one more thing,” he said, “when you give up, you'll need to tell me why you want the license so bad.”

“…. Fine,” you replied.

But I'm not giving up, you added in your head.

With a deal now in place, Hisoka made his way down the steps and into the open space, stopping a short distance in front of you. With his hands on his hips and an amused look on his face, he told you “whenever you're ready, pet.”

As soon as he said that you launched yourself at him.

You tried to punch him in the face but found your fist punching at the air, the clown taking a step back to avoid the hit.

You threw another punch, and that also ended in you hitting air as he took another step back.

When you threw a third punch was when he acted, stepping to the side instead of straight back. His foot then caught your heel, and because of how unbalanced you were, when he pulled his leg up, your leg went up with it and you fell backwards. In the split second you had, you clenched your eyes shut as you anticipated the impact from falling onto the cobblestone.

Instead an arm caught you.

You opened your eyes to see Hisoka hovering over you, his arm beneath your back as he held you up. He smiled at you, humming cheerfully when he saw you looking at him. He acted like you weren't trying to attack him and that the two of you were sharing a cute moment.

Asshole

When you tried to get a punch in from that position, Hisoka dropped you, and you let out a noise of pain when your back connected with the pavement. He stayed where he was, standing over you while you were in a rush to get yourself back to your feet. You were struggling, and of course the bastard needed to make some comment in that moment.

“I suppose that isn't enough to convince you to give up, is it?”

Still not on your feet, you tried to punch one of his legs.

He stepped backwards again, chuckling to himself as he said “guess not.”

The sun was steadily setting as the two of you continued like that; you, trying your best to get even the weakest punch or kick to connect with him, and Hisoka expertly dodging everything you threw at him with the barest amount of effort. At one point you grabbed one of the wooden boards that lay next to the trash can and used it as a bat, only for him to wrench it out of your grip with one hand and then throw it against the adjacent wall where it smashed into splinters.

Though you hadn't been expecting much when you grabbed it, there was something disheartening about that moment.

He was just too strong, too skilled.

But, you reminded yourself, he was also too smug for his own good.

And as the amount of time the two of you were at this increased and you refused to give in, you told yourself to just keep at it. You didn't need to be stronger than him to get lucky and get in just one hit. You just needed to wait for an opportunity when his guard was lowered enough that you could strike him with the knife that was still hidden in your hoodie pocket.

If you were able to do that, your problems would be over.

That moment felt like it would be coming when you had paused on your assault, hands on your knees and breathing hard while you glared at him. During this time, Hisoka pulled his card deck out again and was making a show of shuffling them, just to further express how little he was worried about you managing to do anything to him. Another slight towards you.

“It is cute how determined you are to win this, pet,” he said, “but you can't get through everything in life on determination alone.”

“Cool. I'll keep that in mind,” you breathed out.

You lunged at him again, this time at a speed far slower than when you had first attacked him.

He dodged it easily, and you collapsed to the ground after, still breathing hard.

At that, Hisoka frowned.

“Even I'm starting to feel bad about this. You should give up now,” he told you.

“I don't want to,” you stubbornly answered.

He hummed as you forced yourself back up to your feet.

A few more times you tried to connect any sort of hit, and a few more times your attempts resulted in nothing. Hisoka would always get out of way at the last moment, having put his cards away again. However, now the clown appeared to be less smug and more thoughtful.

Minutes later and you were on the ground again, your arms holding you up while various parts of your body were aching in pain from how often he had caused you to fall. It didn't feel like you'd be able to get up again.

Hisoka seemed to sense that as well.

His heels echoed within the space of the alley as he walked towards you, and then he was standing in front of you, looking down as he asked “don't you think you should stop wasting both of our times and put an end to this?”

“Fuck you,” you hissed.

“Aw.”

The bastard then had the nerve to kneel down and pull you into his arms, holding you close as one hand began to caress your head. It was yet another way he humiliated you, the way he would act caring at a time like this, belittling you as he made it clear just how little of a threat he viewed you to be.

“There's no shame in giving up, pet,” he whispered to you, “I won't judge you for it.”

All you were able to get out in that moment was a sad-sounding noise, one that had him cooing at you despite how you were able to hear the smirk on his lips.

You just hoped to god that he couldn't tell how hard your heart was pounding at that moment.

When he pulled you up into his embrace, you had used that as an opportunity to move your hand back to your hoodie pocket, and now you were gripping the hilt of the knife.

You didn't even need to fully stab him with it.

Just one scratch would be enough to do him in.

Just one scratch.

You acted when he spoke next, when he said something else about you giving up. This was your best chance.

Grabbing at his shirt with your free hand, you pulled the knife out from its sheath and your pocket and aimed for his side.

Just one-

A hand gripped your wrist and you were forced to your feet as you were pulled upwards by your arm. Suddenly you and Hisoka were now standing and he was holding your arm high enough that you needed to stay on your toes to try and alleviate the pain the position brought you. The knife was still in your grip. You tried to pull your wrist out of his grip, letting out a small noise of discomfort when you failed to do so.

Hisoka didn't acknowledge that, his eyes focused on the knife in your hand.

“Is that a Ben's knife?”

You didn't respond to his question as you continued to pull at your wrist.

This can't happen. He can't win.

Not again

When you failed to reply, Hisoka raised up his hand and pointed a finger at the blade of your knife.

Then he flicked his finger back and the knife was wrenched out of your grip as it flew towards him. He easily caught it, holding it up so as to inspect the design of the blade. And now that your backup plan was literally in his hands, you stilled, uncertain as to what was going to happen now.

“I'm not terribly familiar with these,” he said, “but would I be right if I were to guess that this was one of the knives that has poison on the blade?”

You frowned, and he hummed, looking back to the knife with some amusement.

“You must've spent a lot on this; I know enough about those knives to know that the poison-edged blades aren't cheap,” he added.

Hisoka smirked as he asked “are you that desperate to be rid of me that you want to kill me, pet?”

“How the fuck can you ask that after everything you've done?” you spat.

“Is showing you affection such a terrible crime?”

“That's not affection, you freak! That's just you ruining my life!”

He hummed again, and then let go of your wrist.

Right at that moment Hisoka moved.

And then something rammed into your ribs.

You were sent flying a few feet before you toppled to the ground, your side aching while you gasped for breath. The pain you had felt before this was nothing now, and as you tried to go over what had happened mere seconds ago in your head, the best you were able to guess was that he'd rammed his knee into your side.

Just how much damage had he managed to cause with that?

Your hand instinctively went to press against the area where you'd been hit, and you cried out the instant you pressed down on it. He had broken your ribs. You were sure of it, and the pain was great enough that tears were already starting to run down your face.

Hisoka stayed where he was, the Ben's knife still in hand as he watched you, taking in your cries of pain and how hard you fought against the tears that were falling, obsessively wiping them from your eyes while you struggled to get back to your feet. You were so desperate to not appear weak that all you were doing was hurting yourself. So desperate to fight him that all you were doing was delaying the inevitable.

He couldn't help but smile at the sight.

You noticed when he walked towards you, the heels of his shoes clacking against the cobblestone beneath his feet. Wanting some distance between you two again, you tried to pull yourself up and away from him, but the pain that burst through your side when you tried to move like that forced you back down.

He stayed standing this time, cocking his head to the side as he looked down at you.

“Like I told you earlier; it would be over too quickly if I were to fight you for real,” he said, “I hope you realize now that I wasn't saying that as a slight; there's simply too much of a difference in strength when it comes to the two of us.”

He chose to emphasize that point by pressing the heel of his shoe into the spot where he'd hit you, and from that bit of contact alone you felt the pain was great enough that you might pass out. It was a mercy when he pulled his foot away.

But now you were forced to face the grim reality:

You had lost.

Once again, your efforts to get yourself away from this man were in vain, and once again, you were at his feet, on the ground and sobbing as despair took over you.

You hated this.

It wasn't right.

You hated him, and you hated the people who sat back and let him do as he pleased.

If only the stupid Hunter association hadn't given this psychopath a license, you would've been able to get help.

You looked back up to him then, and found that he was still staring at you with that amused look while he loosely gripped the handle of the Ben's knife.

“Well, pet? How long do you intend to drag this out for?” he asked.

…..

… Ah. Right.

This would only end when you hit him or gave up. And it was incredibly clear that you wouldn't be able to land any sort of hit. Even if you could, you wouldn't be able to handle the Hunter exam after. Not with the condition you were in now.

Hisoka was sticking to the deal you'd made, and he wouldn't be doing anything until you gave the word.

“……. Alright,” you whispered.

“Alright what?”

“I give up,” you spoke, your voice even softer.

“Could you speak up louder? I can't quite hear you,” he told you.

You gritted your teeth in frustration, but you complied anyway.

“I give up,” you answered, adding “I can't hit you, so I give up. You win. Again.”

You didn't need to look at him to know how he was grinning at you in that moment. How wide that smile was across his face as he looked down at your fallen form, watching excitedly as your determination to win broke into a million pieces and was replaced with bleak resignation.

Just like the other times.

“I'm so glad you saw reason, pet.”

With that, Hisoka picked you up from off the ground and placed a kiss on your forehead after you cried out from the pain yet again.

“Lets get you to a doctor, and then we'll head home,” he told you as he began to carry you up the stairs and out of the alley.

Hours later, after a long hospital visit that had lasted well into the dead of night, the two of you were alone again, this time trapped in the confines of an airship cabin. You aimlessly watched the tops of the clouds through the window while you did your best to ignore how close Hisoka was sitting next to you. At first there had been a small bit of hope that he might not crowd you too much, given that this was the first time he had ever hurt you in a way that required a trip to the hospital after. But even with the state of your ribs – that had somehow only been fractured and not broken – Hisoka was determined to cuddle with you and stroke your hair during the long flight back.

Eventually you pushed his hand away, though that did little to stop him from bothering you.

“Sulking isn't very becoming of you,” he said.

“You cracked my ribs,” you answered flatly.

“And you tried to murder me,” he replied, “I'd say that makes us even.”

“Not really,” you said, “not after all you've done.”

“So saving your life counts for nothing?”

“I wouldn't have needed to be saved if you had just left me alone. I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you,” you snapped.

“Oh?”

His hand returned to your hair, but when you tried to slap it away again, he grabbed your hand and held it while he did as he pleased with your hair. You huffed, but kept your attention on the darkened sky outside.

“That reminds me – you still haven't completed your end of the bargain,” he then said.

“What part of it?”

“You were supposed to tell me why you wanted the Hunter license.”

“…..”

When you didn't reply, Hisoka let out a soft sigh.

And then the hand that was stroking your hair was now gripping it. Hard. Your head was pulled back while he whispered “there's been so much needless pain today, pet. Do you really want to go through even more just because you don't want to answer my question?”

“…. No.”

He released the grip on your hair when you said that, and you sensed the way he stared at you expectantly.

No, there was no more point in continuing to defy him just to end up going to another hospital once the flight was over.

Better to give him what he wanted.

“I wanted the license so I could protect myself from you,” you told him.

At first he said nothing to your admission, and when he did, there was a tinge of confusion in his voice as he asked “what do you mean?”

“Hunters aren't allowed to kill other Hunters,” you began, “and although it isn't written anywhere, I figured that Hunters couldn't kidnap other Hunters, either.”

He understood what you were getting at then, and he chuckled to himself as he said “scared that I'm going to do something to you, pet?”

“Outside of everything else you've done to me? Yeah,” you replied.

You kept your gaze on the clouds outside the window as you added “if I had the license whenever you kidnap or kill me, at least then the association wouldn't be allowed to ignore it. If they're happy to protect you whenever you break the law, they should be fine with protecting me when I haven't done anything wrong.”

Your voice was trembling slightly when that last bit of your sentence came out, your mind going back to all the things that Hisoka had done to you and how no one would do anything about it.

It wasn't right.

Hisoka had made both his presence and his interest in you known early on, almost immediately after you met him for the first time. He had tried to win you over with flowers and gifts for a short while, and when that didn't work, he resorted to forcing his way into your life.

That horrible day where you'd found him in your bedroom, where he had managed to pull you towards him when you tried to run – something that you still couldn't wrap your head around – that had been the start of a long, stressful night that made you want to cry just thinking about it.

When he left in the morning, you'd called the police. Though there was little they could do in that moment, they took your statement and told you to call them if you saw him again.

You followed their instructions and did just that when he returned that next evening, waltzing in through the front door like he owned the place.

The moment where Hisoka had a pair of handcuffs slapped on him and was led away never came. Because when the officers that arrived approached him, all he'd needed to do was show them that Hunter's license and they stopped in their tracks. When they left shortly after, the only explanation that they gave was that they couldn't do anything for you.

So you spent a second night with Hisoka, this time even more confused and horrified at the lack of help that you needed so desperately.

Hunters get special privileges, you learned. Access to exorbitant amounts of jenny, an ability to travel to almost anywhere in the world, and no real consequences if they committed a murder.

Learning that last point had things make a bit more sense to you, because if law enforcement were willing to brush off a Hunter killing someone, then it was no wonder why they would do nothing for you, someone who was 'just' at the mercy of a stalker.

You weren't dead, so they didn't see it as even being that bad.

Calls to any and all lines of help resulted in nothing being done. You would cry and beg for anyone to help you, even getting down on your knees and debasing yourself as you pleaded to be saved from the man who had now forced his way into your life, and all you got in return was uncomfortable silence that was usually followed by a short “sorry”.

The police didn't come around anymore. Your employer let you go. The neighbors didn't talk to you. And when one of your friends wound up missing after having tried to defend you from him, everyone else had cut you off, too scared that just being in your presence would set off your stalker and they would also end up on the missing persons list.

All you had was Hisoka, who was always there to revel in your despair by holding you close.

There wasn't much else you could do but try to act like it wasn't as distressing as it actually was, leading to you putting up a brave front in front of Hisoka. Maybe if you acted like you didn't care anymore, he'd lose interest and move on.

That didn't work, and so you were forced to cope while you looked for any opportunity that arose for a way out.

You thought you had a chance with this – you really did. When you read up on the Hunter bylaws and you saw that Hunters weren't allowed to target each other, you thought you had a way to end all of this. Even if just getting the license wasn't enough to make Hisoka stop on his own, if he continued to do anything after that fact, then the association would have to step in.

But none of that mattered now.

This was another loss for you, another hope of escape for you that Hisoka had made sure to dash thoroughly.

And just like he always did, he was now holding you after having pulled you up against him.

“It was an interesting thought, pet,” he began, “but ultimately, you really had no idea what you were getting yourself into.”

So you keep saying, you thought to yourself.

“And wouldn't it have been a better idea to just use the knife on me instead of going to all of the extra effort to try for the exam?” he then asked.

“I wanted to avoid that, if possible,” you answered, “I wasn't sure what would happen to me if I did manage to kill you without the license.”

“Hm. Still seems like a wasted opportunity to me.”

“…. Whatever. You got all of your answers. Stop talking to me.”

“Don't be like that, pet,” he said, “after all, we have quite a few hours ahead of us before we get back home. I'd rather that we didn't spend all that time being mad at each other.”

He said that just as the hand that was holding yours let go in favor of sliding up your inner thigh.

“After all, I haven't been properly rewarded for saving your life,” he added.

The way his nails trailed up your leg combined with the way he said that sentence with such a sultry tone made it obvious as to where this was going, and your heart started to pound heavily in your chest as you realized that Hisoka was going to do what he wanted regardless of the state you were in.

“Please don't,” you began, your voice cracking as you said “not now. Not like this. I-I can't-”

“You'll be fine.”

Hisoka emphasized that by shoving his hand down the front of your pants, his fingers blatantly rubbing up against your sex.

Despite knowing what would happen, you tried to elbow him in the face in an effort to make him stop, only for both of your wrists to suddenly snap together. And no matter how hard you tried to pull them away, something invisible was keeping your wrists bound together.

Just like that, you were completely helpless.

With one hand still in your hair, Hisoka moved your head and forced you to look at him.

You were crying again.

And Hisoka looked even more excited.

“I truly can't get over it, pet,” he breathed, claiming your lips in a kiss after.

“There's nothing quite like the despair in your eyes when you've realized that you have no other choice but to give in.”

[platinumshawnn]

Bound by Fire and Blood | Benjicot Blackwood — pt v

Synopsis: The Brackens retaliate and send their own men to the frontline and into Blackwood territory four days to the wedding, causing some concerns amongst the members of the Blackwood house. 

Kermit is summoned into the rooms of Blackwood's councilman as Samwell and Benjicot as they ready their men for the frontlines for another bloody feud. Benjicot impulsively takes things into his own hands and mistakenly escalates things.

masterlist | playlist | backwards | forward

A/N: I wrote a majority of this on my phone at a festival while i was drunk, i am going to be one hundred percent honest, so idk how it turned out and i am sorry but anyways! we are just about half-way! I tried to connect this sort of to the universe of “to strangers” but there is a small mistake in how Rodrik is related to Aeron that I have since fixed

Content Warning(s): MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexually suggestive content, mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation.

Word count: 7.1k

Fingers grazed up the spine of the dress — snug around her hips and lower than she was used to as they worked, ensuring the laces were tight enough that the dress’ bodice clung to her body in a way that was flattering enough to accentuate her womanly curves. The white fabric reached the ends of her toes as she stood above them on a pedestal, swallowing her while her hands remained at her waist, too scared to move in fear of tumbling over and crashing into the floor beneath her as the handmaidens tirelessly worked at her feet to pin the fabric and fix the hem — meanwhile, an additional pair of hands were at her shoulders and adjusting the cape of deep red and blue, embellished with gold thread, fixing it over her shoulders. 

Serra had never been fond of dress fittings, as it was an experience she found discomforting and overwhelming — with all the hands on her, the whispers as the women poked and prodded at her. Being placed up on a pedestal, put on display, and being made a spectacle of, did not help the matters. It was painfully awkward having so many eyes on her, critiquing how the dresses fit her, and the closer she had come to being of age to marry, she found they worsened — less bearable as the emphasis at one point or another was placed on her bust, mutters about whether the dress was flattering enough. With age, there was more focus on ensuring she appeared more mature than she felt; wifely and alluring enough for a man’s gaze, and unlike most women of her age who had their mother by their side to talk them through the transition from young, girly dresses to womanly dresses that dipped lower, fit tighter, Serra was not fortunate enough to dawn that privilege. 

When she first reached ten-and-six, Kermit, who had then been only a year older than her at ten-and-seven, had tried to sit in on the sessions and talk to her to distract her from the process itself at first. He tried to provide her with conversation and company, as it could become long and drawn out, however it only lasted for a short while before she sensed his discomfort — soon enough, he had begun politely excusing himself with some grumble about not wanting to ‘intrude’ and explaining that he did not feel it proper of him as a man to get in the way of a woman’s business — instead, he had his tasks as a man of the house to tend to but promising that he would check in soon. Though, he hardly did. 

This particular session was gruelling, though. She felt as though she had been there all day and worried it would never end; drained and ready to retreat to her room for the next two days as her head was nudged forward by gentle fingers that adjusted the neckline there. Her hair was guided over her left shoulder and neatly splayed down her back, her gaze fixed out the window that overlooked the yards as she listened to the distant sounds of Raventree. She could make out the sound of men arriving at the gate, returning with supplies ahead of the wedding, the gates a never-ending revolving door of men coming and going these days; the fingers on her left hand absentmindedly reaching to twist a finger on her right, “You may step down now.” The elderly woman to her right instructed, reaching out a hand to offer to help her in stepping down. 

She turned her head, turning her eyes to her hand as she accepted it, and slowly stepped off the stool, her left hand lifting her skirts out of her way. Her steps were slow and tentative, cautious as to not fall face first as she clenched her jaw with anxiety, only relaxing once both feet were steady on the floor, “Your father has requested the neckline not be brought any lower, we have fixed it to be as low as he has approved.” Orpheus, the elderly septa, explained. 

