#*sounds of cries of anguish*
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the-eye-guy · 9 months ago
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I caught up with Malevolent. And things Certainly Happened.
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Send help. I am not Doing Well
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e-n-t-r-o-p-i-c-f-r-o-g · 7 days ago
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I made kinda a big fuck up for the movie I worked on and I was told about it today. Gonna crawl in a dirt hole and just lie there.
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repressedgaymer · 3 months ago
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i start my new job tomorrow....
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bubblyqueenn · 2 years ago
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Fuck you all. Jimmy shouldve won. DNI if you didn’t for vote jimmy.
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little-miss-dilf-lover · 6 months ago
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more 18+ LOGAN HOWLETT thoughts bc clearly im a big fat fucking liar
fem!reader, 583 words
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Early morning sex is one of Logan’s favourites. There’s no rush, no haste – nothing. The rest of the world quiet, as if it's only the two of you up. 
He’d often be cuddling into you from behind, arm like a dead, sleeping weight around your middle. His hand in a protective hold under one of your tits, keeping you there with your back to his burly chest. It’s rather comfortable.
And as his eyes begin to open, adjusting to the dawn sky through the gap of the curtain, he notices something between his legs causing him anguish. Thick, naked cock rock hard against the cheek of your ass, the little sleeping, unknowing motions of you only furthering that agony.
He nuzzles his face into you from behind, chin hooking on the nape of your neck as he presses soft, light kisses into your cheek – trying to ease you awake. And when you inhale, the sound prolonged and sleepy, he only tempts you further: running the scruff of his beard over your bare shoulder, lips pressing faintly into the side of your throat.
“Got something I want you to take care of, sugar,” he whispers, voice low and gruff beside your ear. His hand on your tit beginning it’s gentle kneading, again, like he was trying to coax you. Pushing it even further by saying your name in that deep, manly way he often does.
You nestle your head back into him, humming in a way as if to show your intrigue. Your half-asleep self silently asking him to elaborate. And when he takes the hint, his grasp around your breast loosens, instead moving down to your stomach – large fingers brushing over your warm, bare skin. 
The trail continues, his touch moving down to between your thighs, the thickness of his wrist acting like a wedge betwixt your legs. His middle finger instinctively extends downwards, the tip of it running between the lips of your pussy, the action like a gentle, momentary warm up.
And so, he leaves that spot just below your clit, reaching his hand behind you —to the front of him— and to his cock. Fingers wrapping around his base, fist faintly pumping over his dick as if to ready himself – simultaneously guiding his head towards you from behind.
He teases you briefly with the tip as he lines up, swirling and circling himself around your entrance before sinking into you. The remnants of last night’s dirty affairs acting like a natural lubricant.
He stills, using his cock like a plug as if to allow you a moment to adjust – accommodate him once again. But it was like muscle memory, the walls of your pussy stretching and wrapping around him, drawing more of him in. 
“Fuck,” he groans, the sound cutting his curse short. He wraps his arm back around your middle, hand finding itself tucked under your tit –like his prior sleeping position– using your body for stability as he begins to slowly rock into you. 
Your eyes close as you melt into him, posture softening against his chest, grip loosening around his thick wrist. He inadvertently mirrors you, the tenseness in his shoulders dissipating as he rests his head back on the pillow – relaxing into you the way you do him. 
Like it all required no effort. The unrushed, irregular wind of his hips into you from behind letting you both feel just enough, each of you still far too sleepy for it to be anything more than this.
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I rewatched DOFP for him last night. massive mistake. cried myself to sleep
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moonxknightx · 5 months ago
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♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : THE ARGUMENT : :;
╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Logan Howlett x F!Reader
・❥・GENRE: Angst but fluff at the end!!
˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men
ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: Contains themes of intense argument, accidental injury, and emotional distress. It includes descriptions of pain and fear as well as a depiction of physical and emotional reconciliation.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: During a heated argument, Logan accidentally scratches your cheek. Shocked and scared, you pull away, but his sincere apologies and careful care help mend the emotional rift, leading to reconciliation.
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THE LIVING ROOM WAS CAST IN THE FADING LIGHT OF THE SETTING SUN, the shadows elongating across the floor as tension thickened in the air. Logan and you were in the middle of a bitter argument, voices raised, emotions frayed.
"You never understand me!" you shouted, your frustration palpable. "Every time I try to share something important, you just shut me down. How am I supposed to deal with that?"
Logan’s expression was a mix of irritation and disbelief. "I do understand! I’m not shutting you down. I’m trying to protect you from things you don’t need to worry about!"
"You think you know what’s best for me, but you don’t!" you shot back, anger making your voice crack. "You’re so caught up in your own world that you can’t see how much this hurts me!"
Logan’s face was taut with frustration as he threw his hands up in exasperation. "I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m just trying to keep things together. You don’t know what it’s like, and you don’t get to judge me for how I cope."
"Judge you? I’m not judging you!" you cried out, your voice rising with every word. "I’m trying to be a part of your life, to understand your pain, but you push me away every time I try!"
The argument spiraled, each of you lashing out, fueled by pent-up emotions and misunderstandings. The more you both spoke, the more entrenched you became in your anger and hurt.
In the heat of the argument, Logan’s frustration boiled over. He swung his arm out sharply, trying to emphasize his point, but his claws, which had been retracted, extended reflexively. His movement was sudden and uncontrolled, and the sharp metal grazed your cheek.
The sound of tearing flesh and your gasp filled the room. A sharp pain exploded across your face, and you instinctively clutched your cheek, stumbling back. Blood began to trickle down your face, mingling with your tears.
Logan’s eyes widened in horror as he saw the result of his actions. "Oh God, no!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelief and horror. "What have I done?"
You stood frozen, shock and pain leaving you momentarily immobilized. The initial sting of the cut was quickly overshadowed by a numbing fear. Your eyes were wide with terror as you stared at the blood trickling from the wound. The sight of Logan’s panicked face only made the situation feel more surreal.
Logan took a tentative step toward you, his hands raised in a gesture of helplessness. "Please, let me help you. I didn’t mean to—" His voice was choked with emotion, his usual gruffness replaced by a raw, pained vulnerability. "I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you."
But as he moved closer, you flinched away, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The pain and fear made it hard to think straight. "Don’t come near me," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Stay away."
The fear in your voice made Logan freeze. He looked at you, his face a mix of anguish and regret. "No, please, I—" His voice cracked as he tried to explain, "I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry."
You continued to back away, the blood on your cheek mingling with the tears streaming down your face. Logan’s heart ached seeing you like this. He desperately tried to keep his voice calm and steady, despite the turmoil inside him.
"Just sit down, okay?" Logan’s voice was pleading, almost breaking. "I’ll get a first aid kit. Please, just sit down. I need to help you."
You hesitated, your body trembling with shock and pain. Slowly, you sank onto the edge of the couch, trying to steady your breath. Logan dashed to the bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit with trembling hands. He returned to you, moving cautiously to avoid any sudden movements that might make things worse.
Logan knelt in front of you, keeping a respectful distance as he carefully opened the first aid kit. His hands shook as he prepared the supplies, his eyes darting between the kit and your face.
"I’m here," he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I just want to help you. Please let me."
You nodded slowly, tears still falling as you tried to control your breathing. Logan’s touch was gentle as he cleaned the wound, his eyes never leaving yours. "I’m so sorry," he repeated over and over, his voice filled with remorse. "I never wanted to hurt you. I was just so frustrated. Please forgive me."
As he worked, he tried to explain, his voice a constant murmur of apologies and reassurances. "I know I can’t undo this," he said softly, "but I want to make things right. I need you to know that I care about you, that I’m here for you."
Logan carefully bandaged the cut on your cheek, his touch tender and cautious. He avoided any sudden movements, mindful of the pain you were in. Once he was done, he sat beside you, his posture weary but attentive.
"Can we talk now?" Logan asked gently, his voice a mix of pleading and sincerity. "I need to understand what happened, what’s going on with us. I want to fix this. I want to make things right."
The tears had slowed, and as you looked at him, the sincerity in his eyes began to cut through your fear and hurt. You nodded, your voice still trembling but more composed. "I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m scared, and I just… I need to feel safe.”
Logan’s eyes softened with relief. He moved closer, his arm gently wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. "I’m here," he murmured into your hair, his voice steady and reassuring. "I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right. I’m sorry for everything."
You leaned into his embrace, the warmth of his body and the sincerity in his touch helping to ease the emotional pain. Logan held you close, whispering soft apologies and promises of a better future. The warmth of his embrace began to heal the wounds that went beyond the physical.
As the night settled in, the earlier turmoil faded, replaced by a renewed sense of connection and understanding. The quiet of the evening was filled with the gentle sounds of Logan’s reassurances and your steadying breaths.
You pulled back slightly to look at him, a small, tentative smile on your lips. "Thank you," you said softly, your voice steadier now. "Thank you for being here and for caring."
Logan’s smile was filled with a mix of relief and affection. "Always," he replied, his voice soft but full of conviction. "I’ll always be here, no matter what."
And as the night deepened, the warmth of your renewed bond wrapped around you both, offering comfort and hope for the future.
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🏷️: @twinky-wink @fidgetingbee @astarions-girl-dinner @layladestiny8 @birdy-bat-writes
If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know! 🫶
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pucksandpower · 6 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)
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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.
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cumironi · 5 months ago
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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..
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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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thewitchandtheassassin · 2 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-
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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.
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callme-holly · 11 months ago
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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.]
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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
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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.
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𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬!!
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heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 5 months ago
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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
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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.
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thecoochiefairy · 9 months ago
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𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖔𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖊𝖋𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖞
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━━ 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᠊᠊ࠢ࠘��~♡
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. 
1K notes · View notes
moonselune · 6 months ago
Note
Hello! Could you write all the origin companions reaction to a tav who sacrificed themselves to save them? Whether or not tav gets revivified is up to you. Thank you! I hope you enjoyed your break!
yes yes yes, so this is going to be quite similar to the silly sacrifice one but I tried to focus more on the revivfy section kind of
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Karlach:
The battle had reached its peak, the air thick with the scent of blood and the clashing of steel. You and Karlach fought side by side, her infernal rage blazing like a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. But then, in a split second, you saw the demon's sword arching towards her, aiming for a fatal blow. Without a second thought, you threw yourself in its path, the blade biting deep into your flesh.
The world seemed to slow as you fell to the ground, your vision darkening. Karlach’s roar of anguish cut through the din of battle. She fought with a renewed ferocity, dispatching the demon with a series of powerful blows, her eyes never leaving your fallen form.
“No, no, no!” she cried, dropping to her knees beside you, her hands shaking as she held your lifeless body. Tears streamed down her face, her fiery aura flickering as despair threatened to consume her. “You can't leave me like this! You can't!”
Desperation gave her strength as she pulled out a revivify scroll from her pack. Her hands were unsteady, but her resolve was ironclad. She chanted the incantation, pouring all her will into bringing you back. For a moment, nothing happened, and her heart nearly shattered.
Then, your chest heaved with a ragged breath, and your eyes fluttered open. Karlach's tears flowed even harder, but now they were tears of relief and joy. She cradled your face in her hands, her touch gentle despite her overwhelming strength.
“You scared me so much,” she sobbed, pressing her forehead against yours. “I thought I’d lost you for good. Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me?”
