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pucksandpower · 4 months ago

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To Hell With Duty

Lewis Hamilton x soulmate!Reader

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

Warnings: abusive family dynamics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But that’s not fair!” You protested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he speaks, his voice low and warm.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look at him, confused. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready,” you say firmly.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She sounds brave,” Lewis comments.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re running towards it.

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that ...”

“It can’t be ...”

“The princess!”

“With Lewis Hamilton?”

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

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

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

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

The questions come rapid-fire after that.

“Why did you leave the UK?”

“Are you and Lewis Hamilton really soulmates?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ve got your back, Y/N!”

“Love wins!”

“You show ‘em, Lewis!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Together.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that ...” he asks quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the only choice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wouldn’t change a thing.

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

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

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

2K notes · View notes

breezymichelle99 · 30 days ago

Text

Viral Soft Launch | LN

Handsomer by Russ (remix)

Summary: Lando and you had always had a very private relationship, always keeping to yourself until a fun little tik tok trend helps you soft launch your relationship.

Warnings: Pretty much none. All fluff. Some sexual innuendo, dirty song lyrics, private relationship, sweet cute bf Lando.

You and Formula one driver, Lando Norris have been dating each other privately for about a year now, there have been rumors but nothing has been confirmed about you two at this time, and to be honest you and Lando liked it that way.. You had been begging him for weeks now to do this silly little Tik Tok trend with you that you had seen other couples doing, even if you didn’t post it to your respective social media accounts you still wanted to make a fun memory with him.

Finally you got him to agree. “Alright Alright, If this is what you want? Tell me what I have to do.” he says with a smirk looking down at you pouting up at him, his thumb running across your bottom lip. “You are the best Lan, I love you so much.” your eyes sparkle at him. You hear him chuckle. “I love you too, Y|N.” his green eyes shining with so much love and admiration for his silly girlfriend. “Okay I'm going to need you to memorize these lyrics.” you say handing him a piece of paper with your handwriting on it. The lyrics to The Remix of Russ’s “Handsomer.” written across it. He looks over at you shaking his head with a laugh. “It's a good thing I love you.” he says, placing a kiss to the top of your head as he leaves you in the living room to practice your part.

After a few hours Lando joins you back in the living room. “I think I’m ready.” he says with a smirk as he watches you practicing your part along with some choreography he feared he would have to learn. You look up at him giving him a wink. “Perfect, me too.” you say pulling him to you and standing on your tippy toes to kiss his perfect little nose. “Here's what I'd like to do.” you say directing him. He lets you drag him around the living room trying to find the best lighting. “Perfection.” you say looking over at Lando glowing in the sunlight of your shared living room. “I want to do each of our parts and then merge them together.” you say. “I’ll do you, you do me.” you say making Lando laugh. “Cut it out Norris.” you laugh playfully shoving him away from you. His dirty mind always getting him into trouble. “Alright alright, sorry serious business, my bad.” he still can’t keep himself from chuckling. You roll your eyes at him. “Since you can’t be serious apparently. You’re going first.” you say pointing for him to return to the designated filming spot. “Bossy much.” he jokes sticking his tongue out at you but doing what he’s told of course. You return the favor sticking out your tongue back at him. Lando raises his eyebrow and opens his mouth to make a comment about putting that tongue to much better use but he decides to keep his mouth shut and do what he’s told.

“Please feel free to have fun with it.” you say winking at him. “So I shouldn’t just stand here like a lump and mumble the lyrics? Rats, that was my whole plan.” he teases you once more. “You know what, never mind.” you sigh walking away, giving up on his continuous bullying and this cute idea you wanted to do with him. “No, no baby come back, I’m sorry I’ll be more serious I swear.” he begs not wanting to see the disappointment on your adorable face any longer. You give him a long side eye. “Ok.” you whisper returning to your filming spot. “Ready when you are princess.” he says with a wink. “On the count of three, okay baby?” you say he nods. “One..Two..Three.” you say pressing Play.