She wordlessly listened to her as she adjusted the skirt around her legs, removing a pin that had been forgotten and circling her, “Your father has suggested you wear a piece from your mother’s jewellery for the wedding.” She said from behind her. “He has provided us with two necklaces he would like you to consider—”

“My Lord.” 

The words were sudden and sharp in the soft atmosphere, Grace’s voice high-pitched and bordering shrill as she curtsied from her spot near the wall, the fabric in her arms clutched to her chest, her gaze pinned to the floor. The previous hum of mutters ceased, the room falling silent as the other women followed suit in curtsying in the direction of the doorway behind her. She turned, looking over her shoulder first before she turned, the door now open for the young man who stood there; green eyes watching her with a blank expression as if he was trying to figure out a reaction, “Lord Blackwood.” She announced, his eyes shooting to her face at the words. Serra moved to face him, curtsying to him with a flushed appearance. 

His head nodded to her, the women in the room remaining silent. Serra watched as his gaze scanned over her dress, skimming her head to toe and taking in her appearance, and suddenly she felt foolish; face hot and embarrassed as she nervously adjusted her skirt with her hands; his gaze lingering at her hips and chest, taking in the very little skin that was exposed, “You look…” he began to say, voice quiet and pausing, searching for the word, “it suits you.” 

Her expression appeared perplexed as her head tilted, mouth opening with a question as she caught the small smile on Grace’s face at the interaction when her head turned to look at her briefly, “I mean to say you look nice.” Benjicot quickly added, explaining himself and stepping forward into the room, though he stopped and remained stuck at the edge of the room, his embarrassment clear on his face as his eyebrows furrowed with a worried frown and reddening. 

Serra found herself reminded of his youthfulness, boyish as he glanced towards where Alistair found respite in the corner of the room and cleared his throat, the guard looking at him from the corner of his eye. She was again reminded that despite the tough exterior and his imposing presence, he was still a boy in some ways. She smiled, soft and shy, while smoothing her hands over her bodice, “Thank you, Benjicot.” She sweetly said. 

His head nodded again, again allowing a silence to fall over the room before he once again spoke, “I do not mean to intrude…” he said, barely in the room as he took two more steps forward and stopped, “I’m just on the way to meet with your father. I just figured I would stop by.” Benjicot explained, his hands clasping around the hilt of his sword, his fingers drumming absentmindedly. 

Serra’s shoulders relaxed with a deep exhale, the first time all morning as her hands brushed down the sides of her skirt, “That’s kind of you.” 

He released a hum in response, his eyes shifting from her face as though he was avoiding her gaze — and though the dreary weather outside, with its clouds, didn’t do her sight justice, she could make out the flush of colour that reddened his cheeks whilst his mouth pressed in a tight line.

“We were just about to pick out some jewellery— some necklaces my father picked from my late mother’s collection.” She suddenly announced, breaking the silence. “Would you like to help me choose?” 

His eyebrows shot up, his gaze coming back up to her face, mouth opening in protest, “Oh, I’m not a man with a taste for such things, I don’t think I would be of any help.” He replied. 

“Nonsense. Just pick whichever you think is prettiest,” she insisted, gesturing him to come forward as she turned then to look to Orpheus who stood nearby, “Show Lord Benjicot and I what father has chosen.” 

A look crossed Orpheus’ features, mouth pressed into a line and twitching for a moment as she glanced towards Benjicot, who reluctantly approached. He slowed as she turned to retrieve two cases from a girl behind her, sighing as she faced the couple and presented them to Serra, “Your mother’s wedding pendant— a homage to her natural born house, Mallister. Your father had it commissioned for her as a gift.” The septa explained, allowing Serra to reach out and brush her fingers over the silver eagle pendant with curious fingers. She carefully picked up the necklace, holding it between her fingers as Orpheus watched her, glancing once again at Benjicot.

She presented the second, its gold chain a striking contrast to the delicate ruby flowers that circled it and caught the light in the corner of her eye. She looked up and away from the silver pendant, perking up at the sight of it, “Oh! I haven’t seen this in years.” She exclaimed, her voice pitched and eager like an excited child as she quickly returned the silver pendant to Orpheus’ hands and took the gold chain from her. Beniicot, from her left, watched in silence, his expression still as he allowed her a moment to assess the piece with trembling fingers. His gaze briefly caught the elderly woman’s, drifting up to her and inhaling, met with a small flash of a smile that was polite. 

“This one.” 

Both Serra and her septa looked at him as he spoke, the younger woman looking at him with wide eyes, “It’s pretty.” He explained, referencing her earlier suggestion. His shoulders rolled, squaring as he stood upright. “You also look like you care for it.” 

It was a simple observation, but a meaningful gesture that brought a smile to her face nonetheless as she looked up at him. She turned and nodded to Orpheus, who withdrew with the cases, Serra keeping the necklace as she turned to him, “Could you?” She asked, holding the necklace towards him. 

He looked between her and the chain, visibly hesitating before he took it from her fingers with a gentle hand; a contrast to their rough, calloused state from years of training. Her back turned to him, moving her hair out of the way with her right hand to make the task easier — on cue, Benjicot stepped forward until he was close enough that she could feel his warmth radiating, hear the subtle swallow. He cleared his throat from behind her, his hands reaching over her shoulders and around to the base of her neck, letting the necklace rest there against her collarbones, his hands brushing her shoulders as they withdrew to her nape; her hand replacing his to hold the necklace. His fingers fumbled to do the clasp, brows furrowed in concentration and breath fanning across her neck, “There you go.” He said, his right hand briefly planting on her shoulder. 

She turned as his hand dropped back to his side, stepping back from her. Her hand reached up to the chain, one of the little flowers between her fingers as she looked down at it, a moment of silence falling over the room. 

“Your mother used to wear it all the time.” He stated, seemingly recalling the distant memory from her last visit there — Benjicot had to dig deep, pulling it deep from the catacombs of his mind, faded with time, but still lingering there all those years later. He could still vaguely remember the image of her, curtsying to him and his father, the light catching the rubies as the sun shone in through the windows of the hall, a young Serra at her side — he remembered the gentle nudge she gave her daughter as a reminder to follow her suit. His brows furrowed again at the memory. 

“You remember that?” She asked. 

He let out another hum, gaze still fixed on the chain as he nodded. Benjicot looked up to her eyes, the dimple in his cheek prominent as he chewed at the inside skin, “Yes.” 

He remembered her as kind and warm, a loving and doting mother and wife. He remembered her likeness to her daughter — he remembered rumours that his father had almost vied for her hand, though the venture was short-lived after hearing of her betrothal to Elmo. Sometimes, Benjicot wondered what would have happened if things had taken that path — how different things would have been. Would they still be in this position? Would Benjicot be any different? Would a mother’s kindness have changed the outcome? 

He was overcome by guilt at the thought. He remembered his mother as a kind woman with good humour from the memories he’d had of her from childhood, he had just never had the fortune of being able to have that same type of relationship with her that the Tully siblings had with their own. His mouth pursed, his hand absentmindedly wandering on its own to gently touch her cheek, Serra’s expression one of surprise and confusion as she froze. 

It suddenly dawned on him what he was doing, his hand quickly withdrawing and stepping back from her, “I’m sorry— I don’t know…” he stammered, his mouth snapping shut and blinking rapidly a couple of times. “I should be on my way, I shouldn’t keep the council waiting too long.” He muttered, his hand disappearing under his cloak and to his side as he spun on his heel to hurry out of the room. Her gaze watched him, still frozen in place and trying to process the sudden mood swing that made her head spin, her mouth opening.

“You mentioned he was an odd man,” Orpheus spoke from behind her. 

Serra glanced at her, taking a sharp inhale of air as she looked back toward the door, “Yes, odd.” She said, drawing out the word. The room remained silent for a moment, feeling Septa Orpheus’ eyes on her. 

“You forgot to mention how comely he was, however.” She said, her voice lilting a subtle and playful tone. 

Serra let out a soft laugh, embarrassed as she turned to find the septa at her side now, “Come, let us finish your fitting. I imagine you would like to get done with this.” Orpheus warmly said, guiding her back towards the stool. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Benjicot sat, nauseous and picking at the skin around his nails as the meeting drew on. He’d spent the past two hours in silence, hardly contributing to the conversation other than short hums or grunts whenever called upon, eyes only lifting for those brief moments. Otherwise, he wallowed in his horror and humiliation for his prior conversation with Serra and avoided any eye contact where he could. It had only dawned on him that afternoon how much of Serra he could see in Kermit’s face when he had arrived to find the eldest Tully, standing outside the doors and expectantly waiting for him. 

They hadn’t spoken in the days following their last conversation — the exchange relentlessly haunting Benjicot since, as he’d had nightmares about his mother, who at times blurred with images of her. Instead of his mother at the window’s ledge, he saw Serra, looking back at him. The first time it had happened, he had jumped awake with a gasp as he looked around his room; it had then taken him a while to fall back asleep, scared he would be forced to watch it all over again — watch as she slipped from the ledge with a terrified gasp. 

He was thankful that Kermit didn’t say anything when they met, Benjicot still out of it as he approached him. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact detail on him that resembled his sister — maybe it was a twitch in his face or a mannerism, but it was her. He cringed internally and walked in silence to their chairs, being greeted by Elmo. That daze had lasted all morning, only picking out little comments here and there from the conversation at the table, distracted by his own hands. His gaze briefly lifted as Samwell reached across the table from his seat at the head, gently swatting his hand with his own, sucking in a sharp, startled breath and looking up at his father, “You’re not present, Benjicot.” Samwell muttered, his gaze still down the table and not looking at him. 

“I am.” He softly sighed. 

“No,” Samwell sternly said, his eyes turning to him. “You’re not. I can tell. You’re not here right now.” 

It took everything in Benjicot not to snap back and argue, knowing it wasn’t worth it to start a fight over something so minuscule as the frustration crawled up his throat. His hands released one another and dropped onto the table with another sigh, “I’m just…thinking. I apologise.” He replied in a quiet voice. 

His father was silent for a moment as he stared at him, eyes briefly glancing towards where Elmo circled the chairs towards a conversation happening on the other side of the table, “Where are you?” He asked, looking back to his son. “Where is your mind?” 

He hesitated to reply, his gaze shifting as he tried to muster a reply that would suffice, “It’s nothing, this is more…” 

“It’s not nothing if it makes you unable to concentrate on the bigger issue.” He pressed, leaning forward in his seat, his gaze unwavering. “I ask as a father, Benjicot. Tell me.” 

The use of his name urged him to look up at his father, blinking a couple of times and opening his mouth, attempting to stammer out some reply — he wanted to tell someone, but Benjicot hardly understood it all himself. He’d yet to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. 

The doors slammed open suddenly which finally caught his attention, watching with tired eyes as the guard by the door was shouldered and jostled for a moment as the source of the commotion entered; a group of young men and cousins that Benjicot slowly picked out one by one — his gaze found Emrys strolling in behind the group, his face streaked with dirt and wiping at a bloodied nose as their eyes met. Benjicot watched as his shoulders rose and fell with a sigh, shaking his head at his older cousin and looking towards where the leader of the group rushed in, dagger in hand. 

Ser Eryn rushed forward from his corner place towards the young man who approached the table, eyes wild and snarling as the men who had gathered near the end of the table quickly dispersed in various directions to get out of his way; the guard drew his sword and extended a hand towards his arm, grabbing his elbow. 

“Get your bloody hands off of me.” The boy snapped, shoving Ser Eryn’s hand off him and stumbling a step. 

“Davos.” Samwell firmly said, standing up abruptly to address the boy who was visibly seething — Davos stopped at the end of the table, tossing the knife onto it, the weapon clattering. 

“Those Bracken cunts have breached our land.” He said through gritted teeth. 

The room fell silent, their attention collectively drawn towards the knife on the table embellished with the Bracken’s sigil. Benjicot leaned forward in its direction, “What do you mean?” Samwell asked. 

“They’re on our fucking land!” He snapped, shouting. His father shot his cousin a look, prompting him to clench his jaw, taking a breath to ground himself before speaking again, “We ran into them this morning when we went to survey the boundaries last night as you instructed. They have set camp on our land.” He explained. 

The senior councilman, a grizzled veteran Ser Myles Rivers, slammed his fist on the wooden table, his voice gruff and filled with frustration. "Damn it! What have you two done?" His sharp eyes darted between the young lord and his father, his face etched with lines of anger and worry.

"We warned you about pushing too far, about provoking them. And now look! The Brackens have taken it upon themselves to set up camp on our land, challenging our authority, and threatening our people. This is exactly what we feared, and you’ve given them the excuse they needed."

Ser Myles shook his head, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "This isn’t just a skirmish anymore; it’s a declaration of war. The Brackens want blood, and they won’t stop until they have it. We’re in a dangerous position, and all of Raventree is at risk."

Another council member, Maester Edric, interjected, his tone calmer but no less grave. "We must tread carefully now. Retaliating further could lead to full-scale conflict, something neither side can afford. We need to consider our options—diplomacy, subterfuge, anything to avoid plunging our houses into ruin."

Ser Myles cut in, his voice hardening. "But if we don’t act, we’ll appear weak. The Brackens will think they can encroach on our lands without consequence. We have to show them that Raventree won’t back down, even if it means bloodshed."

"Samwell," he said, his tone carrying the weight of years of service to the Blackwoods, "you’ve always been the voice of wisdom in this hall. We’re on the edge of something that could consume us all. The Brackens are daring us to strike back.” 

He paused, searching Samwell’s face for guidance. "What do we do? Do we meet their challenge head-on and risk plunging the Riverlands into chaos? Or is there another way—one that spares us from a conflict that could bleed us dry?"

The room fell silent, every eye on Samwell, waiting for the elder Blackwood to speak, knowing that his counsel could either steer them toward war or guide them toward a more measured path.

Samwell’s gaze settled on Ser Myles. "I understand your frustration, Ser Myles, and I share it. But if we retaliate now, we risk a full-scale war that will stretch our resources and endanger our people. We must show restraint, even if it means appearing weak for a time. We will not act in haste. Instead, we will plan and prepare, ensuring that when we do make a move, it will secure our position without dooming us to unnecessary conflict."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Benjicot adjusted his riding gloves as he and Emrys attempted to hurry down the halls before anyone could see them and question where they were going — he knew the minute he was found out, his father would be notified within minutes and know of his plans. With very little room for error, their pace was a brisk shuffle of feet as he clenched his fist, attempting to break in the leather gloves that felt snug around his knuckles, the halls barely lit by the few torches that remained in this part of the castle. 

“Ser Eryn has readied the horses, they’re just waiting beyond the gates for us.” Emrys quietly explained, Benjicot’s eyes lifting to look over at his cousin, “Are you sure you want to do this? Do you think it will work?” Emrys asked, looking at him. 

“It will,” Benjicot replied. “What of Davos and his men?” 

“They have returned to the borders and will meet us there.” His cousin stated, the two men walking shoulder to shoulder as Benjicot vaguely made out the sound of a horse whinny from the gates — his head turned towards the windows of the hall that overlooked the yard. Through the limited light, he saw the gates open a crack — just enough that one of the guards standing post could speak to someone on the outside. 

“Your father is going to be furious, you know.” Emrys suddenly teased, a grin on his face. 

“He will come to understand.” He muttered, hands dropping to his sides, “He wanted me to take initiative and act as a lord for the people— if he will not act, I will.” He said, walking ahead a few paces as they reached the stairs, beginning to descend towards the doors as Emrys snorted. 

“Atta boy,” Emrys whispered, nudging his shoulder from behind and bringing a grin to Ben’s face finally, the buzz of excitement and anticipation coursing through him. “I can’t wait to wipe that smug fucking smile off of Aeron’s stupid little—” 

“Wait- sh, down!” Ben interrupted as a door creaked open behind them, dragging his cousin down a few steps by his elbow and urging him to kneel out of sight on the stairs; concealed and hidden. There was an awkward moment of clamouring and the rustle of their clothing as they ducked, waiting in silence as Emrys nearly tumbled down the stairs; only catching himself by grabbing the wall. 

The hallway fell into silence as the minutes passed, the two men completely still as they listened carefully, Ben’s gaze turned to look up towards the top of the stairs trying to peer through the dark to see who it was that had come out of their room at this hour. 

“We need to go, it’s probably nobody,” Emrys whispered after a minute. 

Benjicot hesitated, hushing him again and growing impatient the longer they were trapped there on the stairs, “Just…wait.” He quietly instructed, releasing his cousin’s arm. His movements were slow, attempting to avoid making too much noise as he stood from his knees and slowly lifted his head to look into the hallway, his eyes scanning. 

“Benjicot?” A voice whispered in the dark, his eyes darting up to find Serra standing a few feet away from him. Her head lowered, squinting to look at him and visibly still bleary as he assumed they had woken her, despite their best efforts to be as quiet as they could. And if they had woken her, he realised, there was no doubt they had probably woken others and had drawn too much attention to themselves; it was only a matter of time before they started to pour out into the hallway, alerting the guards and his father.

“Shh.” He quickly replied, standing upright and stumbling up the few stairs that separated them, his hand planting on the ground to push himself upright. He grabbed her arm, pulling her towards a nook in the wall, his eyes darting over her head and scanning their surroundings to check for anyone else in the hall. The torch above them provided enough light to see her face as he looked at her, her eyes wide and confused, “You shouldn’t be out here, what are you doing?”

“I…I was cold.” She quietly explained, “Alistair was supposed to get some more wood for the fire.” 

“How long ago did he leave?”

“What?” 

He gently shook her, “How long has it been since he went to fetch wood?” He asked, looking down at her. 

She winced, shrinking back against the wall, “I don’t know…a few minutes before I heard you. I thought- I thought you were him,” Serra explained, her hands crossing over her chest. “You’re hurting me, Ben, please.” She quietly pleaded. He watched her eyes dart behind him, his head turning to find Emrys slowly standing to watch, ready to lunge forward towards the pair with a look of confusion on his face as he saw Serra. 

Benjicot released her elbow suddenly, only then realising how tightly he was holding her and sucking in a deep breath. Serra cradled her arm towards her body, hand rubbing over where his had previously been moments prior and frowning with her mouth slightly ajar, “We don’t have long, Alistair is out.” Benjicot said, turning to look at Emrys. 

His attention turned back to Serra, taking in her appearance — her hair slightly ruffled with sleep and cheeks flushed, still visibly exhausted but much more alert now as she looked up at him. His gaze absentmindedly dropped further, becoming aware of what little she was wearing; the fancy gowns of her house colours long since retired for the night, and left stripped down to a thin, loose cream-coloured chemise for sleep; a scarf hung around her shoulders to provide some warmth amidst the cool night. His eyebrows furrowed, Serra shifting uncomfortably under his gaze — Ben took a step to the left, shielding her from Emrys’ gaze, which lingered from behind him. 

“Sorry, my lady, we did not mean to wake you.” Emrys politely said, her head popping up over Benjicot’s shoulder to make eye contact with the younger blonde boy who hovered near. 

“Where are you going?” She asked, settling back on her heels as she looked up at him. 

Benjicot sighed, “Nowhere. It’s time you go back to bed.” 

She grabbed his wrist, lifting it in front of them and eyeing the gloves he wore briefly. He yanked his hand free, “So do you frequently just skulk around in your riding gear?” She asked, her voice quiet. 

He frowned, head shaking, “No— and it does not concern you. Do not stick your nose where you have no business putting it.” 

“It does concern me,” She insisted. “It will concern me, Benjicot, when we are married. Where are you off to?” 