You managed a weak smile, lifting a hand to brush away her tears. “I’m sorry, Karlach. I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”
She held you close, her body shaking with the force of her emotions. “I love you so much,” she whispered fiercely. “And I need you with me. Always.”
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Minthara:
The night was filled with the sounds of battle, the clash of swords and the screams of the dying. You and Minthara moved as one, a deadly dance of blades and magic. But then, you saw it—the assassin, poised to strike Minthara from the shadows. Instinct took over, and you flung yourself in front of her, the blade intended for her plunging into your chest instead.
Minthara's eyes widened in shock and rage as you collapsed to the ground. She dispatched the assassin with ruthless efficiency, her movements swift and lethal. But as she knelt beside you, her expression shifted to one of desperate fear.
“No, you fool,” she hissed, her hands trembling as she reached for you, only to find your lifeless body. “Why did you do that?”
Minthara’s eyes flashed with anger and sorrow. She pulled out a revivify scroll, her voice steady but urgent as she recited the spell. The magic flowed from her fingertips, enveloping your body in a soft glow.
For a moment, everything was silent. Then, your chest rose with a shuddering breath, and your eyes opened. Minthara’s relief was palpable, but she quickly masked it with her usual stern expression.
“You think death can take you from me so easily?” she asked, her voice laced with mockery to hide the desperation she felt. “You’re mine, and only I decide when you go.”
"Wouldn't dream of it" You smiled weakly, the warmth of life returning to your limbs. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Minthara's stern facade cracked slightly, and she leaned down to press a fierce kiss to your lips. “Good,” she murmured against your mouth, her voice softening for a brief moment. “Because I need you by my side. Always.”
She pulled back, her eyes burning with a fierce possessiveness. “Do not ever think you can leave me so easily. Death itself will bend to my will if it means keeping you with me.”
You chuckled softly, wincing at the pain but finding comfort in her words. “I know my love,”
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Lae'zel:
The battlefield was a chaotic swirl of violence, the clang of steel and the cries of the wounded filling the air. You and Lae'zel fought side by side, a formidable team. But in a split second, you saw an enemy warrior, poised to strike her from behind. Without hesitation, you lunged forward, taking the blow meant for her. The pain was excruciating, but you gritted your teeth, determined to protect her. As the world around you faded to black, the last thing you saw was Lae'zel's horrified expression.
When you opened your eyes, you were met with Lae'zel's fierce gaze, her hands pressed against your chest where the wound had been. The magic of the revivify scroll was still fading from her fingertips. Relief flickered in her eyes before it was quickly replaced with anger.
"Fool!" she snapped, pulling you up to a sitting position. "You call that battle technique? Throwing yourself in front of a blade like a reckless child?"
You couldn't help but chuckle, despite the pain still lingering in your body. "Nice to see you too, Lae'zel."
Her glare intensified, but you could see the worry in her eyes. "Do not mock me. Your survival is not a joke. You are to be better, to fight smarter. I will not lose you to your own stupidity."
"Yes, ma'am," you said, a smile tugging at your lips. "I'll try to remember that next time."
She sighed, her expression softening ever so slightly. "See that you do. I need you alive and by my side, not dead on the ground." She reached out, brushing a lock of hair from your forehead with surprising tenderness. "Promise me you will fight smarter."
You took her hand in yours, squeezing it gently. "I promise, Lae'zel."
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Shadowheart:
The battle raged around you, guts and gore everywhere, but your focus was solely on Shadowheart. She was cornered, surrounded by enemies, and in that moment, you knew what you had to do. You threw yourself in front of her, taking a vicious blow that would have ended her life. The pain was immense, but you didn't regret it for a second. As your vision blurred and darkness closed in, you heard her scream your name.
When you awoke, the first thing you felt were her tears on your face. Shadowheart was leaning over you, her hands glowing with the last remnants of a revivify spell. Her eyes were red, tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked at you with a mix of relief and frustration.
"You idiot," she choked out, her voice trembling. "Why did you do that? Why would you sacrifice yourself for me?"
You tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "Because I love you, Shadowheart. I couldn't let you die."
She sobbed, her tears falling onto your face. "You reckless fool. You can't just… just die like that. I can't lose you." She tried to scold you, but her voice broke, and she buried her face in your chest, her body shaking with sobs.
You reached up, gently stroking her hair. "I'm sorry, Shadowheart. I didn't mean to make you cry."
She lifted her head, her tear-filled eyes meeting yours. "Don't you ever do that again," she said, her voice filled with a mixture of anger and desperation. "You hear me? I can't… I can't go through that again."
"I promise. I'll be more careful." You nodded, pulling her close and holding her tightly. She clung to you, her sobs gradually subsiding as she calmed down.
"I'm just so glad you're alive," she whispered, her voice still trembling. "I can't bear the thought of losing you."
"I'm here," you said softly, kissing the top of her head. "And I'm not going anywhere."
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Jaheira:
The clashing of swords and the shouts of warriors filling the air. You and Jaheira fought side by side, her presence a comforting and motivating force. But then, you saw it—a blade aimed straight at her back. Without thinking, you threw yourself in its path, taking the blow meant for her. The pain was sharp and overwhelming, and you fell to the ground, the world fading to black.
When you opened your eyes, Jaheira was kneeling over you, her hands glowing with the light of a revivify spell. Her expression was calm, though you could see the concern in her eyes. She finished the spell, and the pain began to ebb away as life returned to your body.
"There you are," she said, her tone brisk but affectionate. She pulled you to your feet with surprising strength, and before you could fully process what was happening, she leaned in and pressed a firm, warm kiss to your lips.
"You'll need to be quicker next time, you would have easily been able to deflect that blade," she said, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "But thank you."
You managed a weak smile, still a bit dazed and in awe of how calm she was. "Anything for you, Jaheira."
"Good," she replied, giving you a pat on the back. "Now, back to the fight. We have work to do."
With that, she turned and rejoined the fray, leaving you with a sense of awe and gratitude. She had seen death and resurrection enough times to take it in stride, but her kiss had been full of warmth and reassurance, a silent promise that she would always be there to pull you back from the brink.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Gale:
The air crackled with magical energy as the battle raged on. You saw Gale, his focus entirely on casting a powerful spell, unaware of the enemy creeping up behind him. Without hesitation, you darted forward, taking the lethal blow meant for him. The pain was excruciating, and darkness quickly consumed your vision.
When you awoke, you felt the tingling aftermath of a powerful spell. Gale stood over you, his hands still glowing with the energy of the revivify spell he had just cast. His face was a mix of relief and exasperation.
"Really? It was that easy" he said to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. "This was disturbingly easy by comparison, you could just ressurect any odd fool.."
Gale continued to ramble to himself until you blinked back to conciousness and managed a weak chuckle, your body still aching. "See? And the things I have to do for you, purple string and all that."
His expression softened as he realized you were awake he was about to retort when he realised why you were bother there in the first place.
"You shouldn't have done that," he scolded, though his tone was gentle. "Sacrificing yourself like that was reckless."
"I had to," you replied, your voice hoarse. "If you died, the Netherese orb would have gone off and killed us all. Someone had to protect you."
Gale sighed, his frustration melting into acceptance. "You have a fair point," he admitted. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it." He helped you to your feet, his grip steady and reassuring. "Just… try not to die again, alright?"
"I'll do my best," you said, smiling up at him. Gale's eyes softened, and he pulled you into a gentle embrace.
"Good. Because I don't want to go through that again." He held you close for a moment before stepping back, his hand lingering on your shoulder. He knew you had reason on your side, and it killed him but for now he would keep some revivfy scrolls to himself, just for you.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Astarion:
The battlefield was a chaotic blur, the clash of steel and the cries of the wounded filling the air. You saw Astarion, his back turned as he fought off an enemy, completely unaware of the assassin creeping up behind him. Without hesitation, you launched yourself in front of him, taking the lethal blow. The pain was searing, and darkness quickly overtook you.
When you came to, the first thing you saw was Astarion's face, his expression a mix of shock and relief. He had just finished casting a revivify spell, the magic still shimmering around his fingers.
"You idiot!" he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of anger and worry. "What were you thinking, throwing yourself in front of a blade like that?"
"I had to protect you," you managed to say, your voice weak. You groaned, the pain from the wound still lingering.
Astarion's eyes softened for a moment, but then his usual dramatic flair took over. He placed a hand on his chest, striking a theatrical pose.
"I suppose I should thank you for your valiant sacrifice," he said, his tone dripping with mock grandeur. "After all, you did save my life, and now you owe yours to me. Consider me your god, darling."
You couldn't help but chuckle, despite the pain. "Oh, great. Now I'll never hear the end of it."
Astarion leaned down, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to your forehead. "Don't think this means you can make a habit of dying on me," he murmured, his voice softer now. "I quite like having you around."
"I'll do my best," you replied, smiling up at him. "But maybe next time, try to keep an eye on your surroundings? You supposed omniscient god."
He smirked, helping you to your feet. "Deal. Now, let's finish this fight so I can properly express my gratitude later."
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Wyll:
The battle was fierce, and in the midst of the chaos, you saw Wyll, his focus entirely on fending off multiple attackers. Suddenly, an enemy appeared from the shadows, aiming a deadly blow at him. Without thinking, you threw yourself in front of him, taking the hit. The pain was overwhelming, and darkness quickly enveloped you.
When you woke, you felt a familiar warmth and the tingling of healing magic. Wyll's face hovered above you, his expression a mixture of relief and overwhelming joy. He had just cast a revivify spell, bringing you back from the brink of death.
"Thank the gods," Wyll whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "I thought I'd lost you."
You smiled weakly, your body still aching. "Couldn't let that happen," you replied softly. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, thanks to you," he said, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "But don't you ever scare me like that again."
Before you could respond, Wyll pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you as if he would never let go. He peppered your face with kisses, his relief and love evident in every touch. "I'm so glad you're alive," he murmured between kisses. "I don't know what I would have done without you."
You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling his warmth and the steady beat of his heart.
"I had to protect you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't bear to lose you either."
Wyll pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression serious. "We're in this together, remember? Next time, we'll protect each other."
"I promise," you agreed, a smile tugging at your lips. "But you better be ready for a lot of hugging if you ever scare me like that again."
He chuckled, his eyes crinkling with genuine happiness. "I'll take that over losing you any day," he said, giving you one more firm kiss before helping you to your feet.
With Wyll's arm around you, providing support and comfort, you both turned to face the rest of the battle, ready to continue fighting side by side.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Halsin:
The battlefield was a frenzy of chaos and bloodshed. Amidst the turmoil, you saw Halsin, his powerful form surrounded by enemies, but his focus on the frontline left him vulnerable. An enemy archer, hidden in the shadows, took aim at him. Without a second thought, you dashed forward, throwing yourself in front of him just as the arrow was released. The searing pain hit you, and darkness quickly swallowed your vision.
When you came to, you were lying on the ground, Halsin's face hovering over yours, his expression one of frantic concern. His hands were glowing with healing magic, and you felt the warmth and energy seeping into your body, bringing you back from the brink of death.
"Don't you dare leave me," Halsin murmured, his voice a mixture of command and desperation. His eyes were intense, filled with worry and relief as he saw you stir.
"Halsin…" you managed to whisper, your voice weak. "You're okay?"
