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pucksandpower · 7 months ago

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To Hell With Duty

Lewis Hamilton x soulmate!Reader

Summary: you’ve always known that being Princess of the UK means that a soulmate is a luxury you can’t afford … but then you meet your soulmate and decide that some things are worth turning your back on duty for

Warnings: abusive family dynamics

Note: I promised to write something in honor of Lewis’ win and this was born (now I’m tempted to make a soulmate AU series)

The sun blazes overhead as you step out of the sleek black car, your designer heels clicking against the pavement. The roar of engines and the excited chatter of the crowd at Silverstone envelop you, but you can barely hear them over the pounding of your own heart.

“Your Royal Highness, this way please,” a smartly dressed aide gestures towards the paddock area.

You nod, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. As you walk, you absently rub your wrist, feeling the slight raised bumps of your soulmate mark beneath the carefully applied concealer.

“I wish you didn’t have to hide it,” your best friend and lady-in-waiting, Sophie, whispers beside you.

“You know I don’t have a choice,” you murmur back, glancing around to ensure no one overheard.

The memory of your brother’s ordeal flashes through your mind, as vivid and painful as the day it happened ...

“No, please! You can’t do this!” Edward’s anguished cries echoed through the palace halls.

You huddled in your room, hands pressed over your ears, trying to block out the sound. But nothing could drown out your brother’s screams as the royal physician burned away his soulmate tattoo.

Later, when you snuck into his room, you found him curled up on his bed, cradling his bandaged wrist.

“Eddie?” You whispered, your voice small and frightened.

He looked up at you, his eyes red and puffy. “Y/N ... I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

You climbed onto the bed beside him. “Why did they do it? Why can’t you be with your soulmate?”

Edward sighed, pulling you close. “Because we’re royals, little sister. Our marriages are about duty, not love. Soulmates ... they’re a luxury we can’t afford.”

“But that’s not fair!” You protested.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, his voice hollow. “But it’s the price we pay for our position. Promise me something, Y/N. If you ever find your soulmate ... run. Run far away and don’t look back.”

The memory fades as Sophie gently squeezes your arm, bringing you back to the present.

“Are you okay?” She asks, concern etched on her face.

You take a deep breath, straightening your shoulders. “I’m fine. Let’s get this over with.”

As you make your way through the paddock, you can’t help but feel a twinge of envy at the carefree laughter and excitement around you. Everywhere you look, people are proudly displaying their soulmate tattoos, some comparing them with friends, others stealing glances at strangers, wondering if today might be the day they meet their perfect match.

“Your Royal Highness,” a race official greets you with a bow. “We’re honored to have you here today. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the VIP area.”

You nod, allowing yourself to be led through the crowded paddock. The official drones on about the day’s schedule, but your mind wanders.

“What do you think your soulmate is like?” Sophie had asked you once, years ago, when you were both giggling teenagers.

“I don’t know,” you had replied, tracing the words on your wrist. “But I hope they’re kind. And funny. Someone who sees me for who I am, not just my title.”

“You’ll find them one day,” Sophie had said confidently. “And when you do, it’ll be magical.”

Now, surrounded by the bustle and excitement of race day, that conversation feels like a lifetime ago. You’ve long since resigned yourself to the fact that you’ll never meet your soulmate. Even if you did, you could never act on it. The risk is too great.

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the figure rounding the corner until it’s too late. You collide with a solid chest, stumbling backward. Strong hands grip your arms, steadying you before you can fall.

You look up, an apology on your lips, and find yourself staring into the most captivating brown eyes you’ve ever seen. Time seems to stand still as you gaze at each other, the world fading away around you.

And then he speaks, his voice low and warm.

“Whoa there, careful Princess. I’ve got you.”

***

Your heart stops as Lewis’ words sink in. They’re an exact match to the tattoo hidden beneath layers of concealer on your wrist. For a moment, you’re frozen, lost in his warm brown eyes, your mind reeling with the implications of what just happened.

Then reality comes crashing down. You can’t do this. You can’t put him in danger. You can’t risk the pain your brother went through.

“I ... I have to go,” you stammer, pulling away from his gentle grip.

Lewis’ brow furrows in confusion. “Wait, what’s wrong?”

But you’re already backing away, panic rising in your chest. “I’m sorry, I can’t ... this isn’t ... I have to leave.”

You turn and run, pushing past startled onlookers, your heart pounding in your ears. Behind you, you hear Lewis call out.

“Princess, wait! Your words ... they’re on my wrist!”

You falter for a moment, his words piercing through your panic. But no, it doesn’t matter. It can’t matter. You keep running.

“Y/N, please!” Lewis’ voice is closer now. He’s chasing after you. “I know you felt it too. We need to talk about this!”

You duck around a corner, trying to lose him in the maze of the paddock. But Lewis is faster, more familiar with the layout. He catches up to you in a quiet area behind one of the garages.

“Princess,” he says, slightly out of breath. “Please, just hear me out.”

You shake your head, tears threatening to spill. “You don’t understand. We can’t do this. My family ... they’ll never allow it. They’ll hurt you, or worse.”

Lewis takes a cautious step closer. “What do you mean? Why would your family hurt me?”

“Because you’re my soulmate!” The words burst out before you can stop them. “And royals aren’t allowed to be with their soulmates. It’s all about duty and arranged marriages. They ... they burned off my brother’s mark when he found his soulmate.”

Lewis’ eyes widen in horror. “That’s barbaric. They can’t do that to you.”

You laugh bitterly. “They’re the royal family. They can do whatever they want.”

“No,” Lewis says firmly. “They can’t. Because I won’t let them.”

You look at him, confused. “What?”

Lewis takes your hand gently, his touch sending sparks through your body. “Y/N, I’m not just British. I’m also a Brazilian citizen. And in Brazil, there are laws protecting soulmates. If we’re truly matched, which I believe we are, you automatically gain Brazilian citizenship too. Your family can’t touch you there.”

Hope flares in your chest, but you quickly squash it down. “It doesn’t matter. They’ll find a way. They always do.”

“Not this time,” Lewis insists. “Look, I have a race to drive soon, but after that, we can fly to Brazil immediately. I’ll keep you safe until then.”

You shake your head. “It’s too dangerous. If they find out ...”

“They won’t,” Lewis promises. “My driver’s room is private and secure. You can hide there until after the race. No one will think to look for you there.”

You hesitate, torn between hope and fear. “I don’t know ...”

Lewis squeezes your hand gently. “I know we just met, but I’ve been waiting my whole life to find you. Please, give us a chance. Let me protect you.”

You look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity there. Slowly, you nod. “Okay. But we have to be careful.”

Relief washes over Lewis’ face. “We will be. Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe.”

He leads you quickly through the paddock, taking care to avoid busy areas. You keep your head down, heart racing every time you pass someone. Finally, you reach a door marked with Lewis’ name.

“Here we are,” he says, ushering you inside. “Lock the door behind me and don’t open it for anyone but me. I’ll knock three times, pause, then twice more. Okay?”

You nod, taking in the small but comfortable room. “Okay. But Lewis, what about your race? You can’t miss it because of me.”

He smiles reassuringly. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll race, and then we’ll leave right after. It’ll be fine.”

“But what if something goes wrong? What if they find me?” The fear creeps back into your voice.

Lewis takes your hands in his, his touch grounding you. “Hey, look at me. Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise. We’re soulmates, remember? That means we’re in this together now.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” he says softly. “But you’re also incredibly brave. You’ve lived with this fear your whole life, and you’re still standing. We can do this.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “We’ve known each other for all of ten minutes and you’re already saying ‘we’?”

Lewis grins. “Well, that’s what happens when you meet your soulmate, I guess. Everything changes in an instant.”

You laugh softly, feeling some of the tension leave your body. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Listen,” Lewis says, his tone turning serious. “I know this is all happening very fast, and I don’t expect you to fall in love with me right away or anything. We’ll take things as slow as you want once we’re safe. But right now, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

You look into his eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity and determination. Slowly, you nod. “Yes, I think I can.”

“Good,” Lewis smiles. “Now, I have to go get ready for the race. Remember, three knocks, pause, then two more. Don’t open for anyone else.”

“I won’t,” you promise. “Be careful out there, okay?”

Lewis’ smile widens. “Always am, Princess. I’ll see you soon.”

As he leaves, you lock the door behind him, your heart still racing. You sink onto the small couch, trying to process everything that’s happened in the last hour.

You’ve found your soulmate. After years of hiding your tattoo, of living in fear of it being burned away like your brother’s, you’ve actually met the person whose words are etched on your skin.

And not just any person. Lewis Hamilton. World-famous driver, activist, and fashion icon. You’ve seen him on TV, of course, admired his skill on the track and his passion for social justice. But you never imagined ...

You rub your wrist absently, feeling the slight raised bumps of your mark beneath the concealer. For the first time in years, you allow yourself to hope. Maybe, just maybe, you can have the life you’ve always dreamed of.

But doubt creeps in. What if Lewis is wrong? What if Brazilian citizenship isn’t enough to protect you from your family’s influence? What if they find you before you can leave?

You pace the small room, alternating between hope and fear. The sound of engines revving in the distance tells you the race is about to start. You find yourself holding your breath every time you hear footsteps pass by the door, terrified it might be palace security coming to drag you away.

Time crawls by agonizingly slowly. You try to distract yourself by watching the race on the small TV in the corner, but every time the camera focuses on Lewis’ car, your heart leaps into your throat. You silently urge him to be careful, to finish the race quickly so you can escape.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hear it. Three knocks, a pause, then two more. You rush to the door, your hand hesitating for just a moment before you unlock it.

Lewis slips inside quickly, closing and locking the door behind him. He’s still in his race suit, his hair damp with sweat.

“Are you okay?” You ask immediately. “How was the race?”

Lewis grins. “I’m fine, and I won. But that’s not important right now. We need to go.”

He grabs a bag from a locker and starts shoving clothes into it. “I’ve arranged for a private jet to take us to São Paulo. We need to leave now, before anyone realizes you’re missing.”

You nod, your heart racing again. “Okay. What do we do?”

“I’ve got some clothing here that might fit you,” Lewis says, pulling out a hoodie and sweatpants. “Put these on over your clothes. We’ll need to be discreet getting to the airport.”

As you change, Lewis continues talking. “Once we’re in Brazil, we’ll be safe. There are strict laws protecting soulmates there. Your family won’t be able to touch you.”

“But what about your career?” You ask, suddenly realizing what he’s giving up. “You can’t just leave everything behind for me.”

Lewis pauses, looking at you intently. “Y/N, you’re my soulmate. That means you’re more important than any career, any amount of fame or money. We’ll figure out the details later, but right now, keeping you safe is all that matters.”

His words make your heart swell. You’ve never had anyone put you first like this before. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Lewis smiles. “Just trust me, okay?”

You nod, feeling a sense of calm settle over you despite the chaotic situation. “I do trust you. Let’s go.”

Lewis takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Ready?”

You take a deep breath, thinking of all you’re leaving behind — your family, your duty, the only life you’ve ever known. But as you look at Lewis, you realize you’re also stepping into a new life. One where you’re free to be yourself, to love who you want, to follow your heart.

“Ready,” you say firmly.

And with that, Lewis opens the door, and together, you step out into your new future.

***

The private jet hums softly as it cuts through the night sky, carrying you away from everything you’ve ever known. You’re curled up against Lewis on the plush leather seat, your head resting on his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear is oddly comforting, grounding you in this surreal moment.

Lewis’ arm is wrapped around you, his hand gently stroking your back. With your free hand, you trace the lines of his soulmate tattoo — your first words to him, now etched forever on his skin.

“I still can’t believe this is real,” you murmur, your fingers following the curves of each letter.

Lewis chuckles softly, the sound reverberating through his chest. “I know what you mean. I’ve imagined meeting you so many times, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality.”

You look up at him, a mixture of emotions swirling in your chest. “Weren’t you afraid? When you realized who I was?”

“Afraid?” Lewis considers for a moment. “No, not afraid. Excited, nervous, maybe a little overwhelmed. But not afraid.” He pauses, his expression growing serious. “But you were. You’re still afraid now, aren’t you?”

You nod slowly, dropping your gaze back to his wrist. “I’ve been afraid for so long, I’m not sure I know how to stop.”

Lewis’ hand moves to cup your face gently, encouraging you to look at him again. “Will you tell me about it? Help me understand?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “It’s ... it’s not a pleasant story.”

“I’m here,” Lewis says softly. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”

His words, so simple yet so profound, give you the courage to begin. “It started with my brother, Edward. He was always the rebellious one, you know? Always pushing boundaries, questioning traditions. When he found his soulmate, he was over the moon. Her name was Lily, and she was ... she was perfect for him. Kind, funny, passionate about the same causes he was.”

You pause, the memory of your brother’s joy contrasting sharply with what came after. Lewis waits patiently, his presence a comforting anchor.

“For a few months, they managed to keep it a secret. But eventually, someone saw them together. Word got back to our parents and ...” You shudder, remembering that awful day. “They were furious. They gave Edward an ultimatum: give up Lily or give up his place in the line of succession.”

“That’s horrible,” Lewis murmurs, his arm tightening around you.

You nod, continuing, “Edward refused. He said Lily was more important than any throne. So they ... they decided to take matters into their own hands.”

Your voice breaks as you recount what happened next. “They had the royal physician burn off Edward’s soulmate mark. I can still hear his screams echoing through the palace. It was ... it was torture.”

Lewis’ body tenses beneath you, his voice tight with anger when he speaks. “They had no right. How could they do that to their own son?”

“They said it was for the good of the country,” you reply bitterly. “That royals can’t afford the luxury of soulmates. Our marriages are political tools, nothing more.”

“What happened to Edward and Lily?” Lewis asks gently.

You sigh heavily. “Edward was never the same after that. The spark in him just ... died. He does his duty now, makes the appearances he’s supposed to, but it’s like he’s just going through the motions. And Lily ... last I heard, she moved to Australia. I think being anywhere near the UK was too painful for her.”

Lewis is quiet for a moment, processing your words. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Y/N. No wonder you were scared when you realized we were soulmates.”

You nod, feeling the weight of years of fear and secrecy lifting as you share your story. “That’s not even the worst of it,” you admit softly.

Lewis looks at you, concern etched on his face. “There’s more?”

You take another deep breath, steeling yourself for the hardest part of the story. “My father ... he had an older sister. Aunt Margaret. I never met her, but I found out about her a few years ago.”

Lewis listens intently as you continue, “She found her soulmate when she was young, maybe 20 or so. And she refused to give him up, no matter what my grandparents said. They tried everything — threats, bribes, even attempting to arrange another match for her. But Margaret stood firm.”

“She sounds brave,” Lewis comments.

You nod, a sad smile touching your lips. “She was. But bravery wasn’t enough. One night, both Margaret and her soulmate disappeared. The official story was that they’d eloped, run off to start a new life together. But that wasn’t the truth.”

Lewis’ body tenses again, as if bracing for what’s coming. You press on, the words tumbling out now that you’ve started.

“Margaret’s soulmate was ... dealt with. Permanently. And Margaret herself was institutionalized. Locked away in a private facility, hidden from the world.”

“That’s ... that’s monstrous,” Lewis breathes, horror evident in his voice.

You nod, feeling tears prick at your eyes. “When I found out, I couldn’t believe it. I managed to find out where she was being held and I ... I visited her.”

Lewis’ hand resumes its gentle stroking of your back, encouraging you to continue.

“She was ... god, Lewis, she was just a shell. Decades of being locked away, of being separated from her soulmate ... it had broken her. She didn’t even seem to realize I was there.”

A tear escapes, rolling down your cheek. Lewis gently wipes it away with his thumb.

“That’s why I was so scared,” you whisper. “I’ve seen what my family is capable of. What lengths they’ll go to in order to keep up appearances, to maintain their idea of duty.”

Lewis is quiet for a long moment, his arms tightening around you protectively. When he finally speaks, his voice is filled with a mix of anger and determination.

“Listen to me, Y/N,” he says firmly. “What happened to your brother, to your aunt ... it was wrong. Cruel and wrong. But I promise you, I will not let that happen to us.”

You look up at him, seeing the fierce protectiveness in his eyes. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because we’re not alone in this,” Lewis explains. “We have resources they don’t. My citizenship, for one. The laws protecting soulmates in Brazil. And beyond that, we have the power of public opinion.”

You frown, not quite understanding. “What do you mean?”

Lewis shifts slightly, his expression thoughtful. “Think about it. Your family’s power comes from public support, right? What do you think would happen if the world found out they were separating soulmates, institutionalizing people?”

“It would be a scandal,” you realize, your eyes widening.

“Exactly,” Lewis nods. “We’re not helpless. If they try anything, we can fight back. We can tell our story, rally support. The world has changed a lot. People believe in the sanctity of soulmates now more than ever.”

His words spark a tiny flame of hope in your chest. “You really think we could do that?”

“I know we could,” Lewis says confidently. “But more than that, I don’t think we’ll have to. Your family isn’t stupid. They’ll realize the risk isn’t worth it. Especially not with someone as high-profile as me.”

You can’t help but chuckle at that. “Modest, aren’t you?”

Lewis grins, the tension of the moment breaking. “Hey, I’m just stating facts. Seven-time world champion, remember?”

You roll your eyes playfully, but then grow serious again. “Lewis ... thank you. For listening, for understanding. For not running away when you realized how complicated this all is.”

“Hey,” Lewis says softly, tilting your chin up so you’re looking directly into his eyes. “You’re my soulmate. That means we’re in this together, complications and all. I’m not going anywhere.”

His words wash over you, soothing fears you’ve carried for so long. For the first time, you allow yourself to truly believe that maybe, just maybe, you can have this. You can have him.

“So,” you say, a small smile playing on your lips. “What happens now?”

Lewis grins, his eyes twinkling with excitement and possibility. “Now? Now we start our adventure. We land in São Paulo, get your citizenship sorted out, and then ... well, then the world’s our oyster. We can go anywhere, do anything.”

“Anything?” You ask, the concept of such freedom almost dizzying.

“Anything,” Lewis confirms. “We could travel the world. Or we could find a quiet place to settle down if that’s what you prefer. We could work on charitable causes together, or you could pursue whatever dreams you’ve had to put aside because of your royal duties.”

The possibilities swirl in your mind, each one more exciting than the last. “I ... I don’t even know where to start,” you admit.

Lewis chuckles, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “We don’t have to decide everything right now. We’ve got time. For now, let’s just focus on getting to Brazil safely. We can figure out the rest as we go.”

You nod, settling back against his chest. The steady beat of his heart syncs with the hum of the jet engines, lulling you into a sense of peace you haven’t felt in years.

As you drift off to sleep, wrapped in the safety of your soulmate’s arms, you realize something. For the first time in your life, you’re not afraid of the future. Instead, you’re excited to see what it holds.

Whatever comes next, you’ll face it together. You and Lewis, two halves of a whole, finally united. The journey ahead may be uncertain, but with him by your side, you’re ready for anything.

***

As the private jet touches down on Brazilian soil, a mixture of excitement and nervousness flutters in your stomach. Lewis gives your hand a reassuring squeeze as the plane rolls to a stop.

“Ready?” He asks, his warm brown eyes meeting yours.

You take a deep breath and nod. “As I’ll ever be.”

The cabin door opens, and the humid Brazilian air rushes in. Lewis leads you down the steps, his hand never leaving yours. At the bottom, a tall woman in a crisp suit waits, her dark hair pulled back in a neat bun.

“Mr. Hamilton,” she greets with a warm smile, extending her hand. “And Your Royal Highness. Welcome to Brazil. I’m Dr. Raquel Santos from the Department of Soulmate Affairs.”

Lewis shakes her hand. “Dr. Santos, thank you for meeting us on such short notice.”

“Of course,” she replies, turning to you. “Your Highness, it’s an honor.”

You shake her hand, feeling slightly overwhelmed. “Please, just call me Y/N. I ... I’m not sure how much of a royal I am anymore.”

Dr. Santos’ smile softens. “Of course, Y/N. Why don’t we move this conversation somewhere more private? I have a car waiting to take us to a secure location where we can discuss everything in detail.”

You and Lewis follow her to a sleek black car. Once inside, Dr. Santos turns to face you both.

“First and foremost,” she begins, “I want to assure you that you are under the full protection of Brazilian law. As soon as you stepped off that plane, Y/N, you became entitled to all the rights and protections we offer to soulmates.”

“Just like that?” You ask, hardly daring to believe it could be so simple.

Dr. Santos nods. “Just like that. Brazil takes soulmate rights very seriously. We believe that the bond between soulmates is sacred and should be protected at all costs.”

Lewis leans forward, his expression serious. “What exactly does that protection entail? Y/N’s situation is ... complicated.”

“I understand,” Dr. Santos says. “Your assistant filled me in on some of the details during our phone call. Let me break down the key points for you.”

As the car glides through the streets of São Paulo, Dr. Santos begins her explanation.

“First, as the soulmate of a Brazilian citizen, Y/N is immediately eligible for Brazilian citizenship. We can begin the paperwork right away. This will provide an added layer of protection against any attempts at extradition.”

You feel a weight lift off your shoulders at her words. “So my family can’t force me to return to the UK?”

“Correct,” Dr. Santos confirms. “Brazil does not recognize any authority over soulmate bonds, not even royal decrees. Your status as a princess is irrelevant in the eyes of our law when it comes to your rights as a soulmate.”

Lewis squeezes your hand, a smile playing on his lips. “See? I told you we’d figure it out.”

Dr. Santos continues, “Furthermore, we have specific laws protecting soulmates from forced separation. Any attempt to interfere with your bond — be it physical separation, coercion, or even attempts to remove or alter your soulmate marks — is considered a serious crime in Brazil.”

You unconsciously rub your wrist where your tattoo is hidden. “What about ... what if they try to claim I’m mentally unfit or something? To try and invalidate my choices?”

Dr. Santos’ expression turns serious. “We’ve seen such tactics used before, unfortunately. That’s why we have safeguards in place. Any claims of mental unfitness would require extensive evaluation by multiple independent Brazilian psychiatrists.”

“And if they try to use their diplomatic influence?” Lewis asks.

“Brazil’s stance on soulmate rights is non-negotiable,” Dr. Santos states firmly. “We’ve stood up to pressure from other nations before, and we won’t hesitate to do so again. Your bond is protected here, regardless of external political pressures.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “This all sounds almost too good to be true.”

Dr. Santos smiles warmly. “I understand your caution, Y/N. But I assure you, these protections are very real and very enforceable. Now, let me explain some of the practical aspects of your situation.”

As the car turns onto a quieter street, Dr. Santos pulls out a tablet. “We’ll need to register your bond officially. This involves a simple verification process — usually just a visual confirmation of a matching font on your soulmate marks. Once registered, you’ll be issued official documentation of your bond status.”

“What does that documentation do?” You ask, leaning forward with interest.

“It serves several purposes,” Dr. Santos explains. “Firstly, it’s legal proof of your bond, which can be used to claim various rights and protections under Brazilian law. It also serves as a form of identification and can be used to expedite your citizenship application.”

Lewis nods thoughtfully. “And what about privacy? Given our high profiles, we’re concerned about information leaks.”

“An excellent question,” Dr. Santos says. “We take privacy very seriously, especially in high-profile cases like yours. All information related to your bond and Y/N’s presence in Brazil will be classified at the highest level. Only a select few government officials will have access to this information.”

You feel a surge of gratitude towards this woman and the country she represents. “Dr. Santos, I can’t thank you enough for all of this.”

She smiles warmly. “It’s my pleasure. Protecting soulmates is not just my job, it’s my passion. Now, let’s discuss some of the support services available to you.”

As the car pulls up to a nondescript building, Dr. Santos continues her explanation. “We offer counseling services specifically tailored for soulmates who have faced separation or threats to their bond. These services are completely confidential and can be invaluable in helping you process your experiences and adjust to your new life.”

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I think ... I think that might be really helpful.”

Lewis wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “We’ll get through this together, love. Whatever you need.”

Dr. Santos leads you into the building and up to a comfortably furnished office. As you all take seats, she pulls out some forms.

“Now, I know this is a lot to take in,” she says gently. “But I’d like to start the official registration process, if you’re ready. The sooner we get this done, the sooner you’ll have legal protection.”

You look at Lewis, who gives you an encouraging nod. “Okay,” you say, taking a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”

As Dr. Santos begins to explain the forms, a thought occurs to you. “Dr. Santos, what about Lewis? How will all of this affect his career?”

Dr. Santos smiles. “I’m glad you asked. Mr. Hamilton, as a Brazilian citizen, you have the right to have your soulmate with you wherever your career takes you. We can provide diplomatic assistance to ensure Y/N can travel with you freely, without risk of detention or forced return to the UK.”

Lewis grins, looking relieved. “That’s fantastic news. I was worried I might have to give up racing.”

“Not at all,” Dr. Santos assures him. “We believe that soulmates should support each other’s dreams and ambitions. Our laws are designed to facilitate that.”

As you begin filling out the forms, a sense of surreal calm washes over you. For the first time in your life, you feel truly protected, truly free to be with the person you’re meant to be with.

“There’s one more thing,” Dr. Santos says as you finish the paperwork. “As part of our soulmate protection program, we offer a safe house service. It’s a secure location where you can stay while you adjust to your new situation and decide on your next steps. Would you be interested in that?”

You and Lewis exchange a look. “I think that might be a good idea,” Lewis says. “At least for a little while, until we figure things out. My home here isn’t exactly inconspicuous.”

You nod in agreement. “Yes, please. That sounds perfect.”

Dr. Santos smiles, clearly pleased. “Excellent. I’ll make the arrangements right away. The location is completely confidential and guarded 24/7. You’ll be safe there.”

As she stands to make some calls, you turn to Lewis, feeling overwhelmed by everything that’s happened.

“Lewis,” you say softly, “I can’t believe you’ve done all this for me. You’ve turned your whole life upside down.”

He takes your hands in his, his eyes shining with emotion. “You’re my soulmate. My whole life was leading up to finding you. Everything else? It’s just details we’ll figure out together.”

You lean in, resting your forehead against his. For the first time since you can remember, you feel truly, completely safe. Protected not just by laws and governments, but by the love of the person you were always meant to find.

As Dr. Santos returns to finalize the arrangements, you realize that this isn’t just the end of your old life. It’s the beginning of something new, something wonderful. A life where you’re free to love, free to be yourself, free to explore the bond that fate has given you.

Whatever challenges lie ahead, you know now that you won’t face them alone. You have Lewis, you have the protection of Brazilian law, and most importantly, you have hope. The future, once so terrifying, now shines with possibility.

And as you leave the office hand in hand with Lewis, ready to start your new life together, you can’t help but smile. Because for the first time, you’re not running away from something.

You’re running towards it.

***

The roar of engines and the buzz of excitement fill the air as you stand at the entrance to the Autódromo José Carlos Pace. Your heart pounds in your chest, a mix of nerves and exhilaration coursing through your veins. Lewis’ hand is warm and steady in yours, a constant reminder that you’re not alone.

“Are you ready for this?” Lewis asks, his brown eyes searching yours with concern.

You take a deep breath, squeezing his hand. “As ready as I’ll ever be. It’s time to stop hiding.”

Lewis nods, a proud smile lighting up his face. “That’s my girl. Remember, whatever happens, we’re in this together.”

With one last reassuring squeeze, Lewis leads you into the paddock. The moment you step into view, a hush falls over the nearby crowd. Then, like a wave, whispers and exclamations ripple outward.

“Is that ...”

“It can’t be ...”

“The princess!”

“With Lewis Hamilton?”

Cameras flash in a frenzy, and reporters surge forward, held back only by the security team flanking you and Lewis. You keep your head high, your hand firmly in Lewis’ as you make your way through the paddock.

A brave reporter manages to shout a question over the commotion. “Your Highness! Is it true you’ve been in hiding in Brazil?”

You pause, looking to Lewis. He gives you an encouraging nod. Taking a deep breath, you turn to face the press.

“Yes, it’s true,” you say, your voice steady despite your nerves. “I’ve been in Brazil for the past few months, under the protection of the Brazilian government.”

The questions come rapid-fire after that.

“Why did you leave the UK?”

“Are you and Lewis Hamilton really soulmates?”

“What does the royal family have to say about this?”

Lewis steps forward, his arm protectively around your waist. “We’ll be holding a press conference later to address all your questions. For now, we ask for your patience and understanding as we prepare for the race.”

As you continue through the paddock, you can’t help but think back on the tumultuous months that led to this moment ...

The first few weeks in Brazil had been a whirlwind of paperwork, security briefings, and adjusting to your new reality. You and Lewis had stayed in the safe house provided by the Brazilian government, venturing out only when necessary and always under heavy guard.

One morning, about a month into your stay, Dr. Santos had arrived with a grim expression.

“We’ve intercepted some concerning communications,” she had said, her usual calm demeanor tinged with worry. “It seems the British royal family has intensified their search for you, Y/N. They’re making threats.”