Much to your surprise Lando had really taken his part seriously. “I know I’m fine, but the money makes me handsomer. Walk around, smellin’ like a come-up, and the answer for her problems, but I’m not him, I don’t mind it though. You don’t like me how you think you do, I like it though.” he finishes his part in a fit of laughter. “I'm sorry but this is ridiculous.” he says running his hands through his curls as he rewatches his rap, with both of you laughing hysterically by the end. “Alright missy no more stalling your turn.” he says taking your phone from you. He had no clue what your part was going to be so he was in for a little treat. You take your spot ready whenever he is. You nod. “On the count of three angel face.” he winks. You nod again, locking in. “One..Two..Three.” he says.

“I won’t lie, that extra coin don’t hurt But I gets money baby, I just rather spend yours first. I know for sure the pussy worth more than an Hermes purse.” Lando bites his bottom lip keeping in his gasp as he watches you in pure awe. “I got the best on earth, so that dick better come with some perks. Yeah you fine, and the money caught my eye too but there's a big difference between you and my side dude. You be all up in between them thighs, he’s who I lie to.” you pause winking at him licking your lips. An almost moan leaves Lando’s lips. Damn you were sexy. “You get my titties in your face, he getting side-boob.” you stop laughing hysterically falling into his arms.. You rewatch it laughing hysterically, you both try it a few more times finally deciding to just do it together instead of making separate videos, before you are fully satisfied, each time ending with the pair of you in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. the final take has you both laughing hysterically, lando kissing you softly the pair of you looking at each other completely in love. “That’s it, that's the one.” you say with a soft sweet smile on your face, as you edit the final cut and save it to your phone. Playing it back for Lando.

“This turned out so cute and fun, thanks for convincing me to do it with you.” he laughs, pulling you into his arms. “Thank you for agreeing to do it with me.” you say kissing his cheek gently. You see Lando smirk. “What?” you ask him caressing his cheek with your soft fingertips. “There's no side dude looking at your side boob? Right??” he asks with a laugh. You smack him playfully. “Seriously? Of course not you should know better than that.. You are my one and only Lan.” you smirk. The pair of you stare at each other for a moment before you sigh.

“I know how we like to keep ourselves private so I don’t think we should share it.” you say. Lando can see the sadness in your eyes as the words leave your lips. You knew why you kept things private but sometimes you just really wanted to be able to share the love and joy you had for your sweet boyfriend. He kisses your lips softly. “Whatever you think is best princess, at least we have the moment for us.” he says . There is something mischievous in his eyes. You let out a sigh. “It's probably for the best.” you say setting your phone down on the table, kissing Lando on the cheek and heading into the kitchen to grab a drink. Lando smirks. He had a plan.

He takes your phone and sends the video to himself. He knows the reason why you two had remained private about your relationship but he thought it was about time he shared the love he had for the most beautiful sweet girl he had ever known. You walk back into the living room to grab your phone, so you can put on some music while you cook for the two of you. He knew this was the perfect opportunity. He heard you digging around in the cupboard pulling out pots and pans, the soft hum of Martin Garrix coming from where you were. He smirks as he takes to his instagram to post the video of you two. “You are the answer to all my problems.” he captioned the video after a popular lyric in the song, tagging you and hitting share.. He hears everything in the kitchen stop. He smiles as the video had finally uploaded to his instagram.

“Lando?” he hears you call to him. He can’t help but smirk. “Yeah babe.” he says as you meet him in the hall, phone in hand. You eye him. “You just couldn’t help yourself could you?” you laugh at your idiot boyfriend. He pulls you close. “I couldn’t help it, we looked so cute and had so much fun, I couldn’t let that go to waste, plus you worked so hard to get me to do it with you, and looked so disappointed when we decided not to share it.” he says. “What about our privacy?” you ask him, as he brushes a strand of your hair from your face and tucks it behind your ear. “We’ll deal with it as it comes my love, there isn’t a single thing we can’t handle together.” he says kissing your lips reassuring you that everything was going to be alright. At this time you were sure the internet was probably going wild with your relationship finally confirmed.