He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Thanks to you," he replied, his tone softening. But then his expression shifted to one of fierce protectiveness. "But that was incredibly reckless. I can't lose you."
Before you could protest or even fully process what was happening, Halsin scooped you up into his strong arms, lifting you effortlessly from the ground. The battle still raged around you, but his focus was solely on getting you to safety.
"Halsin, put me down," you said, trying to sound firm despite your weakened state. "I can still fight."
"No," he replied, his voice unyielding. "You've done more than enough. Your place now is to recover."
You tried to wriggle free, but his grip was ironclad, and his pace didn't falter as he carried you away from the chaos. "Halsin, listen to me. We need every hand we can get out there. I can't just—"
"Enough," he interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "I cannot bear to see you hurt again. Let me protect you this time."
The sheer determination in his voice, coupled with the tenderness in his eyes, made your protest die in your throat. You sighed, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.
"Fine," you conceded, wrapping your arms around his neck. "But once this is over, we need to talk about your definition of 'teamwork.'"
A small, relieved smile tugged at his lips. "Fine," he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "But for now, just rest. Leave me to taking the hits for now."
As he carried you to a secure spot, away from the battle, you couldn't help but feel a mix of frustration and gratitude. You were a fighter, but having someone like Halsin care so deeply for you, willing to protect you at all costs, was a comfort you hadn't expected. And as he set you down gently and continued to shield you with his presence, you realized that sometimes, letting someone else take the lead wasn't always a sign of weakness.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Hope you all enjoyed it !
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spectersgf · 5 months ago
Text
— driver's seat storm chasing 𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃
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pairing: tyler owens × reader 
summary: he was about to take off again, chase another storm, leave you worrying for hours upon hours. the least he could do was give you a parting gift.
warnings: SMUT! kinda angsty a little, cute yeehaw banter, cowgirlisms, hair pull, ass smack, titty suck. all the good stuff.
wordcount: 3.2k
a/n: watched twisters literally two days ago, had this thought, here we are. not proofread at all (as always, soz) but filled with passion (and horny)
(if you want to be tagged in future fics or if you have any requests, let me know! for my other fics, here's my masterlist!)
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"oh, you're such a prick, tyler owens!"
you were shouting at your best friend, which was a regular occurrence due to his dangerous passion. tyler was a professional 'tornado wrangler' which was his idiotic way of saying he chased tornadoes for the sake of content creation. you knew it went much deeper than that for him; this was his passion and he was smart and knew so much about storms, but that doesn't mean he wasn't stupid and reckless.
he had just come back from a particularly dangerous storm, one that left you more worried for his safety than ever before. you cried seeing him come back to town and fretted over his injuries and bruises, begging him to stop and not go again.
according to what he just told you, your begging was pointless.
he was about to take off again, chase another storm, put himself back in harm's way. leave you worrying for hours upon hours, shaking until he'd return.
"do i mean nothing to you? does my begging and pleading mean nothing?" your voice was strained but you didn't lower your volume, desperate for him to see your anguish.
"you know that's not the case, darlin', but storm chasing is my life. you know that better than anyone." his tone was much steadier than yours, and his comments were entirely reasonable. you knew how much of his time he dedicated to his passion, but that didn't stop your frustration.
"don't play that fucking card with me, ty. it's not even been 48 hours since i thought you'd died, and now you're up and leaving again!" your anger had subsided and your tone had softened, now showing vulnerability and hurt. your shoulders sagged and you turned away from him, tears that you didn't want him to see stinging your eyes.
"y/n..." his voice trailed off, unsure if he was supposed to move to comfort you or give you space.
“you don’t understand what it does to me to see you walk out that door, ty. every single time i’m stuck asking myself if today’s the day i lose my best friend. and i know you’re careful and you know your stuff and you’re basically a pro but sometimes i can’t even bring myself to watch the streams and the videos because i’m so scared.” you rambled your confession, back still turned away from him but you’d started pacing. when you finished speaking, you turned to face him, eyes pleading. “i’m not asking you to stop. i’d never ask you to quit your passion. i just wish you’d understand from my perspective.”
"i'm sorry," he started, but you knew where his apology was headed. "but i have to do this. this is my life, and i'm helping people by doing this."
your tear-filled gaze met his as he spoke, and the look of sincerity on his face made you cave, as usual. "fine, go. it's not like i could've stopped you."
you watched him pick up his hat and place it easily on his head as he turned to walk away. he opened the door but turned before heading out. "you know i love you, y/n," he said quietly, sounding almost defeated.
his words struck you but before you could say anything, he was out the door. for a couple of minutes you stood in place, stunned at his proclamation. when you finally snapped out of your shock, you walked out the door, following behind him as he walked to his truck.
it had started to rain and the water caused his shirt to stick to him like a second skin, but you didn't allow yourself any time to ogle his physique. you reached out and grabbed his arm, feeling his cold skin against your warm touch. you pulled his arm, forcing him to turn and face you as you seethed.
"love me how?" you asked, obviously distressed. the rain was making your hair to stick to your face but you didn't care; all you cared about was the man in front of you. your best friend. "love me how, tyler?"
"y/n..." for the second time today his voice trailed off after saying your name like that and it infuriated you. your face burned from embarrassment and before you had fully processed your reaction, you slapped him.
when he turned his head back to look at you again, his eyes were swimming with hurt. you loved his eyes. you hated seeing them like this. but all you could focus on was your own hurt. after years of being his best friend but craving more, and years of casual touches and flirting and cuddling and rumours in your small town, this is what it had come to. a halfway confession.
"fuck you," you spit before turning away to walk back inside.
this time, it was tyler who reached out to grab you. his big hand encased your bicep and forced you to face him again. before you could say anything, he spun you around so that you were pinned against the door of his truck.
"what the fuck is your probl–" your words were abruptly cut off when he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. you stood still in shock for a few seconds before melting into him, one hand on the junction between his neck and shoulder, the other hand on his bicep. meanwhile, he had one hand on your waist and the other held your face, fingers splaying across your cheek and neck. you kissed him back with passion and vigour, easily letting his tongue explore your mouth for the first time.
your hands snakes upwards, pulling his hat off his head and slipping it onto yours while your free hand fisted his hair, threading your fingers through his locks. his hand trailed from your waist to your ass as he pulled away from your kiss for a second.
"you sure you wanna wear my hat, darlin'?" he panted, raising one cocky eyebrow as his eyes searched yours.
"wear the hat, ride the cowboy, right?" you asked, smirking confidently. he immediately matched your facial expression, smirking in return, but his eyes twinkled with joy and amusement.
tyler was much taller than you and evidently he was starting to see your height difference as an issue, since he brought his other hand down to your ass and lifted you, urging your legs around his waist and bringing you face to face. he kissed you again, just a quick kiss, before asking, "so, cowgirl. where are we doing this?"
"if i'm the cowgirl, are you my wild stallion?" you teased playfully, smiling as you looked at him affectionately. after seeing the fiery look in his eyes, you were unable to resist, and you pulled his mouth to yours once again, this kiss more intense than the last. you messily pulled his bottom lip into your mouth and sucked on it, followed by a gentle bite, before pulling away and desperately kissing down his neck. "i want you in your truck. driver's seat," you murmured against his skin.
before tyler was able to haul you into his truck, you detached yourself from him. once your feet were safely back on the ground, you eagerly grabbed the hem of his soaked t-shirt and peeled it off his tanned torso, shamelessly admiring his body as you did. you dragged your nails across his toned abdomen and brought your mouth to his chest, sucking and biting at his skin. you could barely register his groan, only able to focus on his body and being able to maintain skin-to-skin contact with him.
tyler pulled you away from him by gently tugging on your hair and you looked at him quizzically. "ty, what the hell?"
"enough teasing, cowgirl. time to ride the stallion," he told you, causing you both to erupt in a fit of giggles.
"never say that again, tyler," you replied, leaning up to peck him quickly.
he picked you up briefly and immediately put you down in a spot away from the driver's side door and swiftly got comfortable in his van, away from the cold rain. while he did so, you made quick work of unbuttoning your flannel shirt, leaving you in just a lacy, sheer bra and jeans. and his hat. once he was seated, tyler gave you a thorough once-over, letting out a low whistle as he did.
"somebody call for a ride?" his playful tone was supplemented by his signature cheeky smile, but you rolled your eyes at his comment.
"god, you're so fuckin' corny."
you boosted yourself into the truck, situating yourself easily on his lap. you shuffled around to get comfortable on tyler's lap and were rewarded with a strained groan. this time it was you giving him a cheeky smile followed by a quick roll of your hips over his. he placed his hands firmly on your waist, fingers dipping into your jeans and stopping your movements.
"keep that up and this'll be over before it started, sweetheart," he told you, voice strained and you could tell it was from arousal. you watched his mouth as he spoke and, unable to resist him, you leaned in and kissed him again. your almost bare chest was pressed against his and your hands roamed his skin, picking up water droplets as they went. the feel of his toned muscle under your hands caused you to moan into his mouth, turning tyler on even more.
his hands wound into your hair, all the way up to the root, and he tugged lightly. you whimpered and dragged your hips over his, and when tyler pulled away from your kiss you unconsciously followed his movement. tyler clicked his tongue in condescending disapproval but smirked at your reaction to him.
“needy for me, baby?” he asked mockingly, one hand on your hips to halt your movement again, the other still tangled in your hair.. you nodded your response, not trusting yourself to speak in your current state. “words, sweetheart. what do you need?”
you whined but when you realised he wasn’t going to do anything until you spelled it out for him, you let out an exasperated huff. “need you to fuck me.”
tyler laughed affectionately at your desperation. “there you go, sweetheart. that’s what i like to hear.” you preened from his praise, craving to receive it again. with the hand that was on your hips, he undid the button of your jeans and pulled the zipper down with a quiet hiss. instead of pulling down the restrictive fabric like you expected, he slipped his hand into your barely-existent underwear and stroked with a featherlike touch. 
“this all for me?” he asked as he dragged a finger through your arousal; you were soaked and his teasing tone was only making it worse. you dropped your head onto his shoulder and tried to slyly jerk your hips forward, though you were unable to. “patience, baby. i’ve chased this storm so long, now let me enjoy it.”
his words jolted you caused a moan to fall from your mouth. your skin was feverish despite the biting cold and you were becoming increasingly desperate. “next time, please, tyler. i need you inside me, please,” you begged, mouth against his tan skin. 
he didn’t say anything in response, only chuckled quietly to himself as he removed his hand from your underwear. he brought his hand up to your mouth and you looked him in the eye as you took one finger, the one that had been touching you, into your mouth and sucked. you bobbed your head back and forth for just a few seconds and hummed quietly around the digit in your mouth before releasing it and pulling tyler’s mouth to yours in a heated kiss, urging him to taste you from your own mouth. 
“god, if we weren’t in my truck right now i’d have my mouth on your sweet cunt,” he grumbled.
“don’t care, need your cock inside me.” without breaking your kiss, you pushed your jeans down over your hips but only to your knees. “i’m ready, you know i’m ready, what are we waiting for?” you asked frantically. you started to paw at his stupid belt but his hands covered yours, stopping you from getting to what you were craving.
“are you sure? we can’t go back after this and you know it.” his eyes were swimming with concern as he spoke, searching yours for any indication of your feelings. 
you moved one hand to his face, placing it on his cheek and stroking his cheekbone delicately with your thumb. “i want this. i have for a longass time. i’ve felt it for so long, and now i’m finally chasing it. are you chasing it with me?” your words were entirely sincere and this was obvious to tyler, especially when you looked in his eyes and deep into his soul.