You had felt your heart drop. “What kind of threats?”

Dr. Santos had hesitated before answering. “They’re threatening to use their diplomatic influence to pressure Brazil into returning you. They’re also ... they’re suggesting that you might be mentally unfit, that you’ve been coerced or manipulated.”

Lewis had immediately pulled you close, his jaw clenched in anger. “They can’t do that. We won’t let them.”

“And we won’t,” Dr. Santos had assured you both. “Our stance on soulmate rights is non-negotiable. But I want you to be prepared. This might get ugly.”

And it had. Over the next few months, your family had tried everything. Diplomatic pressure, media manipulation, even attempts to infiltrate Brazilian government systems to locate you. But Brazil had stood firm, and you had remained safe.

A commotion near the Mercedes garage snaps you back to the present. You see a group of men in dark suits pushing their way through the crowd, their expressions grim and determined. Your blood runs cold as you recognize one of them — your father’s head of security.

“Lewis,” you whisper urgently, “they’re here.”

Lewis’ arm tightens around you as he quickly assesses the situation. “Stay calm. Remember the plan.”

As the men approach, the lead one steps forward, his voice loud and authoritative. “Your Royal Highness, by order of His Majesty the King, you are to return to the United Kingdom immediately.”

You feel all eyes on you, the paddock having gone deathly quiet. Taking a deep breath, you step forward, your voice clear and steady. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I am here of my own free will, protected by Brazilian law as the soulmate of a Brazilian citizen.”

The man’s expression hardens. “Your Highness, please don’t make this difficult. Your family is concerned for your well-being. They believe you may have been coerced or manipulated-”

“The only manipulation here,” Lewis interrupts, his voice sharp, “is coming from those who would separate soulmates for political gain.”

Just then, Dr. Santos appears, flanked by Brazilian officials. “Gentlemen,” she says coolly to the British security team, “I’m afraid you’re overstepping. Y/N is under the protection of the Brazilian government. Any attempt to remove her against her will would be considered means for an international incident.”

The head of security sputters, clearly not having expected this level of resistance. “This is a family matter-”

“No,” you interject, your voice stronger now. “This is a matter of human rights. The right to be with one’s soulmate. A right that Brazil recognizes and protects.”

Dr. Santos nods approvingly. “Furthermore, any claims of mental unfitness have been thoroughly disproven by independent psychiatric evaluation. Y/N is here of her own free will, in full possession of her faculties.”

The security team looks at each other uncertainly, clearly realizing they’re outmatched. The lead man makes one last attempt. “Your Highness, please. Your family misses you. They want you to come home.”

For a moment, you feel a pang of sadness for the life you left behind. But then you feel Lewis’ steady presence beside you, and you know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

“I am home,” you say softly but firmly. “My home is with my soulmate, wherever that may be.”

The man opens his mouth to argue further, but Dr. Santos cuts him off. “Gentlemen, I believe it’s time for you to leave. Unless you’d like us to involve the authorities?”

Realizing they’re defeated, the security team begins to retreat. As they leave, you hear murmurs of admiration and support from the crowd that has gathered to watch the confrontation.

Lewis pulls you into a tight embrace. “You were amazing,” he whispers in your ear. “I’m so proud of you.”

As you pull back, you see reporters clamoring for comments, their cameras flashing incessantly. Dr. Santos steps forward to address them.

“A full press conference will be held later today,” she announces. “For now, I can confirm that Y/N, formally known as Her Royal Highness, is here legally and of her own free will as the soulmate of Lewis Hamilton. She is under the full protection of Brazilian law, and any attempts to interfere with their bond will be met with the full force of our legal system.”

As Dr. Santos continues to field questions, Lewis turns to you. “Are you okay?” He asks softly, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “I’m more than okay. For the first time, I feel ... free.”

Lewis grins, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because we’ve got a race to win.”

As you make your way to the Mercedes garage, you’re overwhelmed by the support you receive. Team members, other drivers, and even fans call out words of encouragement.

“We’ve got your back, Y/N!”

“Love wins!”

“You show ‘em, Lewis!”

Inside the garage, the team greets you warmly. Toto approaches with a smile.

“Y/N, Lewis,” he says, shaking both your hands. “That was quite an entrance. Are you sure you’re up for all this today?”

You nod firmly. “Absolutely. It’s time to show the world that love doesn’t make you weak. It makes you stronger.”

Lewis beams at your words. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. Now, let’s go win this race, yeah?”

As Lewis begins his pre-race preparations, you find a quiet corner to collect your thoughts. The events of the past few months flash through your mind — the fear, the uncertainty, but also the overwhelming love and support you’ve received.

You think about your family, about the life you left behind. There’s sadness there, but no regret. You’ve found something more precious than any crown — the freedom to love, to be yourself, to follow your heart.

A gentle hand on your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts. You look up to see Lewis, now in his race suit, his helmet tucked under his arm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks softly.

You smile, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Just thinking about how lucky I am. How grateful I am for you, for Brazil, for everyone who’s supported us.”

Lewis leans into your touch, his eyes shining with emotion. “We’re the lucky ones, Y/N. To have found each other, to have this chance at happiness. And I promise you, I’ll spend every day making sure you never regret your choice.”

You stand, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I could never regret choosing you. You’re my soulmate, my home, my everything.”

As you lean in for a kiss, the garage erupts in cheers and whistles. You break apart, laughing, to see the entire team watching with grins on their faces.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Toto calls out good-naturedly. “Save it for after the race. Lewis, you’ve got a championship to chase.”

Lewis gives you one last quick kiss before pulling on his helmet. “Watch me fly, Princess,” he says with a wink.

As he heads out to the track, you take your place in the garage, surrounded by your new family — the team that has embraced you without question. You feel a sense of belonging, of purpose, that you’ve never experienced before.

The roar of engines fills the air as the race begins. You watch Lewis navigate the track with precision and skill, your heart swelling with pride and love. This is your life now — the excitement of race day, the thrill of competition, but most importantly, the joy of being with your soulmate.

As Lewis crosses the finish line in first place, the garage erupts in celebration. You rush out to meet him in parc fermé, not caring about protocol or propriety. Lewis sweeps you up in his arms, spinning you around as the crowd cheers.

In that moment, with the sun shining down and the sound of celebration all around, you know that you’ve made the right choice. This is where you belong — by Lewis’ side, free to love and be loved, ready to face whatever challenges come your way.

Together.

***

The familiar scent of motor oil and rubber fills the air as you step onto British soil for the first time in over a year. Silverstone buzzes with excitement, but you can’t shake the nervous energy coursing through your veins. Lewis’ hand finds yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You okay?” He asks softly, his eyes searching yours with concern.

You take a deep breath, nodding. “I think so. It’s just ... strange being back.”

Lewis pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Remember, you’re not alone. We’ve got security everywhere, and I’m right here with you.”

As if on cue, the head of your security team, a tall, no-nonsense woman named Maria, approaches. “Everything’s clear, Ms. Y/N. We’ve swept the entire area and have eyes on all entry points.”

You smile gratefully at her. “Thank you, Maria. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Maria’s stern expression softens slightly. “Just doing our job, ma’am. Your safety is our top priority.”

As you make your way through the paddock, you can’t help but notice the stares and whispers that follow you. Some are curious, others admiring, and a few ... less than friendly. But your security team forms a protective barrier around you and Lewis, keeping any potential trouble at bay.

“Y/N! Lewis!” A familiar voice calls out. You turn to see Fred Vasseur approaching, a warm smile on his face. “Welcome back to Silverstone. How are you holding up?”

“It’s ... intense,” you admit. “But I’m glad to be here, supporting Lewis.”

Fred nods understandingly. “Well, you’ve got the whole team behind you. Anyone gives you trouble, they’ll have to answer to all of Ferrari.”

As you continue through the paddock, greeting team members and other drivers, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. Not just by the curious onlookers, but by someone ... familiar.

That’s when you see him. Standing near the VIP area, looking as regal and composed as ever, is your brother.

Your heart skips a beat. You haven’t seen Edward since that fateful day you ran away. Lewis, sensing your tension, follows your gaze.

“Is that ...” he asks quietly.

You nod, unable to find words. Lewis turns to Maria. “Can you make sure we have a private moment?”

Maria nods, already signaling to her team. Within moments, they’ve created a small bubble of privacy around you and Edward.

Edward approaches slowly, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you both just stand there, years of unspoken words hanging between you.

Then, to your surprise, Edward’s composure cracks. His eyes fill with tears as he pulls you into a tight embrace.

“Y/N,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you so much.”

You cling to him, your own tears falling freely. “Eddie ... I’m so sorry I left without saying goodbye. I just ... I couldn’t ...”

Edward pulls back, holding you at arm’s length. His eyes roam your face, as if memorizing every detail. “Don’t apologize. Not ever. What you did ... Y/N, I am so incredibly proud of you.”

His words catch you off guard. “Proud? But I abandoned the family, my duties ...”

Edward shakes his head firmly. “You chose love. You chose happiness. You did what I was too weak to do.”

You glance at Lewis, who’s standing a respectful distance away, giving you this moment with your brother. “Edward, this is Lewis. My soulmate.”

Edward extends his hand to Lewis. “It’s an honor to meet you, Lewis. Thank you for protecting my sister and giving her the happiness she deserves.”

Lewis shakes his hand, his expression sincere. “The honor is mine, Your Highness. Y/N is the bravest, most amazing person I know. I’m just lucky to be part of her life.”

Edward’s smile is tinged with sadness. “Please, call me Edward. And you’re right, she is amazing. Always has been.”

You look at your brother closely, noticing the lines of stress around his eyes, the slight slump in his shoulders. “Eddie ... how are you? Really?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s ... not easy. The family is in turmoil after your departure. Father is furious, Mother is heartbroken, and I’m ... well, I’m trying to hold it all together.”

“And Lily?” You ask softly, referring to Edward’s soulmate. “Have you heard from her?”

Edward’s expression clouds over. “No. Not since ... not since that day.”

You take your brother’s hand, squeezing it gently. “It’s not too late, you know. You could still reach out to her.”

Edward laughs bitterly. “And say what? ‘Sorry I let them burn off my soulmate mark and married someone else. Want to grab coffee?’”

Lewis steps forward, his voice gentle but firm. “With all due respect, Your High- Edward, it’s never too late. The bond between soulmates ... it’s not something that can be erased, no matter what’s done to the physical mark.”

Edward looks at Lewis, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “You really believe that?”

Lewis nods. “I do. Y/N and I found each other against all odds. Who’s to say you and Lily can’t do the same?”

You squeeze Edward’s hand again. “Eddie, you deserve to be happy. You deserve love. It’s not too late to choose yourself, to choose love.”

Edward looks torn, glancing around at the crowds, the cameras, the weight of expectation that’s always surrounded you both. “But the family ...”

“Will still be there,” you say softly. “But you’ll be facing them as your true self, with your soulmate by your side. It makes all the difference, trust me.”

Your brother is quiet for a long moment, clearly wrestling with years of ingrained duty and expectation. Finally, he looks up, a new determination in his eyes.

“You’re right,” he says, his voice growing stronger. “You’re absolutely right. I’ve spent too long living for everyone else. It’s time I lived for myself.”

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “Does this mean ...”

Edward nods, a mix of fear and excitement in his eyes. “I’m going to do it. I’m going to find Lily. I’m going to make things right.”

You throw your arms around your brother, hugging him tightly. “I’m so proud of you, Eddie. And I’ll be here for you, every step of the way.”

As you pull back, you see tears in Edward’s eyes, but also a lightness that you haven’t seen in years. “Thank you. For showing me that it’s possible to choose love. For being brave enough to pave the way.”

Lewis steps forward, placing a hand on Edward’s shoulder. “If you need any help — legal advice, security, anything — just say the word. You’re family now.”

Edward looks at Lewis gratefully. “Thank you. I might just take you up on that.”

Just then, Maria approaches discreetly. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to move. The press is getting restless.”

You nod, turning back to Edward. “Will you be okay?”

He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “I will be. For the first time in a long time, I think I really will be.”

As you prepare to part ways, Edward pulls you in for one last hug. “I love you, little sister. Thank you for reminding me what’s truly important.”

“I love you too, Eddie,” you whisper back. “Go find your happiness. You deserve it.”

With one last squeeze, Edward steps back. As he walks away, you see him pull out his phone, a look of determination on his face. You have a feeling you know exactly who he’s about to call.

Lewis wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “You okay, love?”

You nod, wiping away a stray tear. “More than okay. I feel ... hopeful. For Eddie, for us, for everything.”

As you make your way back through the paddock, you’re struck by how different everything feels. The stares don’t bother you as much, the whispers fade into background noise. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be, with the person you’re meant to be with.

“You know,” Lewis says as you reach the Ferrari garage, “I think I’m going to win this race.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smile playing on your lips. “Oh? And what makes you so sure?”

Lewis grins, pulling you close. “Because I’ve got my lucky charm by my side. How can I lose?”

You laugh, the sound light and free. “Well, in that case, you’d better not disappoint. I expect nothing less than a victory, Sir Hamilton.”

As Lewis leans in for a kiss, you’re vaguely aware of cameras flashing and people cheering. But none of that matters. What matters is this moment, this love, this life you’ve chosen.

You think back to a year ago, when you were terrified of finding your soulmate, of the consequences it would bring. Now, standing here at Silverstone, with Lewis by your side and the hope of your brother finding his own happiness, you realize that choosing love wasn’t just the brave choice.

It was the only choice.

As Lewis heads off to prepare for the race, you take your place in the garage. The roar of engines fills the air, and you feel a surge of excitement.

This is your life now. Supporting Lewis, championing love, and showing the world that sometimes, the greatest act of duty is being true to yourself.

As the race begins, you watch Lewis tear around the track, your heart swelling with pride and love. You may not wear a tiara anymore, but you’ve gained something far more precious — the freedom to love, to choose, to be yourself.

And as the chequered flag waves and Lewis crosses the finish line in first place, you know that this victory isn’t just his.

It’s yours. It’s Edward’s. It’s everyone who’s ever had the courage to choose love over duty, happiness over expectation.

As you rush to congratulate Lewis, wrapped in his arms as the crowd cheers, you know that this is just the beginning. There will be challenges ahead, obstacles to overcome. But with love by your side and the strength to be true to yourself, you’re ready to face whatever comes.

Because in the end, love always wins. And you? You’re living proof of that.

***

The warm Brazilian sun streams through the windows of the spacious beachfront home, filling the living room with a golden glow. The sound of children’s laughter mingles with the distant crash of waves, creating a symphony of domestic bliss.

You’re seated on the plush carpet, surrounded by an array of colorful toys. Your three-year-old daughter, Emilia, is busily stacking blocks, her little face scrunched in concentration. Across from you, Edward is attempting to wrangle his own two-year-old son, James, who seems more interested in knocking down Emilia’s creations than building his own.

“James, darling, let’s build our own tower, shall we?” Edward coaxes gently, redirecting his son’s attention.

You can’t help but smile at the scene. Five years ago, you never could have imagined this — you and Edward, raising your children together, free from the constraints of royal duty.

The sound of a door opening draws your attention. Lewis walks in, his arms full of grocery bags, closely followed by Lily.

“We come bearing snacks!” Lewis announces with a grin.

Emilia’s head snaps up at the sight of her favorite person. “Daddy!” She squeals, abandoning her blocks and running to Lewis.

Lewis sets down the bags just in time to scoop up his daughter, peppering her face with kisses. “Hello, my little racer. Have you been good for Mummy?”

Emilia nods enthusiastically. “I builded a big tower!”

“Built, sweetheart,” you correct gently, getting to your feet. “And it was a very impressive tower indeed.”

Lewis sets Emilia down and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in for a quick kiss. “And how’s my other favorite girl doing?”

You smile, leaning into his embrace. “Better now that you’re home. How was the market?”

“Busy,” Lily chimes in, setting down her own bags. “But we managed to get everything on the list, plus a few extras.”

Edward stands, hoisting James onto his hip. “Extras, you say? Let me guess — more of those brigadeiros that you’re definitely not addicted to, right, love?”

Lily’s cheeks flush slightly as she laughs. “I plead the fifth. This baby wants what it wants.”

Your eyes light up at the reminder. Lily is five months pregnant with their second child, and you’re all buzzing with excitement.

“Speaking of the baby,” you say, moving to help unpack the groceries, “have you two decided if you’re going to find out the gender?”

Edward and Lily exchange a look. “We’re still debating,” Edward admits. “Part of me wants to know, but there’s also something nice about the surprise.”

Lewis chuckles, joining you in the kitchen. “I remember that debate. Though if I recall correctly, someone couldn’t handle the suspense and made me call the doctor at two in the morning to find out.”

You playfully swat his arm. “Hey, you were just as curious as I was!”

As you all work together to put away the groceries and prepare snacks for the kids, you’re struck by how natural this all feels. The easy banter, the shared responsibilities, the love that permeates every interaction. It’s a far cry from the rigid formality of your royal upbringing.

“You know,” Edward says, as if reading your thoughts, “sometimes I still can’t believe this is our life now.”

You nod, understanding completely. “I know what you mean. It’s so different from what we always thought our futures would be.”

Lily comes up behind Edward, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Different, but better, right?”

Edward turns, pulling her close. “Infinitely better. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

As you watch your brother with his soulmate, you feel a wave of happiness and gratitude wash over you. It hadn’t been easy for Edward to follow in your footsteps, to give up his place in the line of succession and choose love over duty. But seeing him now, so relaxed and genuinely happy, you know it was worth every struggle.

“Earth to Y/N,” Lewis’ voice breaks through your reverie. “Where’d you go just now?”

You smile, shaking your head. “Just thinking about how far we’ve all come. How different things could have been.”

Lewis nods, understanding in his eyes. “Do you ever regret it? Giving up your title, your life in England?”

You don’t hesitate for a second. “Never. This life, with you, with our family — it’s more than I ever dreamed possible.”

A sudden crash from the living room interrupts the moment. You all rush in to find James standing triumphantly atop a mountain of scattered blocks, while Emilia looks on in horror.

“James Edward Henry Albert Windsor!” Lily exclaims, trying to sound stern but failing to hide her amusement. “What have we said about destroying other people’s creations?”

James, looking not at all repentant, grins widely. “I king of the castle!”

Edward struggles to keep a straight face as he lifts his son off the block mountain. “Yes, well, kings should be builders, not destroyers. Let’s clean this up and then we can all build a castle together, okay?”

As you all pitch in to help clean up the blocks, Emilia tugs on your sleeve. “Mummy, will James be a real king someday?”

The question catches you off guard. You exchange a look with Edward, unsure how to explain the complicated reality of your family’s situation.

Lewis kneels down next to Emilia, his voice gentle. “No, sweetheart. James won’t be a king and you won’t be a princess. But that’s okay, because you get to be something even better.”

Emilia’s eyes widen with curiosity. “What’s that, Daddy?”

Lewis smiles, pulling her into a hug. “You get to be yourself. You get to choose who you want to be and what you want to do with your life. And that’s much more special.”

You feel tears prick at your eyes, overwhelmed by the simple beauty of Lewis’ words. This is why you left, why you chose this life. So that your children could have the freedom you and Edward never had growing up.

As the afternoon wears on, you all migrate to the back patio. The kids play in the sand under the watchful eyes of their parents, while you, Lewis, Edward, and Lily relax on the comfortable outdoor furniture.

“So,” Lily says, her hand resting on her growing belly, “have you two given any thought to expanding your own family?”

You and Lewis share a knowing look. “Actually,” you say, unable to keep the excitement from your voice, “we’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”

Edward raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell, little sister.”

Lewis takes your hand, giving it a squeeze. “We’re thinking of adopting. There are so many children out there who need loving homes, and we have more than enough love to give.”

“That’s wonderful!” Lily exclaims, her eyes shining. “Oh, Emilia would love a little brother or sister.”

You nod, watching your daughter play. “We think so too. We’re just starting the process, but it feels right.”

Edward leans forward, his expression serious. “Have you thought about how this might affect things back in England? The press ...”

You sigh, having expected this question. “We have. And honestly, we’ve decided that it doesn’t matter what they think. This is our life, our family. We’re not going to let fear of judgment or outdated institutions dictate our choices anymore.”

Lewis nods in agreement. “We’ve already faced the worst they could throw at us. We came out stronger. Whatever comes next, we can handle it together.”

Edward’s serious expression melts into a proud smile. “You’re right, of course. I’m sorry, old habits die hard I suppose. I’m thrilled for you both, truly.”

As the conversation flows, touching on everything from potential names for Lily and Edward’s baby to Lewis’ upcoming ambassador campaign, you’re struck by how perfectly imperfect this life is. It’s messy and chaotic at times, full of unexpected challenges and joy in equal measure. But it’s real, and it’s yours.

The sun begins to set, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and pink. James and Emilia, tired from their day of play, curl up in their fathers’ laps. As you watch your brother gently stroke his son’s hair, you remember a conversation from years ago.

“Eddie,” you say softly, “do you remember what you told me the day they ... the day they burned off your soulmate mark?”

Edward looks up, his eyes clouding with the memory. “I told you that if you ever found your soulmate, you should run. Run far away and don’t look back.”

You nod, feeling Lewis’ arm tighten around you. “I’m so glad I took your advice. And I’m even more glad that you eventually followed it too.”

Edward smiles, looking down at James and then over at Lily. “So am I, Y/N. So am I.”

As the evening draws in, you all move inside. The kids are put to bed, their excited chatter about building sandcastles and racing cars fading into peaceful sleep. You, Lewis, Edward, and Lily settle in the living room, glasses of wine in hand (sparkling juice for Lily).

“A toast,” Lewis proposes, raising his glass. “To family, to love, and to the courage to choose our own path.”

“To freedom,” Edward adds, his eyes shining with emotion.

“To second chances,” Lily chimes in, her hand resting on her belly.

You raise your own glass, feeling a swell of emotion. “To us. All of us. And to the beautiful, chaotic, perfectly imperfect life we’ve built together.”

As you clink glasses, you catch Lewis’ eye. In that moment, you’re transported back to that day at Silverstone, when you first ran into each other. The fear, the excitement, the life-changing decision you made in an instant.

You wouldn’t change a thing.

As the night wears on and conversation flows freely, you realize that this — this warmth, this love, this freedom — this is what happily ever after really looks like. It’s not a fairy tale ending, but a beginning. A beginning of a life filled with love, choice, and the joy of being truly yourself.

And as you curl up in bed that night, Lewis’ arms around you and the sound of the ocean in the distance, you know that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Your family’s story is still being written. And you can’t wait to see what the next chapter brings.

2K notes · View notes

cumironi · 6 months ago

Text

SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS: GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

“suguru, help!” he sounds, pathetic. gojo satoru is a pathetic man when it comes to you. “ . . . there are so many kisses to have, soul and bone for you to crash and swear that how stars are born, so please. . ., believe me, you have to believe me,” he cries, holding your hands, begging for you to love him— love him enough to stay.

warning : age-up! satosugu, depressed! fem x reader, drug mention, trauma mention, suicide, self-harm, death mention, drowning, blood, heavy angst.

w/c : 6,2k | [☆] MASTERLIST

𝜗𝜚 . . . . i had to stop so often writing this because i can't stop crying and think that i shouldn't continue because it hurts me so bad that i have to take a cold shower and think about my life. and honestly, i wasn't supposed to write the last part but yeah..

A MINUTES AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

it was too quiet. . .

gojo satoru never screams so loud in his entire life, so loud. . . the world shaking beneath his feet, ready to swallow him whole and rotten. so loud . . . he sure he can no longer hear. he ran, slipping on his way until he broke his knee on the puddle of the red, transparent liquid that spill from the bath-up.

the starling sigh, you were there. . .

��no, no, no, baby— no.”

the water, tinged with a haunting crimson, surged and overflowed, cascading into the bathroom with relentless force. it climbed steadily up gojo's legs, as if the liquid itself sought to ensnare him, to drag him down into its suffocating embrace, or just. . . mock him.

a dark mockery that seemed to whisper that it alone held the power to drown him, to swallow your trembling breaths and the last echoes of your voice. it wasn’t him, or geto suguru who was to be your executioner, but the merciless water, eager to claim your final, stutter breath.

“i-i —sorry, i’m sorry..” you stammered.

your voice stammered between choke, barely a murmur beneath the frothy waves, struggled to be heard amidst the tumult. your eyes, devoid of warmth, reflected a chilling detachment. the coldness in your gaze was almost tangible, a stark contrast to the chaotic, drowning world around you.

“suguru, help!” he sounds, pathetic.

gojo, even on the verge of your death is still so gentle, as if he's afraid you are going to die than you already are. dropping on his knees as he tries to pull your warm bodies out of the bath-up.

gojo shook his head, a soft whisper escaping from his trembling lips, “shhh, it's alright baby, it's alright, you're alright,” his mumble, each word a fragile promise against the storm of his own emotions— words and voice shaking, his bones and soul shivering. his strong arm wraps around your body, pulling you closer to his chest, feeling everything, even as his flesh trembling.

tears cascaded from the corner of your eyes, tracing silken paths down your skin, while his embrace, though trembling, sought to cradle and calm you, a sanctuary against the turbulence of your anguish.

“suguru, please help!” again, this time he shouted.

geto runs upon hearing the horror howling, and his purple irises about to peel from his face and his lungs lose air— ragged gasps, as if each inhale were stolen from him. the scene before him struck with a painful clarity: you nestled within gojo’s embrace, your body wracked with distress.

foaming at the mouth, you appeared trapped in a tormenting grip of anguish, while the open scars on your wrist bled stories of suffering and desperation. in that moment, the sight was both heart-wrenching and surreal, a vivid tableau of fear and pain, painted across the canvas of his deepest fears.

“i'm sorry— i-i'm so sorry,” you whisper between choking gasps as geto kneels beside you and your body shaking. tears cascade uncontrollably, each dropping a shimmering testament to a sudden, overwhelming regret. it is as though a profound realization has swept over you, too late to mend the wounds that have been inflicted.

the regret feels like a bitter aftertaste of the sorrow you can no longer escape. the eyes of those around you, trembling with the weight of their own anguish, are bloodshot and haunting, mirroring the crimson that flows from your wrist. in that agonizing moment, the world feels irrevocably broken, and the fleeting desire to be alive seems like a distant, unreachable dream.

they burst from the bathroom, gojo's arms wrapped tightly around you as he dashes through the chaos. your lifeless feet and hands dangle, a heavy, haunting reminder of the blood seeping steadily onto the floor. each drop forms a macabre trail, like the relentless shadow of death that clings to you, a grim companion refusing to let go.

the crimson stains splatter and pool in your wake, an anguished testament to the finality that now seems inevitable— each red stain on the ground is a haunting reminder, a stark declaration. as they run, the blood's mournful descent weaves a sorrowful narrative of moments slipping away, each drop a poignant echo of what might have been, a stark and unyielding declaration that time has run out, that it is too late.

and suddenly, everything feels like a slow motion.