You decide to follow Lando’s lead and share his post to your story. “#SoftLaunch I love you 😘 Thanks for being silly with me babe. You are my everything 🥰” you were so happy you finally got to share this love you had with everyone. Lando’s fans were going crazy, loving you two finally going public. There had been so many rumors since you’d been in the paddock so much but you two had always been careful about putting your relationship into the public eye but it was kind of refreshing to finally be out in the open sharing your love for each other and being able to announce your relationship in such a fun way, which fans were absolutely loving. You couldn’t wait to be able to get him to do the next Tik Tok trend with you.

The End.

#lando norris #mclaren #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #moodboard pics allll from Pinterest

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pyrrhiccomedy · 7 months ago

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A DM’s Fair Play Guide To Plot Twists

I love running a game with a lot of surprises. The challenge to pulling this off well is that, unless you’re playing a one on one game, your players outnumber you: and between them, they have a good chance of figuring out what’s going to happen, no matter how sneaky and clever you are.

The first way of dealing with this - which I’ll just call the bullshit way - is to not give your players the information they need to solve the mystery. Don’t let them find out about the secret society until it’s too late. Don’t give them any reason to suspect that their NPC ally is planning to kill them. Don’t let them find the murder weapon, don’t let them locate the witnesses, don’t give them the chance to skip to the end of their investigation.

This sucks, and if you run your games like this, you’re going to piss off your players. Because it isn’t fair.

In mystery literature, a “fair play mystery” is one where the reader is given all of the information they need in order to figure out the solution before the Big Reveal. It’s what makes the reveal good: that GASP, the “oh shit, the knife! the knife from the party! that was hers! I forgot!”

Pulling off a twist in a fair play game is an incredible feeling. Your players will think you’re a genius (or an absolute dick bastard, which is just as good) and they’ll respect it more when they land in hot water that they plausibly could have avoided. So how do you run a fair play game without your players figuring out the twists ahead of time, given that you’re definitely not smarter than all of your players put together?

By fucking with their expectations.

Here are some things that I keep in mind, to keep my players guessing. And it’s important, with all of this, that if your players see through something, let them have it. They should figure out a lot of things on their own! But if you’re regularly seeding your stories with all of this stuff, eventually your players will miss something. Those are somethings you can build on. The same way that a low level enemy who gets away once can keep coming back again and again until they become an important antagonist, a misapprehension your party proves to have a blindspot for can grow and develop until they get smacked with a breathtaking twist.

What’s a twist if not the sudden overturning of an assumption you never thought to question?

1: Make your powerful friendly NPCs know a lot...but not as much as the players think they do.

Player characters often end up with powerful allies. It would be very convenient for the party if those allies always had accurate information. Make sure they don’t always enjoy that convenience.

It’s a balancing act: you want your powerful NPCs to be powerful. You want this alliance to be meaningful and beneficial to your players. But give your NPC an Achilles heel of some kind, when it comes to the information at their disposal. The Noble General commands powerful forces and knows the lay of the enemy’s land well...but that doesn’t mean he knows what every squadron and scouting party is up to. The Political Mastermind may know the ins and outs of the court, and have keen insight into the motivations of others: but he has an enemy who pisses him off so much that he loses all objectivity around her. The Powerful Wizard can call upon great magic to aid the party: but his divinations aren’t as accurate as he thinks they are, and he’s prone to finding, in his signs and omens, what he wants to see, more than what’s actually there.

Most of the time, their information should be good! That will make it more likely that your players will trust them the one time when it isn’t.

2. Let (apparently) less powerful NPCs sometimes know more than the players think they do.

Most NPCs aren’t the Noble General or the Powerful Wizard. Most NPCs are Daves, designed to get the players from place to place. Most of those Daves know about as much as you’d expect them to. But some Daves have plans of their own.

You don’t always have to signpost with big blinking lights which of your NPCs are ‘important,’ and which ones are ‘unimportant.’ Sneak in a crafty Dave from time to time. That assistant they talk to, every time they go to see the prince? That bitch knows everything, and she’s almost ready to make her move.

3: There is no such thing as a completely reliable witness.