“using my own words against me?” he teased, breaking the tension in a charming way that only he could pull off. “i’m with you.” his words were equally sincere, though you could sense the double meaning. you weren’t distressed by it; his way of telling you how he was feeling made your heart swell and added to your already dripping arousal.
you resumed your work on removing his belt, followed by unbuttoning his jeans and pulling the zipper. tyler could only watch cockily as you did so, both hands behind his head, muscles flexing, as he admired your naked beauty. jeans pulled down, only a sheer bra covering your breasts, and his hat on your head.
“go on, baby. take me out; it’s all yours.”
his words empowered you and you happily obliged, appreciating his quiet hiss as you made contact with his skin once again. you tunnel visioned on his thick cock in your hand, swiping your thumb over the tip and pumping it once, twice, three times. tyler watched your every moment and facial expression, and he could see you practically salivating, bringing a wide and cocky smirk to his face. “another time,” he murmured despite his better opinion of letting you take him in your mouth the way you so obviously craved. you simply nodded in agreement, seemingly in a trance as you eyed the way your smaller hand wrapped around his girth. 
the feeling of his hands on your hips gently urging you forwards and upwards snapped you out of your dreamlike state but you didn’t resist his manhandling; instead, you welcomed the way he took control of the situation. took control of you. 
before proceeding further he looked you in the eyes again, showing that same sincerity and vulnerability, silently asking ‘are you sure you’re sure?’. you smiled at the gesture, appreciative of his concern, and nodded. your eyes sparkled with excitement as you brought your bottom lip between your teeth and reached behind you to guide tyler’s hard cock into your wetness. the pair of you moaned in tandem as you sunk down on him, fitting together perfectly. 
“c’mere, cowgirl,” he murmured, voice heavy with arousal. you shifted forward with him inside you, pulling a groan from deep within his chest as he pulled you in for another kiss. the combination of his searing kiss and the way he filled you up was electrifying. your entire body moved on its own accord, as if you had come alive for the first time; your mouth worked against his and you circled your hips against his and you were consumed entirely by him. 
one of his hands pawed at your ass while the other worked on removing your bra. when he did finally get your bra unhooked, it was practically ripped off your body and thrown to the backseat. tyler’s lips reluctantly left yours but they immediately attached to your right breast, with his hand squeezing the left. he sucked a harsh mark into the flesh before his mouth circled your peaked nipple, sucking eagerly before rolling it gently between his teeth. 
“you have no idea how desperate i’ve been to get my mouth on your pretty tits, sweetheart,” he mumbled against you. his words caused your hips to stutter against his as you rode him, hitting your sweet spot and forcing a high pitched moan from you. 
“i need you to do it, ty,” you whimpered, hungry for him to take control again.
“such a good girl, telling me what you need.” his praise made you glow and you unconsciously clenched your muscles around him.
his grip on your ass tightened slightly before he slapped it, deliciously stinging your skin. you moaned and jerked forward again and your head immediately fell backwards, eyes rolling back. 
“god, y/n, you’re a walking turn on,” he moaned, hips starting to buck as he fucked into you. “you have no fuckin’ idea what you do to me. the number of times i’ve wanted to do this with you right here, audience be damned. the way i crave the taste of your sweet cunt on my tongue. having to stop myself from smacking your ass or squeezing your tits whenever you’re in those tiny bikinis or scraps of fabric that you call pyjamas. and now you’re mine and we can do all of it.”
you moaned and whimpered pathetically throughout tyler’s speech, the words that you were longing to hear from him finally being voiced while he fucked you. 
“i’m close,” you mumbled, bringing your hand to your mouth to muffle your noises. “need you to fill me up.”
his eyes squeezed shut due to your muffled words and he pulled your hand away from your mouth. “i’ll give you whatever you need, baby, but i need to hear you when i do,” he told you, linking your fingers together and resting your joined hands on his glistening chest. “cum for me, sweet girl. cum on my cock, let me feel you.”
his words tipped you over the edge and your muscles spasmed around him as you reached your climax, moaning his name as you did. tyler followed suit, filling you upon your request. 
“fuck, y/n,” he groaned, pulling your chest to his and kissing you again, sweetly this time despite your expectations.
the pair of you were a panting, sweaty mess when you both finished, but you didn’t break any of your attachments. he didn’t pull out of you, and he didn’t let you loosen your embrace.
“i guess you could say i wrangled your tornado, hm?” 
“you did not say that to me while i have your dick and cum inside me right now, tyler owens.”
“c’mon, darlin’, you obviously like my lines,” he teased, smiling sweet and sincere.
“more than just your lines. i like you,” you confessed, voice quiet and shy out of fear of rejection.
“yeah? you got a li’l crush on me?” his playful and teasing tone made you smile. dissipating any worries you had. this was the boy you were falling for. 
“just a little one. really, i’m just here for your truck.” the banter between the two of you was light and easy, something that you both always appreciated about each other. you clicked. 
“yeah, cowgirl, i know how you feel about my truck.”
you giggled at his response and kissed the bare, warm skin on his shoulder.
“you’re the most beautiful storm i’ve chased, y/n.” he looked into your eyes as he spoke, voice quiet as if speaking too loud would disrupt the moment.
“that’s funny. because you’re the sun coming up after the storm.”
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WHEW! first tyler fic done bbz<333 more to come, requests are open HERE! if you want to be tagged in future fics lmk, please tell me what you think, even if you think i should never write again ok thank u bye ily bye
taglist: @ronsbadidea
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novaursa · 4 months ago
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The Broken Crown (2/2)
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- Summary: Aegon the Conqueror's youngest sister, Y/N Targaryen, once bethrohed to Torrhen Stark, is forced into a marriage with her brother after he calls off her engagement out of jealousy. Struggling with her lost future and the life she never wanted, she repeatedly refuses Aegon's attempts to consummate the marriage. When she tries to escape to Essos on her dragon, Visenya intercepts her, and Aegon, in an act of control, chains her dragon to prevent any further rebellion, leaving her feeling trapped and broken.
- Pairing: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen
- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)
- Previous part: 1
- Word count: 9 900+
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana
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The light of late afternoon spills into your chambers at Aegonfort. The fire in the hearth crackles quietly, but the warmth it offers feels distant, barely touching the chill that has settled deep within you. You sit by the window, staring out at the courtyard below, where the life of the castle continues as if nothing has changed.
But everything has changed.
It has been weeks since Tesaerix’s cries were last heard, her roars of frustration and anguish fading into silence, replaced by the eerie stillness of acceptance. Chained to the ground, her spirit broken, she no longer fights against her captivity. And yet, the anguish that grips your heart is as strong as ever, a constant, gnawing presence that refuses to loosen its hold. It is as if a part of you has been chained alongside her, and no matter how many days pass, the weight does not lift.
The door creaks open behind you, but you do not turn. You know who it is—there is only one person who would come to your chambers unannounced.
Aegon steps inside, his presence filling the room, though he lingers by the door, as if uncertain of his welcome. You hear the soft sound of his boots against the stone floor as he moves closer, and still, you do not turn to face him. Your eyes remain on the distant horizon, though your mind is far away, lost in the echo of memories and dreams that will never come to pass.
"Y/N," he says quietly, his voice cautious, as if he fears your reaction. "Your nameday is approaching. I’ve arranged a celebration in your honor."
His words hang in the air, but they barely register. A grand celebration—another event meant to remind you of your place, of the crown that sits on your head like a lead weight. It is as though he believes that feasts and dances, the laughter of courtiers, and the lavish display of power might somehow ease the pain that lingers in your heart.
You force a smile, though it does not reach your eyes, and nod slightly. "Thank you," you murmur, your voice distant, detached. "It is kind of you."
Silence falls between you, heavy and suffocating. You can feel his gaze on you, searching for something—some sign that you might be softening, that the wall you have built around yourself might be cracking. But it remains firmly in place, unyielding.
Aegon takes a step closer, but his movements are slow, hesitant. He is not the same conqueror in this room, not the king who has united the Seven Kingdoms. Here, in your presence, he seems uncertain, unsure of himself. His hands hang at his sides, restless as if he doesn’t know what to do with them.
"I wanted it to be special for you," he says, his voice quieter now. "Everything I’ve done… it’s been for you."
You finally turn your gaze away from the window, meeting his eyes for the first time since he entered the room. His expression is conflicted—his usual mask of authority replaced by something more vulnerable, more human. It is a rare thing to see Aegon uncertain, and for a moment, you almost feel a flicker of sympathy for him. Almost.
But the weight of what has happened between you, the chains that bind not only Tesaerix but also your spirit, is too heavy. The wounds are still fresh, too deep to be soothed by soft words or grand gestures.
"Special," you echo, the word tasting hollow on your tongue. "I see."
He opens his mouth to say something more, but no words come. Instead, he stands there, a man lost in the silence of his own making. You can see the hope in his eyes, the faint flicker of desire that perhaps you will change your mind—that you will ask him to stay, to be by your side, to share in some moment of closeness that has long been absent between you.
But you don’t. The invitation he silently waits for never comes.
You turn your gaze back to the window, the sky outside darkening as the sun sinks lower, casting the world in shades of gold and shadow. Your heart remains cold, your soul untouched by his presence. Whatever he is waiting for, you cannot give it to him. Not anymore.
Aegon lingers for another long moment, the silence between you stretching until it feels almost unbearable. And then, finally, he steps back, his movements slow and reluctant, as though each step away from you is a struggle. He pauses at the threshold, turning back one last time, as if hoping that you will stop him, that you will call him back.
But you say nothing. Your silence is its own answer.
Without another word, he leaves, the door closing softly behind him, the sound barely a whisper in the quiet room.
You are left alone once more, the distant hum of the castle’s life continuing outside, but it feels far removed from your own. You sit in the stillness, the ache in your chest as sharp as ever, the weight of the world pressing down on you as you stare into the darkening sky, wondering when—if ever—this feeling will fade.
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The sound of trumpets fills the air, their bright, brassy notes cutting through the din of the crowd gathered in the tournament grounds outside Aegonfort. Banners snap in the wind, the vibrant colors of the Targaryen sigil—red and black—mingling with your own, the gold and crimson of the standard Aegon created for you. The noise of the people is a constant hum, their excitement visible as they gather for the grand tourney, held in honor of your nameday.
You sit in the royal seat, placed high above the jousting field on a raised platform. The elaborate wooden structure is draped with silks and banners, casting an air of regality over the event. The weight of the eyes below is heavy on you, but your expression remains composed, practiced. This is your moment, after all, though it feels more like a display of duty than celebration.
Your gown gleams in the midday sun, the fabric shimmering with every movement. It is a deep red, the color of blood and fire, with gold embroidery swirling around the hem and sleeves, symbolizing the flames of your house. The rich silk clings to your form, the neckline modest but elegant, the material flowing down your figure in a cascade of crimson and gold. Around your waist is a finely braided belt, studded with small rubies that catch the light, drawing attention to the dragon motif woven into the threads.