“For your good, Serra, please-” 

“You’re off to go fight with those Bracken boys, aren’t you?” Serra pointedly asked, her voice firmer than Benjicot had ever heard it before, her tone knowing. It startled him, hearing her so serious and clear; her eyebrows furrowed in a displeased frown. He let out a breath, shoulders slumping as he deflated, stepping back into the wall behind him. His eyes rolled, looking away from her. “I overheard Kermit earlier.” She stated, her voice softening.

“Do you often eavesdrop on the matters of men?” He asked, his voice barely above a mutter. 

She hesitated, “Only when it matters.” Serra paused, “Only when it affects me.” 

He chewed his bottom lip, that same annoyance and frustration that had lingered in the back of his head that day creeping back up as he huffed, “It is my duty to protect and fight for my house.” 

“Yes, it is,” She softly said. “But there are men for that.” 

“It is just as much my responsibility as it is theirs— I am equally as trained.” He bit back. 

“I know you are,” Serra said, voice smaller now. “But you are also the heir— what should happen if harm comes of you?” 

Benjicot’s jaw clenched, mouth snapping shut for the first time during their conversation as his gaze dropped. He was left unable to argue that she had a point, but he had grown restless just waiting for action to be taken, watching while other men fought in place of him. 

“It does us no good if you die so soon in this war.” 

“What makes you think I would die?” He asked, his gaze still down and muttering like a boy. 

“You are not invincible, Benjicot.” She sighed in reply. 

The two stood silently, several moments passing before Emrys spoke up again, “I do not mean to interrupt, but if we are going, we must go now. Alistair will surely be back any moment now.” He quietly said, earning a glance from his cousin who inhaled a deep breath, sighing. 

“I need to do this— it is what is best for all of us.” He stated, voice more confident and self-assured as he looked her in the eye again, “You do not have to believe me, but I ask that you let me do this and keep this to yourself…just long enough that we make it to the boundaries at least.” He pleaded, his voice low. 

Serra eyed him, visibly contemplating his words with a tilted head, sceptical in trusting him; shoulders rising and falling with a breath, as she clutched the fabric of the scarf around her shoulders. Her gaze briefly lowered to his chest, swallowing. He could now make out the sound of footsteps approaching from down the hall and coming around the corner, his eyes lifting from her face and attention turning towards the sound as his heart raced, growing increasingly anxious the longer she remained quiet; caught like a terrified deer in the woods, “Ben, we need to leave now!” Emrys harshly whispered. 

She sighed and released her hold on the scarf, sliding it from her shoulders, “I cannot change the mind of a man set in his stubborn ways.” She mumbled, grabbing his wrist to press the thin fabric into his palm. “Take this.” She quietly said. 

His eyes shifted to glance down at the balled-up scarf, soft and delicate against his hand as she released his wrist, her eyes on his face. Benjicot looked at her, blinking rapidly a couple of times. He could hear the shuffle of feet as Emrys hurried to ascend the stairs and come up behind him, grabbing his shoulder as the flicker of flames bounced off the walls, Alistair’s shadow visible now, “Benjicot, come on.” 

“For fuck sakes, just wait!” He snapped, his voice a whisper as he shook off his cousin. Benjicot moved to quickly tuck the scarf in his belt, securing it there snugly against his hip as his cousin huffed with a curse and hurried towards the stairs; leaving him behind to descend towards the front door. 

“Be safe, come back to us.” She instructed, beginning to slide out from the nook and back in the direction of her room, but stopped by his hand around her wrist that pulled her back.  His hand lifted to grasp her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his head ducking until his nose brushed hers — he paused, feeling her sharp inhale of breath, before pressing his mouth to hers in a sweet, gentle kiss; her lips soft on his. He felt a hand of hers reflexively come up to his chest, confused and exploratory as if she wasn’t sure what to do or how to respond to the brief kiss. He withdrew after a moment, eyes scanning her features and noting the deep crimson blush that spread up her neck and into her cheeks. 

“I promise to return.” He muttered, stepping back and hurrying down the stairs as Alistair rounded the corner; finding Emrys bouncing on his toes by the front door

He could hear as Alistair called out a confused, “My lady?”

The sound of muffled conversation was distant and too quiet for his ears as he approached his cousin, who eyed him suspiciously. He wordlessly brushed past him, slipping out the door that Emrys held open before he felt him on his heels with a shut of the door. The two men bolted across the yard, the rain pouring down on the house as they ran towards the gates -- Benjicot squinted through the rain as he yanked his hood up and over his head, struggling to make out the shape of Ser Eryn who waited for him from the doors; the sound of water splashing with each step the two young men took. 

“My lord.” Ser Eryn shouted over the rain, bowing his head to Benjicot as he neared, hand reaching out already towards the saddle of the horse the guard held in place by the reign. He quickly mounted the horse who stumbled around a couple of steps, adjusting comfortably on the saddle as he tugged on the reins to pull the horse back and steady it. He watched as Emrys hopped up and mirrored his actions, pulling himself up onto the other horse’s back, looking down at Ser Eryn, “Everything is ready for you. You should reach the rest of your men within the hour. The fields will be slippery, so be careful!” 

“Aye.” Benjicot nodded, swaying with the horse’s anxious movements. “You’re a good man, Ser Eryn.” He stated. The guard gave another bow, muttering a ‘thank you’ to the boy lord who stood in front of him. 

With a snap of his reins, the horse took off underneath Benjicot; Emrys in tow as the sound of hoofs pounded against the ground. 

The rain came down in relentless sheets, soaking the earth and turning the narrow forest paths into a treacherous mire. The moon, hidden behind thick clouds, offered little light, leaving the night to be illuminated only by the occasional flash of lightning. The world was dark, wet, and unforgiving—a fitting backdrop for the grim task ahead.

Benjicot rode at the front, his horse’s hooves squelching in the mud with every step. His cloak was soaked through, the heavy wool clinging to his shoulders, but he paid it no mind. His thoughts were elsewhere, on the border ahead, where Bracken men had been seen trespassing on Blackwood land. This wasn't the first time, but it would be the last if he had anything to say about it.

Beside him, his cousin Emrys rode with equal determination, his jaw set in a grim line, "Do you think they'll be there?" Emrys asked, his voice barely audible over the drumming rain.

"They'll be there," Benjicot replied, eyes fixed on the path ahead. 

Emrys nodded, gripping the reins tighter. The path began to slope downward, leading them toward the river that marked the boundary between Blackwood and Bracken lands. The river’s usual gentle flow had turned into a roaring torrent, swollen by the storm, the water crashing against the rocks with furious energy.

As they neared the border, Benjicot signalled for them to slow down. The faint glow of torches flickered through the trees ahead, confirming what they had suspected. Bracken men were indeed on Blackwood land, and they weren’t even trying to hide it, face-to-face with Davos and his men. 

"How many do you think?" Emrys asked, peering through the darkness.

"Enough," Benjicot said, his voice a mutter. 

He drew his sword, the steel gleaming briefly in the dim light. Emrys followed suit, the sound of metal slicing through the rain-soaked air.

They urged their horses forward, emerging from the cover of the trees into a clearing by the riverbank. There, illuminated by the torches, were half-dozen Bracken men, armed and armoured, standing defiantly on Blackwood soil.

One of them, a tall man with a grizzled beard, stepped forward; a familiar face that Benjicot recognized as an elder cousin to Aeron — a boy Benjicot had encountered several times before,  "What’s this? Blackwoods come to play in the rain?"

"You’re on our land," Benjicot said, his voice carrying authority despite his youth. "Leave now, or we’ll make you."

The Bracken men laughed, their leader taking a step closer. "And what will a boy like you do about it?"

Benjicot’s eyes narrowed. "You’re treading thin ice, Bracken. Turn back and leave now, and we might spare you and your men."

Rodrik, the leader of the men, barked a laugh, “Don’t be foolish. Surely, you don’t truly think you’re anything to be feared, Benjicot.” He spat, taking a few steps in his direction, “Or did you come to meet my dear sister?” He taunted, his tone mocking and spurring a blinding rage deep within Benjicot, the taste of bile potent on his tongue. 

“You’d be lucky if you see her face again anytime soon,” Rodrick continued. “Though I doubt that is of any concern to you…seeing that I hear you are to be married to that pretty little Tully girl, aye? What’s her name again?” 

Benjicot twitched, his mouth turned into a snarl as he readjusted his grip around the hilt of his sword, his gaze watching the Bracken man like a predator does their prey, “Serra?” He slowly said, the name drawn out and followed by a sickening laugh, “Lucky man, Blackwood. You know she was almost a Bracken -- her father offered her for Aeron first before you.” 

Rodrik slowly sauntered towards Benjicot’s horse, the men behind him tense as they watched in silence; Benjicot’s eyes briefly tearing away to glance towards the Blackwood men, Emrys stood beside them and waited for any signal to advance, his blade drawn and ready -- meanwhile, Rodrik stopped once he was within arms reach of his horse. 

"Tell me, Blackwood," Rodrik sneered, his eyes gleaming with malice, "how does it feel to have a Tully as a prize, yet know she'll never be yours in spirit? Serra may wear your colours one day, but she'll always think of the strength and power of Bracken men. You can dress her in Blackwood finery, but deep down, she'll remember the better match she could have had—someone worthy of her station."

He leaned in closer, his voice a low, taunting whisper. "Enjoy her cold embraces, Benjicot. But remember, when she looks at you, she’ll be seeing the man she could’ve had."

He finally snapped. 

With a sharp cry, he spurred his horse forward as Benjicot’s sword struck with precision, cutting through the defences of the Bracken man as his blade found its mark, cutting him down with a swift strike. There was a gasp as the remaining Bracken men, seeing their leader fall, began to retreat, stumbling over the muddy ground as they fled back across the river; Rodrik’s body slumped against the ground, with his face down in the mud with wide, lifeless eyes. Ben’s gaze remained pinned there upon his body as the men withdrew, unmoving. 

Benjicot didn’t pursue them. He reined in his horse, breathing heavily, wiping the blade clean of blood off on his pant leg as Emrys came to a stop beside him, his chest heaving with exertion.

"Ben, what have you done?" Emrys hissed, his voice barely audible over the storm. His eyes were wide, but there was no judgement in them—only concern. "We weren't supposed to be here, let alone... do this."

He glanced around nervously, expecting Bracken reinforcements to appear out of the shadows. "You've just killed Rodrik Bracken. The Brackens won't let this go. This will start a blood feud, one even the gods can't stop."

Benjicot looked at him, blinking rapidly as the realisation of what he had just done dawned on him; suddenly feeling sick as shaking hands sheathed his sword and gripped the reins.

Emrys stepped closer, lowering his voice. "We need to think quickly. We can’t let them know it was us, not now. We need to get back to Raventree, and we need to make sure no one can tie this to you, to us. We can’t let this spiral out of control. The whole Riverlands will burn if this gets out."

The young lord nodded a stiff movement that oozed uncertainty. 

He paused, searching Benjicot's face for a response. "You did what you had to, Ben, but now we must do what we must to protect our house."

TAGLIST: @username199945 @cxcilla @thethiccestdaddy @deltamoon666, @drwho-ess @callsigncrushx @clarityisnofun @jhepolie @juhdoche @majoso12 @roseheart5 @nixtape-foryou @poppyflower-22 @accidentpronedork @tannyfairy @maximizedrhythms @deadunicorn159 @xlittlefiend

[youspeakshit]

lestappen 2022 moments ~

I wrote this as a reblog to a different post when I saw people saying they barely interacted up until half of 2023. I wanted to share it as its own thing since it really confused me, I actually changed ships in 2022 bc lestappen were all over each other and I fell in love with them.

I'm gonna link some 2022 content so everyone can cheer up together abt the saudi gp podium weirdness, and make heart eyes at their cuteness.

Getting it outta the way first thing, press conference silliness: one two three four. And an extra twitter thread sharing stuff from each gp.

Max interrupting Charles' interview to say hi, and both forgetting about it to have a small chat.

Do I hear hot ass battles on track? And second link has as surprise this gay ass moment bellow.

And here from a different angle bc austria 2022 is everyone's roman empire.

Charles congratulating Max on his win; they also greeted each other from the cars.

The infamous Charles vlog with Max in the us gp: mysteriously hidden and then removed from his channel.

Them touching 166 times for no reason.

Spending too much time together and using the same phrases.

Behind the scenes of monaco gp by Ferrari and Red Bull are a good watch as well!

Charles got Max for the secret santa that year.

British gp had hidden camera silly debriefings, and also my personal favorite... Charles went after Max to vent about Ferrari fucking up his race and Max looked genuinely upset for him. Extra gifset.

This is just a short compilation of a long year fueled by lestappen that I hope ppl enjoy to learn about or revisit. That year they had 8 podiums together, that's 8 cool down rooms podcasts. And 14 qualis shared, plus 14 post-quali press conferences and waist-hugs. Countless sightings of them out and about with their personal debriefing after qualis and races. It sure was kinda awkward at first, they both seemed to wanna make small talk before getting the hang of their dynamic. But they were battling each other A LOT during this season and having so much fun racing together!

I'll end it linking to a twitter thread with some extra bits. Including this photo from when they got f1 married. Or whatever this was.

[autisticlancemcclain]

Lance flicks on the lights and his soul damn near leaves his body.

“Jesus H. Christ one a one-wheeled motorbike, Pidge,” he gasps, hand pressed to his galloping heart. She doesn’t laugh — Pidge doesn’t laugh often — but Lance has learned to read her, in the year or so they’ve been in space. He recognises the twitch of her mouth, the flash in her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Your lock code is embarrassingly easy to guess,” she says in lieu of an answer. Lance smiles reflexively at the matter-of-fact, half chiding tone. He pulls finally away from the wall, having caught his breath, and starts rifling through his cabinet.

“Yeah?”

He hears the shuffle of blankets, the muffled hits on a pillow being shoved into a lap. When he glances out of the corner of his eyes, he finds her sat comfortably in the dead centre of his bed, criss-cross-applesauce, nails picking at the threads of his pillowcase and eyes blinking owlishly behind her glasses.

“Yes. Fifty eighth most common four letter password.” She pauses a moment. “Spelling F-A-R-T with numbers is very immature.”

Lance snickers. He’d forgotten what his password spelt, he’s used the same combo so long. “Is that right?”

“Yes. You should come up with something more secure. It was my second guess.”

“What was the first?”

Pidge doesn’t seem to notice his curious look. Her eyes are focused on the items in his hands, watching diligently as he sits on the floor next to a dish of water, squeezing some soap into his hands and rubbing it all over his bare legs. Her head is tilted with a similar look of inquiry.

“Your birthday. What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, Lance removes the cap from his razor and starts to carefully drag it down his calfs, rinsing it every two strokes in the water. Pidge watches with rapt attention.

Weirdo, Lance thinks, fondly and hypocritically.

It doesn’t take long for the questions to start firing off.

“What’s the point of shaving your legs?”

“Gets rid of the hair.”

“Why do you want to get rid of the hair?”

Lance takes a moment to gather his thoughts, answering truthfully. “Lots of reasons. Not all of them I’m proud of. I started mostly ‘cause Veronica did it and I used to do everything she did.” He pauses. A sad smile pulls on his lips, and he swallows around the comfortingly familiar lump in his throat. “Well. ‘Used to’. If she was here I’d probably still be puttering around after her.” He finds Pidge’s eyes and smiles at her, winking. “Older siblings are easy to hang off of, huh?”

Her mouth twitches. She breaks eye contact, resting her chin on her knees and moving the pillow under her legs. “No. Older siblings are annoying. And ridiculous. I once followed Matt around all day and wrote down every single time he said ‘ow’. He said in on average twenty-three times an hour.” She meets his eyes again, mouth pinched and eyebrows raised. “Your average is twenty-four.”

“I see.”

“You should tie your shoes.”

“Nah.” He taps the razor on the side of the dish, gently sliding it to the other side of him and switching his razor to his left hand. “Anyways. When I was your age I mostly did it ‘cause Ronnie did it. Helped with swimming, too. But as I got older…” He frowns. “As I got older, I started feeling like I had to, I guess. Like I was ugly if I didn’t.”

A pinprick of pain makes his hand still, lifting the blade from around his ankle. A tiny drop of blood swells at the base of it. He sets the razor down, quickly grabbing a towel and dabbing at the nick. Ankle wounds always bleed so much — it doesn’t even hurt anymore, but he can’t pull the towel away or he’ll stain the floor.

“…Do you feel that way now?”

Lance doesn’t answer for a long moment. He hears Pidge fidget, clicking her nails together. The blood finally slows enough for him to pull away the towel, and he resumes shaving the last half of his leg — much more slowly, this time.

“Not exactly,” he says carefully. “I recognize why I feel that way. I know where that pressure comes from, why it’s harmful. But it’s still…there. I still catch myself thinking cruel things; I have to spend a few minutes talking myself out of them. I tried stopping for about a year. I didn’t like it.”

He finally finishes swiping up the last line of soap, rinsing off his razor and then gently running a cold, wet cloth over his legs to get rid of any lingering suds.

“Do you think you’ll try to stop again?”

“Hm. I don’t think so. I like the feeling of smooth skin more than hairy skin, I’ve found. It’s nice on fresh sheets, plus sometimes hair tickles me and makes me jumpy. Plus, it’s easier to moisturize.”

“Ohhh,” Pidge says, and when Lance looks up there’s a real look of understanding on her face — not the practiced one she puts on when she doesn’t actually get something but doesn’t want to look dumb. “Like — it’s the same as why you don’t like jeans and socks.”

Lance smiles. “Exactly. I’d walk around in nothing but shorts and a big t-shirt, if I had the choice.” Legs clean and clean-shaven, he picks up his tube of lotion and starts dabbing dollops all over the skin. “That’s all I ever wore back home.”

“Arizona is freezing half the time!”

“Cuba,” Lance reminds her.

“Oh yeah,” she says again. “But what about when it rained?”

Lance shrugs. “Better to wear flip flops and get wet feet than wet socks. Wet socks are the worst.”

“Yeah.” She shudders. “Like prickly sweaters.”

He hums. The lotion smells like juniberries, which kind of smells like pineapple and hibiscus mixed with a strange, almost spicy scent. Not quite home, but close enough to be nice.

He doesn’t ask Pidge why she broke into his room while he was in the showers and sat in the dark waiting for him to get back. The same way he doesn’t press when she follows him down the halls, disappearing behind corners when he turns to look, or sits by his feet during movie night. He lets her be prickly with affection and learns to hear the undercurrent in her constant comments and rambles, learns to read her questions about every thing he does as curious rather than judgemental.

She would ice him out for weeks if he said it out loud, but there was this stray cat that lived near his house, when he was young. It hissed and spit and clawed if you came halfway near it; Mamá had forbidden him from trying in case it was sick. But he used to leave out water for it at night and sometimes even sneak Abuelo’s heating pad, and every once in a while it would let Lance sit near it without clawing him. Once it even attacked one of the older kids who used to chase him after school.

It’s no coincidence that Pidge always happens to be in the same room as him 90% of the time. Or that she can guess his passcode easily.

“Hey, Pidgeon,” he says, unwrapping the towel from his hair and starting to work in the leave in conditioner. “The lockcode on my snack drawer is the same as the room code. Just so you know.”

She stares at him for several minutes.

Her mouth twitches.

“I could have figured that out myself.”

“I know.”

“You’re weird.”

He smiles. “You too, nerd.”

[themotherofblood]

Prologue . 1 | RIVER OF FIRE | THE LADY | D.T x R.T x READER

series masterlist | main masterlist

~ where ever you stray, I’d follow. Begging for you to take my hand ~

“Rhaenyra? Rhaenyra… she is the gust of spring air after a bitter winter. She is a child’s first laughter. She is my knight. Our days spent climbing trees and visiting Aemma. Rhaenyra insisted that Syrax is finally large enough to saddle two but I refused her, what if I fell? I am a little too young and too pretty to die just yet. But too Rhaenyra, she is my happiness and I her lady.”