If the players only get information from one person, that information should be flawed in at least one, potentially small, but important way. Smart players will seek a second opinion, or at least allow for the possibility that their information may be incomplete. But even smart players get out over their skis sometimes.

4: Let your NPCs be aware of the power of a first impression.

If an NPC gives a strong first impression of being a particular kind of person, it’s because they’re comfortable giving that impression. That might be because it’s who they are. But maybe not.

One of the first characters the PCs met in a VtM campaign I ran was Gawaine. Gawaine was a good old pine-scented man’s man, with salt and pepper stubble and a blue Ford truck. He listened to AC/DC, and talked about the war. He was affable and honest and willing to lend a hand. You already know Gawaine. Everybody knows a Gawaine. Gawaines are trustworthy, salt of the earth types. You don’t necessarily think to question a Gawaine.

That’s exactly why Gawaine was such a useful persona for Krystiyan, the Tzimisce Voivode, a cruel and alien sculptor of flesh who “never left his haven.” There were plenty of clues that they were the same person, but that campaign was in its endgame before the players put them all together.

5: Sometimes, dangerous and villainous NPCs should be helpful and cooperative.

Not even necessarily because they’re manipulating the players, or even deceiving them about their true natures, but because their interests and the players’ interests genuinely align...for the moment.

One of the easiest levers in your players’ brains to exploit is the expectation that people who help you are your friends. Even if your players know, consciously, that they shouldn’t trust this person, most of the time they kind of can’t help it, if the NPC is genuinely helpful to them and at least a little charismatic.

6: Sometimes, good and valuable NPCs should be unhelpful and uncooperative.

No matter how mature your players are, there’s a natural tendency to react to uncooperative NPCs with a reflexive, “Hey, fuck you! We’re the protagonists! This guy is an asshole!” so from time to time have a helpful, honest, good-aligned NPC have a wholly justified but as-yet-unknown-to-the-party reason to flatly refuse to deal with them.

7: Every NPC should have a secret.

Not necessarily a bad secret. Were it to be revealed, it might even make the party like them more! But for their own reasons, the NPC does not want their secret to come out, and they will lie to the party to protect it. Players go crazy when they realize they’re being lied to, and often jump to some wild assumptions about your NPC’s motivations. I’ve had an NPC lie about the opening hours of a shop, and had the PCs assume that they were black market dealers for the villain when the dude just wanted to be able to close early so he could go smoke weed in the park.

8. As a DM, it’s polite to remind your players of the common knowledge their characters would possess...even when it doesn’t reflect the truth.

We all know it’s tedious when the DM calls for a roll when you’re just asking for common knowledge. I shouldn’t have to make a roll to know the dumb space word for plastic in a Star Wars game. I shouldn’t have to make a roll to know who the Holy Roman Emperor is in a game about medieval vampires. The DM should supply common knowledge for free, whenever it comes up.

That doesn’t mean common knowledge is true.

This is different from just lying to your players, because you don’t put the weight of DM word-of-God behind it. It’s not “You would know this guy is a Ventrue, based on XYZ.” It’s “it would be a common assumption that this guy is a Ventrue, based on XYZ.” He might not be a Ventrue. It might in fact be extremely important that he is not a Ventrue. But if it is commonly assumed that he’s a Ventrue, that is - word for word - something you can share with your players. If they don’t look any deeper than common knowledge, that’s on them.

9. Obviously untrustworthy NPCs provide great air coverage for less obviously untrustworthy NPCs.

The obviously untrustworthy NPC might or might not be planning to betray the party. But if you introduce two untrustworthy NPCs in the same storyline, and one of them seems normal and cool and has a genuine plot-related reason to be there, and the other one is Jaffar, Jaffar’s gonna get clocked, but Susan over there will probably slip under the radar, and might even get tapped to help out with the whole Jaffar situation. They might get Susan’s number, by the end of the session. Susan might become an ‘ally.’ Susan might even get romanced by a party member. Play your cards right, and Jaffar might just end up a footnote in the introduction of Susan, Scourge of Worlds and most hated NPC in the entire campaign.