Aegon had made sure you were dressed in the colors of the banner he gave you, a reminder that you are his queen—separate yet still bound by his will. The crown he gifted you, delicate but unmistakably regal, rests atop your head. It is a circlet of pale gold, with small crimson stones set into it, matching the colors of your banner. It feels heavy, a constant weight that you have yet to grow accustomed to, a symbol of a power you never sought.
Your hair, long and shining like polished silver, is braided intricately, the locks woven into a style fitting your station, adorned with golden pins that glitter in the light. A single lock has been left loose, curling over your shoulder, a softer touch against the formal stiffness of your attire.
Beside you sits Aegon, his violet eyes ever watchful, always keenly aware of your presence. He wears his usual armor, dark and imposing, trimmed with gold and red. You can feel his pride radiating off him like heat from dragonfire. His gaze lingers on you for a moment too long, as if to ensure you have not only embraced your role as his queen but that you look the part. The crown, the colors, the throne at his side—everything has been chosen with care.
"Do you not think she is radiant?" Aegon remarks to no one in particular, his voice carrying over the din, but his words are meant for the crowd. His smile is tight, meant to dazzle, but you know him well enough to see the strain behind it. You nod politely, offering a small smile in return, though it does not reach your eyes.
On Aegon’s other side sit Visenya and Rhaenys, both dressed in their own regal attire. Visenya, severe and cold as ever, wears black, her armor gleaming beneath her cloak, a silent reminder that she is the sword of your family. Rhaenys, in contrast, is draped in lighter colors, her violet eyes warm and playful, though even her smile seems dimmed by the undercurrents that swirl through the family.
The crowd roars as the herald steps forward, raising his hands to signal the start of the tournament. The cheers grow louder, echoing across the field as knights in shining armor ride out, their horses snorting and pawing at the ground, eager for the competition. The joust is about to begin, a display of power, skill, and loyalty—all in your honor.
Aegon rises from his seat, his imposing figure drawing the attention of everyone present. His armor clinks softly as he moves, and he raises his hand, signaling for silence. The crowd quiets almost instantly, all eyes on the Conqueror.
"In honor of my queen," he begins, his voice strong, carrying over the vast sea of spectators, "we celebrate her nameday with a display of the finest knights in the realm. Let this tourney show our strength, our unity, and our devotion." He pauses, glancing down at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "But before the joust begins, I wish to honor her in another way."
The murmurs from the crowd grow louder as Aegon steps down from his platform, making his way to his waiting horse. His squire rushes to his side, handing him his helmet, the dragon sigil gleaming in the sunlight. He mounts the large, black stallion with practiced ease, turning to face the royal stand.
"I will compete in this joust," Aegon announces, his voice filled with confidence, "in honor of my queen, Y/N, who has graced us with her beauty, strength, and loyalty."
Your heart clenches at the words. His declaration, his participation in the tournament, is all for show—a grand gesture to prove his devotion to you. Yet all you feel is the tightening grip of duty around your chest. The crowd erupts in cheers, and you force another smile, nodding at him as though this is exactly what you wanted.
Aegon’s gaze remains fixed on you for a moment longer, as if waiting for something more—perhaps a sign of approval, an invitation for him to return to your side after his victory. But the emptiness within you, the lingering ache that no crown or grand display can mend, keeps you silent. Your smile falters slightly, but still, you say nothing.
The crowd’s cheers continue as Aegon turns his horse toward the jousting lanes, ready to prove his prowess on the field. As he rides away, the space beside you feels colder, and the weight of the crown on your head presses down harder than ever.
...
The thundering hooves of horses echo across the field as the first knights prepare for the joust. Banners ripple in the wind, bright colors dancing against the azure sky as the crowd cheers, eager for the spectacle. You sit in your royal seat, your hands folded in your lap, eyes drifting over the tournament grounds. Lances gleam in the sunlight, and the clinking of armor fills the air as the first challengers ready themselves at the end of the lists.
But your thoughts are far from the cheers and excitement of the crowd. The weight of your crown feels suffocating, and your gaze strays, not to the knights or the lances, but to the far-off silhouette of Tesaerix. Chained, grounded, a shadow of her former glory. From this distance, you can barely make out the flicker of her golden and crimson scales in the sunlight, but you know she is there, tethered to the earth as you are tethered to your fate.
Rhaenys leans toward you, her voice soft as she attempts to draw you back into the present. "It’s quite the sight, isn’t it?" she says, her tone gentle, almost coaxing. "These knights would give anything for a chance to win favor from the queen of the day."
You nod politely, but your smile is forced, your mind not on the tournament or the gallant knights. Rhaenys, ever perceptive, catches your distraction, her brows furrowing slightly. "You seem distant, Y/N," she murmurs, her voice laced with concern. "Is something troubling you?"
Your response dies in your throat as your gaze flickers back to the horizon where your dragon is held captive. The ache in your chest deepens, a quiet fury simmering beneath your outward calm. "Tesaerix," you finally whisper, your voice soft but heavy with meaning. "I cannot stop thinking of her, chained there while we celebrate."
Rhaenys follows your gaze and falls silent, perhaps sensing the gravity of your pain, but before she can respond, Visenya, ever sharp and vigilant, leans forward from her place beside Aegon. Her voice is cold, a warning cloaked in authority. "Do not even entertain the thought, Y/N," she says, her violet eyes narrowing as they lock onto yours. "You will not free her, nor will you make a spectacle of defiance here."
Your blood runs hot at her words, and you turn to face her, your gaze hardening. "And what would you do, Visenya, if Vhagar were bound in chains?" you ask, your voice low, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "Do you think you would sit there so calmly if she were made to suffer like Tesaerix? I would see her miserable as you’ve made my dragon."
The insult hangs in the air like a sharp blade. For a moment, the tension between you and Visenya is palpable, her lips pressing into a thin, dangerous line as she regards you with something between anger and cold resolve. Her hand twitches as if she might grip the hilt of the sword always at her side, her eyes flashing with a silent warning.
But before she can retort, the rumble of hooves draws your attention to the lists. Aegon rides forward on his black steed, his armor glinting in the sun like dark steel, his helm adorned with the sigil of the dragon. The sight of him, proud and commanding, steals the air from your lungs, if only for a moment. The crowd erupts into cheers as the king takes his place for his first tilt.
Aegon rides past the royal stand, his eyes catching yours for a brief second. There is something unreadable in his gaze—pride, perhaps, or a plea for recognition—but you do not hold it for long. He wheels his horse around and lowers his lance, ready to compete, the first challenger already in position across the field.
You shift uncomfortably in your seat, the pressure between you and Visenya still lingering, but your eyes are now fixed on Aegon. His horse stamps impatiently, nostrils flaring as it waits for the signal to charge. You cannot help but feel the weight of what this moment represents. He is not just jousting for sport; he is jousting for you, for your approval, though you find it difficult to offer anything more than cold indifference.
The herald raises his flag, and the trumpets blare again. Aegon spurs his horse forward, charging down the lists with deadly precision. The opposing knight, though skilled, seems small compared to your brother’s imposing presence. The ground trembles beneath the weight of their charge, the clattering of armor and hooves filling the air.
Aegon’s lance strikes true, shattering against the other knight’s shield with a thunderous crack, sending his opponent crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust. The crowd roars its approval, but the sound washes over you, distant and hollow.
He circles back, his horse kicking up dirt as he passes you again, his gaze seeking yours once more, waiting for your reaction. But all you can think of is Tesaerix, grounded and silent, far from this spectacle. The chains that bind her feel like chains around your own heart, and no matter how grand this celebration, no matter how skilled Aegon is in his displays of strength, it does nothing to free you from the cage you find yourself in.
You offer Aegon a small nod, nothing more, and he rides on, returning to the field for his next challenge. The cheers rise again, but in the quiet of your mind, there is only the sound of chains, rattling against the earth.
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The Great Hall of Aegonfort is alive with light and sound, the towering stone walls adorned with tapestries depicting the dragons of House Targaryen. Tables laden with rich foods—roast meats, fruits, and fine breads—stretch the length of the hall, and the clatter of goblets and the murmur of excited conversation fill the air. Musicians play in one corner, their tunes light and festive, attempting to match the celebratory mood of the evening.
At the center of it all sits Aegon, victorious from the day’s tourney, his head held high and a satisfied smile playing at his lips. He now wears a simple crown of dark iron, his armor exchanged for a fine tunic of black and red, the sigil of the three-headed dragon emblazoned proudly on his chest. His eyes, however, are on you.
You sit beside him at the high table, still adorned in your colors of gold and crimson, though the joy of the evening seems lost on you. Despite the merriment around you, a tight knot of frustration coils in your chest, one that has only grown since the tourney’s end.
The feast is in full swing, and yet the animosity between you and Aegon is seen by all around you. He notices your coldness, the way your gaze barely meets his, and the way you’ve hardly touched your food. You’re an island of silence in a sea of celebration, and the strain between you grows more obvious with every passing moment.
Aegon turns to you, leaning in slightly, his voice low so as not to draw attention from those around you. "Is something wrong, Y/N?" His words are careful, but there is a slight edge to them, a hint of irritation beneath his outward concern.
You finally turn to look at him, your expression tight. "Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?" you say, your tone sharper than you intended. "Why would the King of Westeros compete in his own tourney?"
His brow furrows, clearly taken aback by your criticism. "It was in your honor," he replies, his voice firm but measured. "I wanted to show—"
"You wanted to show off, Aegon," you interrupt, your voice quiet but biting. "You’ve already conquered Westeros. Must you also conquer a tournament that was meant to be a gift to me?"
He blinks, clearly not expecting such a reaction. "I was honoring you. Showing the realm your importance, your—"
"No," you cut in, your gaze hardening. "You were showing the realm your power. You didn’t let the knights fight for glory or honor. You took that from them, just as you’ve taken everything else. It wasn’t fair to them."
The tension between you sharpens, and the warmth of the hall seems to dim, at least in the space between the two of you. Aegon’s jaw tightens, his fingers drumming against the table as he processes your words. "You think I should’ve let them win," he says, disbelief lacing his tone. "As if they deserved it more than me."
You lean in slightly, keeping your voice low, though your frustration is clear. "Yes, Aegon, I think you should’ve let them win. You already have the Seven Kingdoms. Why take this from them too? The knights came here hoping for glory, for a chance to win your favor—or mine. But they were never going to, not with you in the lists. They had no chance."
Aegon’s gaze darkens, his fingers stopping their rhythmic drumming. "You wanted me to lose," he says, his voice soft but dangerous.
"It’s not about losing," you reply, struggling to keep your voice steady as the simmering anger within you rises. "It’s about fairness. What was the point of them competing if the outcome was already decided the moment you took the field?"
Aegon’s expression grows colder, his pride clearly stung. "I did this for you, Y/N," he says, his voice harder now. "For you."
"And that’s precisely the problem," you say, your voice trembling slightly, not with fear but with the weight of everything unsaid. "You think everything you do is a gift to me, but you never ask me what I want. You never stop to think about what I might need."
Aegon’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, the weight of his gaze is unbearable, like staring into dragonfire. He takes a slow breath, clearly trying to rein in his temper. "What would you have me do, then?" he asks, his voice dangerously quiet. "Step aside? Watch others take what I’ve built?"
You stare back at him, unflinching. "What you’ve built is already yours, Aegon. You don’t need to prove it to anyone. But maybe... maybe you could let someone else have a moment. Just once."