The summer of one hundred and ten years after Aegon's Conquest, you'd remembered the days to be so vibrant. That was your fifth year at Kings Landing, and the second year since the fourteenth day of the fifth moon since you had realized you held passions for Rhaenyra Targaryen.

There was a true sense of sisterhood between Laena, Alicent, Rhaenyra and you. The little ladies that ran the Red Keep a muck, the hordes of giggles and dozens of fabrics that followed everywhere you went. Alicent and Rhaenyra, the older girls of four and ten, Laena and you were two and ten finding yourself in a closer bind of sisterhood, that and your shared love for exotic fauna.

Your fingers had been deep in dirt, planting away yet another exotic seed that Lord Corlys procured for you and Laena, they never understood how you managed to grow them but you did. They thrived in the summer months, while your hands mindlessly packed soil, and your eyes remained on Rhaenyra as she rested her head in Alicent's lap. You couldn't quite decipher the stinging burn in your chest as you watched Alicent twirl Rhae's silver locks in her fingers.

Laena was a silently observant person, she looked between your eye line before dragging you to lay in between the blossomed flower beds. "I wrote for my brother yesterday, demands of sweets and sieges of poetry were demanded of," you told Laena, truly trying to distract yourself. Laena giggled as she shook her head. The softness of her voice echoed with chirps of hummingbirds, the sun crisp against her skin just as it shimmered against yours.

"Silk and gold threads from Lys, and more shells. Father promised me more." Laena continued as she toyed with her sea blue sleeves. "And thanked him on your behalf for the seeds."

Even as you remained deep in conversation with your companion, your eyes held an envious gaze toward Alicent; you hated feeling this way. She was your friend too, you were all friends with each other and yet this unfamiliar feeling gnawed at your insides for over a year. You giggled and chuckled along at all the court gossip of the older ladies being wed and betrothed to the knights of their dreams.

"Lady Laena," Daemon called out from behind you as you shot up to look at him. This man intimidated you to your core and yet provided you with the wisest of wisdom. "Your mother calls for you," he gestured at Laena. She wished you farewell before running off, you shuffled up awkwardly, unaware of what to do, so you turned your eyes to Rhaenyra and she was still too engrossed with Alicent. Your envious gaze bore holes into the brunette girl; you were meant to be friends but you simply couldn't help yourself.

"You ought to look harder, you might envision an arrow in her head." Daemon mused at your glare, you scowled at him and got up. Shrugging your skirts free of dirt and grass.

"You may jest at court all you like, leave me out of it my prince," you looked up at him with a scowl, lip jutted out as your returned to watching Rhaenyra enviously.

"Ah- I humbly apologise princess," he bit his lip from chuckling further at your frustrations, he held your upper arm to stop you from running away.

"How about you join me for a walk? The day is far too beautiful to be wasted," he offered, extending his arm out of you to take. You looked once more to Rhaenyra lounging with Alicent and then you agreed. You didn't want to be alone at that moment. You walked with him in the royal gardens, nobody questioned anything. He was a frequent visitor to his brother's daughter and you. You had found a quiet corner to lay flat on the grass again as Daemon nursed on a flask of...wine.

He offered you some, which you immediately spit out over the bitter taste making him laugh even louder. "Blegh...," you shivered the taste away "what is that?"

The corners of Daemon's eyes crinkled, "moonshine," he shrugged taking two swigs before putting the flash away.

"It's disgusting, death," you coughed getting the burn away from your throat.

"How is your, city watching going," you began an awkward conversation, fully aware that he was about to question you about your sour behaviour today.

"The heathens of King's Landing ought to fear the colour gold from now on," he stated, looking to the skies. There was an odd moment of silence before he spoke up again. "Perhaps Viserys would send out less of an army every time you princesses visited."

"What were the daggers for? Alicent stole your pretty doll or something," he quirked his brow at you, in truth he was concerned that you might have pounced onto Otto Hightower's spawn, having a history of brawling with young lasses at court who dared to test your patience; he hoped you'd fess up. You shook your head to disagree.

"She would never steal my dolls, she has plenty of her own," you stated, ripping at the grass next to you. Pulling them through one by one as a frown pulled over your forehead once more. The image unwavering within your mind, Alicent asking- no, demanding Nyra's attention from dawn to dusk. Yet today they wore matching coloured gown, Nyra wore matching gowns with you, not Alicent. The portrait a bitter taste in your mouth, how do you explain that to a prince notorious for being wild, unchained.

"So you admit, scary little Dornish princess does play with dolls," he teased, referring to the rude remarks that never seemed to stop at court about you.

"What did you expect? That I play with human skulls?" you scoffed, pouting and looking even more upset. The balls of grad that filled your small fists, you lurched at Daemon and then finally caved. "Rhaenyra seems to enjoy Alicent's company more than mine."

"Well," Daemon began, the thoughts swirling in his head projecting across his face "they are friends, and so are you...?" He pushed along, clearly another motive lingering at his tongue.

"Yes we are- we are just friends," you hesitated to elaborate further, afraid you wouldn't find the weight words to profess what you felt.

"Not very ladylike to lie is it, princess?" He cock his brow up, accusing you to weasel your confession out of you.

"We are more than friends I think, more than sisters." You confessed, tethering yourself to the edge of the truth.

"Ah," Daemon let out a knowing sigh "Young love."

"It's wrong," you hissed "It is love, however." you tutted, shaking your head for having these thought, your mind yet agains filling with the image of curt Septa Marlow with a cane in her hand. Death, that's what such thought entail by the Seven.

"Would you be happier if you told her, having a partner is a blessing," he smiled, honestly happy about what you felt for his niece, there wasn't a moment where Daemon wished not to thrive within the mess that was his family, but something so pure and confused sat by his feet. Finding remorse in his heart for both girl, perhaps they would taste the choice he never got should Daemon be King someday as his brother's heir.

"You have a partner, are you happy?" clearly toying with his disdained marriage, he scowled at you. "You spend the better part of the year with us and the rest with your paramour."

"Where have you heard of my paramour?" Daemon let out a questioning scoff, pondering on where might the little princesses had managed to hear of his whore mongering habits.

"Lord Hand may have mentioned something at supper," you shrugged, "The Mother better not provide me with a husband like you, I might lose my mind."

"You are two and ten, what do you know of love." He japed throwing the grass you threw at him back.

"More than you, the writers are better at professing love than you my prince. Perhaps I could lend you a book." You teased back.

"Perhaps you could," He chortled, leaning back against the tea bark.

"You should bring Lady Rhea a cat, perhaps a white one." You offered, genuine advice, everyone loved cats; apart from Queen Aemma, they made her sneeze like a mad woman. "She'd be more agreeable."

Damon laughed, "She may actually poison the poor thing."

You never understood why Daemon was so open to half the things you and Rhaenyra hurled at him. Young ladies often confessed to their septas but you were sure she would have painted your palms red with a cane if you confessed that you loved a girl. The more your head toiled with those immoral questions, you grew silent once more.

"Apart from your lady wife; had you ever found love?" You asked him out of sheer curiosity.

"You are far too young to worry about such things little princess." He said while shaking his head, his eyes soft as he tried to find a solution to your juvenile problems. "Perhaps if you do want to confess your love, you ought to kiss her."

You shot up straight, looking at him confused "What if do and then I'm with a babe- I don't want a babe; I'd be ruined!" You hissed

Daemon slapped his palm on his forehead "Who has told you of such falsehoods?"

"Septa Marlow did." Your mind began wondering, what would Rhaenyra's babes look like...

"Demented hag," He muttered under his breath "I can assure you, princess, one does not come with a child from a kiss; if that were so. King's Landing would be swarming with my bastards."

"Oh- so I can kiss her?" You blushed, and a new hope flared in your chest.

"Yes, as much as you like." He smiled at your excitement.

"Your grace," A servant girl bowed as she entered the gardens "Dinner has been served in his grace's solar."

Daemon escorted you to his brother's solar, Viserys was already in his seat with Aemma. Just as their family poured into his solar, Aemma's face lit up. You moved around the table, bowing to Viserys before pressing a kiss on Aemma's cheek before sitting down next to her. Her mothering began the second she saw you, tutting at stray pieces of grass tangled in your hair.

"How are feeling today, your grace." You questioned about her condition, yet another pregnancy that she announced four moons before and since then her face began paling, she couldn't join you in the Godswood to help you garden your plants.

"Better, the babe should begin kicking soon enough." She said as she rubbed her belly.

"The boy shall add another to your army I reckon," Viserys japed, letting out a fatherly chuckle along with Daemon.

The doors creaked open when Rhaenyra finally arrived, she too pressed a kiss to her mother and then her father's cheek before sitting herself across from you. "Forgive me, I was carried away with Alicent."

You wanted to scream at the back of your mouth, you didn't want to feel this way. Alicent was your friend, you were a good girl and not a bully. You were being cruel to her in your head but you couldn't stand how much time Alicent was taking away from Rhaenyra. Taking her to the fool's shows and bird watching, she even took Rhaenyra to the Sept. Rhaenyra does not pray, let alone believe in the seven!

You toyed with your food for a while, pushing peas back and forth with your fork, to which Viserys took note "You ought to eat child." He voiced his concerns about making your fork stop its scraping.

"Forgive me, your grace, I'm not very hungry." You shrugged "May I please be excused?"

Viserys looked around the table and sighed, nodding. You said your farewells and sprinted to your room. You breathed out deep stress-infused sighs, grumbling under your breath as you cuddled a pillow on your window bed.

Stupid...stupid girl for thinking she would feel the same way for you, other than a sister.

What if she felt that way for Alicent? Mayhaps that's the reason she began to pull away from you...

It was sinful in so many ways, pillow biters. That's what the older ladies sniggered about in the halls. Were you a pillow bitter? Could girls even be pillow bitters? You tried to concentrate on the book you decided to finish and yet your mind just wouldn't seize its endless blathering.

Your door opened after a series of knocks, in walked Queen Aemma with two servant girls, hauling along a tray of fruits and a glass of milk. "It isn't wise to go to bed on an empty stomach, it will ache tomorrow." She patted your hair, choosing to sit opposite you. "Finish the whole thing."

You whined at the cup of milk, you didn't exactly hate the beverage but gods did it taste absurd some days. She gave you a comforting push, smiling as you tried to consume the cup in one go; perhaps that way your tongue wouldn't linger in its flavour afterwards. You sighed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

"Good girl," She said, looking out the glaring moon that graced your window "Now tell me what disturbs you? Is it your home again?"

If only it were that simple, you stopped crying about your home more than three years ago, your father abandoned you and your brother was the sole reason your blood still stained its Dornish colours. You meekly shook your head, hoping she would leave the subject at that.

"If it's people at court sweetling, if they malign you in any way. You must tell me." She gently held your jaw, lowering her face to make you meet her glistening eyes.

"Yes, your grace."

"Alright then," She leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead, before letting you reciprocate with one on her cheek "Do not stay awake for too long."

You remembered your conversation with Daemon, more so how he always seemed to acquire what he wanted by the sheer strength of his will. The sheer strength of your will, that's what you need. Just a little bit of bravery, for what is the worst that could happen. They have your gelded for making an impasse at the only crown princess of the Targaryen dynasty.

You padded your feet over next door, greeting Ser Westerling who was stationed outside your and Rhaenyra's apartments for tonight. Her room was empty, though prepared for her slumber as fresh incense burned off her receiving table, linens just moved around to sleep in. You shuffled yourself onto her bed. Sitting on your knees at the centre.

"Rhaenyra I love you, in a not sisterly way..."

"I speak from the depth of my heart, I profess my devotion to you sweet princess... no...no that is far too melodramatic."

You began speaking to yourself in your head, insanity, pure insanity. You were sure if you thought too hard; you'd lose yourself in your own mind full of cats, dragons and knights and ten versions of Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra's chamber doors finally opened, she shuffled in; pulling at her earrings as she kicked her slippers away before pulling a sack from her pockets to place on her dresser. Humming a little song under her breath before her eyes fell on you sitting in her bed, she squealed. Placing a palm on her chest, clearly shuddered in shock.

"Seven- what are you doing here?" She questioned, eyes wide as she pushed the little sack away further.

"You didn't come to hug me before bed- so I thought I would visit you." You shrugged awkwardly

"I- I was with Alicent, lost track of time." She said as she stretched the back of her neck.

"Oh-"

Don't say it

Don't say it- you fought your tongue with all your might

"Princess, do you not wish to be my friend anymore?" You said sounding insecure and solemn.

Rhaenyra looked taken aback "What makes you say that."

"You spend all your time with Alicent, going to the markets, the Sept and spend your evenings in her solar... it's just she is your friend too but I rarely see you anymore." You mumbled your words out in one giant sentence.

"I- you silly duck." She curled her lips in her mouth to stifle a growing smile. "We were making preparations for your name day." She confessed, looking amused at your pouted face.

"So...you do want to be my friend." You questioned again to be clear.

"Why would I not." she exclaimed throwing herself onto her bed "You shall always be my dearest companion." She pulled you down into a hug.

Tell her

Tell her

Daemon's voice taunted you.

"Can I kiss you?" You blurted out, your palms began to sweat

Please do not me have gelded

Or beheaded

Rhaenyra looked at you quizzically before turning her head to offer you her cheek. That too in definition was a kiss but that wasn't what you meant. You fumbled with your fingers as your brain racked up ways to confess your passions for your dearest princess

"I meant- have you ever noticed how Viserys always goes straight to Aemma whenever she visits him, the first he does is kisses her." You said trying not to fumble over your words "Well, whenever you visit my stomach flutters in butterflies and all I want to do is kiss you."

Rhaenyra tilts her head, looking confused yet almost grasping at what you meant.

"I love you," You confessed

"So do I." She replied innocent words shared many times over between the two of you.

"No- I love you like a knight would his lady." You elaborate, again fear flaring in your chest.

Please do not have me exiled

"Like a knight loves his lady...?" She repeated, thoughts flooding behind her purple eyes "So are you the knight or the lady."

"I- what?" Her reply confused you, was she happy; was she mad? You couldn't quite place an emotion on her face "Uh- the lady."

"Then I love you like a knight too," She replied smiling ear to ear.

"Wait you do?" You were sure the smile that spread on your face made you look like a drunken fool but you had not a care in the known.

She nodded eagerly "Do we kiss now?"

"I believe so," You agreed, heat rushing to your cheek as your pursed your lips towards her, her soft lips pressed against yours as she graced you with a chaste kiss.

The two of you broke apart in a fit of giggles, Rhaenyra blushed red as you fanned at your warm face.

"That was very nice," she said awestruck, before pulling you closer for another.

"My knight," you whispered against her lips.

next chapter

[shidouryusm]

Ghost town of youth - Suguru x reader

w/c -> 1.2k

contents -> bittersweet, angst, lots of metaphor and sea references, ig that's all

a/n -> idk man I just had a random wave of sadness about suguru and my tears wrote it. If y'all like it please support me via reblogs and comments :) also first time wrote geto idk whether I did a good job or not but I do love the lil sea metaphors here teehee. not proofread

The air brushes past you, little beads of salt sticking to your face and the skin of your lips. The sand below dips your heels deep into their abyss while the pull of the saltwater sweeps the particles back and forth in that white bed of grains. You feel the briney air kiss the strands of your hair as each of the thread dances to the unheard song of the dusk. 

The sound of waves are muted, almost too quiet to hear as they break against your ankles, resembling foams of soaps clinging to your feet submerged right where the shore begins. The ambience was scenic; the scent of the sea alluring to bask in, but there laid something that amplified the beauty of this nature more. 

Before you, was a sight that could only be called righteous – unadulterated and wholesome. Pure and tranquil. Far from any darkness that looms out there. 

The girls were silhouetted by the dying sun, their little figures prancing around the darkening sea, their pigtails dances along the motion. And behind them, you see him – arms outstretched, chasing the girls as they squeal and run and run further away from him. Their laughter doubles in pitch and happiness as he makes some kind of gurgling sound, imitating a monster. 

The chuckles of the two girls mixes with the breeze, creating a song even more melodious to tune into. Your lips curl into a comforting smile as their giggles mends your heart a little more than the day before. 

Suguru has left his monk attire at home, rather donning himself in a blue hawaiian shirt. He sends a glance across your way, eyes crinkled shut and a smile that translates to save me from this. You smile back, daring yourself to not show the inner turmoil creeping up on your face while you admire them from afar. 

It has been four years ever since Mimiko-Nanako stepped into your life and even though the aftermath of their entrance has been ugly, their simple presence and smiles were like bandaids on the scarred wounds. Like anchors holding both of your boats in an unrestrained sea.

But as much as they are a blessing, a hidden, fragmented part of your heart dares to speak out – wishing Suguru had never accepted that mission. That way he wouldn’t have to see their helpless faces smushed against each other, looking up at him in horror, with their little bodies trembling. Maybe that would have saved Suguru from the apocalypse he set into motion himself. 

Maybe today under the setting embers of the sun, you would be laughing with Satoru, Shoko and Nanami. 

Maybe then, Suguru wouldn’t have to creep up to you, farway in Sendai during your mission, offering you a portal to a completely different life– a life facing against the very people you once called home. 

You were ordered for immediate report on the sight of this man but seeing him in flesh had left your body to stand where it was. Eyes drinking him from head to toe. 

Was it your body that responded or the thrumming heart of yours that was branded by his name forever? You never questioned it. You never felt the need to because from that day onwards, Mimiko-Nanako had found another parent and jujutsu world lost another one. 

You missed Satoru. His obnoxious laughter, his lame but unnecessary sunglass collections that he possessed. Was he still this haughty or the loss of his dearests had left him in a loophole. Forced him to take responsibilty and raise a generation of strongest sorceres? You missed Shoko and the stench of the cigarettes she pulled out at the most random places, attracting glares of surprise and offence. Does she still smoke just like Iori drinks in secrecy? Heck you even missed Mei’s random bets with alarming amounts of yen and Nanami’s exasperated sighs. You missed everything. You missed everyone. 

And most of it all, you missed your Suguru. You missed the way his eyes used to twinkle at your random dates across Shinjuku. You missed his smile before he executed on planning devious pranks on you, with Satoru, only to later coax you with sweet words, kisses and hugs. 

You missed the genuinity of his smile. A smile that was robbed by the world. A smile robbed from you. You failed to protect him in your heart and now he has crumbled to pieces, along with the walls of your heart that promised his security. 

Slammed himself into a realm of extreme ideology that you still can’t bring yourself to accept. You don’t speak about it. Your blind acceptance was a testament of your loyalty to him. Your love that continued to grow only, swallowing you like a boa constrictor. You know his path is wrong. It is bloody and it’s killing every last bit of light in him, along with you. You clutch your chest as if holding your heart physically could help it from shattering apart.

You haven’t used jujutsu technique ever since that day. Suguru has accepted it. Upon enduring the death of his closed ones, your death would make him lose every resolve that is holding him by the thread to not go on a rampage. 

But how much of this can you tolerate? How many sleepless nights would it take on your end to finally stand on the line Suguru started his journey?

Your closed eyes didn’t sense his presence near you until large frame of his hands cages you in his hold, his mild scent wafting in your nose along with the oceany smell. 

“Anything on your mind?” his soft voice reaches your ear and the knife in your heart twists a little bit more. His head rests against your shoulder, little tufts your hair tickling your skin and suddenly you are teleported to the blue youthful days. Summer beach dates and hidden makeout sessions.

Only if you could have been saved.