6 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

the doctor spoke with a grave tone, his words laced with concern. “it appears,” he began, looking at gojo who's just sitting there with his eyes focusing on the floor, meanwhile geto standing beside him. “that she intentionally tried to overdose. we've had to act swiftly to pump the substances from her body, working to counteract the severe effects of her actions.”

geto's hand gently gripping on gojo's shoulder as they listen. his expression was one of solemn seriousness, reflecting the urgency and gravity of the situation. “we've done everything we can to stabilize her, but it's crucial that you two understand the seriousness of what she has done. this was a life-threatening situation, and we're only beginning to address the underlying issues that led to this crisis.”

the doctor continued, his voice carrying a mix of relief and concern. “fortunately, the cut on her wrist wasn't too deep,” he said, his eyes scanning the notes before them. “it seems that the severity of the injury was somewhat mitigated by her weakened state from the drugs. if she had been stronger, the outcome might have been different.”

his tone softened, acknowledging the fragile balance between the danger of the overdose and the mitigating effects of your physical condition. “we've managed to address the immediate threats, but it's crucial to understand that this is a serious wake-up call. we need to work on her recovery and the emotional struggles that led to this moment.”

if she had been stronger, the outcome might have been different,’ the words echoed repeatedly, hauntingly through the air, like a broken record stuck on a painful refrain. once, twice, three times, they reverberated through their minds, each repetition a stark reminder of how close they came to losing you, how dangerously close the edge of despair was.

even the notion of ‘almost’ carried a weight too immense to bear, a heavy presence that pressed down on their hearts. the silence that followed was thick with unspoken guilt and anguish; none of them could find the words to bridge the chasm of their shared grief. they avoided each other's gaze, unable to escape the silent blame that hung heavy between them, a suffocating testament to their collective sense of failure.

gojo stared at his hands through the thin veil of his blindfold, his fingers trembling as they traced the dried blood staining his pale skin. the sight of it was a brutal reminder of you. with a strained effort, he clenched his hands tightly, hoping to meld the dried blood with his own, as if to erase the haunting evidence of what had transpired— his last hope trying to be with you.

each breath felt like a desperate gasp, a small gap forming between his lips as he struggled to draw in air. the sensation of suffocation gripped him, a relentless pressure squeezing his chest, making each inhale a battle. despite his efforts, the air seemed insufficient, leaving him feeling as though he were on the precipice of life, teetering on the brink of an abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

geto felt an overwhelming tide of guilt and anguish, a heavy weight pressing down on his heart. the scene that unfolded before him replayed in his mind like a relentless, agonizing loop, hunting him down like he is some kind of a fucking prey. he was haunted by the sight of your suffering, the image of your blood-streaked hands and the anguished cries that pierced the air. each moment of his own reflection, seeing the remnants of your blood on his skin and his white shirt, deepened his torment.

the sense of responsibility gnawed at him, a constant reminder of how close he came to losing you. he felt suffocated by a profound sorrow and helplessness, as if the very air around him was too thick, leaving him gasping for breath— like the death itself pointing its ugly fucking finger to his face and laugh at him, at them.

what a fucking pathetic man’ the death must be said.

the weight of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders, and the silence between him and his companions only amplified his inner turmoil. the unspoken blame and the aching realization that he couldn't undo what had happened created a chasm of despair within him, making each moment feel like an eternity of unbearable remorse.

both of them are buried in profound sea of grief, guilt, shame because a thousand moments with you that they take for granted— shame, for thinking, assume that there would be a thousand more. is it too selfish to be here?’ they thought.

that curse must be laughing at them, the higher-ups, everyone— pointing their finger from all directions. look at them, ’ they thought, those two who called themselves the strongest can even save a single soul,’ again they must be laughing, let alone a soul who is to be called the love of their life.

but nobody knows, none, not even a single soul that, oh, how your presence evokes such selflessness in them— even amid their silent, tormented reflections. they are consumed by an incessant questioning of the selfishness of their own sorrow, wondering if it is wrong to cling to their grief while you teeter on the precipice of loss.

the haunting thought persists, a cruel reminder of time's fragile nature and the profound depth of their remorse. in their heartache, they are acutely aware of the contrast between their own suffering and the delicate balance of your existence, each moment of their anguish a poignant testament to the sorrow they feel for having taken so much for granted.

is it okay to feel sad? ’ they thought.

even the very sensation of sadness and grief feels like an indulgence they do not deserve. i can't even protect her, what rights do i fucking deserve to be sad?’ they thought. to them, these emotions seem an opulent luxury, an extravagant gift they are not entitled to. in their hearts, the depth of their sorrow feels almost excessive, a poignant reminder of how their suffering pales in comparison to the magnitude of the almost loss they face.

each wave of grief feels like a grand, unwelcome opulence, an unjust reward for the pain they have caused and the moments they have squandered. the luxury of their sadness seems a cruel irony, a stark contrast to the profound emptiness of the reality they must now confront.

people passing by in front of them, throwing them a glance or two. seeing their red eyes and tears-stain cheeks, blood in their hands, in shirts, in pants, in their soul, laid bare. everyone wants to give them both a pat on the back, telling them that they are good at handling grief; howling, crying, and blaming each other. that's the proper way to handle grief.

18 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

your hands are warm, a stark contrast to the pallor of your pink lips, which have lost their vibrant hue, your eyes open still so retain their gentle softness, a quiet testament to the grace you still hold.

as you lie upon the hospital bed, draped in the drab, floral-patterned gown that clings to you, it feels woefully inadequate. the gown, mundane and worn, seems too insipid and shabby to encompass your beauty, too faded and forlorn.

“i'm sorry. . .” you mumble.

you can’t bring yourself to look at them as they sit beside your bed, their eyes red and swollen from sleepless nights, their uniforms crumpled and disheveled, their hair falling in untamed disarray. their faces have lost their vibrant hue, a stark contrast to their usual vitality.

gojo satoru’s once-brilliant blue eyes, which used to shimmer with an unyielding light, now seem dull and lifeless, even when the golden sunlight spills over them. the sunlight, which once might have enhanced the beauty of his gaze with its warm orange tones, now only serves to highlight the emptiness that has replaced his once-sparkling eyes— it's dull, it's dull, it is fucking dull.

geto suguru's strikingly handsome face is graced with a smile, tender and achingly gentle, as though he is pouring all his effort into offering you a sliver of solace. his lips tremble with a subtle quiver, betraying the deep sadness that lingers beneath his calm exterior. his once-vibrant purple irises have dimmed, their former brilliance faded to a shadow of their former selves.

you fear that they might darken further, losing their hue altogether, slipping into a void of despair where even color seems to vanish. the sight of his sorrowful eyes, so devoid of their usual spark, reflects a profound sadness that pierces the heart, a silent testament to the emotional toll of the moment.

oh, what i have done. . .’ you thought.

“don't, please don't,” gojo pleads, his voice trembling as he clasps your unharmed hand with a desperate grip. his blindfold has been removed, revealing eyes that are filled with raw, unfiltered emotion as he gazes at you. beside him, geto's hand rests gently at the back of your head, his touch tender and soothing. he caresses your hair with a featherlight motion, his thumb brushing softly over your scalp.

“we are so sorry for taking you for granted,” he murmurs, the words heavy with regret and sorrow. “we are sorry for offering you only a lukewarm love, when you deserved a love that was fierce and all-consuming, a love that burned brightly and fiercely. i'm sorry,” his voice wavers, each word an echo of their deep remorse, as they both grapple with the weight of their unspoken apologies and the profound realization of what they failed to give you.

they do not seek to question why your soul bleeds, nor do they dare to unravel the dark tapestry of your pain. the blood, flowing with a steady, silent, and disturbingly deliberate pace, engulfs you in its relentless embrace. it seeps into every corner of your being, a somber tide that threatens to consume you entirely.

they find themselves unable to confront this harrowing reality, their hearts too burdened to bear the weight of such a painful inquiry. the sight of your suffering leaves them paralyzed, unable to utter the questions that linger in their minds, as they grapple with the profound helplessness of watching you slowly succumb to the encroaching shadows.

“i love you, baby,” gojo whispers, “i'm sorry that you're in so much pain so to think death is the only salvation,” he stopped for a second, cocooning your hand with his large one before resting his cheek against. “i'm sorry i didn't notice your rage for the world and too busy loving you. does my love scare you, love? that's why you decided to leave, hm?” his voice shaking, lips quivering.

“if you are angry, stab me a little so you can feel better, make it hurt, i don't care. a little suffering would be worth it if it's by your hands, by your pretty little hands,” he murmured against your skin, his breath a warm whisper that sent shivers across your body. each word was a soft plea, wrapped in a tone that trembled with both desperation and tenderness.

his trembling lips pressed gently against your hand, each kissing a fleeting starburst of warmth against your cool skin. him— no they, stood ready to endure your pain, inviting you to inflict upon them the hurt you felt.

they stand poised to let you sink your teeth into them, to delve into their very flesh. to let you open them up, laid bare and vulnerable, just to offer you a chance to heal. just so they can love you a little too much, starving even— like a flesh begging to be knitting together over a wound. ruin me, ruin us, and we will let you.

“i love you, i love you, i love you,” he gave you stars in each between. they fucking love you like a rotten dog. “believe me when i said this. . . there are so many kisses to have, soul and bone for you to crash and swear that how stars are born, so please. . ., believe me, you have to believe me,” he cries, holding your hands, begging for you to love him— love him enough to stay, “we love you.”

he finally said we’ geto thought.

at first glance, people might assume that geto suguru’s love for you surpasses that of gojo satoru, that his love is somehow greater. yet, the truth remains that it has always been gojo satoru who harbors the most profound and boundless love for you from the very beginning. his love is vast, immense, and utterly astonishing, stretching beyond the horizons of understanding.

gojo’s devotion is a vast expanse, a love so deep and wide that it seems to defy the very limits of emotion. even geto suguru, who himself is capable of immense love, finds himself awestruck and somewhat intimidated by the sheer magnitude of gojo’s feelings. no one can truly grasp the depth of gojo’s love—not even gojo himself—such is the overwhelming, almost incomprehensible nature of his heart’s boundless devotion to you.

and sometimes it scares the shit out of geto.

but maybe, just maybe, they have a little too much love for you more than for each other, even more than for themselves— as if you make a space in their ribs, and call it home country.

30 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

geto stirred from a restless sleep, his head resting gently against your hospital bed, nestled close to your side. as he slowly opened his eyes, he was met with the soft, gentle sight of you gazing at him, a faint, tender smile gracing your lips. the serene moment, bathed in the quiet of the hospital room, brought a flicker of warmth to his weary heart, a small but profound comfort amid the lingering shadows of their shared sorrow.

“hey sunshine,” geto whispered in a hoarse croak, reaching a hand to brush your hair away from your face, “how long have you been awake?”

“long enough to notice the dark circles under your eyes and the tear stains on your cheeks,” you replied softly, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek, your thumb tenderly caressing the worn skin. geto hummed, his hand capturing yours and guiding your palm to his lips, where he planted a gentle kiss.

the touch of your skin was like a salve, soothing the ache in his weary soul. he chuckled weakly. his eyes were tired and his skin pale, but your touch made him feel alive. “you’re too observant for your own good,” he teased, his lips curving into a weary smile.

geto shifted in his chair, wincing slightly as his body protested the movement. he settled into a more comfortable position, still holding your hand in his, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your knuckles.

he studied your face, taking in every detail, from the delicate flutter of your eyelashes to the subtle flush in your cheeks. the sight of you, even in this vulnerable state, filled his heart with a mixture of tenderness and protectiveness.

“how are you feeling?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, his gaze fixed on your face. he knew it was a question he had asked before, but he couldn’t help himself. he needed to hear you speak, hear your voice, just to reassure himself that you were still with him.

“like shit,” you answer.

your hand is still gently cupping his cheek, thumb running low across his skin in a loving manner. at your blunt response, geto's lip curled into a soft smile. even in your weakened state, you still had a defiant spark.

he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as he savored the sensation. “i thought we agreed no profanity,” he teased, his voice laced with affectionate humor, opening his eyes to meet your gaze. he turned his head slightly, his lips brushing against the palm of your hand in a tender kiss.

“you’ve always been a bad influence on me,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and ticklish. he chuckled softly, his eyes softening as he studied your face.

he took a moment to compose his words, his expression growing serious. “there was a moment,” he began, his voice a hoarse whisper, “a moment when i thought i lost you.”

your smile faltered, and your eyes softened with concern as you listened to the gravity in his voice. you reached up to gently touch his cheek again, your thumb brushing away the remnants of his sadness.

“i’m here now,” you whispered, your voice steady but filled with warmth. “you haven’t lost me.” you looked deeply into his eyes, trying to convey with your gaze the depth of your presence and the promise of your unwavering support. “and i’m not going anywhere,” you added softly, hoping to soothe the lingering fear in his heart.

his hand covers yours, holding it against his cheek as he closes his eyes, relishing in your soothing touch. for a moment, he just allows himself to bask in your presence, letting the warmth and comfort wash over him.

“i was afraid i wouldn’t get to hear you say that,” he murmured, his voice growing thicker with emotion. he opened his eyes, the raw vulnerability in his gaze bared to you, his heart laid bare.

your heart ached at the sight of his vulnerability. you gently squeezed his hand, your voice trembling with sincerity as you spoke. “i’m so sorry,” you said softly, your eyes filled with compassion.

geto’s thumb traced gentle, small circles on the back of your hand. “you have nothing to apologize for,” he assured you, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “it was my responsibility to keep you safe, and i failed.”

the guilt and regret in his voice were palpable, the weight of his self-imposed responsibility clear. he lowered his gaze, wrestling with emotions that were etched deeply into every line of his weary face.

he lifted your hand from his cheek, bringing it to his lips and pressing a lingering kiss against your knuckles, his gaze never leaving yours. “i just need you to know how much you mean to me,” he added, his voice cracking slightly. his grip on your hand tightened, as if he was holding onto you for dear life.

geto’s lips continued to brush against your knuckles as he spoke, soft and gentle. his eyes held yours captive, the depth of his affection bared for you to see.

“you are my everything,” he confessed, his voice hoarse with the weight of his honesty. “the thought of losing you, of living in a world where you don’t exist…” he trailed off, a pained expression crossing his features. he was torn between the love that engulfed his heart and the fear that threatened to consume him.

geto drew in a shaky breath, composing himself as best he could. he lifted his gaze from your hand, meeting your eyes once again. his expression held a mixture of love and devotion, but also a hint of desperation.

“i need you to know that no matter what, i will do everything in my power to protect you,” he vowed, his voice steady despite the turbulent emotions raging within him. “not just because it’s my duty, but because i love you more than i thought it was possible to love someone.”

you met his gaze with a warm, reassuring smile, the depth of your gratitude shining through. “thank you,” you said softly, your voice imbued with genuine appreciation. your smile was a reflection of the profound comfort and reassurance you felt, a silent promise to stand together through whatever lay ahead.

geto’s eyes softened at your smile, a flicker of relief passing over his weary face. he squeezed your hand gently, his touch both appreciative and protective.

he studied your face for a moment, his gaze lingering on each contour, each freckle and line, as if to further commit them to memory. “don’t scare me like that again,” he murmured, mostly in jest, but with an underlying current of seriousness.

gojo entered the room, his expression a mix of relief and lingering concern as he carried a bag of your belongings. upon seeing the tender moment between you and geto, his eyes softened, though they carried a hint of the exhaustion and worry that had shadowed him. he set the bag down and approached, took a sit at the edge on the other side of your bed, his voice catching slightly as he spoke.

“don’t scare me like that again too,” he said, his tone gentle but tinged with the weight of his emotions. his gaze met yours with a blend of earnestness and relief. “i know suguru’s been holding on tight, but i’ve been right here, too. seeing you like this... it’s been hard on all of us. please, don't leave us.” his words were a heartfelt plea, an echo of the concern and love he carried for you, a testament to the depth of his feelings and the strength of his devotion.

geto’s grip on your hand tightened momentarily at the sound of gojo’s voice, his eyes darting towards his best friend. he could hear the exhaustion and worry that laced gojo’s words and knew all-too-well the weight of the responsibility they shared.

he turned his gaze back to you, his expression a mix of worry and relief. his thumb resumed its gentle, soothing circles on the back of your hand. “yeah,” he said in agreement, his voice gruff with emotion. “please, don’t scare us like that again.”

gojo’s presence brought with it a sense of familiarity, a comfort that was both grounding and reassuring. he reached out and placed a gentle hand on your arm, his touch a silent expression of his affection and concern.

he studied your face, his eyes tracing every contour, every line, as if to commit the sight to memory. “how are you feeling?” he asked, his voice softer now, though still tinged with worry. “i wanna say like shit but suguru said no profanity,” you puff a little chuckle.

geto gives a little scoff at your comment, his expression laced with a mixture of annoyance and affection. he rolls his eyes playfully and mutters, “you’re such a bad influence.”

gojo’s lips curled into a small smirk before he turned his gaze back to you, the lines around his eyes creasing with a mix of amusement and relief. “can’t have you talking like that,” he teased, his words light but carrying a hint of genuine concern.

gojo studying your face carefully before speaking ever so softly, “well, apart from the obviously crappy mood geto’s been in, you look good. your color is better.” he noticed a faint crimson crushed on your cheeks, a little pink on your lips.

he reached his hand out to smooth a strand of hair away from your forehead, his touch light and tender. his gaze wandered from your face to where geto still held your hand, his eyes reflecting a subtle hint of appreciation.

geto watched gojo's gentle touch, his grip on your hand unconsciously tightening a little bit in response. his expression was a mixture of protectiveness and vulnerability, his eyes betraying the fear and worry that still tugged at his heart.

he took the moment to observe the soft interplay of emotions between you and gojo, the easy familiarity and the deep bond that existed between you all. he could sense the weight of gojo's concern as he studied your face, the care and attention in his touch.

gojo's voice was soft as he continued, his gaze still fixed on your face. “so, how are you feeling, for real?” he asked, his tone a gentle echo of geto's earlier question. “any pain? any discomfort?”

geto looked at you, his eyes silently pleading for you to be honest. he was hanging off your every word, each response a small insight into your well-being.

you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their concern pressing down on you. meeting gojo’s gentle gaze and then turning to geto’s silent plea, you spoke with a mixture of remorse and honesty. “i’m sorry,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “i’m sorry for how i handled things. i know i should have talked to you both, but i didn’t—i tried to take matters into my own hands without thinking it through first.”

your eyes reflected a deep sense of shame and regret as you continued. “i actually feel like absolute shit right now, and i’m ashamed of myself for thinking i could find a quick solution without considering the impact it would have on you both.” you looked at them, hoping your words conveyed the depth of your remorse and the sincerity of your apology, wanting them to understand that your actions were not a reflection of your feelings for them, but rather a moment of misguided desperation.

gojo's expression softened with understanding, his eyes filled with compassion. he knew the weight of your words, the regret and shame that clung to them. he reached his hand back to your arm, his touch gentle and reassuring.

geto's gaze was a mix of surprise and relief as he processed your apology. his hand around yours tightened slightly, his thumb tracing reassuring circles on your skin. “it's okay,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “we all have moments of weakness. what matters is that you're here, safe and alive.”

you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you at their responses, their understanding and compassion a balm to your wounded spirit. “thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “thank you for not being angry with me and for not questioning me right away. i know i made a terrible mistake, and i’m grateful you’re here, supporting me instead of condemning me.”

geto's grip on your hand tightened slightly, his eyes filled with a complex mixture of emotions— relief, love, and a hint of lingering fear. he shook his head gently, a reassuring smile on his lips.

gojo chuckled softly, his eyes filled with a mixture of compassion and playfulness. “we can save the anger and lecturing for when you’re not looking so terrible,” he joked, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “and trust me, baby, i had a lot of choice colorful words for you when the right time comes,” he lean in to kiss your forehead, “but right now, we just trying to be here for you.”

geto nodded in agreement, his grip on your hand still tight. he couldn’t help but roll his eyes a bit at gojo's playfulness, but there was a hint of fondness beneath the feigned annoyance.

he leaned in, reaching out with his other hand to gently brush a strand of hair off your forehead. “you are a stubborn, reckless, and stubborn pain in the ass,” he scolded lightly, his tone a soft but affectionate mix.

gojo chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners with humor. he settled himself closer, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. “he's right, you know,” he chimed in, his smile wide. “you're very good at pushing our buttons and getting under our skin.”

geto's lips curled into a small smile, his expression a mixture of feigned anger and affection. “and you're even better at making us worry,” he added, his tone light but underlined with the gravity of their concern. “but we care about you more than anything,” he added, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “so you better not do something like that again, you hear me?” his voice held a hint of authority, but mostly it was filled with love and concern.

geto's smile grew a bit wider, his eyes crinkling endearingly at the corners. “yeah,” he said, his voice firm. “you better listen. we don’t need anymore of these near-death experiences from you.”

gojo chimed in enthusiastically, leaning in a bit closer. “yeah, cause let me tell you, i can’t handle any more gray hairs than i already have.”

geto's grip on your hand tightened again, his expression a mix of sternness and vulnerability. he looked at you intently, his gaze locking with yours. “he's right,” he echoed, his voice firm but filled with warmth and care. “no more reckless decisions. no more putting yourself in danger. you hear us, my love?”

gojo nodded in agreement, his expression serious but eyes softened with concern. he added, “yeah, we can't keep having our hearts in our throats like this. it's not good for our health, you know.” geto's hand caressed your arm gently, a silent plea for your understanding. “we just want you safe and sound. that’s all we ask.”

a hint of vulnerability flashed across geto's face, his expression betraying the weight of his words. he locked eyes with you, his gaze filled with a mixture of pleading and sincerity.

“we just want to know that you're safe,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “that you're not recklessly endangering yourself anymore.”

gojo leaned in closer, his hand resting on your arm lightly. “we can't bear the thought of something happening to you again,” he chimed in, his tone carrying an undercurrent of worry.

they continued to exchange tender words and earnest pleas, their voices overlapping in a chorus of concern and affection. each spoke fervently about their love and the lengths they would go to ensure your safety and happiness. their words, though filled with their own fears and frustrations, were underscored by a deep, unwavering care for you.

as you watched them, a soft smile touched your lips. their earnest devotion, their refusal to let you face this alone, filled you with a profound sense of comfort and gratitude. you could see their love in every gesture and hear it in every word, and it warmed your heart. despite the gravity of the situation, their caring presence made you feel cherished and supported, giving you strength even in the midst of your own turmoil.

after a few moments of their heartfelt declarations, the room fell into a short silence, the weight of their words lingering in the air.

gojo ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of nervous energy. “and just so you know, suguru here basically took a week off work to sit by your bedside like a damn watchdog, he even almost made the rainbow dragon eat gakuganji because that fucker won't let him leave.” geto, caught off guard by the sudden revelation, flushed faintly and shot a glare at gojo.

geto, taken aback, shot a sharp look at gojo before retort, “you clearly about to hollow purple the higher-ups and the entire school because they won't let you stay here with her.” gojo's expression darkened for a moment, “you know i would do it in a heartbeat, if i could.” geto's grip on your hand tightened, his gaze still fixed on gojo. “i know you would. and i'd be right there with you.”

gojo and geto turned their attention back to you when they heard your soft chuckling, their expressions a mix of relief and amusement at hearing you laugh.

gojo chuckled as well, “you find that funny, huh?” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. geto rolled his eyes a bit, but his own smile betrayed his true feelings. he couldn't stay serious when you laughed. “just the thought of us going rogue and taking down the entire school system for you is amusing, i guess,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm.

you hummed in satisfaction, “they are shit anyway.” a gentle smile lingering on your pale lips.

gojo chuckled warmly, his eyes sparkling at your comment. “ah, and there’s that signature wit of yours coming back.”

geto, still feigning annoyance but struggling to hide a grin, shook his head slightly. “still as blunt and unfiltered as ever,” he said, his eyes soft.

you glances at both of them, the comforting silence lingering between you, and with a tender smile, you mouthed softly, “i love you.” your cheeks flushed a delicate crimson beneath your pale complexion as you kissed their cheek.

gojo and geto exchanged a brief glance at your sweet words and soft kisses, their hearts swelling with warmth and love. gojo's hand reached out to stroke your hair, his touch gentle and loving. “we love you too,” he said softly.

geto's smile widened as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “always,” he breathed, his voice filled with tenderness.

the thought of you coming back to them is warm.

TAGLIST :

@junni-berry @fortunatelyfurrygiver @soraya-daydreams @diorzs @dancing--devils @iloveboysinred @bounie1 @nina3871 @ohnotheusernameisbroken

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vunblr · 1 month ago

Text

Toy Soldier (part 2)

Bit by bit, torn apart. We never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. Smut. Dark content: Sexual Assault Wounds(Bucky) tried to make it as vague as possible but, there are mentioned. Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Canon-Typical Violence.

Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

Word Count: 5.5.k.

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“You were there, Hydra.”

Her nails dug into the counter, “…It’s not what you think.”

“What I think,” he said in a low, reflexive voice, “is that you fixed me. Over and over when-”

Her grip on the counter tightened, whitening her knuckles. She didn’t turn to face him. “Prolonged your misery, you mean,” she replied, sharp and bitterly.

The silence in response was almost worse than an argument. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her back. When he finally spoke, his tone was softer, but no less piercing.

“That’s not what I meant.”

She let out a harsh laugh. “Isn’t it? For decades, every time they dragged you back in pieces, I was the one who made sure they could send you out again. If I hadn’t-” Her voice cracked, the words catching in her throat as the guilt she’d buried for years rising like bile in her throat.

“You didn’t have a choice,” he said, stepping closer.

“I could’ve let you die,” she snapped, finally spinning around to face him. Her eyes were burning, her fists clenched at her sides. “I should’ve let you die. It would’ve been kinder than sending you back to... to them.”

His expression didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, pain, perhaps, or understanding. “You think I don’t know that, didn’t think about that?”.

She looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “What do you want from me, Bucky?”

He was silent for a long moment before answering. “I don’t want anything from you. I just...” He paused, exhaling slowly. “I remember you. And I know you didn’t want to be there any more than I did.”

She shook her head, her throat tight. “That doesn’t make it right.”

“No,” he agreed. “But it means you’re not the one I blame.”

She froze, the knife slipping from her fingers and clattering onto the floor. The sound echoed in the small kitchen, but she barely heard it. Never -not once- had it occurred to her that he wouldn’t resent her. If their positions had been reversed, she would have.

“You don’t?” she asked, with a trembling voice.

He took another step closer. “You apologized. Over and over. You cried. You...” His voice caught for a moment before he continued. “You comforted me when they weren’t looking, even if I was just a dull shell sprawled on a table. You talked.”

Her knees buckled slightly, and she braced herself against the counter, her other hand flying to her mouth as the tears started to fall. She tried to hold them back, but it was useless.

“You talked,” he repeated, softer this time, his voice thick with something she couldn’t name. “And it mattered. Even if I couldn’t respond, even if it seemed like I wasn’t there... I heard you.”

She sobbed behind her hand, the weight of years of guilt and anguish crashing down on her all at once. The memories of those moments -whispered apologies, fleeting touches meant to comfort, the tears she’d tried to hide- rose like a tidal wave. She had done everything she could, and it had never felt like enough.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her words muffled. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize anymore,” he reassured her, firmly, but gentle.

She shook her head, unable to stop the tears streaming down her face. “I thought… I thought you’d hate me.”

“I don’t,” He stepped closer until there was barely any space between them. “I never did.”

Her shoulders shook as she let out another sob, her hand still pressed to her mouth. She didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know how to process the weight of his forgiveness.

For the first time in years, she allowed herself to fully cry, not holding back the storm that had been brewing inside her for so long. And as she stood there, crumbling in the small kitchen, she felt the faintest touch of his hand on her shoulder.

She looked up, and her tear-streaked face met his gaze. His eyes were brighter than she’d ever seen them, shimmering with unshed tears he didn’t try to hide.

“Fuck,” she muttered, her voice trembling. She wiped at her face with a shaky hand, a bitter laugh escaping her. “Sorry for making it about me, when you got the worst-”

Before she could finish, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him in a firm, grounding hug.

“Stop apologizing, doll,” he interrupted, his voice was low and rough, filled with insistence. “Just stop.”

She froze in his arms, her breath hitching as the weight of his words and his presence settled over her. Slowly, her hands came up to grip the back of his henley, curling her fingers tightly into the fabric.

“I didn’t know it mattered,” she whispered against his chest, her voice cracking. “I didn’t think anything I did matter if I kept completing the cycle fixing their toy soldier.”

His hand rested lightly on the back of her head, his other arm tightening around her as if to shield her from the weight of it all. “It mattered,” he said firmly. “You there mattered.”

She clung to him, her whole body trembling as years of guilt and fear poured out of her. He didn’t let go, didn’t say another word, just held her until the storm passed.

----

By the time Sam returned, the pot was bubbling gently on the stove, and Bucky was quietly setting up the table, like the most normal thing in the world. He quirked a brow at the unexpected domestic scene but chose not to comment, unwilling to disturb the fragile equilibrium hanging in the air.

“Smells good in here,” he said instead, dropping his jacket onto the back of a chair and sniffing the air. Then turn to her. “See? I knew you’d come through.”

She managed a faint smile as she ladled the stew into bowls, trying to shake off the lingering emotion clinging to her like a second skin. Bucky remained silent, carefully placing utensils in neat lines beside each plate, his usual brooding energy somehow... softer.

As they sat down and began eating the food, Sam’s eyes lit up at the sight of the perfectly prepared meal. “Damn, this is next level. You sure you’re not secretly an old lady in disguise? My mom and Titi used to season like this-”

The words hit her like a slap, and the lump in her throat turned literal before she could stop it. She choked on the bite of a potato, coughing violently as her body reacted to both the physical mishap and the emotional jolt.

Sam’s grin dropped instantly as he jumped up, alarmed. “Whoa, hey! You good?”

Her eyes watered as she waved a hand, her coughs harsh and uncontrollable. She fumbled for her glass of water, but Bucky was already at her side before she could grab it.

“Relax,” he said calmly, his metal hand pressing gently between her shoulder blades while his other grabbed the glass. “Breathe. Small sips.”

She obeyed, taking slow gulps of water as the coughing subsided. Her face burned, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the physical strain or the comment still ringing in her ears.

“Damn,” Sam muttered, sitting back down with a relieved sigh. “You trying to scare the hell out of me over a compliment?”

She forced a shaky laugh. “Sorry. Guess it went down wrong.”

Sam grinned again, trying to lighten the mood. “I mean, I know my compliments are overwhelming, but choking on a tender potato? That’s next-level.”