Aegon’s face tightens, his frustration clear, but he says nothing. His silence feels heavy, pressing down on you both like a smothering weight. The noise of the feast around you continues, but it feels distant, almost hollow, as if you are both cut off from the rest of the hall.
Finally, after a long, tense moment, Aegon rises from the table, drawing the attention of those around you. His expression is unreadable, his eyes hard as they sweep over the hall. "I need air," he mutters, his voice clipped. Without waiting for a response, he strides out of the hall, his departure swift and silent, but leaving a wave of discomfort in his wake.
The guests glance in your direction, curious whispers rippling through the crowd. You sit there, your hands gripping the edge of the table, your heart pounding in your chest as you watch him leave. The weight of your words lingers, hanging in the air between you, but now he is gone, and you are left with the aftermath of your confrontation.
Rhaenys, ever perceptive, leans in slightly, her voice soft as she tries to ease the tension. "You speak the truth, Y/N," she says, her tone gentle but understanding. "But Aegon... He is not one who takes criticism easily."
"I know," you murmur, your voice distant as you stare at the empty space where Aegon once sat. "But someone has to tell him."
Visenya, sitting quietly at the far end of the table, glances at you but says nothing, her expression unreadable. She has always been loyal to Aegon above all else, and though she may agree with you in silence, she would never speak it aloud.
The feast continues, but for you, the victory Aegon claimed in your name feels hollow, like everything else he’s given you—a gift wrapped in chains.
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Aegon pushes through the grand doors of the hall, his movements sharp and purposeful, though inside, his heart is a storm. The warmth and noise of the feast fade into the background as he steps into the cool night air, the silence wrapping around him like a cloak. The torches lining the walls cast flickering specters across the stone courtyard, but Aegon hardly notices. His thoughts are too loud, too chaotic, drowning out everything else.
Servants and lords alike part in his path, their eyes darting nervously away as he strides through the corridors of Aegonfort, his jaw clenched, his fists tight at his sides. They sense his anger, his turmoil, and none dare to stand in his way. Even the guards lower their gazes, unwilling to meet the eyes of the king when he is like this—when the Conqueror wears his crown of fire.
Aegon’s mind races, replaying the confrontation with you over and over again. Your words had cut him deeper than any lance could. He had wanted to honor you, to show the realm your importance, but instead, you had seen only pride, only selfishness. He had fought for you, but all you had seen was a king who took what he wanted, again and again.
He walks with no clear destination, but his feet carry him toward the outer edge of the fortress, where the dragons are kept. It is instinct, perhaps, that draws him there—a need to be near the creatures that have always been his strength, his power. Yet as he approaches the dragon stables, a familiar sight meets his eyes outside them, one that still stirs unease in his chest.
Tesaerix.
The dragon lies chained to the ground, her once-majestic wings folded tightly against her body, her neck bound with heavy iron links that glint in the torchlight. Her deep crimson eyes, fierce and sharp, stare directly at him as he approaches, burning with a silent accusation.
Aegon stops a few paces away, his breath hitching as their gazes lock. Tesaerix does not roar or thrash as she once did when first bound—there is only a quiet, simmering fury in the way she looks at him now. The fire in her eyes, though dimmed, is far from extinguished.
He stands there for a long moment, staring at the dragon, the creature that had been bound because of you. Because of what you had tried to do. And now, here she lies—chained, just as you were, in a way, trapped by decisions neither of you had wanted.
"She hates me," Aegon mutters aloud, his voice barely above a whisper. It is not a question. He can see the loathing in the dragon’s gaze, the way her chest rises and falls with each slow, measured breath, as if restraining the full force of her anger. It is a mirror of the feelings he senses in you every time you look at him now.
He takes a step closer, though the chains rattling softly in the wind serve as a stark reminder of the distance between him and the creature. He should feel satisfaction at seeing Tesaerix subdued, knowing that she cannot be used against him again, that you cannot take her and flee to the ends of the earth. But instead, standing before her now, he feels... hollow.
The dragon’s crimson eyes bore into him, and for a fleeting moment, Aegon wonders if she knows what you feel, if she shares in the same grief and fury. Tesaerix has been chained, grounded—stripped of her freedom just as you have been. And now, here he stands, the man responsible for it all.
"You aren’t the only one who hates me," Aegon says bitterly, his voice hoarse. "She hates me too." He rubs a hand across his face, wiping away the tension etched there, though it does nothing to ease the storm in his chest.
Tesaerix lets out a low, rumbling sound, not quite a growl, but enough to make Aegon take another step back. The dragon shifts slightly, her chains clinking with the movement, and her eyes narrow as if daring him to come any closer. She does not trust him, not after what he has done. Just like you.
"I did what I had to," Aegon mutters, his voice quieter now, as if trying to convince himself as much as the dragon. "She would have left. Left me."
But the words feel empty, even to him. He had acted out of fear, out of a need to control what he could not bear to lose. But now, standing here before the chained dragon, watching her watch him with those blood-red eyes, he wonders if he has only made things worse—if the cost of keeping you with him has been too high.
The night air grows colder, but Aegon doesn’t move. He stands there, rooted in place, staring at the dragon who will never be free, who will never forgive him. The silence between them is thick, broken only by the occasional snap of the chains as Tesaerix shifts her weight.
Aegon exhales slowly, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He has won Westeros, but what has he truly gained? A kingdom at his feet, yet the one thing he wanted—your love, your acceptance—remains out of reach.
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The sky above Aegonfort is a pale blue, streaked with thin clouds that drift lazily in the wind. Below, in the courtyard, the dragons are being readied for flight, their massive forms casting long shadows over the stone. Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes stand tall, their wings rustling, eager for the skies. Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys are already mounting their dragons, their expressions focused, their movements practiced and sure.
You stand back, lingering near the edge of the courtyard, your eyes fixed on Tesaerix. She rests at the far end, still chained to the ground, though her posture seems less resigned today. There’s a spark of anticipation in her deep red eyes, a flicker of life you haven't seen in weeks. As your siblings prepare for their flight, you hesitate, your heart heavy as you approach her.
Tesaerix watches you with a quiet intensity as you draw near, her cream-and-crimson scales gleaming in the morning light. The iron chains that bind her wings and limbs seem smaller than they once did, though the weight of them still hangs heavily on her. You place your hand gently on her snout, your fingers brushing the warm, smooth surface of her scales. She rumbles softly, a deep, thrumming sound that reverberates through the ground beneath you. It’s a sound of recognition, of trust, and your heart clenches painfully at the thought of her continued imprisonment.
"I’m sorry," you whisper, pressing your forehead to her head, the words thick with guilt. "I failed you."
Tesaerix shifts beneath your touch, her tail curling slightly, as if she’s trying to reassure you in her own way. The warmth of her breath on your skin, the way she leans into your hand—it’s a small comfort, but it’s not enough to ease the ache in your chest.
The sound of heavy wings beating the air pulls your attention away, and you glance toward your siblings. Aegon is already on Balerion, the Black Dread shifting impatiently, ready to take to the skies. Rhaenys sits astride Meraxes, her face calm, her dark hair lifting in the breeze. Visenya, cold and commanding as always, mounts Vhagar with the ease of someone who has done this a thousand times before.
But it is Visenya who surprises you.
Just as you think she will signal for the dragons to take off, she turns her head, her sharp violet eyes locking onto you and Tesaerix. Her expression is hard to read, as always, but there’s something different in her gaze today—something that isn’t purely cold calculation.
"Tesaerix will be unchained," Visenya says, her voice carrying across the courtyard, firm but not cruel. You blink, stunned, as her words sink in. "She will be allowed to fly."
You stare at her, hardly believing what you’ve heard. For a moment, you think you’ve misunderstood, but Visenya’s gaze does not waver. She looks at you as if she knows exactly what you’re thinking, as if she has anticipated every protest, every question.
"Dragons are not meant to be grounded," Visenya continues, her tone clipped, as though stating an obvious fact. "If she remains chained, she will wither. Grow weak. That is not something we can afford."
Her words are logical, practical, but you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it. You meet her gaze, searching for any sign of softness, of understanding. There is none—only the cold, unyielding presence of the warrior who has always put duty above all else.
Still, the relief you feel is undeniable.
"She… she will fly again?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking it aloud might break the fragile possibility of freedom.
"Yes," Visenya replies simply, already turning her attention back to Vhagar. "For now."
The weight in your chest loosens slightly, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You turn back to Tesaerix, your fingers brushing along her snout once more, your heart swelling with the thought of her finally being free from the chains that have held her for so long. She seems to sense it, the change in the air, and her body shifts eagerly beneath the heavy chains.
"Thank you," you whisper again, but this time, the words are not for her alone.
Aegon, having overheard the exchange, looks at you from atop Balerion, his expression unreadable. For once, he says nothing, perhaps choosing not to interfere in this moment. The three of you have been at odds for so long, the air thick with unspoken grievances, but for now, he holds his tongue.
The chains are unlatched, the heavy iron falling away from Tesaerix’s limbs and wings, the sound of it loud in the quiet courtyard. For the first time in weeks, she stretches her wings fully, the golden and crimson membrane catching the light, glimmering like blood and flame. She lets out a deep, triumphant roar, her voice rising above the fortress walls, echoing across the land.
You smile—an involuntary, fleeting thing—watching as Tesaerix shakes off the last remnants of her confinement. She looks at you, and for a moment, there is a connection between you both, something pure and powerful, something that reminds you that you are not as alone as you have felt.
Aegon signals for the flight to begin, his hand lifting in a silent command. Balerion takes to the skies with a powerful sweep of his wings, followed closely by Meraxes and Vhagar. You watch them ascend, their forms growing smaller as they soar higher into the sky.
You mount Tesaerix, feeling the familiar warmth of her beneath you. With a single word, she launches herself into the air, her wings slicing through the sky, unbound, free. The wind rushes past you, lifting your hair, filling your lungs with the crisp air of the open sky.
For the first time in weeks, you feel a sense of freedom—not just for your dragon, but for yourself.
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The sky is darkening as the four of you descend from the clouds, the distant glow of the setting sun casting the horizon in hues of gold and violet. The air is cooler now, and the wind that once rushed past you in exhilarating gusts begins to calm as your dragons lower themselves back toward the ground. Tesaerix lands gracefully, her wings beating only a few times before she touches down, her massive form folding into the familiar courtyard. The echo of her powerful roar, given just before your descent, still lingers in the air.
Vhagar and Meraxes land nearby, their massive bodies kicking up dust and loose stone as they settle. Visenya and Rhaenys dismount smoothly, their faces impassive as they slide from their dragons' backs and make their way toward the entrance of the fortress. They exchange a few quiet words between them, their long cloaks trailing behind as they move inside. There is an ease in their movements, a sense of routine and familiarity. They have done this countless times before, and tonight is no different.
But Aegon lingers.
He remains mounted on Balerion, watching as you dismount from Tesaerix, your fingers brushing the dragon’s warm hide before you step away. Her wings shift slightly, and she lets out a contented huff, clearly enjoying her brief return to the skies. Your connection with her, after all the time apart, feels more solid than it has in weeks. The bond between dragon and rider, though strained, has never fully broken. And now, as you stand beside her, it feels as though some part of you is healing.