You shake your head, leaning more into his touch while both of you watch your girls play, like a family promised of happiness. His embrace was the embodiment of chalk and cheese– with the warmth that served like a blanket in the chilly air yet the bloody coldness feeling like hugging a teddy bear fashioned with shards of glass. He holds you a little bit tighter, and you wonder whether he knows the dirty game of predicament your heart plays on you everyday. 

He probably does. your silent sobs never goes unheard in his ears. his heart aches for you but he knows where your love lies. Where your heart lies.  Anchored right against him. the only thing he can wait for is to let it rust. To let you strengthen yourself on your own in this doomed world. Even without your gallantry, your abandonment from jujutsu, he is assured about your support. Your love for Mimiko-Nanako and for him is what he may fight and die for. 

You watch Suguru drag his feet against the wet sand, absentmindedly trailing a path that you followed suit, your feet behind him on the white trail. He chuckles at your doing while you chime in, both of you indulging in a silly act of your own while your bodies flush against each other. Minds racing with thoughts but reaching one common destination - each other.

The sunset is beautiful and you wish time stalled here, you wished for the water to be this calm and you wished this little bubble of family remained as it is – playing in the ebbing waves under the twilight sky painted in the lightest pink. You know you haven’t caught up to him. Still following him just like the trails of the sand you both created. Maybe you never will. But moments like these where your heart aches for him and you are sent into the ghostown of his past, you can snuck in the happiness you had felt in the long lost youth. 

Who knows? Maybe Suguru will too.

comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated

dividers from @/cafekitsune

[i4oba]

cassiopeia — njm.

jaemin & fem!reader ✰ soulmate!au

genre: angst?

summary: fate has its own little games, but giving only twenty-four hours is by far the most cruel of them all. and you have to endure that in every life of yours.

warnings: mention’s of death, major character’s death, a few cuss words??, it’s a bit angsty and has some suggestive themes somewhere in the middle :) .. but ofc it was written in flowery language so it’s not that bad! also it’s not proofread, sorry :,( … although it was written like 2 and a half years ago.. eheh SORRY IM STUPIDD

word count: 5k

author’s note: i originally wrote this story in my native language, which made it harder to tell it in english as well.. english isn’t capable of capturing my metaphors!!!! i hate it here!!!!! i sound stupid in english!!!!!!!! >:(

and no matter how many times have you been staring at the night sky, even hundreds of stars weren’t able to show you the right directions. no matter how diligent you were on finding those constellations, recognizing them wasn’t enough to make you less lost in the vast world of ours. you could have done anything as you were lying down on the freshly mowed grass, looking at those stars, alligned even, which you two had always been mentioning over the time — the feeling of emptiness wouldn’t go away. as you focused on the stars and how bright they were glowing, your arms stretched out in hopes of being able to touch them: everything became even more painful. and as your fingers were dancing in the air, from one star to another, your eyes teared up and your mind was screaming only one thing: enough. it was all enough. since you hated this with your whole existence. and the cassiopeia was reminding you of this constantly;

you have never been able to decide whether remembering is worse or forgetting. you would have loved to experience both at least once, but fate gave you a different card. one, which you carefully choose from the big card house, telling you something: your curse is remembering. and as you hold that little card in your hands, glaring at the crimson coloured letters, you feel like screaming all of your bottled up anger out every time. you always feel like protesting against fate, you want to say and do otherwise but were you ever in a place to do so? you have never had the chance. thus you learnt how to bear with it, what else was there to do? getting into a fight with the fates who were so focused on directing your life, having an evil smile on their faces as they were slowly cutting the thread of that person’s life, who was the sole reason you could stay sane? would you have stolen those old and rusty scissors from their hands, putting a dot after their history of standing so tall, being placed higher in the invisible hierarchy between people and them? would you have given some more time to you two? would you have changed past, present and future?

all of it is just a wandering thought which crosses your mind frequently through your days as you live your boring life. you spend every day with planning out your dirty little revenge, and end it with the conclusion: you’re unable to do it. admitting it felt like losing a game against something you could not even see. and this uncertainity put you in a state of something close to insanity through every life you have lived as the time has passed.

through these lives, you have experienced so many things but the worst part was always those twenty-four hours, which was completed with more and more tears and pain as the centuries passed. in the first lifespan you were pretty much naive, hopeful and happy, that twenty-four hour only made you confused. you could not process what was happening. but later on, you figured it out, having to accept the misery that came with it. you could understand why all of this is such a big sacrifice. in your fourth life have you cried first and you can still feel the fingers wiping your hot tears away, the ice cold feeling of them leaving an unforgettable trace on your skin. to this day, you still vividly remember that moment and feeling how trying hard was never enough, and the bittersweet taste lingering in your mouth has slowly started to fade away. it has become meaningless. harsh and almost so cruel.

but you still didn’t know which one is worse: being the one who forgets or remembering everything so vividly.

jaemin will never be able to comprehend this. after all, he didn’t have to live those grey lives which was coordinated by the suffocating feeling of trying to reach solutions and having to give up. after all, he wasn’t the one who had to watch his loved one’s death over and over again and he wasn’t the one either who had to carry the weight of the pain this caused. since he got the card of forgetting, which was followed by one single thing since gambling with the ones from above is not that clear and easy as we all think it is.

and the price did not only made his life worse, it controlled yours as well.

the first time you have heard the definiton of a “soulmate”, you were halfway through your sixth life. back then, even saying the word felt so strange but as you said it out loud more and more, having the thought of it in your mind constantly, it made you realize something: you and jaemin are the best, exact example of those said soulmates. but inside a horrible cage you weren’t able to leave. it had the feeling of a really bad book which was written by a prestigious author who had a really evil side to their personality. you could even imagine his pen scratching the paper, completed with the blue ink which allegorically wrote the story of you two. a terrible fairy tale that people use to scare their children, saying that this is going to be their fate if they misbehave. and as one of them, you would have believed their words. you would have been terrified. you were in fact scared, that cannot be denied.

on top of that, you had to live in this story, through so many years. no matter how many times you were praying, down on your knees, waiting for it to reach its end, you did not get what you wanted. and you have always felt like it wasn’t fair. ruthlessness transcending through lives which your friends didn’t have to experience. you had hundreds of them but somehow they were lucky. you were counting down the hours, the minutes and even the seconds as if it was like a test, but they always failed. they were able to not get lost in the maze of fate that trapped you and jaemin inside. they were special, all of them.

or were you two the special ones?

you were completely sure about your answer: no. although the thought of being the “chosen ones” has crossed your mind before, as if you two were something like a transcendent, but as years passed, along with centuries and lives, you could only figure one thing: you will never be fully happy. happiness is relative anyway, something you can’t put your hands on, it’s everything around us and everything that’s not at the same time. it seems so far away from you at moments, but on other days it’s so close you could reach it easily but no one could really define what it really is. it’s different in everyone’s lives, the way it becomes the same with many different things, varying on the person. even the sound of the word was music to the ears even if they didn’t know what it is exactly. everyone gets to know it along their journey, their lifetime and they may be lucky to being able to put their fingers on it, they can feel it and they can drag it with themselves.

for you, happiness was the same as those twenty-four hours that guided you through your lives. that small amount of time that you were keen on finding as soon as possible, putting everything on the line. which meant everything and nothing at the same time. and the thought of this was always able to bring some light into your rather bitter life, where the shadows grew too huge, close to consume you completely.

just like in your present life. which, of course isn’t really that bad, it is one of the best ones, to be quite honest but the emptiness inside of you was quite like a dark hole. it made you hopeless even though you had a goal. one that was so dear to you, saint even, which you could have tried to explain to anyone, none of them would have understood it. everyone thought you’re crazy and that you need therapy. even if the last one was true, you knew you’re going to eventually find jaemin, may it be on a rainy day in a bus stop, in a diner’s silent corner or in the university you’re currently attending.

but no. none of these were correct. every time you went to these places, fate was trickier than you would have thought and this was well-known to you.

you had to face this in a newly opened museum which had the slogan, “only miracles are awaiting here”.

how true this was… a real miracle.

as you walked from rooms to the others, all alone, somehow all thoughts left your mind. as if it was the cure, the new atmosphere and the exhibition, as if running back into the past had an effect similar to a band aid. it could get its job done for a while but sooner or later, it would give up as well. just like every solution you had tried out in the past years. nothing was permanent and there was no guarantee.

while you were staring at those paintings, listening to other people’s excited conversations, all you could think of was the loneliness. shivers went down your spine, the consonants following the vowels, creating something so new and so negative. the word you hated the most. and the word that was the title of the oil painting in front of you, seemingly too perfect for the symbolic work of art. a bad feeling took over you. you paid one last look to the framed beauty, glaring at the darkness and the pitch black shadows. after that, you left the room. the heavy atmosphere and the pictures of nightmare.

that’s when you entered the smallest exhibition hall where only a piece of paper was shown. it was protected with thick glass, making you wonder why is it such a big deal. why would they keep an old, yellow paper where the words were probably blurred together in the exhibition? it is supposed to be in the archives anyway, or does it not? putting these thoughts aside, you took a few steps closer to the “artwork”, eyebrows raised as curiosty took over you.

“love letter from the eighteenth century” was written on the little description, so you bent down a little to take a better look and maybe figure out why it was so special. and staring at those two papers which turned brown in the past years, the big realisation hit you: it was your letter. you wrote it. becoming aware of this fact made you froze in an instant, only being able to read the text filled with beautifully written cursive over and over again. and then you looked up, only to meet with a pair of eyes through the glass.

the person you wrote the letter for.

looking at him with the barrier between you two, suddenly you didn’t know what to do. seeing his face, his beautiful smile, it felt like someone gave you some extra energy. before your brain could have reacted to all of this, your legs took the control, running to him. you hugged him, melting into his touch, trying to embrace his fragrance, hoping that it will linger a little longer in your nose and mind as well. you didn’t want to believe this. nor what was coming next, alongside with the reunion.

“sorry for being late�� he whispered while he stroked your hair carefully, arms tight around you. as if the moment was going on forever, it made you forget about everything. it made you feel glad. your own little happiness has found you again. but it cannot stay so long.

“i could wait thousands of years for you, jaemin” you told him truthfully, eyes searching for his. you hugged him once again. you couldn’t get enough of his hugs. “there are so many things we have to discuss, i literally… don’t even know where to start” you intertwined your fingers and dragged him with you, him simply letting you do so. since he knew: you have been waiting for this moment to come for so long. this is why you were suffering for years on end. but before you could have leave the basement, he set a timer.

for twenty-four hours.

“and how was… basically everything so far?” you asked jaemin who was picking at the food in front of him, not having the courage to look at you.

“not that nice” he replied and you heard his voice being a little hesitant. “but hey, at least i don’t have to bear it anymore!” he tried to joke about the situation but your worried glance told him to stop. don’t do it. it’s not funny.

“i really have to apologize for not finding you soon enough.”

“no, please, don’t. you should never blame yourself” he reached out for your hands, stroking it with his thumbs carefully. “it’s not your fault. neither mine. it’s just a bad joke of those who think they are above us. we cannot do anything about that.”

“and neither against it…”

“look, y/n” jaemin cleared his throat before continuing. “in these rather short lives of mine, i figured out something. fate cannot be rewritten nor changed. everything’s going to happen like it was decided before. just imagine a big book that’s made by gods. our story is just one part of that great book which consists of other many tales, millions of them. we are too small and worthless to add to our story, we can’t complete it however we would love to. that’s their job to do. they are the only ones that are able to erase things and make something new out of them. they are everything we have and we are nothing more than a small piece of the big picture to them.”

“we’re only just marionettes which they can play with whenever they want to” you added mumbling quietly. jaemin was chewing on his lips while he nodded. eventhough admitting it hurts, your words meant the truth.

you two were only mere props in the endless play with the name of “the cycle of life”.

“but hey, no need to be sad!” he wiped the tears aways as soon as he spotted one crossing your face in a fast pace. “we should enjoy this day so we could annoy the gods! are you in?” he stood up, grabbing your hands carefully. and you gave in. what else would you have done? after all, you were the one stressing endlessly through your whole life, it would have been a pity to miss the chance;

on the passenger seat of jaemin’s really old toyota, so many things were running in your mind. as you were focusing on the picturesque landscape, too many thoughts were attacking you suddenly — were you even able to sort those out in the dusty storage of your mind? only the warm touch of jaemin’s hand, feeling too hot on your legs, made you go back and forth between one thing and being sane.

and as if he read your mind, he gave voice to it.

“there’s no such thing as impossible, knowing and feeling how love transcends time and space, it’s...”

your head jerked up upon hearing his words. you wanted to solve your dear lover’s expression. the way the last words fall out of his lips and how those said lips were slightly smiling while his eyes were searching for yours. everything felt so surreal. you were weak and small but the thing between you was able to make you believe the opposite: you are the strongest of them all.

which, being completely serious, is true. since enduring all those lives is something only the strongest people can do. only they are able to watch the person they were assigned to, slowly fading away between their fingers;

reaching the local park, this was all you could think about. the memories you have made with jaemin only became sharper and even him being there with you, weren’t able to heal your scars. he held your hand, smiled and told you multiple times: he loves you. everytime he repeated those three words, the slight worry always became more and more visible. no matter how strongly you were holding onto the boy, it has became more clear: you’re going to lose him either way.

but that’s the thing you should think about the least. you need to focus on enjoying every moment. the fact that you can sit comfortably on the checkered blanket with him, spending a whole day together. the fact that you can have a picnic, you can talk for hours on end, your love is not unrequited anymore. you could have hide it but the years made you sometimes too unamused.

“why aren’t we ending this already?” you asked mindlessly, and as soon as you put a grape in your mouth, you regretted your words as jaemin’s face slowly became serious.

“please, don’t say things like this, okay? enjoy this day to its fullest. i want to love you until i go crazy. at least through this damn day.”

“i’ve loved you through this whole lifetime” you told him, fighting the urge to cry. “you have no idea how hard it is to think about it every god damn day. if people think you’re insane and let you rot in your own, personal pit. you don’t know how much it hurts to get in your bed, knowing that you have to go through your lover’s… your soulmate’s death someday. the one’s death that you love the most in the whole universe.” your voice was filled with uncontrollable emotions — regret rushed over you seeing him, teary eyed and confused.

“maybe. but dying isn’t that nice either.” his reply was bitter and his intention was clear: he wanted to leave you and calm down a bit. but you didn’t let him. you reached out for his hand and pulled him closer to yourself. he stared into your eyes but you didn’t say a word. that’s why he broke the silence. “all day, all i can focus on is that we can’t have a family. i can’t have a kid and i can’t grow old with you. i cannot love you utterly and completely for a whole lifetime. they took everything from us, that’s true… but let’s do something against that. please.”

“what could we do, jaemin? even if i shout at the sky above us, nothing will change! i’ve had enough and i just…”

before you could have finished your sentence, a big dog that was previously running around in the park, came to you two, sniffing your basket and deciding on being your company. your little argue was cut off by a golden retriever who was looking at you and jaemin, big eyes filled with curiosity. and you got a kiss from the dog too!

“isn’t this what other people call… little doze of happiness?” you said quietly, peeking at jaemin while petting the dog, looking at his collar, searching for a name. “buddy! what a cute name!”

“you see, y/n? that’s what i want. rendezvous, petting dogs, joy and sunshine. why can’t we get this?”

why?

what you have learnt from your experiences is one single thing: time is money and it won’t wait. as if the hours were passing by much faster in those twenty-four hours, one can be gone in a blink of an eye. you despised this, you have always hated that it had to be like this way, that you couldn’t stop time or travel to a whole another universe, waking up in a world where you can have a happy life with your dear lover.

the night came by so quickly you didn’t even realize its presence at first. the hours were going so fast, you couldn’t process the speed of it. you could only avert your attention from it as much as you were possibly able to. and in that moment, laying in the grass and gazing at the stars, it felt like as if you wasted every precious minute. but it felt so nice, eyes focused on the starry night, stars glowing shinier than one another, hands intertwined and fingers pointing at the sky. you gave the stars names and were adamant on finding more and more constellations. stargazing was what you two loved the most.

and then you saw the cassiopeia. the one thing that could remind you of the endless loop you and jaemin were in. spotting the constellation, you stood up in the grass and looked at your lover. his moonlit figure was equivalent to the most beautiful artwork in the whole universe. you were disgustingly in love with him. and that came with pain. so much pain.

“shouldn’t we go inside?” you asked suddenly, playing with your fingers while trying to avoid his gaze.

“you want to go in, love?”

you could only nod as an answer but he did what you wanted, without asking any further questions. he wanted to make you happy, more than anything. he wanted to see an honest smile on your face which can warm his heart up. since not only you were in a panic, he was too. but he preferred to not show it.

eventhough he was a master of everything else. and he showed it to you that night.

such heavenly words left his lips, he could have made a whole essay out of it, filled with emotions he wanted to show you on that short night that was given by fate; love, care and gratitude came out of his actions as he was talking to you, the way he handled everything. the way he mumbled in your ears without stop, the magical word “love” being repeated over and over, the way he touched you, the way he kissed you and the way he hugged you. he perfectly knew everything about you, he knew about your soft spots, he knew every inch of your body and he was so eager to discover it all over again since he can never get enough of you. he loved to trace his fingers over your figure, losing control here and there with those touches, reaching places that were the most precious to him. he loved to see how you reacted, how you said his name after every, sweet kiss of his, the way your voice was so shaky with every passing minute. as if he was playing a game with you, but that wasn’t the case. he showed you his true colours and you did the same. you were an open book in front of him, waiting for a sign from him. a small stroke of a brush which indicates that he was there. the marks blooming in thousands of colours, blue and purple, looking like the galaxy from above. you were like canvas to him, his signature on the corner of the painting, as if he was the painter. the artist. which was true, after all.

and as you were holding those stars in your hands, previously seen on the sky, you felt like you entered heaven. it had a feeling of warmth, the way those bright stars were in your hands, put there by jaemin. you could finally have it and you never wanted to let go of it. you could see that kind of reflection in your dear lover’s eyes, mirroring the honest feelings, the loyalty that connected you two. it was able to warm your heart up before crushing it. breaking it into millions of pieces.

that’s how it was with him. although it should have been much different.

and the brightest stars of them all, was brought the closest to you. you held it tightly and you were so stubborn on never letting it go. you closed your eyes and all you could focus on was jaemin’s quiet murmurs next to you.

dreams took you by surprise, although you wanted to avoid sleeping. but now, somehow you didn’t care about anything anymore. you gave in and entered dreamland together. close to each other — the closest ever.

at least during the night, you could pretend to be normal people. at least for a night.

waking up, the first thing that came to mind was checking up on the remaining time but as your eyes met jaemin and how peacefully he slept, time seemed to stop for a while. for a few moments, you could only study his face, the way he seemed so relaxed and comfortable. you watched his chest moving with every breath he took. you would have loved to give him a sweet little kiss but you didn’t have the heart to wake him up. eventhough you were aware of the fact: minutes are passing by in a hurry and every blink was equal to the end of your happiness.

“since when are you looking this attentively, love?” he asked in a sleepy voice before he opened his eyes. the corner of his lips went up a little as he felt your touch on his face. plus the small peck you greeted him with made the day a hundred times better. “i won’t lie if i say that you are the best thing the universe has ever created” his mumble was almost inaudible but you could still hear caring ringig in his speech.

for a long time, this was the first morning when waking up, you could hear the birds’ music so clear. the soft kind of song which mixed with the early rays of the sun, them not being able to fully warm up the room. everything felt so idillic, like it was a fairy tale. and if it hadn’t got such depressing ending, you would have agreed it was one.

“how did you say two lives before?” jaemin smiled and squeezed your hands, looking up and down on your face. “even the sun rose up today so it can follow the last few hours of our sorrowful tragicomedy?”