She managed another weak chuckle, but her mind was elsewhere. She’d been twenty-five years old in 1962 when Hydra abducted her and stole her life away. If he only knew, the reason why her cooking felt like something out of another time wasn’t just a quirky personality trait, but a way of doing things in her time…

“Careful next time,” Bucky’s voice cut her internal rambling, letting his hand linger briefly on her back before he returned to his seat.

“Well, whatever you’re doing, keep it up,” Sam said with a grin, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath her calm facade. “I’m eating like it’s Sunday dinner at my momma’s place.”

She smiled faintly, stirring her stew with her spoon. “Maybe I’m just an old soul,” she said, carefully measuring the words.

Across the table, Bucky’s sharp gaze seemed to catch every nuance of her reaction. She didn’t look at him, but she could feel his understanding, a weight that lingered long after the moment ended.

----- As they cleared the table, the conversation shifted to the mission. “So, the plan’s straightforward,” Sam said, stacking plates by the sink. “We hit the warehouse. You…” he nodded toward her, “go to the bar, try to blend in, and see what you can get out of one of those drunken idiots. Maybe someone slips up about the serum.”

She nodded, drying her hands with a dish towel. “I’ll keep my ears open. A place like that? Someone’s bound to get loose-lipped after a few drinks.”

Bucky didn’t look convinced. He leaned against the counter, crossed his arms, and fixed his sharp blue eyes on her. “Are you sure you’ll be alright there?”

She quirked a brow, tossing the towel aside. “It’s not the first time I’ve done this,” she said dryly.

“You can’t heal yourself,” he said bluntly, his voice lower now as if trying to keep it between them. “What if-”

“What?” Sam’s voice cut in, sharp with surprise. His gaze darted between the two of them. “Heal yourself? What’s he talking about?”

She froze, caught off guard by Bucky’s slip. Her mouth opened, but no words came. After a beat, she sighed and looked at Sam sheepishly. “I... yeah,” she admitted. “I can’t heal myself. That’s why the higher-ups usually want me in safehouses or doing recon in relatively low-risk places. It’s not exactly something they let me disclose freely.”

Sam blinked, clearly trying to process the information. “And you’re just now telling me this?”

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” she said quickly. “It wasn’t my call. It’s classified. I didn’t want to keep it from you, but... orders are orders.”

Sam’s frown deepened, and his gaze flickered to Bucky, narrowing slightly. “And how do you know?”

Bucky froze for a beat. He glanced at her, then back at Sam, clearly caught off guard. “I... just assumed,” he said carefully. “If she’s only doing recon, makes sense she wouldn’t be sent anywhere dangerous if she couldn’t heal herself.”

Sam raised a skeptical brow, crossing his arms. “Assumed, huh?”

She stepped in quickly, “It’s not that complicated, Sam. It’s just... safer for everyone if I’m not put in situations where I’d be a liability. That’s why they don’t send me into direct combat. Bucky probably figured it out because, you know, it’s kind of obvious when someone isn’t charging into the middle of fights, also, you’ve seen my pathetic attempts at hand-to-hand combat.”

Sam frowned, still not entirely convinced, but he sighed, shaking his head. “Alright. But next time, this kind of thing? I’d appreciate a heads-up.”

“I understand,” she said quietly.

Sam exhaled heavily and turned toward the gear he’d set on the table. “Like I said, no risks. Get in, listen, and get out.”

She nodded, glancing at Bucky, who was still standing stiffly by the counter. His face was unreadable, but his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary before he turned away.

-----

She stepped out of the bedroom wearing a black dress with a low neckline drawing attention to her bosom. It was elegant but provocative, the kind of dress that would make her blend into the bar’s crowd effortlessly, or stand out, depending on who was looking.

Bucky, seated on the couch inspecting his gear, glanced up as she entered the room. His eyes flickered over her for the briefest moment before darting back to the weapon in his hands, subtly clenching his jaw.

She didn’t notice. She was too busy fumbling with her disposable cellphone, the small device looking awkward and out of place in her hands. “Damn things,” she muttered, sweeping her fingers over the screen in frustration. “They’re always different, changing icons and options every time. I just want to be able to call someone, is that too much to ask?”

Sam looked up from packing his bag and snorted. “You sound like my Titi trying to figure out a smartphone for the first time.”

She shot him a look, half annoyed, half amused. “I’m not that bad. These things are just... unnecessarily complicated.”

Sam crossed the room, taking the phone from her hands with a grin. “Let me guess, you miss flip phones? Or, wait, rotary phones?”

She rolled her eyes. “Ha, ha. Very funny.”

“Here,” Sam said, handing the phone back after a few quick swipes. “It’s ready. Just hit the green button if you need to call.”

She rolled her eyes, slipping the phone into her small clutch. “Thanks, genius. I’ll be sure to call if I get stuck in a tech crisis mid-mission.”

Sam winked. “Appreciate that. Wouldn’t want to miss the entertainment.”

From the corner of the room, Bucky’s voice cut through their banter, low and direct. “You sure you’ll be okay in there?”

She turned to him, raising a brow. “It’s not the first time I’ve done this.”

His gaze lingered on her, sharp and assessing. “So? That doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous.”

“I know what I’m doing,” she said evenly, grabbing a flimsy shawl. “You two just focus on your part, and I’ll handle mine.”

Bucky couldn’t shake the nagging pull in his chest that demanded him to protect her. He knew it wasn’t rational, but the feeling refused to be ignored.

When he was nothing but a shell of a man, a puppet incapable of action or defiance, he’d been forced to sit there, motionless, every time a handler punished her. For not fixing him fast enough. For suggesting they let him rest. For surreptitiously passing him a morsel of bread so the hunger gnawing at his stomach from the tissue’s abnormal regeneration wouldn’t make him gag, which would result in a beating for displaying disgusting behaviors. Every time, he’d been powerless, silent in the passenger’s seat of his own mind.

Every slap, every strike with the iron rod, every vicious yank at her hair, every disgusting lecherous touch, he had watched it all through a fog of helpless rage. He’d remained outwardly impassive, Hydra’s loyal pet, incapable of defying orders, no matter how much the feelings burned behind his frozen stare.

But now, being his own man, the thought of her walking into danger felt unbearable. It was wrong. It was twisted. He had the primal and sharp impulse to guard her, to tear apart anyone who dared lay a hand on her again.

It unsettled him, the realization that some part of Soldat’s instincts lingered, ingrained in the marrow of his mind. Protect the one who matters. Eliminate the threats. It was as if those reflexes had twisted themselves into something more human, more his.

He glanced at her as she adjusted the flimsy shawl around her shoulders in an almost dismissive manner. “Just be careful,” he said gruffly.

Her gaze softened briefly. “I will, Bucky. I promise.”

It wasn’t enough to soothe him, not entirely, but he nodded, forcing himself to step back.

Sam clapped his hands together, trying to pump up the mood. “Alright, team, let’s move. The sooner we split up, the sooner we shut this thing down.”

As they all filed out, Bucky lingered for a moment, trailing his eyes after her retreating figure.

----

She stepped out of the cab, and the cold night air nipped at her skin as she adjusted the loose folds of her dress. The bar stood like a beacon of bad decisions, its flickering neon sign buzzing faintly, casting a sickly green glow over the cracked pavement.

Taking a breath, she slipped her disposable phone into her clutch and smoothed her shawl over her shoulders. She strode toward the entrance, each click of her heels a reminder to stay in character.

Inside, the air was heavy with smoke, cheap cologne, and the faint tang of spilled liquor. The sticky floor clung to the soles of her shoes with every step, and she resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose. Her eyes swept the room, taking in the dim lighting, shadowed corners, and the usual mix of dubious characters.

Her gaze landed on a heavyset man sitting near the bar, a whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other. His tailored suit and gold watch were a sharp contrast to the dingy surroundings. Target acquired.

She approached slowly, sliding onto a stool a few seats away, ordering a drink, letting her body language convey disinterest as she let her gaze wander.

Her clutch buzzed softly. Pulling out her phone with practiced subtlety, she glanced at the screen.

Warehouse was empty. It’s a trap. Be careful.

She swallowed hard, forcing her expression to remain neutral as she slipped the phone back into her clutch.. Taking a slow sip of her drink, she steadied herself. She had to play this right. Calm, poised, unshaken.

Sliding one seat closer to her mark, she leaned slightly on the bar, letting her voice carry just enough to catch his attention. “Looks like you’re having a better night than most.”

The man glanced at her, his eyes narrowing briefly before a slow grin spread across his face. “Better now,” he rumbled, staring at her cleavage without concealment.

She smiled faintly, twirling the glass in her hand as though she didn’t notice his leer. “Mind if I join you? It’s been one of those days.”

He chuckled, nodding toward the stool beside him. “Sure, sweetheart. Misery loves company, right?”

She slipped onto the seat, careful to keep her posture inviting but not overt. “Misery, huh? What’s weighing on you big guy?”

He took a long drag from his cigar, exhaling a cloud of smoke that curled between them. “Work. Always work.”

“Rough day at the office?” she asked lightly, tilting her head in mock curiosity.

The man smirked but suddenly paused, his gaze flicking past her shoulder. His posture stiffened. “Friend of yours?”

Slowly, she turned her head just enough to catch a glimpse of the doorway.

Bucky.

He stood there, tall and unmoving, his broad shoulders casting a shadow against the dim light. His expression was hard, unrelenting, his blue eyes fixed on them like a predator zeroing in on prey. He wasn’t even trying to blend in, his murderous gaze did not attempt subtlety.

“I don’t know the creep,” she said quickly, turning back with a faint laugh. Her hand tightened around the stem of her glass. “Why?”

The man didn’t answer. His hand drifted toward the waistband of his pants, where the outline of a gun was visible. Her pulse spiked, but before she could move, Bucky was already in motion.

In the blink of an eye, he crossed the room, gripping the man’s wrist and slamming it against the bar with a sickening crack. The gun clattered to the floor, and chaos erupted.

Chairs toppled, patrons shouted, and in the confusion, she was shoved back. She stumbled but recovered quickly, grabbing the discarded gun as Bucky took on the man’s lackeys with brutal precision.

“Go!” Bucky barked, his voice cutting through the commotion as he stepped in front of her, shielding her from a bottle hurled across the room.

“I can handle mys-”

Before she could finish, Bucky moved like a bolt of lightning. His vibranium hand shot out, gripping the collar of the armed bartender who had drawn on them. With one swift motion, he slammed the towering man into the wall, leaving him crumpled and unconscious on the floor.

Before she could fully process the scene, he turned to her, gripping her arm firm enough to leave no room for argument, and hauled her toward the bar counter.

“Stay down,” he growled, low and commanding, before shoving her behind it with a force that wasn’t meant to hurt but demanded compliance.

She stumbled, and her hands and knees landed on the sticky floor. A sharp tug at her dress made her wince, probably it had snagged on the metal edge of a dispenser.

“Are you serious?!” she hissed, her face burning as she scrambled trying to get her hands out of the disgusting floor.

Bucky didn’t respond. His attention had already snapped back to the chaos erupting in the room, his body was a blur of calculated precision and brute force. She peeked over the edge of the counter, watching as he disarmed one thug after another, his vibranium arm glinting under the bar’s dim lights as it connected with the offenders, while his human hand delivered equally punishing blows. Each move was efficient and terrifyingly effective.

A chair shattered against his back, but he didn’t even flinch, spinning to deliver a devastating blow to the attacker’s ribs. She winced as the man hit the ground with a groan.

Her irritation at being sidelined simmered beneath the surface, but she couldn’t deny the effectiveness of his approach. The bar was nearly empty now, the smarter patrons having fled while Bucky ruthlessly dismantled the remaining threats.

As the last thug hit the ground, Bucky turned toward her, his chest rising and falling as his gaze locked onto her. “Clear,” he said gruffly, walking toward the counter and extending a hand to help her up.

She hesitated for a split second before accepting, letting her smaller hand to be engulfed in his. As he pulled her to her feet, she muttered, “You didn’t have to throw me like a sack of potatoes.” brushing herself off with a pout.

“You were in the line of fire,” he shot back with a clipped tone.

“I was handling-” she started, but her words caught in her throat as she shifted on her feet and felt an unexpected chill against her skin.

Her hand flew to her rear, patting frantically. Her stomach sank when her fingers met air where there should have been fabric. “Oh, great,” she muttered, her voice tinged with rising embarrassment.

Bucky’s brows knit together as his eyes followed her movements, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “Are you hurt?”

“Just my pride,” she grumbled, “and my wallet, thank you very much. I’m still paying for this dress.”

Ignoring his faint smirk, she glanced around, desperately searching for something to cover herself. Her hands tugged at the torn fabric, but it was no use.

Bucky tilted his head as if reading her mind. “You can worry about it later. Right now, we need to move before backup shows.”

“Oh, because a woman walking down the street with her thong showing through a hole in her dress is very inconspicuous,” she shot back, sarcasm dripping from every word.

His eyes flicked down at the mention of the word thong. Briefly, instinctively. A barely perceptible shift in his expression. She caught it anyway, heat blooming in her cheeks.

“Really?” she snapped, her voice low and mortified. “If you’re done looking, maybe you could grab that guy’s jacket?” She jabbed a finger at the unconscious bartender slumped against the wall.

Bucky blinked, muttering something under his breath before stalking over. He yanked the jacket free and returned with an unreadable expression as he handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, quickly tying it around her waist.

“Let’s go,” he said curtly, already heading for the door.

They slipped out into the cold night, weaving through narrow streets. The uneven cobblestones beneath her heels made each step precarious, and she cursed under her breath about her “stupid dress” and “even stupider shoes.”

When her heel caught on a loose stone, she stumbled. Before she could hit the ground, his hands were supporting her.

Her palms instinctively pressed against his chest for balance, and his body heat contrasted deeply against the chill of the night. “Careful,” he muttered, softer this time, though no less gruff.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, ready to pull away when she registered something sticky and warm under her palm that shouldn’t be there. She froze, glancing down at her hand. Her stomach twisted as she saw it smeared with blood.

“What-” she began.

“It’s nothing,” he cut her off, already stepping forward. “Keep walking.”

Her feet stayed rooted in place, and she narrowed her eyes as she watched him stride ahead as though nothing had happened. Frustration and concern bubbled inside her until she clenched her jaw and grabbed his metal hand, stopping him in his tracks. “Bucky, stop,” she said firmly.

He glanced back at her, with a hard expression. “We don’t have time for this. We need to keep moving.”

She stepped closer, refusing to let go of his hand. “You’re not the Soldat anymore,” she said firmly, locking her eyes on his. “There’s not an only comply rule between us. You don’t get to brush this off like it doesn’t matter.”

His jaw worked as his gaze flickered away from hers. “I said it’s nothing,” he muttered.

She sighed. “After so many years rearranging your body parts like some kind of twisted puzzle... I just can’t.”

His brows knit. Can’t what?”

“I can’t ignore it,” she said firmly, tightening her hand around his. “I know you probably can handle it. Whatever you’ve got under there, I know it’s not enough to take you down. I’ve seen what you can survive -what you can handle- before you collapse.”

His expression hardened, but he didn’t pull his hand away from hers.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s alright,” she continued. “Just because you can take it, doesn’t mean you should.”

For a moment, the only sound between them was the distant hum of street noise and the faint rustle of leaves in the alley.

“We are exposed here,” he muttered, almost defensive, darting his eyes to their surroundings.

“Don’t,” she said, cutting him off sharply. Her tone made him pause. “Don’t brush it off like it doesn’t matter. Like you don’t matter.”

His gaze snapped back to her, startled at the firmness in her tone. It looked as if he might argue for a second, but the fight in his eyes faded.

“Let’s at least get to the bike,” he finally conceded.

She nodded reluctantly, releasing his hand. “Fine. But this conversation isn’t over.”

They continued walking, and when they reached the motorcycle, she stepped in front of him before he could mount it, crossing her arms with a resolute expression.

“Now,” she said, leaving no room for argument. “Sit down. Let me see it.”

His shoulders slumped slightly as he sat on the bike. She bent forward a little, quirking a brow at him expectantly, resting her hands on her hips. The silent command was clear: Lift your shirt.

He sighed, reluctant but resigned, and rolled up his black shirt to reveal three stab wounds on his side. Blood trickled sluggishly from each one, staining his skin and the waistband of his pants.

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head.

“As I said before, it’s nothing,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words this time.

“And I told you it’s not nothing,” she replied, her voice softening as she knelt beside him. “Because you’re not nothing.”

He stilled at her words, dropping his gaze to her hands as she reached out. Firm but careful, she pressed her palm gently against the first wound and closed her eyes. As she concentrated, a faint warmth spread beneath her hand, infusing her healing powers into his torn flesh.

The room -or rather, the alley- seemed to fall silent, the chaos of their escape melting away as her power worked its way through his body. He felt the pain ebb, the searing burn of the wound cooling into a dull ache before disappearing entirely.

Her brow furrowed as she moved to the second wound, her free hand steadying herself on his knee. “You need to stop doing this to yourself,” she murmured, her tone more an observation than a reprimand.

“Occupational hazard,” he said quietly, though his voice lacked its usual sarcasm.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his briefly. “Doesn’t mean it’s okay.” The soft warmth spread as the torn flesh knitted itself back together under her touch. She hesitated for a moment, furrowing her brow in thought.

“It’s different... healing you,” she said softly, almost to herself.

Bucky’s expression became curious. “Different how?”

She shifted her palm against the wound. “It’s the serum. It’s like... it siphons my powers like it’s trying to cope with the faster regeneration.”

His brows knitted together. “Drains you? What, like it takes more out of you than it normally should?”

She nodded. “I have to concentrate a lot more when it’s you. It’s not like with normal people, your body doesn’t just accept the healing. It’s like it demands more to work properly.”

Bucky’s expression darkened. “So every time they threw me half-dead on the table for you to fix me…”

Her hands stilled for a moment against his skin, the glow flickering faintly before she steadied herself and continued. “It drained me, yeah,” she admitted. “More than I ever let them see.”

Bucky’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Did it hurt? Does it... now?”

Her movements slowed, and she looked up at him with a gentleness that made his chest tighten. “No, honey,” she said softly, the endearment slipping out like second nature. “It doesn’t hurt. I just get more tired. That’s all.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but he nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line as she moved her hand to the final wound. He watched her intently, unable to ignore the tenderness in her expression or the way her touch seemed to carry a weight beyond physical care.

“This one’s deep,” she murmured, frowning slightly. “Let me concentrate.”

“Alright,” he said gruffly.

She closed her eyes, as the warmth of her powers flowed into his skin. He exhaled slowly, and his body instinctively relaxed again under her touch. The pain ebbed away, but as it did, something else surfaced. A strange, aching melancholy that he hadn’t expected.

It was twisted, so twisted, and he knew it. But decades as the Soldat, the asset with the fried brain, conditioned him to associate her hands with the only semblance of comfort he’d ever known. Her powers healed the damage done to his body, but it was more than that. It was the way her fingers lingered just long enough to soothe, the way she whispered soft reassurances when no one else was listening. She had tried to mend him in ways that had nothing to do with torn flesh or broken bones, and in the endless cycle of missions, pain, and cryo, her care had been the closest thing to kindness he could grasp in his empty existence.

And now, even with his own mind, that feeling lingered, rooted somewhere.

“Bucky?” Her voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. She was watching him, brows knitted in concern. “You okay?”

He blinked, and his throat tightened as he struggled to find the words. “Yeah. I’m fine,” he finally said, though his voice sounded rougher, even to him.

She tilted her head, scanning his features. Clearly, she didn’t believe him but chose not to push. Instead, she focused on healing the wound, letting her hand linger after the glow faded, as if reluctant to break the connection.

“There,” she said softly, sitting back on her heels. “Good as new.”

He nodded, rolling his shirt down and avoiding her gaze. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” she said, standing and brushing off her hands. “Just... don’t make a habit of getting stabbed, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a faint smirk, though it quickly faded as he noticed the exhaustion etched into her face.

As she climbed onto the bike behind him, she hesitated, hovering her hands uncertainly over his waist. “Hey,” she murmured. “Do you mind if I lean against your back while you drive?” She paused, almost shyly. “This whole ordeal... it made me a little sleepy.”

The pang of guilt hit him like a slap. Hydra had drained her for years, forced her to heal him over and over without care for the toll it took on her. They had treated her as nothing more than a tool to keep their weapon functioning.

And now, here they were again. Different circumstances, same pattern.

He tightened his grip on the handlebars, glancing back over his shoulder. “Go ahead,” he replied, forcing a lighter tone. “I’m not afraid of losing my modesty.”

Her lips quirked in a faint, grateful smile, that made his chest ache in a way he didn’t fully understand. She shifted closer, wrapping her arms loosely around his waist as she rested her head against his broad back. “Thanks,” she murmured.

“Don’t mention it,” he said quietly, kicking the bike into gear.

As he sped toward the safehouse, he drove more carefully than usual, steering away from every bump and sharp turn, mindful of the precious weight against his back.

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ReaderTag: @sunshinedayz19 @winterstar1917

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky hurt/comfort #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader

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thewitchandtheassassin · 4 months ago

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Life, Death, and the Space in Between Part One (Agatha Harkness x Reader x Rio Vidal)

Summary: Bound together by power and fate, you and Rio are undeniably tied, but Agatha Harkness was something unexpected - yet in the end...

Words: 1664

Warnings: Canon deaths, AAA, uh... language, child birth kinda? Angsty? I dunno, there's things.

A/N: A retake and partial redo of AAA (in the sense of "what if"). This is gonna be a... four part series? I think?

-X-

Cries of pain echoed throughout the trees as Agatha stumbled towards the water, body finding purchase against the trunk of a tree as another contraction washed over her. Everything ached, but she didn’t care. All she had worked for was so close. She just needed a little more strength and her child would be tucked into her arms, a beacon of her love.

She hardly noticed the unnatural silence that befell the forest, the wind dying into nothing more than an occasional puff of air. All she could see was- feel, hear - was the sound of her own heartbeat.

Glancing up as another cramp hit, she caught sight of two familiar figures lingering near. The beating of her heart quickened, so overwhelmed at the prospect of you both being there to meet your son, but the identical expressions you wore sent her heart plummeting.

He is not mine, you conveyed to Rio regretfully, tears prickling the corner of your eyes.

Life and Death stood, watching critically over the mortal who’d stolen their hearts. While bound together forever in a way no one would ever understand or be capable of recreating, you had both found the tiny piece you were missing within Agatha. You’d found a middle ground.

Death took a step forward.

Life took two steps back.

“It cannot be,” Agatha breathed, inching away from the green witch as she neared.

You could feel Rio’s heart cracking, felt the anguish and guilt rushing over her.

“It must be,” she replied gently.

“You do this and I will hate you forever,” Agatha spat fearfully, glancing between you. “Both of you.”

A sob clawed its way up your throat, suffocating and vile. This was the hardest moment you’d ever been summoned to.

“Please let him live!” Agatha cried. “Please, my loves. Don’t take him from me.”

Pleas began falling like tears, and your entire being called out to you. Begged you to rush to her side. To heal your son.

Rio’s eyes drifted closed for a moment before a dark stare met Agatha. You could see the parts of Rio warring. Her nature and her love clashing together in a battle, both reaching out to Agatha before being yanked back.

“I can offer only time.”

She peered at you. Save him.

Your feet moved before you could fully comprehend what was happening. Your knees hit the dirt in front of Agatha, warm light shining from your hands as they touched her swollen belly.

Looking over your shoulder at Rio, you watched the veil that separated you from mortals swirl around her.

Tell him of me, she begged, tears streaming down her cheeks in rivets.

All the time, my love, you vowed.

Attention returning to Agatha, you smiled up at her faintly. “Let’s bring our boy into the world, shall we?”

-X-

Years passed. Years of joining your love to decide the fate of a life. Years of watching your little boy grow, watching him become sick, watching him grow frail and tired…

Watching your lover kill in hopes of distracting your other lover. Watching her use your son to do it but never allowing Rio too close. Watching Agatha grow colder. Meaner. Deadlier.

As life comes and goes, you were often pulled away from Nicholas, helping the other piece of your soul collect and distribute life and death as needed. But for the times you were with him, watching him blossom and shrink, you never let him forget about the woman who offered him time.

As you stepped through the trees, veil falling away into your human form, you watched the beautiful smile break across Nicky’s face before he was bounding into your arms, clinging to you like a lifeline.

“Mother! You are back!” he beamed up at you, his thin arms gripping you as tight as he could. It was devastating to see the sickness ravaging him, knowing you could do nothing to change it.

“Hello, my littlest love,” you cooed, carding your fingers through his long hair before peering over his head at Agatha. “And my tall love.”

“If you are here, will I see Mami tonight in my dreams?” Nicky whispered into your ear, shrieking happily as you lifted him, tossing him over your shoulder and holding him tightly as his little feet kicked.

“Maybe.”

Agatha rolled her eyes affectionately as you pressed a kiss to her cheek, Nicky thrown playfully over your shoulder and squealing as you swung him about. She was surprised to see you return so soon, and her heart thumped painfully as she thought to Rio.

As the afternoon progressed into night, Nicky regaled you with tales of their exploits. Your heart ached, knowing the reasons behind Agatha’s choices but refusing to discourage your son from telling his vivid stories. You were so… angry with Agatha, for doing this to him, but in another life, maybe you would’ve done the same.

After he was tucked onto a small pallet, blanket right around his frail form, you joined Agatha at the edge of the water. Staring out into the darkness, you spoke softly, “This has bid you some time but you know this cannot stop the inevitable, my love.”

Bristling, Agatha turned to walk away, unwilling to hear your truths, but a steady hand caught her.

“You need to hear me, Agatha. She has given all she can. She has fought the universe to keep him here; avoided her own son so that Death would not call him home yet. But we cannot keep him here. He is not meant to be here, yet we let him walk and talk and be here with you. And you still hate her for the time she has allowed me to give him. Without her, he never would have taken his first breath. You need to unbury your head from the sands and accept we cannot change fate anymore than we have.”

Eyes flaring purple with fury, Agatha shoved you but you did not waver. “You are essentially gods! Yet one child unravels the cosmos? Fate? He is my son and you want to let her take him from me!”

“He is our son,” you corrected sharply. “He is her son. As much as he is mine or yours. She made him as we did. She does not get to watch him grow as we did. Hold him. Love him. Because she wanted to grant you time with him and yet you spit in her face!”

Staring into the reddened face of your lover, you softened slightly. “She loves Nicholas. I love Nicholas. And we love you. Gods know we do not wish to hurt you. But he is sick. His body is tired. You know there is only one way.”

“If you cannot understand why I do what I must to keep him here, maybe you should leave,” Agatha whispered, eyes filling with anger and tears. “I will do whatever I can to save him.”

Bowing your head, you tugged her into a tight embrace, pressing your lips to the crown of her head as she cried silently against your chest. It was raw and painful and you knew this was the last time you would see her for a very long time.

By the time she wandered back to camp, you were gone.

-X-

The shadows of night surrounded you as you and Rio approached the campsite one night, hand in hand. Her eerie green torch illuminated the path, her true form hidden beneath a familiar guise.

“I don’t want to scare him,” she had mumbled, cheek resting against your shoulder as time ticked down.

The heavy fall winds dragged Nicholas from his slumber and he slowly sat upright, eyes landing upon the eerie light. His eyes brightened before dimming, realization crashing into his chest. He peered down, watching his body remain as he stood.

Rio gestured for him to kiss his mother and he obeyed, whispering, “I love you,” before meeting you and Rio at the forest edge.

She cupped his cheek sweetly, thumb soothing on his paling flesh. “It’s time, love.”

“I am afraid,” he admitted shyly, wide eyes flickering between you as if ashamed of the admittance.

Crouching down, both of your hands found his lithe shoulders and squeezed reassuringly, letting light and warmth pour from you. “We will be with you every step, darling. I swear it.”

He peered over at Agatha, eyes shimmering in the green light. “I do not fear dying, but I do not want Mama to be alone. She is going to be so lonely.”

Your chest seized painfully.

“Our sweet, wonderful boy,” you breathed, peeking up at your partner, who stared at Nicky adoringly. “I promise, we will not be far from her, even if she cannot see us. Even if she is angry. She is etched into our bones and we will not stray far.”

“I will miss her,” he murmured, “But I will see her again one day?”

“Yes, sweetheart, and someday, we shall be a family again. A complete family.” Looking at Rio, you smiled sadly and cupped her face with your free hand. “One day, we shall never be apart again.”

“A complete family,” Nicholas repeated with a smile, peering up at Rio. “With Mami this time.”

Carefully making your way to the bridge, shadows and light swirled around as you passed through the veil and Nicholas was brought into the embrace of his mother’s domain. You were not ignorant to the pain that would overtake Agatha when the sun rose above the horizon, so once Nicholas found the space crafted especially for him, you returned to the mortal plane and stood above the resting witch.