Aegon watches from a distance, his expression unreadable. The towering figure of Balerion stands still behind him, the great dragon’s eyes half-closed as if bored by the day’s events. But Aegon’s attention is fixed on you. His gaze follows your movements as you move closer to Tesaerix’s snout, resting your hand on her once more. The quiet affection between you and the dragon is unmistakable, and for a moment, Aegon looks as though he is wrestling with something—an emotion he cannot quite name.
He dismounts slowly, his armored boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. As he steps forward, he does not call out to you, nor does he try to interrupt your moment with your dragon. Instead, he simply watches, his usual confidence replaced by something quieter, more introspective. There’s a chasm between you, but it feels different tonight—less heated, less full of the bitterness that has tainted so many of your recent interactions.
You sense his presence before you hear him, your head lifting slightly as Tesaerix rumbles softly, her large eyes flickering in Aegon’s direction. She is calm now, her anger toward him seemingly subdued after the freedom of flight. But you can feel the unspoken tension in the air as your brother approaches, the weight of the past weeks hanging between you.
“You’re staying behind?” you ask, your voice low but without the usual bite. There’s no accusation in your tone, just curiosity.
Aegon stops a few paces away, his hands resting at his sides, fingers brushing the leather of his gloves. He looks at Tesaerix for a moment before his eyes return to you. “I wanted to see how she fared,” he says, his voice measured, quieter than usual. “After being chained for so long.”
You glance at him, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. But for once, Aegon doesn’t seem to be playing the king, the conqueror. His words feel honest, unvarnished. His gaze shifts to Tesaerix, who meets his eyes for a brief moment before turning her attention back to you, her focus unshaken by the presence of the man who once imprisoned her.
“She’s strong,” you reply, your voice soft. “Stronger than I gave her credit for.”
Aegon nods, his eyes lingering on Tesaerix’s folded wings, the glow of her golden scales dimming with the falling night. “Dragons aren’t meant to be chained,” he says quietly, more to himself than to you. His words carry a weight that you know isn’t just about Tesaerix. He’s speaking of more than dragons now.
You feel something unspoken between you both—he knows what he did was wrong, but admitting it outright is something Aegon rarely does. Still, this moment feels different. It’s not an apology, but it’s close enough.
You look away from him, your gaze returning to Tesaerix, who lets out a soft rumble as you run your hand along her snout once more. “She missed the skies,” you murmur. “Just like I did.”
The silence stretches between you, thick but not uncomfortable. For the first time in weeks, Aegon seems unsure of himself, as if he doesn’t know how to breach the distance between you, even as he stands only a few feet away. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but the words falter before they leave his lips.
You can feel him hesitating, lingering on the edge of something unsaid. Finally, he steps forward, his gaze softening as he watches you with Tesaerix. “I wanted to give you something today,” he says, his voice low. “I thought… I thought letting her fly would show you that I’m trying.”
You pause, turning your head slightly to look at him, the surprise evident in your eyes. It isn’t like Aegon to admit such things. He’s always been the conqueror, the king who takes what he wants. Vulnerability isn’t something you’ve come to expect from him.
“She deserves to be free,” you reply, your tone neutral, though a flicker of something warmer slips into your words. “As do we all.”
Aegon looks at you, his gaze searching, but whatever he’s hoping to find, he doesn’t ask for. He nods, a brief but telling gesture. “Perhaps,” he murmurs, though his tone suggests that freedom is a concept he still struggles with.
For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The only sound is the distant murmur of the wind and the occasional rustle of Tesaerix’s wings. Finally, Aegon takes a step back, turning his gaze toward the fortress. “We’ll be flying again in the morning,” he says, though his voice lacks the command it usually holds.
“I know,” you reply softly.
He looks at you one last time, as if he wants to say more but knows there are no easy words for what lies between you. Then, with a final nod, he turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing against the stone as he disappears into the shadows of the fortress.
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The days have grown quieter in the weeks since Tesaerix was freed from her chains, and the anger that once filled the air between you and Aegon has begun to ease, though the distance between your hearts remains vast. The nights are cooler now, the winds carrying the scent of the sea as they sweep through the towers of Aegonfort. The sound of dragons is ever-present, their cries echoing through the stone walls, a reminder of the power your family holds.
You stand by the fire in your chambers, staring into the flames as they flicker and dance. Your thoughts drift, as they often do, to the life you could have had. Winterfell, the snow-covered plains of the North, and Torrhen Stark’s quiet strength. The ache is still there, a dull, constant pain that you have grown accustomed to, though it never truly fades.
A soft knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn, already knowing who it is before you see him. Aegon steps into the room, his movements slow and unhurried, his gaze settling on you with a strange mix of determination and hesitation. He has been visiting you more often as of late, his presence less forceful, less commanding than it once was. He no longer brings gifts or demands anything from you, but simply... comes.
“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he says, closing the door behind him, his voice low and cautious. He’s always careful now, as if each word could set off an unseen tremor between you both.
“I’ve had much on my mind,” you reply, turning back to the fire, though you know he can read the truth in your silence.
He crosses the room and stands beside you, the warmth of the fire washing over both of you. The heat of his presence, so close yet still restrained, is something you’ve slowly come to tolerate, even accept, though the bitterness of your lost future never fully leaves you.
“You’re thinking of him,” Aegon says after a long pause, his voice soft but heavy with understanding. “Of the Stark.”
You stiffen slightly, your eyes still fixed on the flames. It is rare that he speaks of Torrhen. You’ve both avoided the subject for the most part, as if not naming it could keep it from being real, from haunting what little peace you’ve managed to find. But Aegon is nothing if not perceptive, and tonight, it seems, he is unwilling to let it lie.
“Yes,” you admit, the word slipping from your lips before you can stop it. There is no point in denying it—Torrhen is always there, lingering in the corners of your mind, a shadow of what could have been. “I think of him often.”
Aegon nods, though the movement is barely noticeable, his gaze distant now, as if he too is grappling with something he cannot fully understand. “I know,” he says quietly, his tone carrying no anger, no jealousy—only resignation.
You turn to face him, surprised by his lack of hostility. For so long, you had expected rage, had anticipated that his possessiveness would rear its head whenever you so much as mentioned the man who had once been your future. But Aegon has changed, in subtle ways, since you returned to each other’s orbit.
“I tried to take everything from you,” he continues, his voice rough with the weight of the admission. “But I could never take him from your heart, could I?”
The vulnerability in his words surprises you, catches you off guard. Aegon has never been one to admit weakness, and yet here he stands, acknowledging the one thing he cannot conquer—your love for Torrhen Stark.
“No,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t.”
He sighs, and for a moment, he looks almost weary, as though the weight of his victories, his crowns, his conquests have finally taken their toll. “I’ve conquered kingdoms, united the Seven, but when it comes to you, there’s always... something I can’t reach.”
You meet his gaze then, your eyes locking with his. There is something raw in his expression, something fragile and unguarded. And for the first time, you see not the conqueror, not the king, but the man beneath all that—the man who, despite his power, is haunted by the one thing he cannot command.
“You have me now,” you murmur, though the words feel like a compromise, a truth that does not tell the whole story.
He steps closer, his hand brushing yours lightly, as if testing the boundaries of your comfort. “But I don’t have all of you, do I?” His voice is soft, tinged with a sadness that you have rarely heard from him.
You don’t answer right away, because you don’t need to. The silence between you speaks volumes. He already knows the answer, and so do you. No matter how much time passes, no matter how close you become, a part of you will always belong to Torrhen Stark—a part that Aegon, for all his might, will never possess.
Still, you allow his fingers to lace with yours, a small gesture of acceptance. You do not love him, not in the way he wants, but there is a quiet understanding growing between you, a shared sense of loss that binds you in a way you hadn’t expected.
“I’ll never be him,” Aegon says softly, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “But I’ll try to be what you need.”
The words hang in the air between you, a promise that feels both hopeful and tragic. You look up at him, searching his face for any hint of deceit, but there is none. He is being truthful, as much as he can be. Aegon may never be the man you dreamed of sharing your life with, but perhaps, in his own way, he is trying to build something out of the wreckage of what he destroyed.
“I know,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.
He leans in slightly, his forehead resting gently against yours, and for the first time, there is a sense of peace between you. The fire crackles softly behind you, the warmth of it surrounding you both as the night deepens. Aegon may never truly understand the depth of your love for Torrhen, but in this moment, he doesn’t need to. What matters now is the quiet bond forming between you—a bond not of passion, but of shared wounds and quiet resolve.
And though the ache for what was lost still lingers, for the first time, you wonder if perhaps, in this strange, broken way, you and Aegon might find a path forward together. Not as lovers, but as something else—something more complicated, but no less real.
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Ending Where Y/N Stays
The night sky is a deep velvet blanket above Aegonfort, scattered with stars that twinkle faintly against the vast expanse. 
You stand by the window, staring out at the dark horizon, lost in thought. It has been a full moon since the quiet understanding between you and Aegon began to grow, since the edges of your shared pain started to blur. The walls you had built around yourself, brick by painful brick, have not crumbled, but they’ve begun to weaken, piece by piece. And tonight, something feels different. Something inside you has shifted, though you can’t name it.
The sound of the door opening behind you breaks the silence, and you don’t need to turn to know it is Aegon. His presence is familiar now, though it still stirs a flutter of uncertainty in your chest. His footsteps are slow as he crosses the room, stopping just a few paces away. The air between you is charged, not of hostility but of something else, lingering in the space between you.
“You’ve been distant today,” Aegon says softly, his voice carrying a note of hesitation, though his usual confidence remains. He stands just behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body, though he doesn’t touch you.
You don’t answer immediately, still staring out at the night, your fingers lightly gripping the stone ledge of the window. After a long pause, you turn to face him. His violet eyes meet yours, searching for something he cannot yet name, and for the first time in a long while, you don’t look away.
“I’ve been thinking,” you finally say, your voice quiet but steady. The weight of what you are about to say rests heavily on your shoulders, but there is no fear in it—only the calm that comes with acceptance.
Aegon’s brow furrows slightly, his gaze questioning, but he says nothing, waiting for you to continue.
“For so long, I’ve kept you at arm’s length,” you say, taking a slow breath. “I’ve pushed you away because I couldn’t bear the thought of... letting you in.” You pause, your chest tightening with the weight of the truth you’ve kept buried for so long. “But I can’t keep living like this, Aegon. Neither of us can.”
The silence that follows is thick, filled with all the things neither of you have said, all the things you’ve left unspoken. Aegon’s eyes soften as he steps closer, his hand lifting slowly to rest gently on your arm. His touch is light, almost tentative, as if he’s afraid of crossing some unseen boundary.
“What are you saying, Y/N?” he asks, his voice low, barely more than a whisper.
You meet his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest, though not with fear. You take a step closer, closing the distance between you until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, the heat of his body radiating through the small space that remains.
“I’m saying that I’m tired of fighting,” you murmur, your voice trembling slightly. “I’m tired of denying what’s right in front of me.”
For a moment, Aegon says nothing. His eyes search your face, as if trying to understand the full meaning of your words, to grasp the depth of what you are offering. And then, slowly, his fingers slide down your arm, tracing a path to your hand, where he intertwines his fingers with yours. His touch is gentle, but there is a quiet urgency in it, a need that has been simmering between you for far too long.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice barely audible, a note of vulnerability slipping through the cracks of his usual bravado.
You nod, the tension in your chest easing slightly as you look up at him, your heart no longer weighed down by hesitation. “Yes,” you whisper, the word carrying with it the weight of your decision.