“how can you remember so perfectly? i mean… i am the one who should never forget, isn’t that true?” you shook your head, your grip on his hands tightening.

“looking at you calls out the hidden memories buried in the depths of my mind, you know.”

the rest of the day was dedicated to trying to enjoy it as much as you could, even if there wasn’t that much time in your hands. you had a long walk, holding each other’s hand, you ate delicious foods and tried everything that’s considered as the “perfect date”, corny things you have only seen in romance movies. it felt like the most treasured possession you had — time. after every kiss you gave to jaemin, you tried to remind him how thankful you were, stressing out the word “treasure”, letting him analyze the word as well. letting him repeat is and define whether it’s worth everything or nothing. whether it’s equal to love or not.

in the last hour of your time that was given, you two went back to your family’s house and its large backyard. no one was home so it made it much easier to sit on the ground and look at the sky once again, following the clouds’ slow pace.

“my current mother told me once that love takes something with itself every time…” jaemin said suddenly, out of nowhere, attentively looking at one certain cloud which he identified as a ‘dog’, based on its shape.

“what do you mean by that?”

“this is what love takes from us.” he mumbled, not really sure of his words. maybe he’s saying dumb stuff and his theory isn’t actually right.

“your current mother is right, i fear” only a sigh escaped your lips but you still continued, eyes fixed on the sky. “we have to pay for being together. but why is the price so high?”

you didn’t get any answers to your question, only a hum. you knew this is what’s going to happen, you didn’t wait for anything else. after all, jaemin barely knew anything about the world, maybe half of your knowledge was there for him, perhaps even less than that. if you couldn’t find the answer, why would he suddenly get the idea? you had centuries to think about it and he always forgot everything. maybe he was the one who won. in your eyes, it seemed like that.

as time passed and the sun started to set, you felt it coming. the last kiss was shared twenty minutes ago, too weak already. but his hand… you did not let go of that. you weren’t ready to lose him. you believed you would give him strength, that you can spare his life. but no, it was not the case. as you embraced him, all you could focus on was his heavy breathing and the way he told you nonchalantly: “i don’t want to die, it hurts”. tears were falling down on his face which was so pale and full of misery. his voice lost its colour slowly and everything felt like the worst nightmare one could think of.

“y/n, i… it hurts…”

his hands were weak and cold. you stroked his face, barely touching him because of the fear: you might cause more pain. you ran your fingers through his hair and found his gaze. yours was fixed on his iris, trying to look for the solution in there — it might be hidden. the last little piece of the final formula. but you couldn’t find it. you’ve never been able to.

the last sentence you heard from him in the current lifetime of yours consisted of three words. three simple yet so heartwarming words, barely escaping his lips.

“i love you.”

and you had to witness the agony of death once again, it was the price for the day. for your everything.

everything started all over again. greyness and gloom took over your life as the last little source of light faded away slowly, vanishing completely. and before you could have thought it’s going to be different this time, you knew it’s not true.

since that’s not what the book of fate had carved into its chapters. you two were destined for something else.

“i love you too, jaemin.”

[darlingmbappe]

Innocent Offer | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

Summary: Kylian begrudgingly admits his lack of sexual experience to you. As a good friend would, you offer him some help. Based on this request.

Warnings: Literally just smut, so minors don't you dare. Keep scrolling, nothing to see here! Virgin!Kylian, experienced!reader. Oral (male receiving), friends to lovers kinda, cussing. This was repurposed from another fic I wrote while I was in another fandom. I'm 99% sure I fixed all of the names/inconstancies. It's a little short, sorry guys! Let me know if I missed anything! — English is not my first language —

Masterlist

“You’re lying.” The accusing words come out of your mouth through a smirk. The boy sat across from you leaning on the headboard of the huge daybed in his gameroom with crossed arms, avoiding your gaze after having just admitted something he never thought he would. Especially to you — the girl he’s been silently (but heavily) crushing on for at least an entire year.

Kylian scoffed, pinching at a loose thread on his T-shirt sleeve. “Now, why the hell would I lie about that?”

You sit on the same bouncy mattress he did, leaning on one arm while you try to catch his eyes. He’s clearly embarrassed — not that he has to be. You didn’t want to make him feel bad about it, but couldn’t help yourself from making sure you heard him right.

“You’ve never gotten a blowjob?” He purses his lips as an answer. “A handy?” He shakes his head slightly, trying to focus on anything but your interrogation. “Not even before...”

He throws his arms down in frustration. “No, alright? Let’s just make it clear that no girl has ever seen my dick and move on. Please.” He snaps in a mumble, feeling slightly humiliated at the topic of conversation.

Your hands raise in defeat, committing yourself to dropping it for his sake.

You haven’t known Kylian for that long, a little over a year at most. What began as an acquaintance through friends of friends developed into a strange friendship of its own. After getting formally introduced to each other four times at separate events and droning ‘we’ve met’ each time, there was a sort of unspoken fellowship. Once you finally got to speak at someone's birthday party at the open bar, you two didn’t stop for hours. Laughing and trading stories until your separate groups dragged you both away. Now, you see him constantly. You were always getting those 'come over' texts the second he got home from training. You two just clicked.

You watched his chest rise and fall as he did his best to focus on the giant TV mounted on the wall, giving your eyes time to feed on his tense shoulders, his exposed collar bone begging to be kissed.

You wanted him to relax; you’re not judging him, you just couldn’t believe he was a virgin. He’s just so confident… and so goddamn sexy. You were actually kind of convinced he was a man-whore. You’ve seen all these women throw themselves at him over the course of just one year, but you never thought about the fact that you’d never seen him go home with any of them until just this second.

The words ‘no girl has ever seen my dick’ echoed in your head, your thoughts have been reduced to more perverted ones. You cared about Kylian so much and you noticed the way he looked at you sometimes, so you tried to be flirty and let him know that you were very much interested... but he would turn away and get shy about it each time. You just assumed he wasn’t into you and cut your losses, satisfied enough with a close friendship with the global star. Now, you’re thinking maybe he wasn’t uninterested, just flustered.

You crawled up the bed and sat next to him shoulder-to-shoulder, leaning your back on the headboard. He stayed completely still as he felt the heat of your body next to his, wishing he had just lied or something. 

Kylian looked back at his lap. “Will you stop looking at me like that?” You furrow your eyebrows, his words snapping you out of your own head. “It’s just… My whole life I've been so focused on becoming the world's greatest football star and then… I don’t know. Time flew by and all of the sudden I’m twenty four and still a…” He cuts himself off avoiding the V-word, simultaneously contradicting his whole let’s move on plea. He gulps, fiddling with his ring as if he had never seen one before. “I… I’m not going to be any good at it and I feel like women have all these expectations while sleeping with a football player, and I don’t want to embarrass myself. At this point I have to wait until it’s someone I trust, but I don’t have time for a relationship. Maybe I’m thinking too much about it.” He shrugs. “It’s not on purpose, is what I'm trying to say.”

You can’t seem to look away. He’s flustered and cute while he chews on the inside of his cheek. Maybe his shy confession has you wanting to take care of him, or maybe the infatuation you’ve suppressed for so long is coming back up to the surface; whatever it was drove you crazy. Crazy enough that you couldn’t stop yourself from saying something so bold. So direct. So out of character...

“Can I give you a blowjob?”

Kylians eyebrows shoot up, whipping his head to the side to finally meet your eyes. You could see him searching for any form of malice, he wondered if you were pulling some sadistic prank on him.

Maybe he didn’t hear you right – it was the only explanation he could come up with.

He opened his mouth to ask, but absolutely nothing came out. His lack of response kept you on the edge of your seat, giving you time to think about what you had just offered. It was ridiculous, inappropriate… he was going to think you were a weirdo. But you couldn’t back out now, it’s already out there. 

“Wh—uh. I… Me?” He eventually stuttered, a blush creeping up his neck and cheeks.

“Who else could I possibly be talking to, Ky?” He just continues to stare. “Look, if you don’t want that, we can just pretend I never said anything.”

“No! I mean… yes. I mean…” He laughed awkwardly, shifting slightly to face you. Your brows pinched together, confused at his mixed response. “A-are being serious?”

“Dead serious, Mbappé.” You could see he was conflicted. You give him a few seconds to think before speaking again. “I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not just offering because you’ve never had one before. I want to do it for you. I wanna make sure you feel comfortable with the person. No judgments.” The idea of making Kylian moan sends a shiver down your spine. You see him gulp. “But, again, say the word and we’ll forget about this.”

His eyes are so wide looking into yours. “Y-you’re sure about this?” You nod, smiling and taking his hand into yours on his lap. “Then… yeah. Hell yeah.” Kylian grins, the rosey color deepening on his cheeks. He knew he would have to be an idiot to pass up this offer.

With his clear consent, you bite your lip, looking down at your locked hands and extending your fingers to free them from his lazy grip. You began to rub his palm softly, letting your finger graze off onto his jean covered thigh, going over his exposed skin through one of the rips. You applied more pressure as you slowly let your touch get closer to his crotch — Kylian’s breath hitched every time you made your way up.

You sat up on your knees and straddled one of his thighs, you continued your movements with both hands now. Looking up at him, his eyes were barely open but they stayed on you.

“You can tell me to stop at any time, okay hun?” The nickname was new, but felt right in the moment.

“Don’t.” He choked out, his hands now resting on the sheets.

Your right hand finally settled on his semi. The second it landed there he grunted, shifting himself lower on the matress. You wanted to kiss his parted lips, glistening with spit as he quickly went over them with his tongue.

You leaned in but landed your kiss on his neck just below his jaw. You wondered if anyone had ever kissed him there before as you bit the skin gently, earning a muffled groan and another gulp from the man underneath you. You continued a path of wet kisses and hickeys all over his neck, his semi now almost completely hard in his jeans. Pulling back, you looked at Kylian— his eyes threatening to close but prying themselves open, the dim light from his lamp making your spit glisten on his bruising neck. His breathing was quick and heavy. Seeing him like this under you makes you realize… you’ve got it bad for Kylian Mbappé.

Kylian couldn’t believe the sight in front of him. He must be having another one of his wet dreams or maybe took a ball to the head and was hallucinating. He had to reach out and grab your waist to confirm that this was reality. It was actually happening.

Slowly, you pop open the button on his jeans, pulling down the zipper. His erection was begging to be let loose and from what you had felt, he was definitely packing. When he lifted his hips to allow you to pull the material down to his mid thigh, leaving only his blue checkered boxers, you got your first real glimpse at what you had gotten yourself into.

You let out a soft ‘mhm’ as you let your forefinger touch his tip through his boxers, feeling the warm wetness of his precum against the pad.

“Ah, Dieu.” He breathed, digging his fingers into your hips. “Just so you know—hha, putain—I probably… I definitely won’t last long.”

You can see the apologetic look under his hooded eyes already. “Kyks, I’m not expecting you to.” You began playing with the hem of his boxers, lifting his shirt enough to see his belly button, letting your nail scratch at the minimal scruff of his happy trail. “I don’t want you to worry about that, okay?” He nodded, his warm palms rubbing your outer thighs. “I just want you to enjoy it.”

Blowjobs were kind of your thing. Your asshole ex made sure you knew how to give really good head, which was funny since he never once bothered to learn where your clitoris was. Either way, this was your area of expertise — your sexual superpower, if you will.

You pulled his boxers down, watching his length pull down until it released and sprang up, slapping Kylian’s belly.

Holy shit.

“Holy shit.” You said out loud. What a nice cock Kylian had. Long, slightly thick, a perfectly irritated mushroom head twitching against his soft skin. It definitely would be a challenge.

You palmed up his erection in one swift movement, immediately hitching Kylian’s breath, his eyes glued to your every movement. You wrapped your fingers around his tip, letting your thumb spread around his juices. You laid down between his legs, your face now inches away from his throbbing cock.

“Ready?”

“God, yes.”

Your tongue pressed flat against his slit, swirling around and tasting him like a lollipop. He moaned and threw his head back, the sound he made going straight to your aching pussy. The floodgates have opened between your legs with just the first lick, causing you to hum against him.

“Christ, (Y/N).” He hissed at the vibration.

You pulled off for a second, spitting down onto him, using your hand to spread the moisture to make it easier to take him all in. Because you were determined to take every inch of him.

Lowering your head back down, you hollow your cheeks and create suction. He shivered with a harsh exhale and reached to hold your hair back so he could see your face sinking into him.

The second your hands moved to play with his balls, he jolted. “Shit!”

You popped him out of your mouth quickly and concerned. “You don’t like that?”

“Jesus, I love it. Feels so good, amour. So fucking good.” He quickly insisted, involuntarily jutting into your hand that was wrapped around him.

With a smirk upon hearing the nicknames he called you, you took him back into your mouth and continued to squeeze his sack, bobbing your head up and down with your tongue pressed flat against his length, his eyes pressing closed with a loud moan. You looked up at him through your lashes until his eyes finally opened and met yours. Taking this opportunity, you shoved him all the way down your throat, your lips pressing against his pelvis, your nose buried in his bush of neatly trimmed hair.

He gasped then moaned, trying to form a coherent praise for you, but it came out muddled between huffs of air. You shook your head slightly against him suppressing your gag reflex as he continued to mumble incoherently under your grasp. You came back up for air, jerking him off as you stared at him… so pretty. “I- I can’t… merde. I’m gonna cum soon if you pull that shit again.”

“Am I making you feel so good, Ky?” You innocently asked.

“The fuck do you think?” He jokingly retorts at his disheveled state, making you giggle. “So good.” You had begun sucking on one of his balls, licking and swirling it in your mouth. Both his hands lifted to cover his red face and his tummy moved quickly with every breath.

You licked a stripe back up to his tip, taking all of him back your mouth without warning, deepthroating him once again. His tip pushed back behind your uvula and you were quickly bobbing your head up and down, letting his sensitive head rub back and forth against the back of your throat.

All you could hear was your gurgling sounds and Kylian’s loud huffs of air until his moans became more prominent. “I’m g-gonna cum—oh fuck—ahh!”

His warning wasn’t much of a warning, immediately feeling the hot spurts of white fill your mouth and trickle down your open throat. Your one hand squeezed his balls while the other scratched down his exposed thigh. He moaned and his whole body was twitching, squirming his legs around. You helped Kylian ride out his high until there was definitely no more cum left to give.

You lifted off of him gasping for air, swallowing everything he had given you. You looked down at his still twitching cock as it began to soften, wet with your spit and his own cum.

Now sitting up on your knees, you both caught your breaths until you broke the silence, growing impatient. “So..?”

His eyes peered into yours, a satisfied smile taking over his features. Broken between breaths, he finally spoke. “That had to be… the best blowjob… in the history… of blowjobs.”

You laughed, swinging your legs over the bed and stretching out your back. “Careful Kyks, you’re gonna give me a big head.”

“You just gave me big head.” He chuckled, pulling his clothes back to their rightful place.

You shook your head and blushed. “You’re ridiculous.” You looked at the time on your phone. “Shit. I'm late for my shift.”

He sat up as you hurriedly grabbed your things. You probably should have checked the time before you offered oral to your best friend.

“What—you’re leaving? You can’t leave… I didn’t even get to return the favor.” He argued.

“I didn’t realize that was part of the deal.” You quirked a brow as you put your boots on.

“I mean…” He blushed, watching your every move. “I’d like for it to be.” He stuttered.

You stood up smirking, walking to stand over him on his bed. Leaning down, you planted a kiss on his cheek, close to his mouth. “I’ll see you later, okay, big boy?”

You left him speechless when you walked out of his room, frozen in place. The touch of your lips against his skin invaded his body with goosebumps and then he realized: he never got to kiss you.

He knew now that no other girl could be his first. It had to be you.

Y/N: Short and filthy! So, like I mentioned, this was repurposed from an old fan account I had for a separate fandom a year or so ago. Love y'all!

Taglist: @trentione @mentalbaddie @neymarsrealgf @akiraquote @mrswhitethornbelikov @kymb-10 @formula101x @photmath @marcelineslove @tsikik @iheartkyky @freshfraise @jokertbh @germanapples @urfuturesoccerwife @nightlockcornucopia @laylaynaynay130 @starlight8374 @depressoesssspresso @mbappesbae @ maddyperrezz @gigiboss @xanjoy @lovekm @jkkiks @vvbasmavv-blog @suzysface @ lolarmy72 @lizzz2967 @kylians-world @superswaggycooch @shashla @mehrmonga @abayo222 @missmo79 @tties24-7 @gurleenkl @drewstarkeysbae @ vibinwkay @ctn26 @ippid @i0veless @abayo222 @b-bradshaw @http-isabela @zoeeeruiz @mitruscity @kenanlotus0 @mbapbaesluvr @alwaysclassyeagle @nhatquynh @philipetchebest @ricsaigaslec @dfswfvf @urfav-tz @kylianswag @fanatica2023 @alexisquinnlee-bc @megannandrewss @christianpulisic10 @pleasantducktimetravel @forevernightmaree @sachaa-ff @neymarloverxxx @4nn4rchive @lunamelona @m-uga @venomwh0re @edgyficuselastica @slaywhatyouwannaslay41 @pietromaximoffsbabe @krishnan-mbappe

[officialaemondtargaryen]

A Fine Line [part 2]

Summary: You've been with Aegon for a little over four years and the relationship just isn't the same. His brother isn't helping the situation, either. This is a Modern Day AU!

Pairing: Aegon x Reader / Aemond x Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Author’s Note: I have decided to update this every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 7:00 PM EST. Thank you to everyone who wrote me a little note or asked to be tagged! I'm so glad that you all are liking this so far, I hope you enjoy this one!

Warnings for the entire series: severe angst, cheating, unprotected sex, jealousy, lying, possessiveness, stalking, manipulation, and language.

Masterlist & Playlist

After a busy week, Friday morning came a lot sooner than you were expecting. You had tried three different new restaurants this week, a new bakery that had opened up a few blocks away, and been to one movie opening- all for your column. Whatever you could do to keep yourself focused on anything other than this dinner party, which loomed over you like a giant, storm cloud of anxiety.

You were already awake when Aegon's alarm went off. He sighed and rolled over, fumbling with his phone screen until the alarm was silenced. Once again, you felt the bed shift as he stood up and headed towards the bathroom. You sat up in bed, head in your hands, as you tried to rid your mind of the thought of Aegon's brother; trying your hardest to convince yourself that you were reading too much into the very short interaction you had with him in the check-out line just days ago. There was something that you couldn't shake, however, and you hated it.

"Hey," you looked up to see Aegon standing in the doorframe with a towel wrapped around his waist, his lips were curled into a small but surprised smile. "You're awake."

He crossed the room to your side of the bed and placed a kiss on the top of your head. You could see tiny beads of water falling from his golden hair to his collarbones, your eyes lingered there for a moment as you tried to figure out the best words to ask what was on your mind. He turned towards the closet, but your hand reached to stop him.

"How come you never talk about your family?" You asked, straightforward, lacing your fingers between his.

At first, his face fell, and then he shrugged. His fingers pulled away from you as he turned away. The floorboards creaked under his feet as he paced towards the closet. Your eyes followed him as he pulled a shirt from the hanger and tossed it on the bed. You were sure that he wasn't going to answer the question.

"Why do you ask?"

You shrugged, but his back was towards you as he searched for a tie that matched his shirt. "You've never really talked about them, I figured there had to be a reason." You could have sworn you heard him exhale a chuckle. "And we're about to have dinner with your brother and I know nothing about him."

Aegon stopped his search for a tie and stood up straight, pausing for a few seconds before answering. "Aemond's the favorite," he said and even though his back was still towards you, you could tell that he was frowning. "He's always been the favorite. He's the baby, and yet, he always acted like the oldest- every time I ran away it was Aemond who would come looking for me."