10. Your villains should always have a secret plan B.

Your villain isn’t stupid, right? And your villain probably isn’t so arrogant that it is inconceivable to them that their plan might fail. They’ve been planning this ritual for ten thousand years, after all. It’s always possible that some plucky band of heroes could show up at the last minute and murder your high priest, or steal your amulet, or seduce your second in command. So what does your villain have in his back pocket to make the players go, “Oh, shit - he planned for this!”

This may mean that there is a whole separate plot happening, running alongside the main story. This is great, because when weird things happen, the players have to figure out whether this is part of Plot A or Plot B, and working out who did what and why gets a lot more interesting. If they end up foiling Plot A, great - your villain was also secretly behind Plot B the whole time, and will transfer all of his resources over to that.

Sometimes your players will figure out that Plots A and B were both the same plot the whole time, with the same villain at the head, and they’ll feel like the smartest people on the planet, and it will be their favorite moment of the entire game. That’s great! You gave them that!

Sometimes, they won’t. And when the villain of Plot A, apparently defeated, starts laughing and reveals that he was also the mastermind behind Plot B, which is now too late to be stopped, that will probably be your favorite moment of the entire game.

#dice matters

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syluslnd · 16 days ago

Note

hii i have a few requests i hope you dont mind 🥺🫶 feel free to pick to do any if they have not been done yet, they are kinda mostly prompts though 😭

sylus with a streamer/gamer s/o. like those fics where the fans go crazy when sylus shows up in the camera out of nowhere or hearing his voice. and sylus just being supportive about their hobby 😞❤️

sylus reaction when they have a cosplayer s/o, especially when they come home every day and they meet a new character daily or every other day 😭🤣

sylus reaction when s/o gets period stains during their date

sylus with s/o who cant cook but not the those exaggerated types where they burn the whole kitchen, they just didnt learn how to cook, but can do the bare minimum of helping like slicing and stuff and very easy recipes (projecting because i can't cook but am helpful 😭)

when you get your period mid date

The evening had started off perfectly. You and Sylus were sitting across from each other in one of the fanciest restaurants in town, your skin-tight dress fitting you like a glove. The low lights, soft music and clinking of glasses around you added to the elegance of the night. Sylus looked especially handsome tonight, his gaze on you steady and smoldering and his signature teasing smile made your heart flutter.

Everything was going smoothly—that is, until you felt that familiar pang low in your abdomen. You froze, hoping it was just nerves. But then, you felt a sinking dread as the sensation intensified. Trying not to panic, you excused yourself, offering Sylus a nervous smile. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Take your time, sweetie” he replied with a slight smirk. “Don’t go missing me too much.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, giving him a quick wave before heading to the bathroom. But once you were inside, your worst fear was confirmed: a noticeable stain had appeared on the back of your dress. Panic bubbled up in your chest as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, mortified. This wasn’t just any dress, either; it was a pale color, practically a magnet for accidents.

Not knowing what else to do, you took a shaky breath and pulled out your phone, dialing Sylus’s number with trembling fingers. He picked up on the first ring.

“Miss me already?” His voice was laced with humor, but you could practically hear the smile on his face.

“Sylus” you whispered, cringing at how shaky you sounded. “Can you… um… can you come to the bathroom? I need your help. It’s an emergency.”

There was a beat of silence. “Are you hurt, kitten?”

“No! No, not hurt” you stammered, feeling your cheeks heat up. “Just…my period..I’m stained!”

“Got it. Stay right there, I’m coming.” He hung up and you leaned against the counter, waiting anxiously. But as the seconds ticked by, you began to feel more and more self-conscious. What was taking him so long?

After what felt like an eternity, the bathroom door finally opened and there stood Sylus—with a designer shopping bag in his hand. You blinked, trying to process the sight.

“Sylus, what…?” You trailed off, completely baffled.

He smirked, holding up the bag. “What? Did you think I was going to leave my sweetie hanging?” He stepped forward, setting the bag down on the counter. “Got you a new dress. I figured you wouldn’t want to be seen with… you know.” He gestured vaguely, clearly trying to spare you any embarrassment.