Aegon’s breath catches, and for a moment, he simply looks at you, as if trying to commit this moment to memory. Then, without another word, he lifts his free hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. The touch is soft, almost reverent, and the tenderness of it sends a shiver down your spine.
He leans in slowly, giving you the chance to pull away, to stop this before it begins, but you don’t. You close the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that is tentative at first, testing the boundaries of what you are ready to give. But as the moments pass, the kiss deepens, growing in intensity, the pent-up emotions between you spilling over, unchecked and unguarded.
Aegon’s hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss becomes more insistent, more desperate. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his tunic, holding onto him as if he is the only thing grounding you to the world in that moment. The heat between you rises, and before long, the space that once separated you has vanished entirely.
He pulls away just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours as his hands cup your face, his eyes searching yours. “If you want to stop...” he begins, his voice rough with desire, but you silence him with another kiss, your answer clear.
The rest of the night passes in a blur of heat and whispered promises. His hands move across your skin with a gentleness you hadn’t expected, but there is an urgency in the way he touches you, as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away if he doesn’t hold on tightly enough. You match his pace, your body responding to his with a need that surprises even you.
When the last barriers fall, when you finally allow him to take you, there is no hesitation. No more fear. The weight of the past is still there, lingering in the shadows of the room, but for the first time, it doesn’t define you. In that moment, with Aegon’s arms wrapped around you, with his body pressed against yours, the pain and anger that have haunted you for so long feel distant, like a memory you’ve chosen to let fade.
When it’s over, you lie together in the quiet of the night, the fire in the hearth casting a soft glow over your entwined forms. Aegon’s breath is slow and steady beside you, his hand resting lightly on your waist, his touch still gentle even in sleep. You close your eyes, exhaustion pulling at you, but your thoughts linger on the moment that just passed.
You know he loves you, and in some strange, broken way, you love him too. But the part of you that still belongs to Torrhen Stark remains untouched, a quiet, persistent ache that will never fully leave you. Aegon may have you now, but he knows—as you do—that he will never have all of you. And in the end, perhaps that’s enough.
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Ending Where Y/N Leaves
The moon hangs low in the night sky, casting a pale, silvery light over Aegonfort. The fortress is still, the only sounds the distant crash of the waves and the occasional rustling of leaves in the wind. Inside, the corridors are quiet, the courtiers and guards long retired to their quarters. But sleep does not come for you tonight.
The decision has been growing inside you for days, a quiet resolve that started as a whisper and has now become impossible to ignore. The weight of it presses heavily on your chest as you stand in your chambers, your gaze drifting toward the window where the faintest glimmer of stars can be seen.
You cannot stay.
The walls of Aegonfort feel like a cage, closing in around you, and no amount of quiet moments or tender gestures from Aegon can change that. The love he seeks, the connection he so desperately craves, is not something you can give him. You have tried—gods, you’ve tried—but the life he built for you, the crown he placed on your head, is not the one you wanted.
And so, you’ve made your choice.
You move through your chambers with quiet purpose, pulling on a cloak and gathering only what you need for the journey ahead. Your heart races in your chest, not with fear but with a strange sense of calm. This is right. This is the only way. The only way to reclaim a piece of the freedom you lost.
Slipping through the silent halls of the fortress, you avoid the gaze of the few guards posted along the corridors, your movements careful and deliberate. The heavy stone walls seem to press in around you as you descend the steps that lead to the stables. Tesaerix is there, waiting for you, as if she can sense what is about to happen.
The air grows colder as you approach the courtyard, the scent of the sea strong in the night breeze. The dragon stables loom ahead, dark and silent, and for a moment, you pause, your heart hammering in your chest. But there is no turning back now. Not after everything.
Tesaerix stirs as you step into the open space, her golden and crimson scales catching the moonlight as she shifts her massive wings. She is restless, and her eyes gleam in the dim light, locking onto you the moment you approach. There’s a flicker of understanding in her gaze, and as you reach her, she lowers her head, letting out a low, rumbling sound.
You press your hand to her warm scales, your fingers trembling slightly. "It’s time," you whisper, the words barely audible in the stillness. Tesaerix’s breath huffs against your skin, her body tensing as if she, too, has been waiting for this moment.
The saddling is quick, your hands moving through the motions with practiced ease. You pull yourself up onto her back, settling into the familiar seat between her powerful wings. For a brief moment, you glance back at Aegonfort, the towering structure outlined against the night sky. The place that has been your prison, the place where you have been both queen and captive.
You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, and with a quiet command, Tesaerix lifts into the sky. Her wings beat powerfully, carrying you higher and higher, the ground falling away beneath you as you ascend. The rush of the wind in your ears drowns out the last remnants of hesitation, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel free.
The stars stretch out above you, vast and endless, and the open sky welcomes you like an old friend. Tesaerix soars with grace, her wings cutting through the cool night air, and you urge her eastward, away from Westeros, toward the horizon where the distant lands of Essos await.
You do not look back.
The sea below stretches out in endless darkness, the waves crashing silently against the shores you are leaving behind. The life you once dreamed of—Winterfell, Torrhen, a future filled with love and quiet moments—feels distant now, like a memory from a different life. And Aegon, for all his power and his efforts to keep you by his side, cannot follow you here. Not this time.
The night passes slowly, the rhythm of Tesaerix’s flight steady and constant as she carries you farther and farther from the world you once knew. The stars shift above you, guiding you onward, and the distant lights of ships below seem small and insignificant compared to the vastness of the sky.
You do not know where you will land, or what lies ahead in Essos, but for now, that uncertainty is a comfort. It is a reminder that you still have choices, that your fate is still your own to shape.
As the first light of dawn begins to break on the horizon, you feel a strange sense of peace. The path before you is unknown, but it is yours. 
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shy-writer-999 · 4 months ago
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Surrender: Ace cries at night and you comfort him
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A/N: This is angst that turns into lovey-dovey stuff. SFW. CW for self-loathing (on Ace's side). ~1,250 words. (´ω`*)
Surrender: Ace cries at night while you comfort him
Sometimes Ace engages with the deep pit of loneliness and self-loathing that festers inside of him. He tries to avoid it as much as he can, but that part of him can only be ignored for so long until it demands to be heard. In the visceral moments of reconciliation with that neglected part of himself, Ace has to surrender. He has to allow himself to feel and accept the open wounds still gaping inside of him—the wounds in his heart, in his core, in that pit of despair and unimaginable solitude.
There are certain memories of hurt and trauma in your past that you can never forget. Even if these moments are from decades ago, they can sting and haunt you just the same. They flash into the mind, unprompted, intrusive, glaring, and horrible. On a good day, those memories fly under the radar for Ace. They don’t get in the way of how intensely and relentlessly he loves people, nor do they obstruct the happiness he feels in the small moments of joy that every day brings.
When the memories finally surface, when they refuse to go away, not only does Ace have to surrender, but more often than not, he breaks. These days, it’s rare. To be clear, Ace is not broken; the sheer weight of the hurt that he quietly suffers can just get to him. It’s like a watershed—the second that he has to surrender, his repressed emotions and memories detonate like a bomb in his heart. Surrendering to the pain, surrendering to that festering pit, sometimes looks like curling up in fetal position and sobbing for however long he needs; historically, it’s been anywhere from 10 minutes to a couple of hours. Other times that he breaks he is despondent all day—he shuts down, and though there are no tears, the pain is just as torturous.
Since you had started seeing Ace and regularly sharing a bed with him, you had yet to witness one of these moments of surrender. Ace was a force to be reckoned with. He was strong, formidable, talented, and terrifying, yet at the same time he was charming, polite, and astonishingly kind. You had a baseline understanding of what he’d been through in his life and who he was, so you understood that he held pain in his heart. But understanding that fact was different than witnessing that pain in real time.
When you woke up to Ace crying next to you, his back was turned away from you. You realized that he was sobbing as quietly as he could. You could hear the sound of his breath hitching in between the waves of anguish and tears. He was trying to hold as still as he could, be as quiet and as small as possible, so he wouldn’t wake you up. He preferred to suffer these moments of anguish alone—he didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. He shouldered too much, far more than any one person should or could deal with. As the shuddering sobs wracked his body, his heart and core twisted. The watershed of grief had started, and it wouldn’t stop until it all came out.
When you watch someone that you love sob like that, it breaks something in you, too.
For someone to be so vulnerable, so sincere, showing you a part of themselves that they keep locked away… it is nothing to take lightly. Having the privilege of being close to someone like this is precious. It is invaluable. To be trusted completely and without refrain, to be recognized for who you are and to recognize someone for who they are, completely, through thick and thin… this is what love is about.
You stirred and Ace held his breath, worried that he had disturbed your sleep with his break down. No matter how still or soundless he tried to be, the hot tears streaming from his eyes refused to stop.
You shifted, facing his back and scooting closer so you were spooning him. Ace tried to slow down his gasps for air to feign like he had been asleep.
Not only was he worried about being a burden, but he was worried that you would look at his pain and refuse to recognize it—that you would scorn him. As he tried (and failed) to self-regulate, he felt you lean forward to kiss the back of his head. You threw an arm over him, holding him, letting him know that he was cherished here. You nuzzled into his neck and felt his body alongside yours.
“I’m here, Ace. And you are safe.” You spoke gently into the back of his neck.
Upon hearing your recognition and reassurance, Ace fully yielded to the explosion of emotions assailing him—he let himself feel the hatred for himself and for others, let himself feel the suffocating loneliness of his solitude and isolation, let himself feel the desperate need to be loved and assured constantly. He surrendered.
Ace sobbed for a long time. The safety he discovered while you comforted him was beyond anything he knew. Your love radiated on the pit of sadness and despair, managing to lift Ace out of what felt like a molten, toxic, and boiling lake of self-hatred and sorrow.
While he cried, you kissed his neck, shoulder, and the back of his head softly. You held him. You asked for nothing from Ace. You didn’t come from a place of wanting to “fix” him or to figure out exactly what he was upset about—you were there because you profoundly, truly, ardently loved him. You were safe, you understood, you did not judge. He could grieve as much as he needed to and you would be there, always.
When his breath slowed and the tears stopped rolling down his cheeks, Ace felt calm, clear headed. He turned over to face you, getting so close that your foreheads were almost touching. His cheeks were soaked with tears, his eyes were red, and his hair was a mess. He took one of your hands tenderly and entwined his fingers with yours. He spoke three words, his voice hushed and hoarse.
“I love you.”
Ace kissed your forehead softly, his lips still wet from the paths forged by tears down his skin; he peppered the rest of your face with soft, damp kisses. He couldn’t put into words how grateful he was for you or how significant and impactful your care was to him. He didn’t say anything because he knew that you were already aware. This moment didn’t need words.
You fell asleep nestled together, hands held. The love you felt for Ace and the love he felt for you was the same—it was a peaceful acceptance, an attunement, a harmony, and a burning flame.
After this night, anytime Ace felt like he was going under, like he was about to be swallowed by that excruciating weight on his shoulder, he knew that he could find solace in you. You were an anchor for him, as he was for you. You recognized all parts of him and loved each one; he told you about all of the mistakes he had made, the people he had wronged, the regretful and hurtful memories simmering, and you told him that every mistake he ever made led him here—you both agreed that you’d never have it any other way.
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