Stooping down, you patiently maneuvered Nicholas’ mortal body in Agatha’s arms, tucking his blanket tight around him before pressing a butterfly soft kiss to Agatha’s temple.

“I am sorry, my love,” you muttered, pecking her temple again before disappearing with the morning light, soul aching as her wails crested the treetops.

#agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness x reader #rio vidal imagine #rio vidal x reader #reader insert #agatha all along #reader imagine #mcu imagine #marvel imagine #agatha harkness #reader

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gingerteafairy · 1 month ago

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𝑬𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑪𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 (𝑭𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

"Selfish, profane, or sinful—what does it matter? This passion consumes me, and I welcome it. She has my heart entirely, and she may do with it as she pleases. Haunt me if that is her wish. I ask only to feel her presence."

tags n warnings: smut, obsession, ghost sex, heavy angst, vampire, cursing, death, blood, devotion, praise kink, fingering, oral, piv. word count: 5k

@ikkyfics thank you for making me post this and not hiding it on my virtual shelf, you deserve the world <3 masterlist

Friedrich Harding’s anguished cries tore through the air, echoing across the desolate countryside. The sound was primal, raw—a lament that seemed to pierce even the heavens. Strong hands gripped his arms, restraining him as he thrashed against them, desperate to reach the coffin that housed his beloved wife. His wife. The one who had once been his anchor in a chaotic world. But those who truly knew Friedrich understood a deeper truth—his devotion to her paled in comparison to his adoration for you. For you, he had defied every societal expectation, every unwritten rule. Now, his world lay shattered before him.

Despite the lingering fear of the plague that had claimed her, he yearned to hold her one last time, to press her lifeless form against his chest and plead for the impossible.

“Friedrich, stop this madness!” Sievers barked, his voice tinged with both command and desperation as he struggled to contain the grieving man. Harding’s fists swung wildly, his face twisted in despair. The crowd watched in stunned silence, their expressions a mixture of pity and disdain. Mothers shielded their children’s eyes from the spectacle, while fathers stood grim-faced, their silence betraying their discomfort. Children whispered questions to their parents, too young to grasp the depth of the tragedy unfolding before them.

“Release me! I command you to release me!” Friedrich roared, his voice a storm of grief, his blue eyes brimming with tears that fell freely down his face.

“Friedrich, enough!” Hutter pleaded, his grip tightening as he tried to restrain his friend. “This will not bring her back! You must—”

“No!” Harding’s voice cracked as he wrenched free from their grasp, his tear-streaked face contorted in anguish as he turned to Thomas. “She was everything, Thomas! Everything I had. God help me, what am I to do now? What is left of me? Damnation! Damnation upon this cruel fate!”

He collapsed to the ground, his body trembling as he crawled toward the coffin, his shaking hands reaching for the cold wood that separated him from her. But Thomas intervened, pulling him back into a firm embrace.

“Friedrich,” Thomas murmured, his voice soft yet insistent, “you must find strength. Look at me. Look at me.”

Thomas cupped Friedrich’s face, his hands rough and calloused, yet gentle as they held the face of a man utterly undone. The dark hollows under Harding’s eyes spoke of sleepless nights, of relentless grief that gnawed at his very soul.

“I can’t, Thomas,” Friedrich whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. “She was my life. How can I go on living when my heart is buried with her?”

“Friedrich,” Sievers began, stepping forward cautiously, “I did not know your wife well, but I am certain she would have wanted you to find happiness again. Life does not end here. One day, you may find love again—”

The doctor’s words were cut short by a vicious punch that sent him stumbling backward. In a flash, Friedrich was upon him, gripping his collar with a ferocity that belied his weakened state.

“Curse you, Sievers,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his voice trembling with fury. “How dare you speak of love to a man who no longer has a heart? Insolent doctor! You know nothing of my torment.”

Thomas and the others rushed forward, pulling Friedrich away as he sagged against them, his strength finally failing. His body, ravaged by exhaustion and starvation, could fight no longer.

By the time they returned to his estate, Friedrich was a shadow of himself. He sat in silence, his eyes empty, his face devoid of the fire that had once animated it. He stared into the void as though nothing in the world could reach him now. Even if the earth had split open before him, he would not have flinched. He was a man as dead as his wife, his soul entombed alongside hers.

"Promise me you'll be well," Thomas pleaded as he stepped down from the carriage, his voice wavering as he struggled to maintain his composure. His eyes, heavy with worry, searched his friend’s hollowed face. "Promise me you'll eat, care for yourself. Do not fade away, Friedrich."

Harding did not respond. He merely turned, shoulders hunched beneath the weight of his grief, and walked toward the door of his home. There was only one solace left to him—the fragile hope of seeing you in his dreams. To escape into a world where you were still alive: radiant, healthy, untouched by the horrors of the plague. There, you would be free, unburdened by the cruel fate that had stolen you away.

Later, cradling a glass of brandy in trembling hands, Friedrich lay upon his bed. The liquor did little to dull the sharp edges of his sorrow. His body shook with silent sobs as he closed his eyes, desperate to summon even the faintest memory of you—your touch, your voice, a fleeting whisper of your essence.

A scream tore through the silence.

He woke with a jolt, his sweat-soaked hair clinging to his brow, his breath hitching in panic. The room spun around him, and then he saw you.

You stood beside the bed, bathed in pale moonlight that streamed through the window. The white gown he had chosen for your burial clung to your form, pristine and ethereal. You were unblemished, untouched by disease, impossibly beautiful—more luminous than you had ever been in life. To him, you were divine, a vision too perfect to be real.

For a moment, he was paralyzed. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Fear and longing warred within him. If he moved, if he dared to reach for you, would you vanish? Was this some cruel trick of his shattered mind?

"My heart," you whispered, the words ghosting across the room.

Before he could react, you faded into the shadows, dissolving into the night as though you had never been there.

Friedrich collapsed onto the mattress, his body wracked with uncontrollable tremors. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as a guttural, muffled scream tore from his throat, buried into the pillow to escape the ears of the empty house. The pain was unbearable, clawing at his soul, leaving him raw and broken.

The next morning, he awoke to frantic knocking at the door. The sun was high, its rays spilling harshly through the curtains, though it brought no warmth to the bleakness inside him. Disheveled and barely able to stand, Friedrich stumbled toward the door.

Thomas stood there, his face pale and drawn, his eyes wide with dread.

"Friedrich. This is... it’s terrible," Thomas choked out, his voice trembling as his fingers combed through his disordered hair.

"What has happened, Thomas?" Friedrich demanded, though his voice was hoarse and distant, his mind still clouded by the haunting vision of you.

"Sievers," Thomas whispered, his hand instinctively covering his mouth as if to trap the horrifying words before they could escape.

"What about Sievers? Speak plainly!" Friedrich snapped, irritation flaring as the ache in his head throbbed from the brandy. "Thomas, what is it?"

Thomas hesitated, his voice low and filled with a grim finality. "Sievers is dead. He was found this morning... his chest torn open. His heart—" Thomas paused, his voice cracking. "His heart was removed."

The words struck Friedrich like a physical blow. He stumbled back, collapsing into the armchair behind him. His hands trembled as he pressed them to his temples. Memories of the night before flooded his mind, your whisper echoing like a ghostly refrain.

“My heart.”

It couldn’t be real. It was madness, surely. Yet the coincidence was too stark, too chilling to dismiss. His thoughts spiraled. Could it have been you? No. Impossible. And yet... Sievers had spoken of finding another, dared to suggest that love could replace the irreplaceable. Perhaps this was divine retribution—or something darker.

"Friedrich! Friedrich!" Thomas’s urgent voice pulled him from his reverie. The friend’s hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him gently as if to rouse him from the stupor.

Friedrich’s eyes cleared, a strange light igniting within them. He rose abruptly, pacing with a frenetic energy that had been absent for days.

"Call Von Franz," he muttered, his voice low but commanding.

"What?" Thomas blinked, taken aback by the unexpected request.

"Von Franz," Friedrich repeated, his tone sharper, almost desperate. "Summon him at once. That lunatic priest may know something—or I may be mad to even consider it. But summon him, Thomas!"

Without waiting for a reply, Friedrich strode toward his room, his steps hurried and unsteady. He needed to prepare. If there was even the faintest chance that Von Franz held the answers to this nightmare, Friedrich would face him. Hatred or no, he would endure anything to uncover the truth.

He stared at himself in the mirror, his hollow eyes scanning the face that no longer felt like his own. With deliberate precision, he splashed cold water on his face, the droplets clinging to his skin as if they could wash away his torment. A smile curled on his lips, unnatural, strained—then erupted into a jagged, manic laugh. His reflection in the mirror mocked him, a fractured visage of sanity, twisted by grief.

"Ah, my love," he murmured, his voice trembling as his fingers brushed the surface of the mirror, tracing a line over his own reflection. "You change me, even in death." His hand fell to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his coat as though he could rip his own heart out. "My heart… It belongs to you, always."

With newfound resolve, Friedrich shed his clothes, stepping into a bath as if it were a sacred rite. The water lapped at his skin, cleansing not only his body but the remnants of his despair. He emerged renewed, obsessed, his every movement deliberate as he trimmed his beard and dressed himself in his finest attire. His appearance was immaculate, a mirror of the man he had been on his wedding day.

When Von Franz arrived at the residence, the pastor, startled by Friedrich’s transformation, dropped his glass of wine. The shards scattered across the floor, but Von Franz’s gaze remained fixed on the man before him, his face pale as though he were staring at a ghost.

"By night, I sought him whom my soul loves," the pastor recited, his voice trembling with unease. "I sought him, but I found him not. I will rise now and go about the city, in the streets and in the squares; I will seek him whom my soul loves. I sought him, but I found him not."

The verses fell from Von Franz’s lips as if they were a prophecy, words carried by something beyond him. Friedrich stood still, each syllable piercing him like a dagger, his jaw tightening as the pastor's voice resonated deep within his chest.

"I must tell you something," Friedrich began, his voice low, commanding the attention of both Von Franz and Thomas. They moved cautiously toward the table where candles flickered, casting restless shadows in the dimly lit room. The once-bustling household was eerily quiet, the absence of servants amplifying the oppressive atmosphere.

Von Franz broke the silence, his voice a mix of awe and warning. "Your devotion echoes through eternity, Herr Friedrich." He studied the man before him, a shadow of the grieving figure from the day before, now alight with a dangerous fervor. "But it is selfish."

"Let it be," Friedrich replied sharply, striking the table with his fist before withdrawing his hand to retrieve a cigar from his coat. Lighting it with a flick of his lighter, he took a slow drag, the smoke curling around him as he spoke again. His tone softened, but his determination was unyielding. "Selfish, profane, or sinful—what does it matter? This passion consumes me, and I welcome it. She has my heart entirely, and she may do with it as she pleases. Haunt me if that is her wish. I ask only to feel her presence."

Von Franz’s voice grew urgent, his hands pressing against the table as though he could anchor himself to reality. "This is perilous, Herr Friedrich. You toy with forces beyond comprehension. Death is the final vow—'til death do you part.' To defy it…"

Friedrich interrupted with a bitter laugh, his eyes narrowing as he leaned back in his chair. "Something as absurd as death cannot separate me from my beloved." He exhaled a stream of smoke, his head tilting back as he closed his eyes. The faintest sensation brushed against his chest—soft, velvety, unmistakable. His breath hitched. "Ah, my love… Do you approve of my words?"

Von Franz stumbled backward, his wide eyes fixed on Friedrich as the air around him grew thick and heavy. He reached for Thomas, pulling the young man close as they both watched in horror.

“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine. Because of the savour of thy good ointments thy name is as ointment poured forth, therefore do the virgins love thee.” Your haunting voice tantalized Von Franz and Thoma’s ears, but delighted your beloved ones, hearing every word slipping from your icy and dry lips, rough against the warm soft cheek of him.

From the shifting shadows, your form began to materialize. Von Franz’s voice faltered, barely audible. "Impressive…" he muttered, though his face betrayed the terror rising within him.

Thomas’s mouth fell open, his voice shaking. "This… this cannot be real."

His words trailed off as your ethereal hands appeared, their ghostly outline pressing gently against Friedrich’s chest. His head fell back further, his body convulsing with an eerie ecstasy.

Von Franz’s composure broke entirely. He yanked Thomas’s arm, dragging him toward the door. "We must leave. Now!" he hissed, his voice frantic. "If you wish to keep your heart beating in your chest, boy, then we must flee this place!"

Friedrich's grin turned wickedly amused as he closed the space between you intentionally this time. “Oh, my love. Be careful what you wish for.”

“I never play when it comes to what I want,” he muttered, swallowing hard as your fingers curled slightly into the fabric before reaching his arms. “And I want you, my muse.”

As he spoke, his eyes darkened, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face before he regained control. “You have something I've been searching for and found in you” he continued, as if sensing his sudden vulnerability. He placed his hand on your waist with a delicate yet firm grip, guiding you into a slow, intimate dance across the room. “Something to wish for. You made me feel something…”

His movements were measured and graceful, leading you effortlessly as if he already knew every step of the dance. “Something?”

“Passion.”

Your hand seemed to tremble. For the first time, you felt like your words ran away from your thoughts. Something unexpected in your movement as you gently lifted back up. “You're not sure of what you're saying, Friedrich. I don't…”

"If you don't want this," Friedrich cut, swallowing hard, navigating the labyrinth of his own courage, "then why does your body say otherwise?"

"I’ve learned not to trust what my body says," you replied, but your wrist didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned in, your fingers brushing the stray strands from his face with a tenderness that belied your words.

"Then listen to mine," Friedrich urged, stepping closer, pressing your hand against his chest. His heart raced beneath your touch, a frantic rhythm betraying the calm he tried to maintain.

There was something about Friedrich Harding—a tempestuous allure that made falling for him feel as deep as the ocean and as electrifying as the crackle of thunder before a storm.

His fingers lingered at the small of your back, pulling you closer to him, the heat of his touch sending an unspoken message straight to your heart. “You’re my wife, my woman, the only one I love. God spare me from my own sinful behavior through this sick pleasure.”

“Would love be a pleasure?” you asked, your voice soft as your eyes locked with his. He studied your face for a moment before speaking.

“Perhaps the worst of them,” he admitted, turning his attention back to the fire’s flickering light. “I’ve avoided love at all costs since the last time I fell. And then you came along—wild, untamed, like the very flames in this hearth. I knew getting close to you wouldn’t end well for my… redemption.”

“Redemption?” you echoed.

“Indeed,” he murmured, leaning toward you, supported by his arm. “But it seems I’ve never learned to control myself when it comes to love. Lust, perhaps, but passion—grand, classic, all-consuming passion—never. You're my everything.”

His voice, low and velvet-soft, broke the silence. "Make me yours again, my love.” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear.

"You’d have the world at your feet... but I'm afraid I only offer darkness." Your voice came out faint, clinging to him, the warmth of his body anchoring you.

"You don't have to offer anything but yourself," he replied, his voice trembling slightly, but full of resolve. "And I choose you.”

With his fierce determination, his hands tightened on your waist with a strong reverence, crushing you against him as he angled his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to tangle with your own.

He poured every ounce of his feelings into that kiss, the way you had consumed his thoughts and dreams.

His hands roamed over your back, mapping out the curves and contours of your body in that gown, committing every dip and swell to memory. He slid one hand up to tangle in your hair, gripping the locks and tilting your head back to give him better access to the sensitive skin of your neck.

His heart raced, pounding against his ribs like a drum as he lost himself in the taste and feel of you, the softness of your cold lips and the heat of his tongue.

“Touch me, Friedrich.” You whispered panting as your lungs felt the breathing of life again, curling your fingers on his neckline. “Feel my heart. Even when I'm dead, it beats for you. Strong and hard for I love you more than everything to overcome death itself.”

He pressed his hand against your chest, squeezing painfully the soft flesh on his palm, feeling the frantic pounding of your heart beneath his palm, the way it raced and leapt at his touch. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, a sudden, overwhelming emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

"God," he whispered, his voice breaking on a sob, "I love you too. I love you so much it hurts. You're everything to me, everything I've ever wanted and everything I know I don't deserve."

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours once more, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought to regain control over his emotions. He could feel the tears slipping down his cheeks, but he didn't care, not with your arms wrapped around him, holding him close.

“Make love with me, Friedrich.” you begged as the cold tears fell, cupping his strong face in your hands. “Take me the way only you know how. Make me feel alive, let your blood boil in my veins as you make me yours because I can't stand any other night without you, Friedrich.”

His heart leapt at your desperate plea, covering your hand with his own, turning his head to press a fervent kiss to her palm before tangling their fingers together. “I love you so much it feels like I can't breathe or sleep without you, I need you to survive.”

He took your face in his hands and slightly pulled your hair back so his nose could longer on your neck, breathing in your essence that remained intact even among the light aroma of earth and ashes with the lilies placed with you in the coffin.

“You're my everything.” He shivered, sobbing, biting your flesh, sinking his teeth, leaving his strong mark, his saliva mixing with his tears that fell every time he realized that you were there with him. “Everything.”

He captured your lips in another searing kiss, hands sliding down to grip your thighs, hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you towards the house, to the known love nest.

He laid you down gently on the bed, his body covering yours, his hips nestled between your spread thighs. He looked down at you, taking in the sight of your locks splayed out across the mattress, skin glowing in the dim light of his bedroom.

Slowly, reverently, he slid his hands under the hem of your gown, pushing it up and over her head, tossing it carelessly to the side. He drank in the sight of you, his gaze roaming over the swell of her breasts, the hardened peaks of her nipples straining on the cold air of the night.

He leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the soft, sensitive skin, his tongue flicking out to taste you as he gripped on your breast as his anchor, pushing him back to reality, his thumbs brushing over the nipples, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“Please, Friedrich. I need you, I'm begging, please.” You sobbed, choking on your own passion as you desperately searched his face in your hand, nipping the bottom lip as you tied him with your thighs.

"Then you shall have it, my queen," he whispered before closing the distance, his kiss deep and unyielding, as though sealing a pact written in the shadows of the room.

He held you tighter, his hand now resting firmly on your waist, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles. The words you had spoken hung between you, a weight neither of you could ignore. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, everything felt like it was balancing on the edge of a dangerous precipice.

He slid his hand up your thigh, cupping the heat of your sex. He groaned at the feel of you, already so wet and ready for him, his fingers slipping easily between your folds.

“How is it possible?” He demanded, light headed with the feeling of his beloved intimate again, he could search in all the places, he couldn't find the one who pleased him this way.

“You're giving me life, Friedrich.” You whispered, arching your back at the travel your husband is. Loving, intense, belonging.

He slid a finger inside you, then two, pumping them slowly, letting you adjust to the new-old sensation. “God, how I missed you.” he groaned, curling them just so, rubbing against that special spot deep inside that made you see stars. “Missed your touch, missed your laugh, your moans, your cunt. The way you moan my name, oh… everything, yeah, keep moaning for me. Please, darling. Say my name just once more, can you?”

“Oh, Friedrich.” You moaned, curling your toes as your heart beated and you felt your pleasure slip on his knuckles with your peak.

He leaned down, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your stomach. He looked up at you, his blue eyes blazing with love and desire and a fierce, unbreakable connection.

“Say you want me to claim you, to fill you, to make you a part of me in every way possible.” he demanded miserably, panting on your stomach, digging his fingers on your hips. “Say my name, tell me I'm not out of my senses and you are here with me. Say you need my sex deep as you crave life again as my seed overflows on your delicious inside.”

“I want you, please. I want everything more than anything in this world or next. Fill me.” you whimpered, forking your hands on his locks, pressing him against you, grinding your arousal on his chest.

He sighs, running his hands down your thighs, as well as his face that camped on your core, inhaling the essence and feeling an immense desire to cry at the touch of his tongue on your sensitive nerve, taking in every note of your taste.

He sank there, never wanting to leave, he just wanted to please you with his entire being, to adore you, swirling his tongue in the exact places you loved, because Friedrich knew you like the back of his hand, you were an open book to him, he deciphered all your secrets and dreams.

Everything you loved, his tongue in your canal, at the entrance, swirling on your clit and taking it all in to suck the little spot and leave a soft kiss.

“Frid, Frid, my love.” you called, sensing your approaching orgasm, you patted his head, his answers delayed by his fixation on your cunt.

He swallowed the remaining taste, lifting his face lazily and meeting your eyes. “I love your taste.” he whispered, settling himself between your thighs, the hard, thick length of his cock pressing against your slit. “but I love being inside you even more.”

With that, he thrust forward, sheathing himself inside you. He groaned at the feel of your pussy so tight and perfect around him, it was made just for him, to wrap the way he wanted.

Then, he began to move, his hips rocking against you in a steady, sensual rhythm, foreheads together to hear every moan, purr and whimper from you. He kept his thrusts slow and deep, wanting to savor every moment, every inch of you.

His hands slid up your sides, cupping the soft, supple curves of your breasts, squeezing and kneading the flesh as he lost himself in the feel of you. He knew he would never get enough of this, of you, of the way you made him feel alive.

“You're my life, darling.” He panted, deepening the sway of his hips, capturing your lips. “If it's necessary to be dead to be with you everyday like this, I'd sell my soul for just a moment. Take everything you need. Take everything from me.”

“As you wish, my love.” You whimpered, your moans becoming even higher as you craved your teeth on his neck on his pulsing point as a thin amount of blood flowed to your mouth. “Oh, God. You taste so good. Oh, fuck. You… Darling, uhmm…”

“Fuck, take it. Take more. Take every drop of me, love.” He begged, nuzzling his nose on your neck to mark you as you licked the remaining blood salty with his sweat. “Come on my cock while you suck me with your pretty cunt and your teeth. Take my soul.”

He could feel you starting to tremble, your body tensing and tightening as your climax approached. He doubled his efforts, his thrusts growing harder and faster, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he drove into you.

"Come for me, my heart," he urged, his voice a low, desperate growl, licking your bloody face. "Come on my cock, my queen. Let me feel you, all of you, now and forever.”

“Frid. AH!” The sound of your scream, raw and filled with ecstasy, pushed him over the edge. He groans, burying himself to the hilt inside you as his own release overtook him.

"Fuck," he roared, his voice echoing off the walls of the bedroom. "I'm coming, fuck, I'm coming so hard! Take it, darling."

He pulsed and throbbed inside you, spilling his hot seed deep into your womb as he held you tight, crushing you against his chest. He could feel every clench and flutter of her walls around him, milking him for every last drop as you rode out the aftershocks.

He could feel his body growing weak, prolonging that orgasm as he gave the last thrusts, his eyes turning blank and the grip loosening.

"Frid... Frid, my love." You cried out, watching him smile weakly, his eyes nearly fading. Desperate, you stood up and slapped his face gently against your chest. "Frid. Friedrich. Friedrich, answer me!" you sobbed, cradling his nearly lifeless body in your arms, your tears falling heavily.

"It will be over soon..." he whispered, his hands weakly resting on your back, pulling you closer. "Soon I’ll... be with you... my love... Eat my heart, and you can live with our daughters."

"How? What do you mean, my Frid?" You shouted, gasping, as life slowly drained from him.

"Wasn’t that how you... came to me? By eating Sievers' heart?" He coughed and gasped for air, his lungs sinking from the lack of oxygen. "That's what Von Franz thinks... he knows about it. You trusted him before me... I didn’t believe in you..."

"No..." You trembled, your eyes wavering as you turned his face towards yours, gazing into his pale blue eyes, already touched by death. "It wasn’t like that, Frid. You brought me back. Your love brought me here. I manifested because of you. I can fix it. I know I can, we can live forever."

You bite your wrist, but nothing came, your blood was dry. You tried to rip your ribcage to get your heart and make him eat, but you weren't strong enough.“No… no…” you gasped

“I've always admired you. You always did your best to make me live comfortably, made me feel a king, love.” He gave a soft laugh, his body moving slightly with it. "I'm glad... I could do something… I'll love you forever" he murmured, finally succumbing to eternal peace.

“And I'll love you always, Frid.” You sobbed, holding his lifeless body in your arms, rocking back and forth as you sang a soft lullaby, the weight of your sorrow deepening, while your body slowly disintegrated, returning to dust and slipping back into your coffin.

In honor of Friedrich's love, Thomas crafted a grand coffin, large enough for both of you. They carefully prepared his body and placed it comfortably in the wooden vessel, where your hands were intertwined with his, bound together for eternity.

#friedrich harding #friedrich harding x reader #friedrich harding x you #x reader #reader insert #fanfic #imagine #nosferatu #nosferatu fanfic #aaron taylor johnson x you #aaron taylor johnson x reader #aaron taylor johnson

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diorchids · 14 days ago

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HATE FUCK. w/ luke castellan.

u and luke hate each other, rightfully so. and that won't ever change.

“obviously i hate him! he’s a fucking dick who needs to be put in his place,” you tell dionysus, who’s throwing back a couple of beers, not listening to a thing you say.

“sure, you do, kid. sure, you do.”

luke castellan digs his thick cock deep into it as he gasps with his eyes screwed shut. he holds your legs apart, pushing them against the bed as he fits himself in.

“it—fuckin’ hurts! just hurry up, fucks sake!” you whisper, mouth agape and eyes on your tight hole sucking him in. he gasps softly, feeling your wet and warm pussy choke him that fast. “can’t you just—just shut the fuck up?” he says, “shut the fuck up unless you wanna get caught.” in a hushed voice.

"god… harsh fuckin' mouth you got there," he whispers, driving his hips forward deliberately harder to make you take all his length at once. your voice catches in a pained moan as he bottoms out completely. "that what you wanted? to fuckin!’ hurry?" he thrusts again roughly, coaxing a whimper out of you like magic.

“thought you hated me, huh?” he smirks, shaking his head at your disgusting faces and sounds.

you gain your composure and whisper, “i do hate you, castellan. y-you’re fuckin’…”

“that why you making these stupid little noises?" he groans, wrapping his arms around your back to pull you against him, picking you up and pushing you against a wall. he starts thrusting upwards now, hitting a spot inside you that makes you go stupid.

"you hate me?" he mutters.

your ass slaps against his pelvis as he fucks up into you like you’re nothing more than a toy—a doll. he pumps his cock into your glistening hole, dripping in your obvious arousal. he curls his lip in a snarl, his eyes glinting with a manic light as he looks down at you. "you hate me?" he punctuates each word with a brutal thrust, making you bounce with each word. “i fuckin’ loathe you,” he whispers in your ear. he’s clearly dragging it on for his entertainment, you’re too busy taking him to even think.

he delivers a harsh slap to your ass cheek, it stinging as you cry out. he pulls out of you to lie you back on the bed, really needing to dig into you properly. “that’s right, scream so you’ll get us caught," he snarls, grabbing your face, "tell me how much you hate this, tell me how much you hate me."

he starts slamming into you with wild abandon, the bed creaking and your body jolting with each thrust. your juices spray out onto the bed, coating the both of you as you cry, “i hate you! so—fuckin’ much, luke! can’t…”

a cruel smirk dances on luke's lips as he hears your anguished declaration. "sounds like hate feels pretty fucking good, huh?" he taunts, angling his hips to penetrate even deeper. the room echoes with the filthy, obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, punctuated by your cries.

he slaps his hand over your mouth to quiet you, muffling your moans. he releases your mouth briefly to let you get some air, only for you to inhale sharply before he slams his hand back over your mouth. "shut the fuck up!" he hisses, looking around quickly, his body glistening with sweat as he continues to pound into you mercilessly.

your stomach tightens as you pathetically finish, your pussy spasming around him, fluttering stupidly.

his hand tightens over your mouth as your whimpers grow louder. he tries to hide his groans from feeling you squeeze him, but fails. he spreads your legs wider apart, watching your wet pussy milk his unprotected length. he swells inside you. he won’t stop, though, he needs to finish too!

“shit, shit, shit!" luke's eyes squeeze shut as he buries himself deep inside you, releasing his hot seed directly into your unprotected womb. he keeps his hand over your mouth, muffling your screams as he fills you with his hateful load.

you shake underneath him, wrapping your legs around his waist as he releases his load in you. he swallows hard, watching you throw your head back slightly. he realizes you're not pushing him away. instead, your nails are digging into his back. he thrusts one more time, making sure to give you every last drop of his warm cum as he groans.

he falls on your body, limp as ever as you both speak in unison.

“i…hate you.”