Your jaw dropped, both at his thoughtfulness and at the brand-name logo on the bag. “Wait, you actually bought me a new dress? From there?” you asked, pointing out the door, toward the designer store just across the street.

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Seemed like the right call. Plus, I got to take my time picking something pretty for you.” His smirk widened. “Had to make sure it’d look perfect on my kitten.”

You let out a small laugh, overwhelmed with relief and gratitude, though your cheeks burned at the thought of him going out of his way for this. “Sylus, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“How about you say you’ll wear it and let me get back to showing you off to the rest of the place?” he teased, handing the bag to you.

You reached for it, heart racing as you peeked inside. The dress was stunning, a rich, deep color that would look amazing on you, with a soft fabric that looked comfortable enough to help you feel more at ease.

“Sylus” you murmured, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Thank you.”

He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss over your forehead. “Anything for you, sweetie” he replied, his voice softer, his teasing tone gone for just a moment.

You felt your chest warm and you tried to look away, but he gently turned your face back toward him. “Hey, don’t get all shy on me now” he said, his smirk returning. “It’s cute, though. Didn’t know I could get my girl so flustered.”

You laughed, half-embarrassed and half-touched and stepped back toward the stall to change. “I’ll be right back” you promised, disappearing inside and slipping on the new dress. When you stepped out, you felt a little self-conscious, smoothing the fabric over your hips.

Sylus’s gaze met yours, his eyes lighting up with admiration. “Beautiful” he said simply, letting his gaze linger as if he were committing the sight to memory.

You felt your cheeks warm under his gaze but a smile crept onto your face as you looked at him. “Think we can go back and pretend like none of this happened?”

He chuckled, offering his arm with a grin. “Of course, kitten. I’ll even let you hold onto the bag—it’s yours, after all.”

You laughed, taking his arm, feeling a surge of confidence as he led you back to your table. Sylus didn’t just make you feel taken care of; he made you feel cherished, like every little detail about you was worth his time.

And as you settled back into your seat, he gave you a wink. “Next time, just call me sooner. Anything to keep my kitten comfortable, you know?”

You smiled, knowing he meant every word. The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter, stolen glances, and soft whispers and for the first time, you didn’t feel an ounce of insecurity—you were just glad to have Sylus by your side

#love and deepspace #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you

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adorsturns · 3 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓!𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐇𝐂'𝐒

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : tattoo artist!matt × reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : curse words, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex (wrap b4 u tap kids!!), degrading, marking, fingering.

𝐚/𝐧 : dare i say tattoo artist!matt> fratboy!chris :0

×××

NOT PROOF READ!!!

SFW

ᡴꫂ

tattoo artist!matt who assigned you a nickname based on your first design with him...

matt greets you as you walk in, “rose! y’ready for your next session?”

you roll your eyes smirking, “guess I’m stuck with this nickname now.”

“wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replies,

tattoo artist!matt who gives you deliberate touches...

matt’s touch is steady and careful while tatting you up, but there’s a subtle warmth in the way his fingers graze your skin. he doesn’t hide the fact that he enjoys the closeness, his hands lingering just a bit longer than necessary.

“you’ve got such soft skin. makes me want to take my time with this tattoo.”

you smile knowingly, “just the tattoo?”

he chuckles softly, his eyes not leaving your skin “for now atleast”

tattoo artist!matt who offers constant reassurance...

when you start to tense up, matt leans in close, softly and reassuringly. he only wants for you to be comfortable.

you wince at the inking machine “i know, i know. relax, you’re doing great. just breathe.”

“easier said than done,” you reply, trying to steady your breath.

“don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he says, his voice calm, almost protective.

tattoo artist!matt who loves to tease you...

matt can’t resist throwing in some light, flirty comments while he works. his teasing is so natural, and lightens the mood when youre on the verge of tears from the pain of the tattoo gun.

“you’re handling this like a badass. i knew you’d be tough.”

“tougher than I look?” you question, raising an eyebrow.

“for sure,” he grins, “but youre definitely tougher than you think you are”

tattoo artist!matt who showers you in compliments...

matt doesn’t shy away from complimenting you, but his words are genuine and gentlemanly. he makes it clear that he finds you attractive in a way that feels flattering rather than awkward.