He turned to you with a melancholy smile and sighed. You hung your head, not wanting to meet his sad eyes and nodded, your fingers became fixated on a long thread that had come unlaced from the hem of your sheets. Aegon didn't say another word about it, and you didn't dare pry. It was wrong of you to bring it up in the first place, knowing that he didn't want to discuss the topic. For the last four years, Aegon had successfully kept you separate from his family, and you had never felt the reason to ask why; until you met Aemond.

And for that reason alone, your intentions were purely selfish.

You stood up and walked into the kitchen while he got dressed, not wanting to sit in the midst of an awkward silence with someone that, at this point, you should be completely comfortable with- no matter what the conversation is about. Typically, you'd wait for him to leave before you started getting ready, but today you started your own routine early; committing to picking up coffee for Baela and Jace before work.

A small grocery list that you had scribbled on a post-it note stuck to your fridge; cheese, wine, milk, cereal, sugar. Aegon had messily scribbled 'soap' at the bottom. You peeled it from the door and stuck it to the inside of your wallet ensuring that you wouldn't forget it. You still weren't entirely sure what you were cooking for this little family reunion Aegon had planned. He had said, "whatever you think is good", and you internally screamed at him; not knowing what his brother liked or didn't like to eat, if he enjoyed wine or beer, did he have any allergies?

You were in the shower when you heard the front door open and shut, signaling that Aegon had left for work. There was no 'see you later', no 'I hope that you have a good day', no kiss goodbye. Just a front door closing a little too hard on the way out. You were meant to host a small dinner party, cook the food, put away the leftovers, and wash the dishes and couldn't even manage to get an 'I love you' before work. A sigh escaped your lips as you compartmentalized it along with everything else when it came to Aegon.

"It's okay," you told yourself as you checked your reflection in the mirror one last time before grabbing your umbrella and tossing your scarf around your neck. "Everything is fine."

It was colder than it had been all week. The Weather Channel was calling for sleet and snow into the evening. You almost prayed that it would be enough for Aemond to cancel, but you knew the chances were unlikely. Flurries fell from the dark sky as you waited to cross the icy street. The morning was hazy, but the streets were buzzing with hopes of the weekend. The bright lights reflected illuminations of neon on the damp pavement and storefronts had begun putting up signs in their windows 'LAST CHANCE 70% EVERYTHING', 'NEW YEARS SALE BOGO'.

Baela and Jace were already tucked into their desks when you came striding into the office. You waved at a couple of your other coworkers as you walked by their desks; asking them how they were doing but not actually stopping to hear the answer.

"For you, happy Friday!" You sang as you skirted around Baela's desk, placing her iced latte on her desk in front of her. You rounded the corner to Jace's cubicle and presented him with a hot chocolate and a cake pop. "And, happy birthday to you!"

"Thank you so much," he replied with a smile.

"Yes, ma'am, thank you so much!" Baela chimed in. "You're in a good mood this morning, anything you'd like to share with the class?"

"I'm not, actually." You sighed, draping your scarf on the coat rack. "I am probably looking too much into this, but I just can't stop thinking about Aemond. It's driving me fucking crazy, Baela, it was a two minute interaction."

"I'm sorry," Jace had rounded the corner in his desk chair and looked at you. "Who is Aemond?"

You blinked at him a few times before Baela chimed in, "Aemond is Aegon's younger brother. Y/N met him at the grocery store, but she didn't know he was Aegon's brother at first, and she said it was- and I quote- flirty."

"Ooh, flirty!" Jace laughed sarcastically.

"It's not that," you replied. You rolled your eyes at them but turned back to Jace so that he was up to speed. "When Aegon got home, he was on talking to Aemond on the phone, and Aemond not once mentioned that we had met at the store. That's weird right? I mean, like I'd say something if it was my brother."

"But did you tell Aegon?" Baela asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"No," you replied with a sharp breath. "Don't ask why, I don't know."

"Suspicious," Jace chided, making a face.

"You've got to let us know how the dinner goes," Baela added.

"Wait, you're not coming anymore?" Your face immediately fell as you turned to her in your desk chair, you noticed Jace wheel himself back over to his own cubicle, giving you two some privacy. You took note of her face and sighed. "You forgot."

Baela pouted and turned to face you. "I'm so sorry, and I made plans to go out to dinner with- well, this guy I'm kind of dating."

“Can you not reschedule?” You ask selfishly. “I really need you to be there. You’re my best friend, Bae. Be my buffer, please? You can use this incredibly awkward scenario for your column next week and it will make it all worth it.”

Baela's shoulders fell. You plead with her; pouting, with your hands folded under your chin.

“Fine,” she said. “Only because I want to meet this mysterious brother who you've only just met and is already causing you this much grief.”

The remainder of the day seemed to go by rather quickly as you finished and submitted this week's column for review. You had picked up the things on your grocery list and also one of those family-style meals from the deli section of the store; you had wanted to cook something of your own but then you remembered this morning and changed your mind. Why put in that much effort when it wouldn't even be appreciated?

Aegon was already home when you came through the door, his voice carried through the quiet apartment. You struggled to pull the key out of the deadlock, your arms were stacked with paper grocery bags. You slipped out of your heels immediately, knowing that you would most likely have blisters tomorrow morning. The cool hardwood floor felt good on your sore feet, as you carried the bags into the kitchen.

"Hey Aeg," you called to him. No answer. "Aeg?"

"Excuse me, bear with me just a moment. I apologize," you heard him say into the phone. He walked halfway down the stairs and leaned over the bannister; holding his phone out so that you knew he was on a call. His hand was covering the bottom half. "I'm on with dick-face!" He whisper yelled at you.

You held your hands up defensively, and mouthed the word 'sorry' as if you were supposed to know he was on the phone with his grandfather. He turned and headed back up the stairs, resuming his conversation with Otto. All you wanted was to see if he would have liked to help set up- it could have been fun.

Baela was your saving grace, however, arriving right on time with a cheese tray in one hand and a bottle of red in the other. She poured herself a glass before she began setting up the table. You focused on making sure the Lasagna wasn't burning, and Aegon remained a hermit in his office the entire time. You were starting to wonder if he was even going to show up to the dinner party that he had planned.

A knock came from the front door. Baela's eyes caught yours and you could feel your stomach drop to the tile floor beneath your feet. Your eyes flickered up to the clock; three minutes past seven. Before you could even wipe your hands or brush the hair out of your face, the sound of footsteps on the staircase echoed throughout the apartment.

"Of course he comes down now," you muttered.

You could hear them together in the other room; "it's so good to see you" and "it's been too long" and "make yourself at home". Baela had already begun refilling her wine glass and you held your own glass out to her, as well.

You'd be needing it.

The timer on the oven went off and you turned your attention back to the stove; slipping an oven mitt over your hand and pulling out the tray of Lasagna. You looked at it, making a face, ignoring the intrusive thought to just throw it at the wall.

"Everyone," you could hear from behind you as Aegon stepped into the kitchen. "This is my brother, Aemond."

You definitely didn't miss the way that Baela's eyebrow arched when he stepped into the room. Her dark brown eyes flickering over to you for a split second before she took a few steps toward Aemond and extended her hand to him. "I'm Baela, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Lovely to meet you, Baela." He replied before turning to you.

"This is Y/N, my girlfriend," Aegon introduced. "I don't know where I'd be without her."

Aemond's lips turned up into the smallest of smirks. "It's a pleasure to finally meet the woman who has had such an affect on my brother," he offered his hand.

You narrowed your eyes at him wondering what kind of game he was playing, but took his hand anyway. "It's nice to meet you, as well." His hands were still cold to the touch. "Could I get you something to drink?"

"I got it," Aegon replied as he was digging through the refrigerator. He came back up with two bottles of beer.

"More wine for me," Baela laughed to ease the tension.

Over the course of the next hour you and Baela talked mostly about work and the plans for Jace's birthday party, while Aegon and Aemond caught up. You tried your hardest focus on Baela, but couldn't help but keep an ear open to the conversation happening next to you; latching on to any bit of information Aegon put forward about his family. Aemond apparently hadn't been to see his father yet since getting home; you were aware of his health situation, not because Aegon confided in you, but because you worked for The Post- and that sort of thing was headlining news.

Aegon mostly ranted about working with Otto, praising his brother for getting out while he could. The look on Aemond's face would say he didn't agree.

"What I would have given to trade places with you," Aegon muttered as he ran a hand through his hair.

"But look at you now, brother." Aemond replied with a smirk. "Primed and prepped to take over when father-"

"I hope they give it to her," Aegon stated. His voice a bit too loud for casual dinner conversation. You stopped chewing and looked over at him. "I really do."

"Why don't we go get some fresh air?" Aemond asked him and Aegon nodded; he was on his fourth bottle of beer.

You stood up with a sigh and muttered an apology to Baela before getting up and placing your plate in the sink. The legs of her chair scraped across the floor and she stood up and you could hear the clinking of the silverware as she picked up her plate, as well. You felt an elbow nudge into your side and glanced over to see her leaning up against the countertop.

"Maybe it's a good thing he's back in town." She offered softly. "You know, for Aegon. He seems kind of on edge, lately." You nodded in reply. "But, you didn't tell me he looked like that," her tone dropped another octave.

"I told you he was very good looking," a sigh escapes your lips as you refill your wine glass.

"Even with an eye patch- the guy is- let me just say, I definitely don't fault you for feeling the need to overthink about it," she continued. "But he is Aegon's brother, so that's kind of-" Baela held her hands up to signal 'hands-off'.

"And it's weird that he wouldn't tell Aeg that we had already met, right?" You whispered back. "Like we had to pretend to meet all over again. That's weird."

"What's weird is that he didn't tell Aegon that you had already met and he's been staring at you all night." You blush at her words. "Which, you know, can't fault him for that. You look good tonight, bitch." You opened your mouth to say something, but Baela held her hand up. "But he is Aegon's brother, Y/N. It's a real good idea to just leave it where it lies."

"You're right," you say but your shoulders fall.

For some reason a pit of disappointment resonated in your chest. The way that she said that- that Aemond was Aegon's brother- as if you weren't already aware, or already cursing yourself for reading between the lines of his pale, pink smirk that remained ever-present on his lips when he spoke to you. Maybe it wasn't disappointment that you were feeling.

Maybe it was guilt.

"Shit," Baela's voice brought you back to reality. "It's later than I thought."

You heard the front door open and saw Aegon come back in with Aemond close behind. His eyes were bloodshot from either crying or smoking, it was too soon to tell, but he gave you a pouty smile as he took off his jacket and hung it on the coatrack.

"You are still coming tomorrow, right?" Baela asked.

"What's tomorrow?" Aegon asked as he joined you at your side- he had been smoking.

"Jace's party," you replied. "Remember I asked if you wanted to go?"

Aegon squinted as he tried to recall. It was Tuesday night. You were sitting next to him on the couch as he watched the Nightly News and he said that he would 'have to check his calendar'. He shook his head, "I don't, I'm sorry. When is it?"

"Tomorrow," Baela repeated, noticing your disappointment. "We're meeting at Frames around eight."

"I've got that awards ceremony tomorrow night." Aegon replied as he scrolled through his phone. "Are you going to that?" He asked his brother.

"I could think of a thousand and one things I would rather be doing," Aemond smirked again, making eye contact with you. "Think I'll pass."

"Well, I will see you tomorrow, Bae." You chirped up, moving to see your friend out.

She mouthed the words 'be careful' as she shrugged into her coat and gave you a hug before disappearing out the front door and down the hallway to the elevator.

And then there were three.

When you stepped back into the kitchen Aemond was doing your dishes. Aegon was sitting at the kitchen table munching on a handful of cheese cubes and talking about a memory from their childhood that involved their sister Helaena.

"You cried like a fucking baby, dude." Aegon laughed.

Aemond laughed, "you're mistaken. You cried like baby. Helaena and I were crying from laughter."

Aegon shook his head and rolled his eyes. His phone was vibrating on the table. You knew who it was without even looking. It didn't matter what time of day it was, if Otto needed something, Aegon's phone was ringing. Sometimes you wondered if he ever needed help wiping his own ass if Aegon would be there waiting with the softest roll of organic bamboo toilet paper.

"Does he ever stop calling?" Aemond asked as he turned off the faucet.

"No," both you and Aegon answered in unison.

"I'll be right back," he sighed as he picked up his phone. "He's never going to stop."

Aemond turned to face you as you took a seat in the chair that Aegon had been sitting in. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him drying his hands on the small cloth that draped over the stove handle. He crossed the room in two steps, pulling another chair out from underneath the table and sitting down opposite you.

You looked up at him as he slid your wine glass over to you. "Thank you," you mentioned as he popped the cork on the last little bit of red that was left in the bottle and refilled your glass. "And thank you for doing the dishes, you didn't have to."

"You shouldn't have to do everything," he said softly.

Your words suddenly became caught in your throat and all you could do was look at him; his jawline, his nose, the way the neckline of his sweater sat against his pale skin. You took a sip of your wine to distract yourself and hoped that he didn't realize you were staring. A comfortable silence hung in the air, and you would have been perfectly happy to just sit there in it with him.

"He's like a different person since I've seen him last," Aemond mentioned quietly, you could hear your boyfriend in the background still talking about work.

You nodded, "I don't know what happened, honestly."

"Oh, I do," Aemond shrugged. "You happened. I've never seen Aegon act this way over a girl before, never." Aemond took a sip from his beer bottle. "He's smitten."

You chuckled to yourself, and your eyes dropped to your lap. You frowned as you thought about the irony in that statement. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Aemond turn to face you. "I should finish the dishes."

You stood up and made your way over to the sink, turning on the faucet and waiting for the water to become hot.

You pushed up the sleeves on your sweater and sighed. It hurt that your relationship with Aegon had turned into what it was. You hated being reminded of it, and you were reminded of it constantly. From Baela asking about it every morning, to every happy couple you saw in the subway, seeing things that would remind you of him as you passed by window displays, and hearing certain songs on car radios as they passed by on the street.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" You turned from the sink as you heard Aemond's honey-coated voice behind you.

"Oh, no, I'm okay," you answered with a fake smile. "Actually, can you grab those glasses on the table for me?"

Aemond nodded and met you at the counter with the wine glasses in hand. He placed his free hand on the small of your back as he bent to place them into the sink. You felt the contact of his fingertips just slightly pressing into your skin where your sweater had risen up. You looked up at him out of the corner of your eye, his lips turned up into a tight-lipped smirk.

He was standing so close to you, too close.

And fuck he was infuriatingly tall.

"You know," his voice was low as he turned and propped himself against the countertop; his elbow holding him upright. "I know he's my brother, but he's also a twat. Honestly, more of a twat now than he was when I last saw him."

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh, leaning into him playfully. You were thankful that he had somehow found a way to comfort you without having to talk about it. You could hear the sound of footsteps on the staircase and Aemond straighten himself, taking a step back and taking one last swig from his beer bottle.

"Shit, Otto is such a dick sometimes," Aegon groaned as he entered the kitchen.

"He's our grandfather, Aegon." Aemond remarked.

"He's still a dick." Aegon downed the last bit of his wine before setting the glass in the sink for you to clean. "So when are you going to see Hel?"

"Mom was talking about having a dinner. Have you spoken to her?"

You could basically hear Aegon shaking his head as he laughed sarcastically. "What do you think?" He asked his brother. Aegon never talked to his mother. He never talked about her. He never answered any of her calls. "I've done everything they've ever wanted, you think they'll pick up the phone to tell me 'good job, Aeg'? No, not once."

Aemond crossed the kitchen to place his beer bottle in the recycling bin. "Call her," he urged and placed a hand on Aegon's shoulder. He turned to you and placed a hand under your elbow. "It was a wonderful dinner, Y/N, thank you so much. If you need a partner tomorrow night, I'm pretty good at bowling."

"Of course, thank you." You would have offered him your hand but it was elbow deep in soapy water.

He gave you one last smile before turning back to Aegon. "Come on, see me out."

They disappeared into the living room and you could hear them bickering back and forth; typical brothers, incapable of just telling one another that they loved each other and hugging it out. You hoped that maybe having Aemond around would help Aegon heal whatever wounds there were between him and the other members of his family. Especially his mother and his father.

Moments later Aegon snaked his arms around you, placing his chin on your shoulder. "Thank you," he said softly and placed a kiss into your neck. "I don't deserve you."

A frown pulled down at your lips, your heart breaking at his words. You pulled the plug from the drain and dried your hands on a kitchen towel. Aegon's hands on your hips turned you to face him and you draped your arms over his shoulders. He leaned his forehead against yours, and for the first time in months, you felt close to him.

"I love you," you whispered.

He moved his lips to place a kiss on your forehead; they lingered there for a moment and you could feel him sigh. "I love you."

Your hands found their way to his waist; fingers curling around his belt loops, slightly pulling him closer to you. He reached up and cupped your face in his hands and placed another kiss on the tip of your nose. His eyes were soft as he brushed your hair back out of your face. Your eyes searched his for all of the words that you'd wish he'd say, but all he could offer was a lopsided smile.

"I'm exhausted," he yawned and took a step back from you, allowing your hands to drop down to your sides. "You ready for bed?"

"Yeah," you replied without making eye contact. "I'll be in there in a minute."

Aegon nodded and turned, leaving you standing in the middle of your kitchen as he headed down the hallway towards the bedroom. You frowned and clamped your eyes shut to keep yourself from crying.

The feeling was definitely guilt.

Tagged:

@tssf-imagines @gothicwidowsworld @itsabby15 @possiblyafangirl @namelesslosers @toodlesxcuddles @hiraethrhapsody @heavenly1927 @chainsawsangel

[sweetprfct]

Written in the Stars

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: You are a believer in fate but after getting your heart broken, you had stopped believing it. Until you met Joe. Suddenly, it got you questioning if fate is real or not.

Author's Note: Okay, this was published in my old blog before and I'm going to be re-publishing it again here per requested from some of you. :) This is actually one of my fave series I wrote.

Wordcount: 4.9K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten - epilogue

“According to an ancient Chinese myth, a red string of fate connects those who are destined to meet regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but will never break.” - Chinese Proverb

AUTUMN 2021.

Joe was ready. He had been preparing this for about a year, and he was so ready to do this. He had everything prepared that he even had his best friend help him out to make sure everything was perfect. He got up early in the morning and immediately showered and got ready. He stared in the mirror for a moment before nodding his head and telling himself that everything was going to turn out perfect tonight. Exiting the apartment half an hour later, he was greeted by the Autumn New York air. He walked down the sidewalk, stepping on the crunchy leaves that were falling from the trees as he made his way towards the subway station.

“Hey.” Joe answered as soon as he saw his best friend’s caller ID.

“Are you ready, mate?”

“Yes, everything is going to turn out great tonight. I could feel it.” Joe smiled, exhaling a sharp breath.

“Okay, well, let me know how it goes. You still got filming today, don’t you?”

“Yes, I’m heading there right now.” Joe replied, entering the subway car. “I’ll be done early today though. She already knew what time and where to meet me, so it will just be perfect timing.”

“Okay, well, good luck, mate! It’ll be great.”

“Thank you. I’m a tad bit nervous but that’s normal, innit?”

“Absolutely! Just take a few deep breaths, everything will be fine. She’s mental if she doesn’t say yes.”

Joe couldn’t help but chuckle at his best friend’s comment. “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Hanging up the phone, Joe smiled to himself, repeating what he was going to say tonight over and over again in his head. He wanted all of this to be perfect. He wanted to do this right. So, as he walked out of the subway, he made his way down the street and into the movie set. For now, he needed to focus his mind on the movie script. He shouldn’t have to worry so much about tonight, especially when he knew that everything was ready and prepared. 