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callme-holly · 1 year ago

Note

could you maybe please do some scenarios for (y/n) comforting sodapop, Dallas, ponyboy, and Johnny if you want please. also could you please make the reader fem please and thank you

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠 [𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧, 𝐒𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐩 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬, 𝐏𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐝𝐞.]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - im a little behind on requets but im getting there! i've got my final exam of this week tomorrow and then i'll be a lot speedier, i promise. asks are still open for requests!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 1.6k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - mentions of fighting, getting jumped and small injury detail

Dallas Winston - The room is quiet as you card your fingers through Dallas’ hair, the greaser’s head resting against your thigh. His eyes are closed, and there's a nasty bruise blossoming on his cheekbone, accompanied by a few bloodied scrapes that he refuses to let you clean. There’s dried blood crusted beneath his nose, which you wipe away gently with the pad of your thumb, humming softly under your breath as he breathes out a low, soft groan. “You alright?” Your tone is barely above a whisper as you tug at the ends of his mussy locks, pushing them back from his face. He blinks once or twice, his eyelashes fanning against his cheeks, and his expression is a little less pained than it was just minutes ago. “Yeah,” he murmurs after a moment, “fine.” He shifts a little bit so that his head is now more firmly planted upon your lap, and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer in a half embrace. You reach down between the two of you and retrieve the ice pack that is sitting forgotten beside you, pressing it against his swollen cheek once more. He makes a disgruntled noise but doesn't open his eyes again. “Sorry 'bout this.” His voice is rough, strained from the exertion: “Y' shouldn't have to take care of me all the damn time.” The words fall heavy between the two of you as he speaks, and you smile softly, shaking your head. “It ain't too much trouble, really.” You rub small circles against his bicep, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. “And besides...” your voice drops to an almost conspiratorial murmur, “I like taking care of you. It makes me feel better when I know you're not lying dead in a ditch somewhere.” He gives you a lopsided grin at that, eyes still closed. “You've got so much faith in me, doll.” Your smile widens, feeling something twist inside of you. You take his hand, squeezing it gently before pressing a quick kiss to his busted-up knuckles. “Whatever.”

Sodapop Curtis - A small sigh leaves your lips as Soda buries his face in your chest, arms wrapped tightly around your middle, tears cascading down his cheeks as he struggles for air. It pains you to see him like this, his usual bright smile replaced with a look of pure anguish, silent sobs racking his body. You rub slow circles against his back, mumbling soft words of reassurance into his ear as he clings to your shirt. “I don’t understand,” he gasps, his voice thick with emotion. “Why can't they just get along? They never used to be like this. A shudder runs through him, and you tighten your hold on him, rocking him a bit back and forth as he cries. “Shh, Soda, hey, you need to breathe,” you murmur soothingly, combing your fingers through his hair. “You’re gonna make yourself sick.” You press a soft kiss to the top of his head, hushing him quietly as his cries gradually abate. “I just want them to get along.” Soda whispers brokenly, burying his face against your collarbones. “I'm tired of being made to pick sides. I don't wanna be in the middle all the time.” You hum sympathetically, shifting slightly so that you can wrap both arms around him and pull him as close as physically possible. Soda melts into your touch, relaxing fully against you. You can tell he's exhausted, both emotionally and physically. "I hate it.” He sounds miserable. “All they do is yell at each other. Darry is way too hard on Pony, and Pony's trying his hardest, but he can only take so much–" Soda stops abruptly, his breath hitched in his throat as another sob tears from him, wracking his body. His grip tightens around your middle and your heart clenches painfully at the sight. “I just want things to go back to normal.” You give a slow nod, closing your eyes. “I know, I know. It'll be okay.” You press another gentle kiss to his temple and run your hands slowly up and down his spine, trying to offer as much comfort as you can. He relaxes under your touch, melting further into you as he tries to take deep, steady breaths, struggling to control himself. You tilt his chin up so that he's looking at you once more, running your thumb over his cheek. “I love you, you know” “Mm,” he hums, blinking rapidly to rid his vision of the last remnants of tears. His eyes meet yours, and even though his gaze is glassy and filled with sadness and pain, his expression is soft and tender. “Love you too.”

Ponyboy Curtis - You're sitting in the lot, your jacket pulled tightly around you, when you hear the sound of approaching footsteps. You stiffen and turn sharply, expecting to see a group of drunken socs or the odd greaser looking for trouble, only to come face to face with none other than Ponyboy Curtis. He has tears streaming down his cheeks, his hair mused as he all but throws himself at you, shoulders shaking and chest heaving. You don’t speak a word as you pull him into your arms, rubbing your hands over his shoulders in an attempt to calm him. His head comes to rest on your shoulder, one fist clutching the front of your sweater as tight as possible, the other hanging uselessly by his side. For several moments, he sits in silence, letting you hold him while he finally manages to collect himself. Then he pulls back, wiping furiously at his face. “Sorry…” You don’t miss the way he averts his gaze from you as he speaks, refusing to make eye contact. “Didn't mean to bother you; I just—” You shake your head, interrupting him. “There’s no reason for you to apologise.” You pause, considering for a long moment before continuing. “What's up?” He exhales shakily, then hesitantly meets your gaze again. “I—Darry yelled at me again. He got real mad this time.” His voice cracks, and you pull him close once more. You know Darry’s been harder on him as of late, expecting too much of a boy Pony’s age. You know he means well, but you also know the toll it’s been taking on the younger Curtis brother and how difficult these past few weeks have been for him. “Sometimes I don't think Darry likes me very much.” You can hear the vulnerability in his tone, unable to miss how broken he appears. He's not crying anymore; if anything, he looks a little embarrassed and ashamed. You frown, brushing his damp bangs from his forehead. “Don't be ridiculous.” Your tone is firm, determined to keep him from ever getting caught up in that dark spiral. “He cares about you a whole lot.” “He's got a funny way of showin' it.” Pony grumbles softly, and you can't help but laugh at his bluntness, wrapping your arms tighter around him. “I wish he'd be nicer. I really don't like all the fighting we do.” “I know. But it'll get easier.” You look down at him. “If you want, I can go talk some sense into him.” That earns you a smile as Ponyboy nods, squeezing you a little tighter. “Good luck. I doubt he’ll listen.” You press a quick kiss to his forehead, smiling softly. “I’ll try my best.”

Johnny Cade - Arms circle around your waist, gripping onto you tightly as you comb your fingers through his tangled, and still heavily greased, hair. Johnny’s head rests in your lap, eyes squeezed shut as he tries desperately to fall into some sort of relaxed state, but he just can't seem to find the will within himself to do so. You watch him silently, running a finger absently along his jawline, taking in the bruises and cuts littering his face and arms. He looks worn thin and broken; his cheeks are tear-stained and hollowed by exhaustion. His breathing remains unsteady and uneven, his skin pale, and you can't help but reach out and brush the pad of your thumb across the faint lines beneath his eyes, your brow furrowing deeply. He flinches slightly but doesn’t open his eyes, his breath hitching. “Sorry,” You whisper, going back to smoothing your hand over his hair. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” Johnny lets out a soft sigh, leaning his forehead against your stomach. “S' okay…” He shifts a little closer to you, reaching for your hand and lacing your fingers together. “...just glad yer here.” You bite your lower lip, tracing patterns into the back of his hand with your thumb, pressing soft kisses against his forehead as you let him snuggle closer, relishing in the simple closeness of it all. It eases your nerves knowing he's safe with you and calms the storm raging inside of you. Your mind wanders back to earlier, the images of him lying, half-dead, in that field flashing unbidden through your mind. It takes a lot to make Johnny Cade cry, but the second you had knelt down beside him and pulled him into your arms while the gang huddled about you, his composure had completely crumbled. Sobs had wracked his body, shaking his entire frame, and you could do nothing but hold him until he had finally calmed down. And now, here he was, curled up into your embrace, clinging to you like a lifeline. Every little noise made him jump, every sudden movement made his muscles tense, and your heart ached for him. You wanted so badly to make everything better, but there was nothing you could do. All you could do was stay there, holding him as he cried, wishing that there was something you could do besides sit by and whisper softly to him. But, you know, right now, just you being there is enough for him.

𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬!!

#the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #johnny cade #dallas winston #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #ponyboy curtis x reader #johnny cade x reader #dallas winston x reader #dally winston x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #ponyboy curtis imagine #dallas winston imagine #johnny cade imagine #sodapop x reader #dally x reader #ponyboy x reader #the outsiders imagine

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marcyvamp1re-blog · 1 month ago

Text

ৎ୭. . . REVENANT ─── Bruce Wayne & Batfamily

Silly Little Bat

⊹ ٬ Headcanon. In a dark mansion, a broken doll becomes the reflection of a man who has lost everything. Bruce Wayne, trapped in his pain, embraces it as a substitute for the irretrievable, while his family watches in horror and desperation. The line between obsession and sanity blurs, and the war for the truth erupts, each word cutting deeper.

⊹ ٬ Word Count. 2,18k

⊹ ٬ Content. MDNI. Dark themes, violence/death, blood, family war, trauma, invasion of privacy, kidnapping (of a doll), Angst, disturbing content, corruption, isolation, paranoia, manipulation, emotional abuse, family conflict, abuse of power, emotional manipulation.

「 a person who has returned,

especially supposedly from the dead. 」

When the doll appeared, no one knew where it had come from. It was in an elaborate package, an impeccable wrapping, with a bow that seemed intended to disguise the horror it contained. The note, written in a handwriting that seemed familiar, read: “For Bruce Wayne.”

Alfred was the first to notice the package. He didn’t want to touch it, but in the end, he did. What else could he do? When he opened it, the expression on his face changed from curiosity to a mix of confusion and dread. He couldn’t help but let out a breath, his gaze fixed on the contents.

“What’s wrong, Alfred? Is it something about Y/N?” Bruce asked, a trace of hope still lingering in his voice.

But as Bruce approached, that hope vanished as quickly as it had come. What he saw before him was more terrifying than any monster he could have imagined.

It was her. Or rather, the cruelest version of what she had been. A doll so identical to Y/N that it seemed as if life itself had been condensed into a piece of plastic, fabric, and hair. The same clothes she had worn on her first arrival at the mansion. Her disheveled hair, as if the chaos of those difficult days had become embedded in her locks. But above all, that empty look, of abandonment, of desolation, as if the only thing left of Y/N was her shadow, trapped in that object.

It was an echo of tragedy, a cruel caricature of that moment when he lost his parents. A macabre mockery.

Bruce’s throat tightened, but he didn’t allow his face to soften. He stood frozen, staring at her, until his body succumbed to a spiral he couldn’t control. Memories assaulted him mercilessly. The dark street. The shadows that enveloped him as his parents fell, helpless to do anything. The violence of that moment, the anguish that still dragged him down, the pain that never left.

Bruce slumped in his chair in the Batcave, turning his face away so Alfred wouldn’t see him. His chest heaved, and with trembling hands, he embraced the doll. He squeezed it desperately, as if it were the only link he had left to the past, to her, to the girl he had once been. He held it as if he could, for an instant, relive those days when everything seemed to make sense.

He cried silently. Tears fell like an invisible river, but the sound that accompanied his weeping was the same as that of a broken city. And so, for a second, he felt like a child again.

Alfred, with a dull expression, left quietly, but he saw it. He saw how that doll was the last drop that spilled Bruce Wayne's sanity.

What Alfred couldn’t foresee, what he couldn’t even imagine, was what happened the next day. When he entered the dining room, while setting the table with the usual routine, he saw Bruce. It was not the upright posture of a man facing the day, but that of someone who had fallen into an invisible trap. With a disturbing stillness, Bruce placed one more plate on the table. A plate that didn’t fit, that didn’t belong in the place it was meant to be. Next to his place, he set it down. The doll.

The butler observed in silence, unsure if what he saw was a macabre joke or the manifest pain of a broken man. The doll was now dressed in clean clothes, her hair neatly arranged with a meticulous care that could only have come from the hand of someone who had too much time to think, too much time to feel. He doubted Bruce was the one who had arranged it, but in the end, he was the only one who knew of its existence. The only one who knew that emptiness.

When the kids arrived, their gazes fell upon the doll. There weren’t many words, just murmurs in low voices, comments under their breaths, attempts to ignore it. But there was something in the atmosphere, a tension that filled it with a presence that refused to be silenced. Everyone, except Damian.

When the little one entered the room, he saw it, and his eyes widened. His gaze didn’t reflect confusion, but pure disdain. As if something in his mind had exploded, as if that scene had become the manifestation of everything he didn’t understand, everything that terrified him.

“What the hell is that thing?” he roared with venom, his voice piercing like a sharp dagger. He looked at his father, then at everyone else at the table with an indomitable fury. “Who was the jokester who dared to make that stupid replica of my sister?”

The air tensed, and time seemed to stand still for a second. Damian's rage was like thunder, but no one was willing to respond. There were no words. However, Bruce's response came as a deadly whisper, cold and definitive, an answer that was for no one but himself, for that abyss within his soul that had always swallowed his fears.

“It’s not a thing,” he said, his voice tinged with an unsettling calm, a calm that froze everything around him. “It’s Y/N. And sit down and shut up. She’s bothered by loud noises.”

The room fell into an absolute silence. No more words. No attempts to contradict him. The others didn’t dare to breathe, as if the air itself could ignite and consume them. Everyone looked down, unable to face the truth hidden in the delicately dressed figure, a figure that represented more than just a toy. It was a reflection of Bruce's desperation, a reminder of the deep cracks that had never healed.

The glass of milk that Bruce poured with a too-calculated precision on the table was not just for the doll. It was an offering. An attempt to feed what could no longer be nourished. The mansion, so big and empty, felt even lonelier in that moment, like a labyrinth with no exit. The anxiety that hung in the air was not just from those present. Bruce was trapped in his own cycle of pain. And the doll, the damned doll, was the only one who understood him.

The others, though silent, understood: the thread that held Bruce wasn't visible, but it was on the verge of breaking.

Days slipped by like shadows, each dragging with it a sense of unease and growing anxiety. The doll was no longer a novelty. It had become just another presence in Wayne Manor, as if it had been there all along, as if its existence was natural. Wherever Bruce went, she was there. In the office, in the Batcave, her small figure sat there, still, with the unsettling perfection of someone who could not move on her own. Though her face held no expression, the doll “played” like a lost child in a world she didn’t understand, simulating a normality that didn’t exist.

During breakfasts, snacks, and dinners, the doll occupied a special place next to Bruce. Her glass of milk, always empty, always vacant. The milk slid down her plastic lips, like a routine, as if it were a ritual that could not be interrupted. Sometimes, Bruce tucked her in to sleep, his trembling hands as he draped the blanket over her. The gesture was strange, almost paternal, but beneath that apparent calm, his mind was a whirlwind.

At first, he thought it would all end there. Bruce and the doll, a tacit agreement between them. The others would search for the real Y/N, the one who should be out there, lost, missing. But, as always in his life, things were never simple, never stayed in place.

It was a gray morning, one in which Bruce couldn’t help but feel trapped in the same cycle of anguish. As every day, the doll was at the table, by his side, with her glass of milk, but something was wrong. Alfred, upon entering the living room, was the first to notice it. A sound, a fragility, as if everything that had been built around the doll had shattered.

When he saw it, his heart stopped for a second. The doll was broken. Her porcelain body was cracked, her hair disheveled, her face a distorted grimace that it had never had before. And there it was, in the middle of the living room, like a brutal reminder of what was happening, of what Bruce had created.

The air cut sharply. A deadly tension spread through the house, as if a bomb was about to explode. Bruce, upon seeing the doll, said nothing. His breathing became heavy, his eyes fixated on the doll's cracks, as if that fracture were a reflection of his own broken self. Something inside him crumbled.

And then, the war began. It was not a war of weapons, nor of blows. It was a psychological war, a war of unresolved emotions and guilt. The members of the Wayne family, those who knew him better than anyone, began to speak. The words crossed, like daggers thrown mercilessly.

“What the hell have you done, Bruce?” Dick said, his voice tense, marked by a mix of fury and concern. “You’re losing control.”

Damian, with disdain in his eyes, looked at the broken doll. “Do you think you can replace Y/N with this? With that?” His voice was cold, cutting. “It’s just a piece of plastic."

Barbara, on the other hand, remained silent, but her eyes spoke more than a thousand words. She knew what was happening, saw the imminent collapse in Bruce. No one dared to say it out loud, but they all knew: Bruce was not just searching for Y/N. He was searching for a way to save himself.

“It’s just a doll!” Tim shouted, the rage evident in his tone. “It’s not going to bring her back!”

But Bruce, with his gaze lost on the broken doll, couldn’t hear. His mind, tormented by guilt, pain, and anxiety, couldn’t process any more. “She’s here,” he murmured, almost like a prayer. “She’s here with me. She’s always been here.”

And Bruce broke.

The war was not about the doll. It was about the pain, about the inability to accept the irreparable. Bruce was fighting against his own demons, a battle that no one could win. The doll, in its broken state, was just a reflection of the fractures that already existed within him. And now, they were all trapped in the same spiral, in the same darkness that he had created

Note ───── This story came to me as an anonymous request, something unexpected but incredibly interesting. I had never heard of such dolls before, but there's something unsettling about the idea that an inanimate object could carry so much emotional weight. As I wrote, I couldn't help but imagine Bruce at his most fragile, holding that doll as if it were all that remained of his humanity.

And honestly, I was more than sure that Bruce would crucify the Batkids for what they did to the doll, especially Damian. He was the one who, in some way, broke it, an act that would only multiply Bruce's guilt. The Batkids would surely never forget that day.

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heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 6 months ago

Note

How would AK!Jason go with the fact that Y/N got kidnapped by Harley Quinn’s thugs while he was busy on a mission with his Militia. Love your stories by the way!

Abducted

Hi, nonnie! Thank you! Fair warning, this gets angsty. ~2.3k words

The Arkham Knight is surrounded by the dead bodies of nine of his most trusted and skilled men. It's not a mystery how they got that way. He shot the ones that were still alive himself.

Number ten is cowering on the ground, it's pathetic, really. They were supposed to be the best of the best.

That's what he was paying them for. So why the hell aren't you in the safe house he left you in? He unloads the rest of the clip into number tens leg, voice flat as he seethes, "Where are they?"

Number ten cries out. Jason doesn't really care. "They're– Harley! Quinn's gang got 'em," number ten chokes out, shaking and sobbing and weak.

"And where, exactly, did they take them?" Jason asks, reloading his gun.

"I don't know," number ten wails, and if Jason wasn't so pissed he'd roll his eyes. But he doesn't. This is serious. You're missing, and he's on the verge of blowing Gotham to hell.

"Guess," he hisses, pressing the barrel of the gun to the man's forehead.

"I don't– they said something about a carnival," number ten chokes out.

"Anything else," The Arkham Knights asks. Number ten shakes his head vigorously. Jason pulls the trigger and watches the body slump to the floor. He turns to the rest of the men, watching as they stiffen and shift under his gaze.

He's already stalking past them, "What do you have?"

"Sir, Harley Quinn hasn't been in Gotham since the Joker died," one of the men starts. Jason wonders if they notice the way his hands clench. "But there's rumors about a separate cell of Joker apologists, fanatics trying to keep his name alive."

He grits his teeth. Fine, that's not new information. But why would they go after you? "And," he forces out, "What does that have to do with them?"

His men follow him uneasily, "GCPD flagged a shipment to ACE Chemicals that went missing a few days ago. They– it was mentioned the truck was carrying chemicals similar to the ones used in the Joker and Harley Quinn cases, sir."

If he was any less trained, any less used to the hell that is Gotham, he would have stumbled, let out choked sounds and anguish and fear.

"One of the techs has a theory it's a revenge kidnapping," one of the sergeants continues, "for taking over Joker's old hideouts last week. It looks like they used a form of the laughing gas on the sentries outside."

"They're all going to be dead by the end of the night," He snaps, gesturing towards one of the lieutenants, "Get the men to set up a parameter. No one leaves the area. And no one moves in until they're secured. Understood?"

They nod vigorously. "Bring the fear toxin," the Arkham Knight grits out. He's out of the safe house and sprinting over Gothams rooftops without another word.

He knows Gotham better than most. Knows to take a shortcut over city hall, knows to jump in three... two... one... to land perfectly on a passing train. Knows when to shoot his grappling gun for the quickest route to the abandoned fairgrounds.

His heart is racing. He can see the number tracking his pulse steadily rising. He glares at the little number on the corner of his screen with a vengeance. He doesn't get to be scared. Doesn't get to panic until you're back at the base, warm and safe in his bed.

There's bile in his throat as he stalks through the shadows of the carnival. It rises with each thug he leaves crumpled and lifeless in the dirt. He's only acting on his training now, on the drive that he has to get to you, has to save you.

He slips past decaying attractions, clenches his fists at the abandoned ACE Chemicals truck crashed into a rotted ring toss booth. He follows the laughter and taunting voices to a ripped and decrepit tent.

There's not many places to hide, but Jason's the best at what he does. He thinks he might have been born to stalk the filth of Gotham.

His eyes narrow at the sight of you. Arms tied behind your back. Bruise forming on your cheek. Dazed expression, likely a concussion. Balanced precariously on the seat of a dunk tank over a pool of neon chemicals.

His fingers twitch over his gun when one of the goons throws a ball at the target, barely missing as the others laugh.

He counts the number of Joker fanatics in the room. Thirteen men. Eight women. Six posted close enough to you where they could hit the target if he's not fast enough. Seventeen with visible guns. All with visible weapons. There's more voices outside the tent.

He eyes the woman swinging a bat covered with barbed wire a little too close to the dunk tank, too close to you. Jason wants to get you out first. There's too many variables. You could get shot. He's not fast enough.

Someone throws another baseball. It's a perfect toss. He shoots it out of the air.

"You have something of mine," The Arkham Knight drawls, stepping out of the shadows. He would smile at the way most of the room flinches at the sight of him. He would if you weren't teetering over a vat of bubbling chemicals.

One of the men steps forward. Stupid of him, really, "Finders keepers." He says it like it's a game. Like you're just some toy they picked up off the street.

Jason laughs. It's funny, that they think just because they stole you, it makes you any less his, "I'm going to give you two choices. One, you drop your weapons and leave. Two, you stay and you learn exactly what the chemicals in that vat can do."

More people leave than he expected. Huh. Guess they aren't so loyal to the clowns' legacy as they said. "I'm not scared of you," Goon number one spits. Goon number one gets a bullet in his stomach.

"You will be," The Arkham Knight murmurs. It's quick work. They're untrained, inexperienced. Half of them are high. It becomes increasingly clear with each body that hits the floor gasping that someone paid off his men to get to you.

He's pulling you off and out of the dunk tank as the last thug hits the floor, "How bad is it?" Jason's hands do not shake as he unties your wrists. (They do.) His breath does not leave his lungs when you say your head hurts. (It does.)

His eyes dart over your face and he picks you up to cradle you against his chest, "I'll have a medic look over you when we get back." He tries to sound soothing, the modulator makes it sound emotionless. You don't even acknowledge it.

He carries you out of the tent. The Joker fanatics that left are kneeling in the dirt and his men have their guns trained to kill. The Arkham Knight nods to them, "Use the Fear Toxin. Inject them with the highest dose we have. Drop the freaks still alive in the tent into the vat."

"Yes, sir," his men echo. Jason ignores the begging that starts up behind him as he carries you to the armored truck. He maneuvers you inside with him, settles you on his lap as his hand brushes the bruise on your face.

"Boss," the soldier behind the steering wheel prompts.

"Take us back to base, sergeant," The Arkham Knight says evenly, gloves still tracing your bruise. He doesn't ask questions, doesn't make any promises. The only comfort he offers is his hand gripping your waist tightly, paired with the gentle caressing of your face.

He knows it's not kind, the way he's holding you. He sees it in your eyes, even through the exhaustion and headache you're feeling, he's overbearing. He can't bring himself to care. All that matters is that you're safe in his arms.

The rest he can take care of later. It'll be simple for him and Deathstroke to pick through the rats in his ranks. Scarecrow's always in need of new test subjects, after all.

His grip tightens on you as the truck stops. The Arkham Knight picks you up easily, pushing the door open and carrying you inside the base. His soldiers are quick to move out of his way. They should be. Anyone with a brain can tell he's angry.

He's livid, at the way you hardly move, barely react to him. A medic files after him quickly as he sets you down in his personal quarters.

It's not a room he ever uses, preferring to sleep at whatever safe house you're in, but you're safer here until he can weed out the traitors. He watches you shift slightly in the chair, eyes unfocused.

Jason steps back and studies you with sharp eyes as the medic talks to you quietly, taking note of each wound and stumbled answer you give.

"Mild concussion, some scrapes and abrasions. Nothing that won't heal," the medic decides, "They shouldn't sleep for the next hour and need to be monitored for any worsening symptoms."

Jason motions them to leave. He hates to leave you alone, even for a moment, but there is one more order he needs to give. He follows the medic out the door.

A group of squad leaders stand rigid outside his quarters. Good. They should be on edge. "Make an example of any Joker or Harley Quinn sympathizers," he says, tone an unquestionable command, "Anything that's theirs, is a part of our operations by the end of the night."

He doesn't bother to stay and listen to their replies, already turning back into the room where you're waiting. Jason locks the door behind him, crossing the room in three strides and kneels at your feet.

You blink down at him. He hates the distant look in your eyes. You should be here. With him. He tugs his helmet off, "Does your head still hurt?"

You nod a little, the only proof you're really listening. He takes your hand in his brushing his thumb over your knuckles, "Say something." It's a command. It makes you jolt a little. He hates himself for it.

"I thought– they were gonna kill me," You stumble out, voice weak.

He nods, there's no pretending that's not true, "They can't kill anyone now."

He thinks you would have looked alarmed, if you didn't know what he was now. Relentless. A monster. A killer. But you do know, he's made that more than clear since the moment he got you back by his side.

You look resigned instead. Jason wishes you'd look relieved, "Do you need anything," he asks instead, reaching up to brush the bruise on your cheek. He can't help it, it's his fault that it's there.

You shake your head. He hates how quiet you're being, "Say something," he prompts again. He knows he shouldn't, knows you're in shock and you're hurt and you're tired and you're probably scared and he's not helping. But, he squeezes your hand anyway, a silent demand.

"What do you want me to say, Jason?" You breathe out, eyes finally focusing on him.

"Anything. Ask me for anything. Yell at me. Curse me out. Tell me you hate me. Hit me. Give me a bruise to match," He says almost desperately, pressing himself closer between your knees.

There's something wrong with him. He realizes that. The Arkham Knight is well aware that something inside of him is twisted, that you deserve better than this, especially after what you just went through, but he doesn't stop himself.

"I don't wanna hurt you," You murmur, "You came for me."

"I'm the reason you were there in the first place," Jason protests, both hands moving to cup your face, "I would deserve it, welcome it, if it was from you."

"I want," You start, and Jason leans forward eagerly, ready for whatever punishment you deliver, "I want to lay down. I wanna feel safe."

He falters, but doesn't move from between your legs, "You can't sleep for at least another hour."

"I know," You say quietly. Jason stares at you. You're the only thing that makes him unsure now. You always manage to knock him off center, never doing what he expects.

"Okay," he relents, scooping you up just as easily as he did in the tent. He carries you over to his bed. It's unused, perfectly made. He only ever sleeps wherever you are.

Jason carefully places you at the edge of the bed and digs through a drawer, handing you a shirt. He tugs off his armor, and frowns when you don't move.

"You don't want to sleep in that," it's not a question, and maybe he should frame it as one. Try to get nicer. But he thinks he might have forgotten how. You nod and slowly change. His eyes never leave you.

There's a few more bruises than he expected, and it makes rage coil in his chest. There's nothing he can do but crawl into bed at your side. It makes him uneasy, how little he can do for you.

He tugs you against him, he's not as gentle as he means to be.

You curl against him, fingers tangling into his shirt. He should comfort you here. Tell you it's going to be okay. Promise to protect you. He should rub your back and kiss your forehead and ease whatever pain you have in your heart.

But he's not gentle. He's not good. You're like this because of him. He holds you tighter when tears start to soak his shirt, lets you tangle your legs with his.

He doesn't manage to find the right words to say, doesn't manage to do the right thing before the hour is up, and you drift off to sleep. He doesn't think he ever will.

#arkham knight x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd #x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #ak!jason todd x reader

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thecoochiefairy · 10 months ago

Text

𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖔𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖊𝖋𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖞

━━ 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑖𝑡 .ᐟ toji.

warnings 𑄽𑄺 12.7k word count. a LOT of dialogue ngl, first person pov, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough sex, hair pulling,squirting,creaming drunk/tipsy sex, oral [f] [m], choking, daddy kink, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, degrading (maybe?), condomless sex, kissing, spanking, aggressive + cocky toji, daddy toji, baby megumi, minors aren’t welcome!

song to play while listening; 𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 ; 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑒𝑟

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ this was my first fic y’all. enjoy! 🫶🏽

“WHO THE FUCK STILL EATS FIG NEWTON’S?”

“Me! That’s who.”

My eyes continue to wander down the snack aisle, searching for my favorite selection. I toss the fruit paste filled cookie into the basket as I respond to my friend on FaceTime, “How about you mind your goddamn business?”

“As long as you continue to buy snacks only made from the devil, I won’t.”

I roll my eyes. “Anyways, you still comin’ tonight or what? I’ll buy a bottle of Stella Rose.”