You were awakened by the sound of your alarm. You stretched on your bed before swinging your legs over and letting your feet touch the cold wooden floors of your apartment. Pulling the strings to open your curtains, you were greeted by the view of the city. The skyscrapers stood tall in front of you, and you could see the leaves on the trees turning yellow and orange. The sky was a bit gloomy today, but Autumn was one of your favorite seasons, and you always thought it was beautiful because it was like a sign of a new beginning. The old and the past leaving and a new beginning was starting. It was almost like your life at the moment. You could feel that something new is starting, and it could be tonight. 

“Good morning.” You smiled brightly at your roommate, Sara, as you poured yourself a cup of coffee.

“Someone is chirpy today.” Sara smiled, taking a sip of her tea. 

Sara had been your best friend since you two met in college. She was an exchange student from Germany. Ever since you two met, you both had been inseparable that you both immediately decided to be roommates as soon as you both graduated college. You always believed that meeting Sara was fate. You both got along so well. The both of you were almost the same person. You never had such a healthy friendship before until you met her and that says a lot because even if you had friends then, it was never the same with what you have with Sara. 

“Well, that’s because today might be the day.” You wiggled your eyebrows.

“Really?” Sara’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”

“Maybe. Who knows.” You shrugged. “He had been giving hints, and he was the one who specifically asked me to meet him tonight, which is weird because usually, we don’t meet up ‘til Friday nights unless it’s something important.”

“Well, tell him that I’m a little upset that he didn’t even ask your best friend to help him out or even tell me about it.” Sara teased. 

“I will, but I’m sure he didn’t say anything because he wanted to do it himself.” You shoved a piece of toast in your mouth. 

“Right...” Sara elongated her words. “Just like how he only shows up in your life during the weekends and until now, never even tried to get along with your friends?”

“Sara,” You tilted your head and gave her a look. “He’s just… busy. You know how he is.”

Work was always an excuse that you managed to tell her because you knew she was telling you the truth, but you were too stubborn to admit it. Too blind because you were too in love.

Sara took a sip of her tea and didn’t say anything else. 

“He said that it’s fate.” You added. 

“Really?” Sara raised her brow. “Fate is when you meet someone and then a few years later, you see each other again. Someone that you just know is meant for you no matter what the circumstance is. Even if you don’t see each other after however many years, the universe always brings you two together. Not someone that you meet in a bar and become friends with and decide to hook up one night and then be together after that.”

You knew how Sara was against this relationship in the first place because of how you two got together and even then, you always tried to make sure that your best friend and your boyfriend got along. However, for Sara, he never tried to make an extra effort for you or even try to actually be nice to her. Sometimes, she would even tell you that you weren’t his priority. 

“Just… Just be happy for me, okay? I think that he really is the one.” You sighed.

Sara shook her head. “I am happy for you, but I’ll be happier if he actually treats you right.”

Your eyes caught the sight of the clock across from you and said, “I gotta go. I’ll see you later!” You drank the rest of your coffee before grabbing your things. 

Sara scoffed, shaking her head as she watched you walk out the door before muttering, “Have fun.”

The day couldn’t go any faster as you sat in your office doing some paperwork, staring at the clock from time to time to see if it was almost time to leave. You just couldn’t wait to get out but no matter how hard you tried to make yourself busy, time was just going by slowly. When the clock finally hits 5pm, you immediately packed your things and grabbed your coat and walked out the office building. You pulled your coat closer to your chest, trying to fix your hair from the cold night air that was blowing. You hailed yourself a cab and as you made your way to the restaurant, your leg shook nervously.

Arriving at the restaurant, the place was packed with people, and you immediately got a table for the both of you as you waited for him. You tapped your nails nervously on the table and asked the waiter for a dirty martini to calm yourself down. 

“Hey babe.” 

You looked over your shoulder and gazed up at him. His blue eyes sparkling along with his smile that always made you melt on the inside. 

“Sorry, traffic.” He gave you a kiss on the cheek, which surprised you because he would usually kiss you on the lips. Ignoring the unusual move, you smiled as he sat across from you.

“It’s okay. How are you, babe?” You asked, taking a sip of your drink. “You said you wanted to talk?”

He let out a sigh and hung his head low for a moment. “Yeah, listen… I just…” He stuttered for a moment as you waited for him to finish his sentence. “We had such an amazing adventure together, you know? We have gone through so much.”

“Yeah, I know. Six years. Time went by so fast. It feels like it was just yesterday that we met.”

“Yeah…” He played with his fingers nervously and let out another sigh. “But… I just feel like this isn’t working out.”

You felt your heart shattered into a million pieces the moment those words came out of his lips. Was he breaking up with you? Six years of having this relationship for nothing? Why? Your body froze, and you felt like you were going to scream, but you forgot how to find your words nor even move your body. You were just paralyzed.

“W…What?” Your words stuttered the moment you finally found your voice.

“Listen, I know we have been together for a while, but I just feel like it’s not working out anymore. We both like different things, and I just feel like I’m in the stage of my life where I just don’t want to be in a serious relationship right now.” He explained, trying to reach for your hands. 

You scoffed as you shook your head, immediately pulling your hands away from him. You couldn’t believe the words that you were hearing right now. Was he fucking serious? 

“Six years, Carter!” You exclaimed in frustration. “We were together for six years and you’re gonna tell me you don’t want to be in a serious relationship? What’s the real reason?”

You watched Carter look around the restaurant when you raised your voice at him. You grabbed your purse and coat, ready to leave. You couldn't even look at him anymore. You were furious and angry and heartbroken. You couldn’t even explain all the mixed emotions that you were feeling at the moment. 

“I’m trying not to be a dick here, but I’m just not happy anymore.”

“You said we were fate.” You argued, holding back your tears.

Carter opened his mouth for a moment with no words coming out before finally saying, “I only said that because I knew you were a believer of those things.”

You scoffed as you got up from your chair. You were so angry. You hated every fiber of his being right now, and you needed to leave because you didn’t want to hear what else he was going to say. 

“Don’t act like this.” Carter got up from his chair also. “Did you really think we were going to last long?”

“You’re such a fucking ass!” You exclaimed. “We were together for six years! Of course, I did!” You shook your head and started walking away from him.

“Wait!” Carter held you by your forearm, stopping you from leaving. “Please don’t make this hard. We could still be friends.”

Tears were welling up in your eyes as you let out another scoff. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing right now. Friends, really? After acting like an ass? After all the shit that he just said?! Was he fucking insane?

“You’re such a fucking dick, Carter!” You exclaimed again, pulling your arm away from his grip. He looked around the restaurant again as some of the guests were now looking at the both of you.

But you didn’t care. He deserved to be humiliated from the way he was acting towards you. 

“Please don’t make a scene.” Carter muttered.

“I’m not making a scene.” You argued back. “This is making a scene!”

You grabbed the glass of the dirty martini that was sitting on the table and splashed him with it before scoffing and turning away from him, walking out of the restaurant.

“Well, that was embarrassing.” 

Joe watched you from across the place as you walked out of the restaurant before turning to Rue, who was sitting across from him. Her little comment over the situation made Joe feel a bit uncomfortable since he thought that was a dick move for a man to do something like that to a woman. Though, his mind needed to be somewhere else because this night was important. 

“So, babe. What were you saying?” Rue asked, reaching for Joe’s hands. 

“Um…” Joe cleared his throat and played with the small box inside his coat pocket. “Rue, we have been together for a while, and you have made me a better person. You make me so happy, and I want to make you happy and be there for you for the rest of our lives. You are amazing and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Joe got up from his chair and went down on one knee. “Will you marry me?”

Rue sat there, a small gasp escaped her lips. Her eyes fell to the ring that was sparkling inside the box before she looked around the restaurant for a moment. Some people were staring at them, and she couldn’t help but feel the blood rush to her cheeks before helping Joe up to his feet.

“Oh, honey.” Rue pouted. “This is the sweetest thing ever, but I’m sorry. I’m just not ready for all of this. I mean… marriage? I have my whole career before me. I don’t want to start a family yet. You know how it is.”

Joe swallowed every bit of his feelings as Rue continued to reject his proposal. He didn’t expect this. He thought their relationship was going really well. He thought they were both ready. Joe stood there in front of her, feeling a bit embarrassed and at the same time, feeling a bit confused. 

“I… I thought we both wanted this.” Joe muttered. “We always have talked about it, and I’m ready, Rue. I want to be with you.”

“I’m so sorry.” Rue gave him a sympathetic look before grabbing her coat. “Yeah, we always talked about it, but I didn’t think that you were going to propose to me now. This is not what I want right now.”

“So, when is the right time to propose then?” Joe asked. 

“I feel like we’ll know when we are on the same page but right now, this isn’t what I want.” Rue leaned in to give Joe a kiss. “I’m sorry.” 

Joe exhaled sharply as he watched Rue walk out of the restaurant. 

What the fuck just happened? 

Joe stood there frozen as the server came by with the champagne and all Joe did was shake his head at the server. He needed to go fight for this. He had to go and find Rue and have a serious conversation about this because this was all a surprise to Joe. It made his heart shatter, hearing the fact that his long term girlfriend had just told him that she didn’t want to marry him. 

You weren’t the only one getting your heart broken tonight.

“Fucking bullshit.” You cursed to yourself outside the restaurant, leaning your back against the brick wall.

God, you were such an idiot. 

You cried to yourself, wiping the tears that were rolling down your cheeks. You were still trying to process all of Carter’s excuses as to why he didn’t want to be with you anymore. You kicked the brick wall with your foot and ran your fingers through your hair. 

You were such a mess.

Your attention was caught when you heard the restaurant door opened and saw Joe running out of the restaurant. He looked around for a moment until he caught your eyes. Feeling embarrassed, you turned away from him and wiped your tears as you sniffed. 

“Have you seen—”

“A strawberry blonde woman? Yeah, she took a cab and went that way.” You murmured, pointing at the direction where the cab went. 

Joe let out a sigh and tilted his head as he walked towards you and asked, “Are you alright?”

“Does it look like I’m okay?!” You exclaimed, watching Joe in front of you take a step back.

Joe knew why you were crying. He saw that whole thing go down inside the restaurant. He knew why you were so angry, so he didn’t say anything else. He understood what you were feeling at the moment because unfortunately, he was also having a shitty night. Not trying to anger you even more, he took out a handkerchief from his coat pocket and handed it to you. For a second there, you paused and just stared at it. 

Why was this stranger being nice after you just yelled at him? 

Though, you accepted it anyway, thinking about how you probably looked ridiculous in front of him with your mascara running and your eyes all red and puffy.

“Thanks.” You muttered, your voice almost a whisper.

Joe watched you wipe your tears and then unfold the handkerchief to blow your nose. He couldn’t help but pursed his lips, holding in his smile as he watched you. Then, his mind directed back to Rue and the reason why he was running out of the restaurant in the first place. He still wanted to talk to her about everything that happened because he loves her, and he wanted this to work out. Maybe she was right? Maybe he did this too soon.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” You interrupted Joe’s thoughts. “Why are you running after that woman anyway?” 

“She’s my girlfriend.” Joe replied. “Or… ex. I don’t know right now. I just proposed to her, and she rejected it and ran off.”

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Here you were thinking that Carter was going to propose to you tonight and instead, he broke it off with you. Meanwhile, the man in front of you proposed to his girlfriend, and she had the audacity to reject it? How could someone reject that, especially if they loved each other? Looking at Joe in front of you, you surely could see it in his eyes how much he loves her. Who would still run after a person after they rejected their proposal? This man in front of you surely would. 

How lucky she was.

“I’m sorry.” You told him.

“It’s okay.” Joe hailed a cab and turned to look at you. “Are you gonna be alright?”

“Yeah, thank you.” You nodded and watched him give you a small smile.

“Here, take this cab. I’ll get the next one.” Joe opened the door for you as you muttered another thank you before getting inside. 

“If it makes you feel any better, you dodged a bullet.” Joe said before closing the door. 

You couldn’t help but think about that comment on the way back home to your apartment.

Maybe he was right. 

Maybe you did dodged a bullet, and Sara was right. 

Carter was an asshole. 

You tried your best to hold back your tears at the back of the cab but it just wouldn’t stop falling. You could see the cab driver’s eyes looking at you through his rearview mirror, and you couldn’t help but think about how many times you were going to embarrass yourself in front of strangers tonight. You were just glad that the cab driver didn’t say anything to you. The moment he stopped in front of your apartment building, you paid the man and quickly exited out of the vehicle. 

The apartment was dark and quiet when you entered. You figured maybe Sara was still out on her date. So, you headed to the bathroom and slid your clothes off. Entering the shower, you sat on the bathroom floor, hugging your knees and just cried your eyes out. The hot water ran down your skin as you sat there and sobbed on your knees. You couldn’t even tell anymore if it was the hot water that was making your body numb, or it was just because you were just done with everything. 

When you slid under your bed covers that night, your eyes were all red and puffy, and you could barely breathe from your stuffy nose. Your skin was all pruney because you had spent probably an hour in the shower and letting the hot water just run down your body. You stared at the ceiling for a moment as tears started rolling down your cheeks again. 

Your chest hurts. 

Everything hurts.

You didn’t stop yourself from crying anymore. You let everything out as you hugged your tear soaked pillow tightly until you were just so exhausted that you finally crashed. 

The sound of loud clattering woke you up the next morning. You fluttered your eyes open and stared at the ceiling for a moment. You felt numb. You didn’t even want to get up and go to work today. After all, it was a Friday. Maybe calling out sick was a good idea for today. You weakly got up from your bed and made your way out the door and saw Sara putting away the plates in the cupboard.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you? I accidentally dropped one of the—” Sara paused as soon as she glanced up and saw your face. 

“Ohmygod.” She immediately set the plates on the counter and pulled you into an embrace. “What happened? What the fuck did he do?”

You buried your face on your best friend’s shoulder and sobbed as you hugged her tightly. Sara softly rubbed your back, and you both stayed like that for a few minutes. Sara didn’t say anything. She just let you cry in her arms. She didn’t want to push you until you were ready to talk. 

“He…He broke… it off.” Your words stuttered. “He said.. he didn’t want to be in a serious relationship at the moment.”

“That’s fucking bullshit.” Sara retorted. “Six years together and he says that shit?”

You nodded your head as Sara gave you a glass of water, while you wiped your tears with the back of your hand. 

You felt exhausted. 

“He’s such a fucking asshole.” Sara cursed under her breath. “I’m so sorry.” Sara rubbed your back softly again. “He doesn’t deserve you. Someone like that doesn’t deserve your love and you know it. He’s stupid and an idiot for letting you go.”

“It feels like… it was so easy for him.” Tears rolled down your face again. “It was as if the six years we had together was just nothing to him. Like it didn’t mean anything to him.”

“C’mere.” Sara whispered, pulling you into a hug again and embracing you tightly. “You don’t have to go to work today. You can hang at the bookstore with me.”

“It’s okay. I… I need to go. They need me there.” You sniffed. “Plus, I need a distraction after all of this.”

“Okay, but if you need me to rescue you, just give me a call.”

You let out a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Hey,” Sara softly set her hand on your forearm, “Don’t push yourself too hard today and please let me know if I could help you with anything.” 

“Thank you. I will.”

Drinking the rest of your water, you left the kitchen to get yourself ready for work. Sitting at the subway later that morning, all your mind could think of were the memories of Carter. The way how you both started off as friends and then started dating just because you two had hooked up one night. Carter had told you then that he had feelings for you all this time, and he didn’t want to say anything because he thought you didn’t like him back. You felt like maybe you were too over dramatic and that was why he broke up with you. It made you question every single thing that you did to really know the reason why he broke up with you. Sara was right. His excuse wasn’t genuine. The way he lied to you just so he could be with you? Just because you believed in fate? 

Now, you don’t even know if you even believed in that anymore. 

You spent your day trying to focus on your work and told yourself that you weren’t going to cry because why would you cry over some piece of a shit of a man? Why would you waste your tears on someone who couldn’t even commit to you even after six years? But you failed because by the time it was your first break, you had found yourself in the bathroom upstairs. You sat in the stall, your palms on your face, and you just sobbed quietly. Then, on your lunch break, you found yourself in the bathroom again, and you didn’t even eat your lunch because you spent the next half hour just sobbing in the bathroom. 

You were so tired of crying. You felt like there was nothing left inside of you anymore. 

By the end of the day, you had tried gathering yourself and decided to spend the afternoon in the mall to get your mind off of things. You needed a distraction, and it was a Friday. Carter would usually come and pick you up from the office, and you two would spend the night together at his place but this time, you were alone. There was no more Carter picking you up from your office, no Carter cooking dinner for you on a Friday night, and no more Carter who would hold you in his arms when you had a long day at work. Thinking about those memories pulled your heartstrings a little bit too hard, and it made your chest ache for him. Snapping out of your thoughts, you sighed as soon as the subway stopped and you exited and made your way to the mall.

The place was crowded, and it was all decorated ready for Halloween. You didn’t know exactly what you wanted to see or buy, but you just wanted to get your mind off of Carter. You bought yourself some coffee to give yourself a bit of energy and a piece of pretzel since you were hungry. After all, you didn’t eat your lunch today. You took a deep breath and walked down the mall when suddenly, everything happened so fast. You found your coffee spilled on your white button up and your pretzel that you were holding was now on the floor. 

Oh, just fucking great.

“Jesus.” Joe whispered as you stood there with your mouth open in shock, soaked with your drink. 

“This is just fucking great!” You exclaimed sarcastically. 

“I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” He asked, that English accent slipping through his voice. 

You glanced up and saw him. That British man that you saw last night outside of the restaurant. This was the second time you had yelled at him and this was the second time you two had bumped into each other. His chocolate button eyes staring into yours were full of guilt and worry, and you couldn’t help but study him from up and down. He definitely looked different from last night. His brown curls were all disheveled, and falling down perfectly on his forehead. He was just wearing a white shirt and jeans unlike last night with his button up and fancy trousers. 

You couldn’t blame him. 

His girlfriend—or ex— rejected his proposal. You couldn't help but think about how her decision was still ridiculous and stupid. But then again, you didn’t know the woman. Who were you to judge? You were just basing it off from your own experience and point of view. 

“Wait, I know you.” Joe said. 

You let out a sigh and said, “Yeah, I’m the one who yelled at you last night outside of the restaurant.”

Joe chuckled softly and nodded his head, all the pieces falling into place in his head.

“I’m sorry about that.” You said. “You just found me at my lowest point.”

Joe shrugged, “It’s alright, I understand. You weren’t the only one having a shitty night.”

“Right.” You pursed your lips. “I’m sorry about your proposal.”

“It’s alright. It’s life. We’re still trying to work things out though.”

You nodded your head and couldn’t help but think again how lucky that girl was because even if she rejected his proposal, he was still trying to make things work. Carter, on the other hand, just gave up on the both of you so easily. Threw away everything that you had like it was nothing. 

“Well, good luck.” You gave him a small smile before walking away. 

“Wait, are you sure you’re alright?” Joe asked. “I could get you a new shirt. You’re… soaked with your coffee and maybe a pretzel since I made you drop that one.” His eyes fell to the floor where your pretzel was now laying on. 

“It’s okay. I’ll manage. Thank you.” 

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind.”

“I’m sure. It’s nice to see you again.” You gave him a small wave as you walked away. 

Letting your feet drag you in the opposite direction of him, you let out a sigh and couldn’t help but look back at the man that you kept bumping into for the last 24 hours. He was walking away in the opposite direction and his back was turned to you. For a moment, you wished there was someone that could fight for you the way he does with his girlfriend. The way he didn’t give up even if she had rejected him. 

You just wished someone wouldn’t give up on you so easily. 

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