“Black?” She smirks into the camera, leaning over in her chair as she continues her makeup.

“Black, of course. Makes me feel sexy,” I chuckle.

“Sorry, bookie. I’m going on a date tonight!”

“With the man that’s not your man, but is your man?” I tease.

She pulls the lip liner down from her face as she glares, “Very funny. That’s why you’re still single.”

“Very funny,” I repeat mockingly.

I could admit, it was way too late to be in the grocery store. But as I continued to sit in my condo with an empty fridge, my stomach began imagining myself cuddling with my favorite snack—Fig Newtons. Now I was here.

“You need to get your ass home, it’s late as hell and you’re by yourself,” my friend reminds me.

“I know, I know. I’m going. Once I get my Stella Rose Imma’ get my ass out—“

I stop. I was originally alone in this aisle as I suddenly heard the sound of feeble crying, my head turning as I look down to see a child. No, a baby. The baby waddles in anguish, his olive toned face red and swollen as his mouth ejected cries. My body was frozen as he stalked towards me, his stubby arms raising as he wailed in my direction.

“Girl,” I raise the phone to my ear, “There is a goddamn baby running towards me in distress.”

My friend's eyes go wide as she looks into the camera, “A baby? Oh hell. It’s some sex trafficking shit. Get out of there!”

“This some scary shit, I’m not going to jail! Or ending up in the back of some van where they tell me they’re gonna sell each of my organs,” I exclaim. The baby continues to bawl, now inches away from me as he then raises his arms up. His dark hair sticks up in different directions, wide eyes practically pleading for help.

“Awe. He’s adorable. Shit. Them’ people might get my ass, what if he’s really in distress?” I look around, seeing as no one else appears in the store but me.

“I still say it’s a trap. Kick the damn thing like you would Chucky!”

“Oh shut up, would you kick your own child?”

“Don’t have kids, can’t answer that.”

I place my phone down in the front of the basket as I turn back towards the small being, gushing, “Awe, Pumpkin. Are you lost?”

I lift him into my hands, wrapping my arms around him and he immediately accepts my gesture, leaning his soft head against my chest. I feel my heart melt, his crying begins to subside as he hides his face in my neck.

“Now sir, you and I both know I’m not your momma’. But that’s okay! Cause you’re adorable. And we’re gonna go find her. Shit, okay, where the hell do you bring a child if he’s lost in the store?” I look back over to the phone.

“Customer service desk, I think.”

“It’s damn near twelve o’ clock at night, Customer Service is most likely closed,” I mutter, “Shit. Okay, um—fuck. I’m gonna have to call the police. Or Jesus. Or Dr.Phil.”

“Don’t call Dr.Phil,” my friend pointed out.

“Right. Imma’ have to go to the front of the store and—“

As I turned to make my way towards the opposite direction I was going, I was interrupted as a man now stood in front of me. I jumped.

“Holy shit, am I really finna’ get kidnapped?!”

As I took in his face, this wasn’t just a man. This was a man. All the way down from the large black boots he wore, my eyes trailed up to his olive toned arms, muscles bulging through his shirt as a dragon tattoo trailed around his left hand. The silver jewelry he wore stood out on him. Numerous rings and chains, complimenting his onyx shirt that clung to his perfectly sculpted body. His full eyebrows were furrowed at me, scar atop of his lip twitching on his attractive face.

“What are you doing with my kid?”

“What? Oh— I’m sorry, is this your child?” I asked, slightly panicked. As I continued to study this man, he was scarily sexy. Dark hair, dark eyes. He looked evil in the best way. He had…a baby?

"Yeah, he's mine.” The man looked at me with suspicious eyes, sighing as he looked at the baby in my arms.

“What's the matter, champ?" He asked with a kinder and softer tone, the coldness from earlier in his stare now gone.

“I wasn’t trying to kidnap your child!” I admitted, my face going hot. I felt like I needed to admit that as I continued, “He…was crying. And I was just worried. I’m sorry.”

"I never said you were,” He replied. The small scowl on his face was slowly coming back. He reached forward to take the child from my hands, the baby beginning to struggle and cry again. He buried his head back into my arms as he hugged me tighter.

“Oh…” I then looked him up and down, “Wait a damn minute. Are you sure you aren’t trying to kidnap him?”

His face seemed surprised at my question. He looked down at the baby who continued to cry in my arms as he asked, “Kid, what's wrong with you? Why can't you calm down?"

The baby refused to let go of me. As I looked down to his adorable face, he cried as he then put his hands to his mouth. I realize why he’s upset.

I then say, “He looks to be less than two. I um…he seems to have teeth coming in. You should probably get some cold stuff for him to munch on, that probably explains him being so fussy. Once he couldn’t find you in the store, it probably just scared him.”

He looked at the child and noticed the swollenness in his cheeks as well. The man looked up at me, almost shocked at my observation.

"You know about children?" He replied. I could admit that this was an odd interaction. However, it seemed to be enough to break down his guard. His face softened.

“Yeah, I have a lot of siblings that I took care of. I was basically a mom at a young age,” I reply, “But seriously, he’s just hurting. It’s like a toothache all around your gums.”

"Yeah, you're right. It explains the wailing, it's not like I've never seen these symptoms before. Just didn't connect the dots,” He explains, scratching the back of his head. The baby was still crying, but slowly started to calm down. He looked up at me with teary eyes, still refusing to let go. The man tried again to take him from me, but the child held on tighter.

“I’m sorry… I don’t understand why he’s so comfortable with me,” I say softly, rubbing his hair to calm him down further.

The man sighed, then looked at me with an eyebrow raised as he said, “Maybe he saw something about you that he liked?" a teasing smile slowly coming along his face.

“I mean, I was holding some blueberries, does he like those?” I respond awkwardly, shaking my head as I try to flirt back. Was he even flirting?

He chuckles, “I don't know. Maybe he just liked the way you smelled? Or maybe the color of your hair?"

“Maybe. At least now you can remember that your son seems to have a thing for black women. He has good taste already,” I smile softly.

He chuckles again, my shoulders tensing as he briefly washes his eyes over my entire body. He then asks, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Oni’—“ I then stop myself, “Seioni,” I then correct, “Pronounced ‘Say-Oh-Knee. A lot of people just call me ‘Oni’. And um, your name? And your baby’s?”

The look on his face seems to be amused by me. After all of this, the baby finally reaches out to him, the man quickly taking him back into his hands. He then replies, "I'm Toji. And my son's name is Megumi."

“Well, Megumi’s a very beautiful little boy,” I reach out my finger to the baby, he wraps his entire hand around it. “It’s nice to meet you, Toji.”

“Same with you too, Seioni,” He fully pronounces my name, looking down at his child who was still holding onto my finger tightly. Megumi was now rubbing the finger with his whole hand, refusing to let go. Toji tried yanking him away again, but the baby wouldn't budge.

"Don't get too comfortable, I'd rather not have him get fond of you,” Toji replied, to which Megumi let out a small whine.

“Right,” I agree, pulling my finger away from the child. I continue, “But I’m glad he found me when he did, god forbid he’d walked out of the store or worse. But um, I’m sorry again if it seemed like I was trying to take him.”

He sighed as Megumi reached his arms out to me. He begins to apologize, "It's fine. I shouldn't have been so quick to judge….” He muttered, kissing the child's head as he stared at me.

"You seem like a good person."

“Thank you,” I smile, “You seem like you and your baby have a sweet bond. I’m glad he found you safely.”

"I appreciate that. I try to be the best dad I can, this isn’t a good representation of that,” He jokes, holding the child in his arms. Megumi then started to smile, cooing as he gripped onto his fathers shirt.

“So…I um…assume that his mom is at home waiting for you guys?” I ask.

He looked down, smile disappearing from his face. He cleared his throat as he explained, “Unfortunately, no. His mom passed away,” He replies flatly.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” I shook my head, “I’m shitty for asking that. I mean—bad, sorry,” I correct my cursing, the baby giggling at my tone of voice.

Toji laughed, “No, no need to apologize. It was just an honest question, but that’s why I'm raising him all alone."

“From what I can see you’re doing an amazing job. He’s a sweet baby, and in the instance of an emergency he ran for help. So, don’t be too hard on yourself,” I compliment him. I adjust my glasses on my face, feeling a small bit of irritation as my ginger hair was slowly falling from its claw clip.

His smile felt a little more genuine than before. He held the baby in his arms as he spoke, “Thank you. I'm glad that he's turning out to be just as good as you think he is."

I notice as silence capacitates the space between us, his eyes now study me the similar way I observed him before. I was wearing a matching set, gray sweatpants and a compression long sleeve. I looked like I had just hopped out of bed, yet, I didn’t feel unattractive to his vision.

I place my hair behind my ear, “Well…um…I should probably get back to my grocery shopping, don’t wanna keep bothering you two.”

"Yeah, you're right. I still have a few things I need to buy." Toji replied, I notice Megumi begins to grumble out fussy sounds. I give him an awkward smile as I then wave to the baby, turning myself back towards my basket to push.

"Wait... can I ask you something?" Toji then said. As I looked at him, he was looking straight at me; not the baby.

“…Yeah, sure!” I nod my head, gripping my grocery list nervously in my hand.

He looked at his son, slowly looking back at me.

"Does that mean you're single, by any chance?"

I'm not sure why my heart skips a beat at the question. “Um…yeah, I am actually,” I clear my throat as I feel my face becoming warm, “Why?”

He chuckles at my reaction as he replies, "The way that he was clinging to you, I thought that maybe he was onto something."

Okay, so he is flirting. Realizing that makes me even more flustered as I speak, “Oh…babies do have good intuition,” I point out. “Well, maybe this was his plan all along…to come find me,” I smile gently.

"Maybe it was. But one things for sure, the boy is interested in you,” He said, teasing. He tried pulling the baby farther back, Megumi beginning to whine, clearly wanting to stay closer to me.

“Mmm. Fair. But the real question is, is Daddy interested in me?” I tease back, asking the question more so towards Megumi, coming closer as I delicately tickle him with my fingers.

A small smirk appeared on Toji’s face.

"Maybe I am,” He said with a flirtatious tone, his son giggling from the tickles I gave him.

“Well maybe I have a number I can give to Daddy then, hm?” I cooed to Megumi.

As I cooed over the baby, I then looked up into Toji’s eyes directly. From the way he began to look a little flustered, I guess he didn't expect me to be as bold. Maybe Megumi really was on to something.

"You do?" He asked, his voice going raspy as he leaned in a little closer to me.

“I do. Let’s see if he’ll call me then.”

I take a piece of paper out of my notebook, writing my number down and placing it in Megumi’s small hand.

"Shit. Well I might just have to then, Seioni,” He said, eyes following my body as I walked away from him. Before I turned the corner out of the aisle, I saw the baby fumbling with the piece of paper in his hands. Toji smirked as he brought his attention to him, “What did she give you, champ?"

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏~♡

MAYBE I WAS BEING A CREEP. It was nearly three in the morning, a small box of Fig Newtons on the table as I stared at my phone, curiously waiting to see if he’d text. What the hell is wrong with me? It’s three a.m, and he has a child.

I wondered to myself why I was even still awake. The interaction from earlier might’ve given me a bit of a high, and now I couldn’t bring myself to sleep. I look down as the clock says it’s now 3:01AM, rolling my eyes as I stand up to put my snack away and go to bed.

That’s when the phone begins to ring.

I could’ve flown to the table if I suddenly grew wings, looking over the phone as an unknown number pops up. It probably wasn’t him. Another spam number, mostly likely. I wait a couple of seconds before I pick up the device, stepping back as I press the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

"Is this the beautiful, kind woman that gave her number to my son?" He asked, an immediate flirtatious sound to his voice as he spoke. I could hear the sound of random voices in the background.

My heart fluttered at his deep voice. I confidently replied, “Yes, is this the handsome man with the son?” I closed my eyes, wanting to kick myself in the throat.

He chuckled, amused at my compliment as he spoke, "Yep, that's me. I was surprised that the little one wanted your number so badly."

“Seems like he wanted it more than you did,” I tease.

"That's probably true." He replied, his voice going a little lower, “I do have a couple of questions though." He started to say, sounding a bit more serious now.

“Uh…cool, no problem. Go ahead with your questions,” I prod, sitting myself on my sofa.

He cleared his throat, trying to make clear what he was about to say next. The silence suddenly felt as if he was apprehensive of his question.

“Why are you single? You seem like an incredibly kind and attractive person.”

The question makes me chuckle. “That’s sweet. But…if I'm being honest, I just moved down here. I was in a relationship for a while before we broke up. I owned a tattoo shop back in my hometown, and I decided to expand out here. So, starting fresh in a new city,” I explain.

"You own a tattoo shop, really? I'm surprised I don’t have to fill out an application just to talk to you ,” He joked, his voice filled with curiosity.

“It’s gotten a lot more eyes on it than I ever imagined. But, unfortunately not, as far as the dating scene. My shop kinda runs itself, I have my regular artists who hold it down. I just do the paperwork now,” I reply.

I hear him adjust himself, a smirk now on his voice. “Wow. So you've got this nice shop, plus your own condo?”

I laugh, “Why’s that hard to believe? I’m a woman with her shit together. The topic of companionship never mattered to me, but I also wouldn’t mind the space being filled.”

"So you can handle yourself alone, I feel that,” He replied, giving a little chuckle, “But with all those qualities it just surprises me that you haven't found the right one. If I were to guess, I bet you get a lot of guys who hit on you."

“Not much since I’ve been down here, surprisingly. I’m usually at home a lot, if not in the office of the shop. You’re the first guy to actually approach me—but that was just due to circumstances, I guess,” I giggle.

"True. I’m glad I caught you before somebody else did. You said you were in a serious relationship before moving here, right?"

“Oh. Yeah,” I almost want to roll my eyes at the reminder, “But between you and me, I just turned twenty-nine. I’m ready for a seriously committed relationship. I don’t have time for the stupid shit—That stupid shit being a lot of stuff I dealt with in my hometown.”

"Yeah, I feel you on that,” He chuckles, “Sometimes the fun stuff can turn out to be the most problematic shit. The older we get, the more we learn what we want from someone. What was your previous relationship like?"

I adjust myself on the sofa as I think for a moment. “It was kinda an off and on relationship. He was the person my family wanted me to be with, everybody expected me to marry. But he was…boring? In every aspect. We didn’t have any of the same dreams or aspirations, the sex was pretty mediocre, and he didn’t take me seriously in my career. I don’t hate him, I just didn’t think we weren’t compatible,” I explained, “Is this an interrogation?” I then ask.

"No, no it isn't. I'm just trying to get to know more about you is all, beautiful,” Toji replied, his voice becoming a bit more deeper and flirtatious as he spoke.

"Plus, it seems like you already know what you want, which would definitely weed out a lot of guys anyway..."

“Mmm. So now I’m beautiful,” I repeat, “But yeah, it does. I want someone that’s gonna excite me in every aspect of the relationship. We can be two different people, but there has to be some fiery chemistry to create the connection I’m craving, you know?”

"Ex-act-ly!" He replied, "You want someone that can match your personality, not someone who settles for just whatever is given. Someone who can actually stimulate you, make you feel things that you've always wanted to feel. Someone who's confident and willing to take charge..." He paused, realizing he was going on a little bit of a rant.

"Sorry, I just got a little carried away there," he said with a small chuckle.

“No, you’re fine. We’re not having this conversation for you to be short. That’s exactly what I mean though, everything you said. I’m a lot to handle. And I’m not saying I need a man to ‘handle�� me, but I guess being grounded back down to earth at times…or even ‘handling’ me would be nice. I like a man a lil’ rough around the edges,'' I laugh softly.

"You like a man that's rough around the edges, huh? Someone who can really 'take control' of the situation?” Toji teased back, his voice going a little bit deeper.

I was enjoying how this conversation was going, our flirting felt entirely natural. But I didn’t wanna get ahead of myself yet.

I giggle softly as I reply, “Exactly. That’s exactly what I want,” I confirm, “But what about you? I…don’t want to be intrusive, but I’m just a little curious about Megumi’s mother. What happened to her? Were you guys together before she…passed?”

Silence comes within the phone. I immediately felt bad for even asking the question, quickly correcting myself as I spoke, “I’m sorry—“

"You’re good. We were together before she was pregnant with Megumi but...she passed away shortly after. She was…”

“We don’t have to finish this conversation, I didn’t mean to make you upset,” I reply, hearing his voice becoming different.

"It's fine, really,” he continues, “We were together. We had Megumi, but then she passed from birth complications.”

“I understand. My um…my birth mom actually passed away when giving birth to my youngest brother, which left me and my second brother to go into foster care early—but my family now is perfect. So I understand the feeling you get when you speak about her. I don’t know the actual feeling because that was someone you loved romantically, but my mom was my mom, so…” I shifted my body on the sofa, distracting myself not to become upset, “I get it. Grief comes with time, time comes with patience, patience comes with preservation.”

“And here I thought you were just someone I met by chance,” I feel relieved to hear him teasing again.

I laugh softly, “And here I thought you were some hot guy that looks like a villain, or might be a villain! Clearly there’s more to you than that, and it’s very sweet. But, it seems like you’ll have a little competition in trying to win my affection,” I remind jokingly.

“Villain? Shit, might be. But I don't mind the competition. I'm up for it if you are,” He speaks confidently.

“Competing against your baby son? Shame, Toji,” I shake my head, “I think he had me first, though.”

"Damn. That’s crazy. I guess he does have you all to himself then, huh? But for real, I’m not even jealous. It's just funny seeing him take such an interest in someone. He usually doesn't show much expression to other people, but he really went out of his way to want to know you. So you can take that as a compliment."

“I do, actually. It seems like he’s tired of your ass, he needs a womanly touch,” I playfully insult.

"Oh really? You think you know more about my son than I do?”

“Mmm, I’m not too sure. I mean, I don’t have any kids, yet I somehow knew your baby was teething before you did…weird, right?” I mock his sarcasm.

"Yeah, right. Like you, some lonely ass woman who's got no kids can know more about my own son than me, even though you haven't even spent an hour with him yet,” He scoffed back, “I bet you don't even know that he started a new habit recently."

“Ouch, I am not lonely!” I chuckle, “I have two cats, actually. They’re great companions. And what’s this new habit he started? I’m curious,” I reply.

"He’s really into Doc Mcstuffins, as you can currently hear in my background. He also started chewing his thumb. He'll do it when he gets fussy, or he can't get to sleep...” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice as he talked about Megumi.

“I hope you didn’t take that baby’s pacifier away before he was ready. He’s looking for it, asshole!” I insult, “That’s why he’s chewing on his thumb. You should try putting his pacifier in the freezer and then giving it to him. He’ll love that. And yes, I am a cat lady, better than a fussy man around my house, eating all my food and paying no damn bills!”

"Hey, I didn't take his pacifier away! I would never do that to him. But you're right, I haven't tried the freezer thing with his pacifier yet before. I should do that soon, and see how he takes it."

“Good. The coldness on his teeth will really help that process of them coming in. See, maybe he ran to me because he needed a girly touch to things. The boy knows what he wants in a woman,” I hum.

"Mmm, I think he just wanted to see if he could get a better reaction out of you. I guess he was bored of me. Although, the only type of 'girly touch' I can imagine you doing to a guy is kicking him. You seem far too aggressive for someone that wants to be seen with more of a ‘womanly touch’.”

“Oh god. You did not just hit me with the angry black woman trope. Megumi was practically in love with me. Don’t act like you don’t like my aggression and hostility, otherwise you wouldn’t be on the phone with me,” I laugh.

He laughs, “Nah. It’s not like that. Maybe aggression is kind of 'my thing.' I do have a little bit of a kink for that..." He said, teasing me again.

“Mhm, exactly. I know you think it’s a little sexy, so shut up,” I reply, “ But, I guess to prove that he is in fact in love with me, a second interaction is needed.”

"A second interaction? So you think you're definitely going to win his heart this time, huh?"

“I’ve already won it. And if I don’t, you can laugh in my face for it, hm?” I suggest.

“Imma’ have to set up a second interaction then, just to see which one of us is the winner. I’m not finna’ let you take the heart of my son! I have too much pride for that."

“It’s a deal then. Give me a time, and I’ll be there,” I hum, feeling completely comfortable in this conversation.

"How about... in 3 days. Does that work for you?" I could suddenly hear a flirtatious vibe in his voice.

Three days felt like a very short time. I don’t know why I went from being comfortable to nervous. To be able to actually see this man in person again, it made me…intimidated. But it also made me very curious.

“Mmm, in three days? I think I can do that. Make sure everything’s together in my shop, so I can have all the time for you and your little miniature self,” I chuckle.

"I'll make sure everything is prepared then. But you also better prep yourself as well, you don't know what to expect fuckin’ with me,” he speaks cockily, my eyes rolling at his confident tone.

“You say that as if I’m supposed to be intimidated. I think you should be more worried about handling me, Toji…” I drawled his name sultrily, wanting to play him at his own game.

“Oh for real? And why exactly should I be worried about handling you?" he questioned, his cocky tone returning.

“I’m a shower more than a teller. Guess I’ll just leave that in mystery now.”

"If that's the case, then it seems like I have three days to figure out what kind of woman you actually are before we 'compete' for Megumi's love’,” He said.

“Mmm, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll answer the phone, maybe I won’t,” I playfully responded.

"Then I guess I should make sure I stay near the phone the entire weekend, huh? You really want to win Megumi over? Or is it something else?"

“Don’t turn this around on me. Now, I fell in love with little Megumi. It’s a plus that his father is incredibly sexy, so, maybe I am looking for more. But so are you,” I speak slowly, flirting into the phone.

"Be more specific when you tell me what you want from me.”

I raise my eyebrows. Why the fuck did that kinda arouse me?

I clear my throat as I reply, “Damn. You making demands already? So dominant. You want everything your way, I can tell,” I point out, “But, maybe I’m…interested in you romantically as well. God, I should’ve lied, I can feel that cocky ass smirk on your face as I speak.”

“I am dominant,” he corrects me, “But repeat what you said. Are you romantically interested in me?”

I roll my eyes, “Yes, Toji. Happy?”

“Very.”

“Mhm. I think you like that idea a little too much. But, it’s unfortunate that I have to get off the phone. I have to go handle some infuriated customer at the shop, mentally preparing myself for the bullshit as we speak,” I sigh.

“Damn. This late?”

“This late. My shop runs overnight too, my artists love making some money.”

“Me and your artists have that in common… I wanted to talk to you a little bit longer,” he admits.

“Seems like someone’s more interested than they make themselves to be,” I flirtatiously hum, “But seriously, I do have to go. I’m sorry. You’ll see me in three days, so…think on that.”

"I'll be thinking about you for the next three days."

“Goodbye, Toji.” I smiled, hanging up with a small flush on my cheeks. I press my hands to my face as I lay out on the couch, laughing to myself in embarrassment. Dammit. I was such a softy.

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏~♡

“OKAY. OKAY. FUCK. OKAY, THIS IS GOOD, RIGHT?”

I stand in the mirror of my bedroom, twisting and turning my body as I stare at myself. The black corset clung to my figure. The long skirt I wear is equally tight as my hips struck out, my right hip peeking through from the high slit on one side.

“I mean, it’s not too much, right?” I frown at myself.

“Girl, I’d fuck you. You look amazing,” my friend compliments.

“Thank you. But I’m not looking for him to fuck me, ma’am. I actually…find myself liking him.”

“Ooh, the Ice Queen has a heart?”

“….I might want him to shake my uterus loose. Just a little bit,” I admit.

My friend laughs, “That’s what I thought. But seriously, you look beautiful, Oni’. If he doesn’t want you, we’ll go out to the bar and find a man that does!”

“Thank you. But I don’t want a drunken idiot. I want him,” I say honestly.

My ginger hair comes down in wavy layers as I brush my fingers through it. The color compliments my winged eyes, lips a dark shade of mauve. I hope I can survive in the skimpy strapless heel I wear, a small pink bow on the front straps. I blew out a breath.

“What if he—“

“Girl. You said you were practically caked up with him until damn near five a.m. If the man doesn’t like you, he’s insane.”

I try to shake my insecurities as I exhale, “You’re right. Okay. I’m gonna go, I love you. If I don’t text back in the next two hours, put a police report out on me!”

“Or you’re getting criminally fucked,” my friend smirks.

“You’re disgusting, and that was a horrible pun. Goodbye.”

I hang up the phone, spraying myself of my vanilla perfume as I take another spin in the mirror. I knew I looked good, I just hoped that he felt the same way. Grabbing the small gift bag, I grab my keys as I quickly make my way out of the door.

My heart stammers in my chest as I turn the music up in my Lamborghini, speeding down the road to block out the noise in my head. I usually never had an issue with presenting myself to anyone, especially a man. Why was he any different?

As I think to myself, I look down at the map on the screen of my radio, looking up to see that I was pulling in what looked to be an extremely wealthy neighborhood. All the houses seemed to be older, simple and light colored as I slowed myself down the road. One particular house stood out. As I came to the end of the neighborhood, the last house stood by itself, spaced out between all the others. It was all black, contemporarily styled as it was flat unlike the other houses that were pointed. Most of the walls within this house were glass, my eyes able to see into the home that had all black furniture, marble granite counters and other lavish items. I raised my eyebrow as the map confirmed that I had made it to my destination.

“What the hell…”

I pull my car into the circular driveway, parking next to the three cars that slanted above the grey brick on the ground. They were an all black, matte wrapped Rolls Royce, G-Wagon and a Corvette.

“Huh,” I muttered to myself.

I stepped out of the car, holding my skirt as I slowly made my way up to the front door. My heart began stammering itself again, I took a deep breath as I rang the doorbell. The longer it took for the door to open, the more I thought about just walking away and going home.

The door then swings open, my eyes following up to that same darkly attractive face. This time, with no clothes. He stood there in a dark red towel covering his lower half, using another towel as he dried his onyx hair. My eyes glanced down to the tattoo I’d previously seen, watching it snake all the way up to the side of his neck. The body that I’d see before was now in full view, more perfectly toned and defined up close. His veins traveled in his arms, flexing as he dried himself off.

“Hey, Pretty. I’m sorry for not being ready, Megumi’s pacifier went missing before I put him down for his morning nap, so that fucked up my track of time. You would’ve thought that shit was world war three,” he explains. He eyes me up and down as he then takes my hand, kissing my palm. “You look fuckin’ gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” I replied, “And it’s fine…did you find it?”

I try to distract myself as my eyes flicker down to the bulge that stares back at me, bigger than I’d imagine it to be.

“Yeah, in his damn toy box. Let me get dressed, I’ll come meet you back downstairs. Come in.”

I nod my head, watching as he turns away and begins walking down the hall, my upper body leaning into the door as I watch him.

“You still lookin’?” He calls teasingly, obviously noticing my eyes.

“Mhm…” I call back, watching as he disappears down the hallway.

Closing the door behind myself, I notice that all of his shoes are by the front. I take that as a sign that he doesn’t allow shoes on his floor, removing my heels next to the outrageously smaller shoes next to his. My eyes take in the up-close scenery of this house, all black architecture with minimalist decoration. Paintings of women with no faces lay along his walls, silver electronics sat on the tables, leading up to a TV as big as a theater screen. My ears catch attention to the music dancing all around the house, I nearly roll my eyes.

“Of course this motherfucker listens to Brent,” I mutter.

I sit the small gift bag I have against the table, leaning myself on the end as I continue to stare at his home. My eyes come back down as he now appears, fully dressed in a black long sleeve and matching sweatpants.

“The present is for Megumi I’m assuming? Kiss ass,” he disses.

I roll my eyes, “Whatever, hater. Don’t be mad cause you didn’t think of it!”

“What’s in there?” He repeats, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, since you think I’m such a kiss ass, I thought I’d buy some Silicone Teethers for your baby, and to help your big headed ass.”

“My head’s that big?”

“Anyways, I figured these would be better for soothing the pain. You can put these in the freezer. I also got him a new pacifier as well.”

“Cute,” is all he says, his gaze shifting down my body.

“Where’s Megumi?” I then raise my eyebrows, “You’re easily distracted.”

“I can’t help myself,” he shrugs, “He’s still down from his nap earlier.”

“Mmm,” I reply back, scanning him up and down as I compliment, “You have a nice ass house. But what do you do for work? I mean, luxury cars, inputted speakers in the ceiling? You in the mafia or something?”

“You’re half right, but it’s not always mafia related work.”

“Oh hell. I was joking,” I reminded him, “You’re serious?”

“And I get paid damn well for it.”

“And you trust me to keep this secret?”

“You can do whatever you want with that information, see where it gets you.”

“Ooh, boy. Please don’t get smacked,” I threaten.

“I appreciate the stuff you got him, seriously. Thank you. Tryna’ play mommy already?” He grins.

“You wish. The hopeless romantic you are, Toji,” I sigh, “Haven’t even been around me for an hour yet. Sure you aren’t falling in love already?”

“Who said that I wasn’t? I’m a grown ass man, I like you. And?”

He came closer to me as I still leaned against the end of the table, hovering over my frame as he stared down at me. I grinned to myself, “Well I might like you too, but I like playing hard to get.”

“That’s cool, I like to play with my prey before I catch it,” He plays back with me.

I raise my eyebrows, “You’re one arrogant bastard, aren’t you?”

The natural flirtation had returned. I raise my hand out as I place it at the bottom of his shirt, twisting as I tug him forward.

“You like it,” he comes even closer, bringing his eyes down to my lips as he leans in. I then pressed my hand against his lips as I stopped him from kissing me, giggling sultrily as I said, “I think you should go get your son, Toji.”

“Nah, I shouldn’t.”

I shake my head, amused at his now irritated face as I push him back and say, “You should. I’ll be here.”

“You better be,” he gruffly responds, turning as he makes his way back down the hallway of his house. I blew out a breath, my composure coming down as I felt my heart slowly speeding itself up. As I looked around, I began to wonder how many women had been in this house. It wasn’t my business, but I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t one of his conquests.

I turn my head as I hear footsteps making their way back towards the living room, ridding my mind of all the thoughts I had.

“You look nervous,” he notices.

“Not at all,” I lied.

I look behind him as I hear small footsteps clumsily making their way into the living room, my heart melting all over again as Megumi appears. He wears a brown wool onesie, the hoodie attached to the neck part having animal ears that looked to be bears. He wears a small golden chain around his wrist.

“Don’t ask about the onesie, the boy loves his teddy bears,” Toji shakes his head.

Instead of coming straight towards me, we both watched as Megumi stumbled around the room, observing everything that he could as he walked around. His cheeks were fat and full, movements reckless as he was bumping into things by accident.

I slowly squat down as I smile softly, “Hi, handsome. Miss me?”

Megumi's head quickly turned around as he heard me, his big golden eyes now meeting mine. Excitement comes along his soft face, a squeak releasing from his lips as he nearly falls over, staggering to me. I laugh shockingly as I catch him in my arms, picking him up as I squeeze gently.

"Ah shit. He likes you,” Toji smacks his lips.

“Mmm, I think he does, too. Now, didn’t you say that we were betting on winning his affection? Cause I think I’m doing pretty well. He recognized me all the way from the grocery store.”

“I think you’ve won the bet.”

“I know I did,” Megumi wraps his small arms around my neck and hair, leaning himself against my chest. I cooed, “Hi, sweetheart. I got you something, wanna see?” I knew that he couldn’t respond, but I still wanted to communicate with him.

“Look,” I turn, sitting him against the large black table, pulling out the teether I mentioned earlier. I also grabbed the small rattle I hadn’t mentioned to Toji, placing it in his hand. I take his wrist as I gently shook it from side to side to show him what to do. Megumi began to shake it around, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he did so.

“I think I might’ve chosen the wrong toy for your Daddy’s sake. Seems like he won’t be sleeping for a while,” I whisper, playfully rubbing my finger against Megumi’s cheek.

I could hear him chuckling behind me, coming forward as he kissed the baby's cheek, “You like everything, lil’ man?”

“Hm?” I then lift the cold pacifier I have in the bag as well as other cold toys, placing it in his mouth. The baby hummed softly in response, causing me to smile, turning to Toji as I spoke, “He really does like everything!”

“I can tell, you like everything, hm?” He then raises the baby up in the air, giggles flying all around the room. I laugh quietly at their interaction.

“So, how many women have you played house with like this?” I can’t keep this question to myself anymore.

He holds Megumi to his chest as he hears my question, raising his eyebrow as he replies, “Many women, if you really wanna know.”

That made me roll my eyes as he then continued, “But don’t act like you haven’t had as many men in comparison.”

“Mmm, I actually haven’t. But as for you, that’ll be an issue if you expect me to take you seriously,” I tilt my head.

“What are you trying to say?”

I sigh. “You’re sexy, Toji. I’m not stupid to think you don’t have multiple notches on that bed post of yours, you have a child, for god’s sake. Your sexual appetite is probably…hungry at all times. Especially if you had a woman crazy enough to moan that she wanted your child. But seriously, I don’t care about that. I just wanna make sure I’m not another one of your conquests, cause if that’s the case, we can cut this interaction extremely short.”

The amusement on his face makes a glare almost come to mine. When he notices that I’m entirely serious he comes forward as he says “You aren’t,” affirming my suspicion.

“We’ll see,” I then hum. “So, were we gonna spend the rest of the day with Megumi? Or did you want me all to yourself, you did seem a little jealous on the phone,” I tease.

"I would actually like to spend some alone time with you...but if you're okay with just spending the rest of the day with Megumi, I'm fine with that too,” he replies, shrugging as he awaits my answer.

“Mmm, I think I can spend some time with you, Daddy,” I said sultrily, “Where will Megumi be?”

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warns, “Think I’ll probably put him down for his evening nap.”

“Sure. He seems to be…already there,” I giggle as I then notice Megumi passed out on Toji’s chest.

“I’ll go put him down. Want a glass of wine? I don’t do that expensive shit, it isn’t all that good…do you drink Stella Rose?” He asks.

I place my hands on my chest as I sigh dreamily, “You had me at Stella Rose.”

“Yes ma’am,” he nods, making his way back down the hallway. He then came back and went into the kitchen. I sat myself along the sofa, my eyes sweeping over his large arms, wondering how strong he was. I could feel a chill go down my spine at the thought.

I take the glass out of his hand as I see he also poured himself a glass of brown liquor, “Thank you,” pressing my lips up to the sweet drink. He sits himself against the sofa next to me, scooting me closer to him as he pulls my legs over his thigh.

“So, tell me, what’s the plan for you in a couple of years. You mentioned your….illegal activities, anything else you wanna do career wise?” I curiously ask.

“Mmm, own a jet, build an enterprise, be able to buy Megumi anything he wants under the sun. And…time travel,” he shrugs, sipping his drink.

“I’m assuming you have a plan…” he asks curiously, finding my topic to be intriguing.

“Well, eventually. My business is doing great as of right now. All my artist get paid pretty well for their work, so I want to get to a point where I can open multiple shops nationwide. I’ll have managers for those shops, not even have to do any of the work. Just watch the money roll in,” I shrug.

“Sounds like you’re pretty confident in yourself.”

“I’m pretty cocky when it comes to my career, I’ll admit. I’m a badass tattoo artist, the work speaks for itself. My pen is fucking dangerous,” I admit, taking another sip of my wine, giggling to myself. I was becoming a little tipsy, I knew that.

“I hope you really got the skills to back it up then,” he grins.

“Of course. All the ink on my body, I’ve done myself.”

He scans my body, noticing all the ink upon it. He then asks, “What’s your biggest piece?”

“For sure my tiger. As you can see it kinda swims to my thigh,” I refer to the red ink that scales my skin, “Everything else was kinda out of pure boredom. But pure boredom caused that scar on my ass, so,” I laugh.

"You’re saying that you have more pieces due to pure boredom alone..." He repeated with a soft chuckle, finding it funny. When I mentioned the scar on my ass, he burst out laughing.

"How in the hell...did you get a scar on your ass?" He asked, unable to stop laughing.

“I tried to do a tattoo on my ass and went too hard with the needle. It’s a sad story,” I pout.

" Were you drunk at the time or something?"

I smack his arm as he still laughs, “Hey! Laughing is not allowed. I pride myself on tattooing in any state of mind. But…maybe I was a bit inebriated,” I admit, taking another sip of wine.

“You’re crazy…”

“I have a nice ass, what can I say? I thought some ink would look nice on there,” I shrug, laughing with him.

“I’ll agree, that ass is something else,” he shrugs, finishing off his drink.

“Oh? So you admit you’ve been looking at my ass?” I raise my eyebrow, “And oh, c’mon! I’m sure you have a bad drunk story.”

“Nothing as wild as your shit,” he chuckles.

“Whatever,” I shrug, “Back to this time travel thing, were you serious?”

“Kinda…you know in mythology, time travel is real.”

“Oh god, are you tipsy?” I joke, “Hm. Well, what would you do if you had the ability to time travel?”

“Probably travel back to a time where my family was alive. I’d change a lot,” he responds.

“Pretty understanding. To meet the people that created you is a wondrous adventure, I’d assume. Or a horrible idea. Same difference. I’d steal the Statue of Liberty or something, I don’t give a damn if it’s an important artifact. The bitch is terrifying,” I finish off my glass of wine.

“Something we can agree on. You uh…good on the wine?” He tilts his head.

“Boy, please. I drink wine like I drink water. And what the hell were you drinking? Does it turn you into a monster or something?”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “Nah, nothing like that. It was just Crown. Shit just makes me a little more flirty and outspoken.”

“So your regular self, then?”

“Exactly.”

“So how are you feeling right now then? About me?” I ask curiously.

“About you?” He repeats, thinking to himself, “I’d say I find you pretty charming, funny, sexy. All of the above.”

“And…you’re physically attracted to me?” I lean closer to him, a warmth over my entire body that only happened when I drank. Damn you Stella Rose.

“I’d be lying if I wasn’t, Oni’.”

“Well good, cause I find you pretty attractive as well,” I smile, “If you remember, you um…tried to kiss me before you brought Megumi out,” I mentioned.

“Did I?” He replies, a sarcasm along his face. Now he was playing with me. “I think you liked that shit, didn’t you?”

“I did. I think… I might want you to test your luck again…” I tempted.

“Really?” He grins, seeing as I have a new set of confidence within myself, eyeing me up and down as I crawl closer to him.

“Mhm,” I sat my wine glass down, pushing myself up as I now straddled his lap. I placed his hands on my hips.

His eyes widened slightly, fingers gripping around my hips yet he said nothing as he watched me. I then asked, “What’s wrong?” trailing my finger down his chest, bringing my eyes up innocently.

“…Nothing…” he stumbles, still unable to say more than that.

“What happened to that cocky man that always wanted things his way, hm? I think I miss him…” I trail off, biting back my smile.

“Yeah? That’s what you want?” His eyes come down, staring down at my lips. I could tell that he was tempted to kiss me, and if being honest, I really wanted him to.

“I mean…Toji…” I slowly come forward, hovering my lips right above his as I speak, “If you wanna kiss me…come take what you want.”

It’s almost as if the suggestion made something in him snap. The urge that had been slowly building up was now in control of him, as he leaned forward, closing the tiny distance between our mouths. But instead of just taking what he wanted from me, he started to gently brush his lips against mine in a slower, softer way. With all the flirting I did earlier to get to him, it was his time to do the same.

His lips slowly ran against mine, teasingly touching my bottom lip before he moved to the top one as well. It felt all too enticing. His teasing caused me to grip the bottom of his shirt, twisting it slightly as he made me aroused. I whimpered at this movement embarrassingly, wanting to pull him closer. He couldn't help but smirk. He slowly grabbed my hips as he brought himself closer to me. I wanted more.

“Don’t play with me,” I beg, “Kiss me.”

"I think I'll keep playing..." He countered, thankfully having no plans to keep me waiting any longer. His hands gripped my hips tightly as he moved his mouth against mine, passion flooding in. My words had caused him to lose control of himself, and the flirty talk from earlier was nowhere in sight. He also wanted more. Badly.

I moved my lips with his, nearly losing my senses as his tongue was in my mouth, taking control of the kiss as if he were trying to assert his dominance. I relaxed in his hold, allowing myself to submit to him. I was in a trance. I’d never been so aroused from just a kiss, the ache between my thighs beginning to grow as I slowly grind myself against him, moaning softly at the feeling.

He was practically filled with adrenaline. His hands gripped tightly around my hips as my moan echoed in the room, he moaned softly in response to my movement. His lips ran aggressively against mine, tongue exploring my mouth. When he pulled back, I now felt his lips along my throat, holding the side of my neck as he sucked the skin. I closed my eyes and breathed harshly, “T—Toji…I think you’re a little drunk…” I giggle, my breath hitching intensely.

"Yeah...maybe I am a little bit..." He muttered softly against my neck as he continued to lightly suck, enjoying the way I was reacting to his actions. He definitely wasn't stopping what he was doing, now biting my flesh.

I moaned at the slight pain from him biting the skin, feeling myself becoming more aroused. I could feel my corset lowering, my nipples being exposed to him and my face flushed in embarrassment as I tried to pull the material up. I kept thinking, was this gonna lead to sex? Was I ready for that with him?

“Toji…I just…wait,” I breathed, his mouth all over my skin, “I just…wanna make sure that this is the right time for us to do this…” I kept talking, moaning as he continued to touch me.

"Well...” He breathed out in between kisses, “When do you think is the right time?"

“I don’t know…I—guess there isn’t necessarily a t—time,” I responded, aroused at every touch he made against my skin, I moaned again for him as I whimpered, “S—so…good…”

I knew the way I answered with a stutter caused his eyebrow to raise in curiosity, deciding to probe a little further. His hands roamed all over my body as his kisses traced my neck, speaking to me in a flirty tone.

"So...you're telling me...that it doesn't necessarily matter the time when we do this? Because...if that's the case..." He sighed, hands sliding down to my thighs.

“N—no…” I shivered, realizing that he was now messing with me. I wanted him to continue. Dammit. Why was I nervous again? I could barely respond back to him. I inhaled a sharp breath as I then felt his hand find my hair, tugging as he used his other hand to grip my throat, pulling me close to his face.

"Ahh...so now you're getting scared..." he whispered into my ear.

“I’m not scared…” I panted, trying to remove his hand from my throat as he gripped a bit tighter, pulling me so close to his face as he cockily smiled. I couldn’t help it, I loved the way he was talking to me.

"You sure?" His hand readjusted with the intent to squeeze harder if I kept resisting.

“M’…not scared of you, Toji…” I gritted out my teeth.

The way I spoke made him smirk even more at my words. He wanted to hear me say something.

"Oh? Well, what are you scared of, then?" He whispered softly against my ear, the hand that was previously in my hair sliding up my thighs, squeezing my ass gently.

I was nervous to actually admit this. I then closed my eyes as I responded, “How r—rough you can be…” I admit. I was intimidated by him, but it only excited me more.

"That’s how you want it?"

I nodded my head, shivering at his mouth against my ear, “Yes, please.” I nodded again.

I barely had time to react. My breath hitched as he then flipped our positions on the sofa, I grunt as he bent me over the furniture, pushing my back inward so I arched my body against him. He ripped my skirt off of my legs, my ears hearing the material shred lightly. I jump as he spanks the skin of my thigh.

“So polite…”

“Toji…I…”

I took in another sharp breath as he pulled me upwards to where my back met with his chest, his hand coming around from behind as it gripped my throat, pulling me close to him. He used his other hand as he ripped the lace of my underwear apart, the fabric trickling down to the ground. My eyes flicked upwards to the wall across from us. I could see myself in full view. He twisted my hair in his fist, tugging me up to look in his eyes. Leaning down, he spread my flesh apart with his fingers as he attached his mouth between my legs, immediately sucking on my clit. I closed my eyes as a moan plummeted from my lips. I arched myself forward, his hand in my hair pulling me backwards onto his tongue, mouth creating a sloshing sound against my core. I groaned at the feeling, swaying my hips to match his movement. He grunted against my skin, spanking his palm down on my ass in repetitions.

My stomach cramped as I tensed, arching myself down to see him from behind me. His eyes flicked up to mine, a grin surfacing against my skin. He closed his eyes as he placed his hands under my legs, pulling me backwards as he moaned, full on making out with my lower lips, tongue continuously dipping in and out of my opening.

“‘Shit ain’t never tasted so good, baby. Never had anything like you. Imma eat your shit until you squirt,” he groans.

It’s unfortunate that I wasn’t too long from doing that. I could barely hold myself together, circling my hips onto his face, his tongue lapping as if he starved for me, ached for me. He was chaotic in the best way, face diving entirely into me, sucking harshly on my clit as he gripped my hips, grinding me against his tongue. I could feel myself gushing before I could realize. He encourages, “Yeah, baby. She listening to me, huh?”

I shuddered against him, taking in the breath I’d lost as he now fully stands. He removed his shirt, throwing it to the side as he brought his eyes to mine.

“Come take these off, see what’s finna’ be yours soon.”

I turn fully, seeing him back up. “Crawl,” he demands.

The heat in my body turned up with every word he said. I lower myself off the sofa, placing my hands in front of each other as my legs sultrily follow, flicking my eyes up to his as I pull his sweatpants down. His length springs in front of my face, bigger than I’d seen from his bulge earlier. It was heavy in my hand as I immediately brought my fingers around it, his hand coming back into my hair as he tugged my eyes upwards, “You want it in your mouth?”

“Yes,” I nodded.

“Of course you fuckin’ do,” he pulls my jaw open, sliding himself in between my lips, filling my mouth until I felt him in the back of my throat. He grunts, my mouth bobbing against his hips as I choke, humming out the drool releasing from the sides of my lips.

I tried my best to keep up with his movements, swaying my neck back and forward as I closed my eyes, moaning as he fixed himself to the back of my throat. He pulls out from my mouth, slapping himself against my tongue as he speaks, “Treating this shit like it already belongs to you, hm?”

I nod my head. He leans himself down as he slides his hand to where it meets the side of my face, keeping a slight grip of my jaw beneath his fingers. I had never seen myself be this immediately submissive towards a man. But I also didn’t feel bad about it either.

“Wanna put it back in your mouth, or you want me to fuck you?”

“Fuck me.”

“Please?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Please,” I softly repeat myself.

“That’s what I thought,” he replies smugly, lightly smacking the side of my cheek. I have the urge to roll my eyes, nipples hardening at the hand along my face.

As I’m back against the sofa, I turn myself to face the mirror to see my expression was now purely filled with lust, wanting to fulfill the fantasy I imagined every time I stared at him. He follows behind me as he brings his hand to back of my neck. I had no room to argue as he leaned me forward, my nipples pressing against the leather material. He takes his other hand as he grips my hip, tip bobbing up and down gently along my folds. He pushed himself in inch by inch, stretching me in a way I’d never felt before, causing my mouth to drop open. I gasped loudly. I felt a deep pinch in my lower stomach, the feeling equally overriding in a deep sense of pleasure. I whimpered loudly, “Tojiii…”

He couldn't help but grin at the way I reacted to him. His grip around my throat became tighter when he heard these things, my shivering continuing as our hips met one another. Chills crawled up my spine. He moved slowly at first, taking his time as it caused me to drag out a moan, feeling every single pleasure from him. I closed my eyes, using the sofa as leverage as I found something to hold onto. “Oh god…”

His gentle movement allowed this feeling to last a lifetime. My moans seemed to be something that he found extremely hot, planning to continue the pace to keep it going for as long as possible. His hand circled around to the front of my throat, continuing to move against me, not speeding it up just yet. I wasn’t sure if I wanted more or if this was just as perfect.

“Oh my…” I gasped, trembling as I bit my lip to control my voice. His slow movements were driving me insane, feeling so good. I couldn’t hide the amount of pleasure I felt as I kept talking to him, “Baby…” I called, finding another term of endearment for him, “F—Feels so good,” I nodded my head.

“I know.”

I continued to gasp, shake, moan, and whimper. He knew it was driving me insane, wanting to keep moving slowly for as long as possible. My words were more than enough to fill his ego. He continued to go at the same pace for a bit, then began to speed up. He was curious to see just how much more pleasure he could make me feel.

My grip on the sofa became tighter. He loosened his hold on my throat as he then moved that same hand upwards as he slid his fingers in my mouth, using the leverage to pull me back against him. I then began helping him, moving myself back to match his rhythm, causing me to moan a bit louder.

“Toji….” Is all I could say, my head falling back as I moaned, his fingers shoving deeper in my throat. I lost control of my own rhythm, the leverage he had against me stronger as he bounced me back onto him. My eyes fluttered shut as I gasped from the feeling, whining as I continued to filthily bounce against him. I babbled, “Toji…baby…my god….” I just couldn’t stop myself. I slowly began to feel pleasurable tears forming in my eyes.

"Is that all you can say at this point? Is that what I've reduced you to? Just a simple whimper and my name?” He says back to me, continuing to thrust himself back in. His rhythm became faster as he dragged me back down more aggressively. My noises became louder, more feminine and filled with pleasure. He was right. I couldn’t stop moaning his name. He then added another hand to my throat, now gripping it harder this time with two hands as I bounced back and forth.

“Toji…I—I can’t…” I panted, whining as I wrapped my hand around one of his wrists, neither of his hands letting up from their hold against my throat. I looked up as I could see the mirror across from the sofa, my eyes closing embarrassingly as I could see myself. My flustered and submissive face. When I saw Toji noticing my stare, I grunted as he forcefully pointed my face to the mirror, now snapping his hips into mine.

“You’re a big girl, Oni’. I know you can talk to me. You can't do what?” He asks, “Look at you, big girl” . He keeps my face up to my reflection, “Taking my dick like this. Your pussy is gripping the fuck out of me. She likes it, so I know you do. Keep whining. I love that shit.”

I closed my eyes, unable to hold myself together anymore. I cried out, “Oh my goddd. I love the way you’re fucking me, baby. Yes,” I groaned, crying out louder as he never stopped his movements.

He smiled as I cracked beneath him, my moans uncontrollable at this point. The way I cried out for him was a way I never responded to any man in bed. His hands now tightened around my throat in a way that it was almost too much, yet there was no second of my mouth shutting. I just kept going.

“I hate you,” I cried, “You’re making me feel so… fucking good,” I moaned loudly, my eyes unable to snatch themselves away from his face in the mirror.

His grip finally loosened a bit, still remaining firm as he started to go even faster against me. His low laugh echoed along the room in a way that heightened my embarrassment. However, he'd keep going anyway.

He pulled me upward and close to his chest, holding me firmly as he fucked me. My ears listened as he brought his lips to them, speaking filthily, "You know you love it when I choke you, right? You like the fact that I take control…You like being used by me..”

I closed my eyes, whimpering and crying like a baby. I nodded my head as I trembled, “Yes. Yes. Yesssss…” was all I could make out.

Our bodies were in unison, his ego most likely in the high heavens by now. The way he spoke filthily into my ear would only cause him to hit more buttons, he held my face tightly in his hold, voice right in my ear. He spoke into it, sending chills down my spine.

"Say it, baby…”

“…Say..what…” I panted heavily, bringing my eyes away from the mirror.He was implausible, never slowing down his movements. I was listening.

"Say you belong to me..." He spoke in a firm tone, holding both of my hands down behind my back as he kept up with his movements.

“N—no,” I stuttered, biting my lip as I lowered my head. He used the leverage he had on my arms pulled behind me and pulled me up again, forcing me to look at myself in the mirror as he bounced me back onto him harder than before. I whined, my entire body trembling beneath him. The fact that I didn't immediately obey his commands caught his attention, as he'd grip me harder to make me look at myself as well as him. The bouncing back and forth on the sofa made my muscles weak as he kept going, speaking to me through both the mirror and his own mouth.

"Such a stubborn girl...do you want to be owned by me, or do I need to break you first..."

I closed my eyes, saying nothing in response. I could feel the arrogance pouring off of him, a low sob releasing from my chest as he tugged me back against him, my arms begging to be released from his hold. His smirk grew even more as I didn't respond to his words, keeping me close to his body. He knew I enjoyed every second of this.

“My fuckin’ god….Daddy,” I whined, my entire body purely hot from embarrassment as I called him this, his movements making me submissively chaotic. I watched him in the mirror, unable to hold myself together as I kept babbling, “I’m yours, baby. It’s yours. All of it. Just don’t stop. My god. Don’t stop.”

I spoke all of this into the mirror. I meant every word I said. His hips plummeted into mine, merciless as our skin slapped together. My entire vision filled with the image of my own body, hot and trembling, as he continued to go.

“Tell me I’m yours, I love when you talk to me. Tell me I’m fucking yours,” I cry, knowing I’d hate myself later for it, “Tell me I’m a good girl, I’m listening, you make me feel so good. No one has…” I took in another breath, “Ever made me f—feel this good.”

"You're mine," he spoke now, sounding more aggressive and demanding.

“Say it again,” I beg, seeing the tears in my face as I looked in the mirror, biting my lip as I couldn’t stop moaning.

He smirked as I begged. He knew I would despise myself later on, but the words made him smile even more. It all filled him with so much arrogance.

“You’re mine.” He repeated this to me, drilling himself between my hips, skin wetly coming together each time he was inside me.

“Yes. I’m yours baby, all yours. Yes. Yes. Yes.…” I said through each movement, crying out in a way I’d never heard myself before.

"And you belong to me?” He asks, grin on his face as he'd make the movements a bit slower. As if he was teasing me for the next answer.

“Nobody else, Daddy,” my tears poured in a quick stream, dropping down onto the sofa as he had his way with me.

The way he heard these words, the way I answered him so quickly. I knew for a fact that I’d never forget tonight, and he knew that I’d be begging for him again soon. Very soon.

“I’m so close….I’m gonna…please don’t stop, Toji. Please…” I called to him, full on crying now, my body trembling so hard that I had to firmly hold myself up.

"Beg me..." he demanded. He was moving slower, as if he was teasing me even more. There was no tiredness in his voice, as I was becoming extremely exhausted from each movement he made against me.

“I’m begging, baby. Please. I’ll never stop fucking begging,” I cried, dragging out my words.

"Good girl..." he spoke, a chuckle hiding in his tone. My tension began to rise, my body becoming harder and harder to hold as he was still going slow. His grip on my throat didn't loosen this time, holding onto me firmly. I could feel that same pinch beginning to build in the pit of my stomach, begging to be released from his pleasurable touch.

My body relaxed, my wet eyes shutting and taking him as he sped up again. I giggled as I whined, “That’s it , baby. Just the way I wanted it. Yessss.”

"Just a little bit more..."

“Yes…just a little more…I’m gonna….” My wet eyes cascaded tears from them, looking up into the mirror as I watched him. “Look at me, look how good you’re making me feel, I…I’ll never think about anyone else…”

He moaned at my words. The way he made me see myself in the mirror, he knew this was exactly what I wanted. His movements became more sloppy, tugging me back and forth in a way he didn’t care, like he hated me. He wanted me to beg for him again.

“I….just…don’t stop. Right there…that’s my spot…you’re hitting it so good…” I whined, my body shivering chaotically.

"Is that a good spot for you, baby?" A cockiness had never left his voice, almost mocking mine. He angled himself as he lowered down, swiveling his hips into me, my hips wining as they followed his motion.

“Y-es,” my voice broke as I spoke back, hiccuping my cries, “I’m falling in love with the way you’re fucking me….” I jumbled out, not even hearing my own words as they came out in moans. He slowly pulled himself out as he then slammed back into me. No noise releases from my mouth as it’s now agape, eyes rolling to the back of my head as if I were possessed.

“Toji…I’m close…” I bit my lip again, fluttering my wet eyes, my body unable to hold itself up.

“Don’t tell me something I already know. Look at that pretty fucking face,” he forces my eyes up to the mirror again, twisting his hand in my hair as he turned my ear to his lips. His voice was like a sinister taunt in my mind, reading how much power he had over me as he continued, “Squirt all over my dick. Paint it like it’s finna’ be yours. It is yours,” he grips my hair tighter, pulling himself out slowly as he moans, “Look at you, baby, creaming my shit. Looks like you want to cum. Might have to give you more than that,” he doesn’t stop. He slams back in, bouncing me back with just one hand as he promises, “Megumi needs a sibling. Might just give you a fucking baby.”

I screamed. I screamed in a way that I never screamed before. My body trembled, the pressure at the bottom of my stomach releasing as I orgasmed. I turned my head towards him as I begged, “Kiss me Daddy, please.”

His breath was heavy as he heard me finally reach my climax, he knew all of this was just the result of him keeping me on the edge and teasing for so long. The sound of me screaming with pleasure filled his ear, that fucking scream of mine, it was something that would haunt my memory for a long long time to come. The way I begged him at the end made his grip loosen on my throat, turning his face over to kiss me.

He moaned against my lips, a kiss more intimate than any time before entering my mouth as I felt a warmth filling inside me, his body never completely stopping as we grind against each other. I whimpered as my body relaxed, accepting the kiss further. Making out with this man in a way that I would’ve kissed my husband. I was fucking crazy. As I opened my eyes, I fully saw myself for the first time. My makeup was all over my face, mascara running down my cheeks as I stared at him. My entire face was completely red. I couldn’t believe who I had become. It was as if he could see all of my thoughts. But instead of being empathetic, he simply brought his hand around my throat as he hovered his face over my neck, dragging his tongue along the skin. I laughed sultrily, breathless in my entire being as all I said was, “You really are fuckin’ evil.”

The sound of Megumi crying also filled my ears with his arrogant chuckle. That reaction told me that from that point on, I was indeed fucked.

“Damn right,” he grunted.

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