“this design looks amazing on you. but I’m not surprised —you pull it off effortlessly”

you laugh, “y’think?”

“yeah,” he replies with a wink that sends butterflies to your stomach.

tattoo artist!matt who stays comfortably close to you...

matt stands close enough that you can feel his presence without it being overwhelming. you find comfort in how he invades your space, making it feel more intimate.

“i need to get in close for this part. let me know if you get uncomfortable.”

“you’re fine,” you assure him, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest.

“good,” he says, his voice low, “because i wasn't planning on going anywhere.”

tattoo artist!matt who admires his work...

after finishing the tattoo, matt takes a moment to admire his work on your skin. his compliments are genuine, and he makes you feel appreciated.

“its perfect, you're perfect”

you blush, brushing off his comment “yeah it stings like a bitch though”

tattoo artist!matt who hints at his interest in you...

when discussing how to take care of your new ink, matt casually hints that he wouldn’t mind seeing you again. you think hes joking, but theres a part of you that thinks he isnt.

“take good care of it, and let me know if you need any help with the healing.”

“i think i got it, but I’ll keep your offer in mind,” you reply, meeting his eyes.

“i wouldn’t mind checking in on it... and you,” he says with a playful look on his face.

tattoo artist!matt who will always return your eye contact...

matt holds your gaze whenever he talks to you, his eyes full of warmth. it’s like he’s trying to see how long you can hold his eyes before you look away.

“you keep looking at me like that, and I might start thinking you enjoy this a little too much,” you tease

he laughs, shrugging “maybe I do”

“in that case, i’ll make sure it’s worth your while,” you say, biting your bottom lip.

NSFW

ᡴꫂ

tattoo artist!matt who takes you to his loft above his tattoo salon...

matt takes you by the hand, upstairs to what seems like a loft. as soon as he closes the door behind him matt leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both hungry and passionate. you could feel the heat of his body against yours,

“so do you bring all your clients up here?” you manage to get out between the heated kiss.

“only the cute ones” matt teases, pushing you up against the wall and having your legs wrap around him.

tattoo artist!matt who eats you out like theres no tomorrow...

your pussy throbs against matts toungue as he holds you still by your thighs. he kitten licks your cunt, biting your clit which made you jolt your hips upwards in both pain and pleasure. it hadnt even been a minute till you came all over his toungue. matt didnt care though, in fact, he degraded you for it,

“you are such a little slut, i just started and you're already a mess for me arent you rose?” he said in a faux sympathetic tone.

tattoo artist!matt who loves watching his fingers slide in and out of you...

you lay flat on your back, matt between your thighs with two of his digits in your walls. his mouth hung open as he watched them slip in and out with ease, and how your face contorted each time he curled them upwards, grazing your g-spot. matt couldnt help but smile at how pretty you looked, all dumb on his fingers.

tattoo artist!matt who marks your body...

matts lips connect to your silky skin at the side of your hips, leaving a mark similar to the other ones near the crook of your neck that he made earlier. he stares at the bruises proudly as he caresses them softly,

“what do you say we get these tatted hm?”

tattoo artist!matt who makes sure his work is always on full display while he fucks you...

“fuck, turn around f’me” matt pants as he pulls out of your soaking cunt, you comply, turning around with your hands and knees on his bed.

your fresh bow tattoo on your lower back was now visible to him. he stared in awe at your red skin, running a finger over it that sent chills down your spine.

tattoo artist!matt who comes on your back...

“shit- m’close-” matt drills his cock into you faster. your eyes roll to the back of your head as his pelvis slams into your ass. matt pulls out as thick, hot, spurts of cum squirt onto your back, just above your tattoo.

“so... pretty” he sighs stroking your hair as your legs shake, begging to collapse. “you did so good” matt praises.

ᡴꫂ

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fluff #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt x y/n #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #matt stuniolo fanfic

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blindmagdalena · 7 months ago

Text

Guilty Pleasures ( chapter four )

18+ 5.2k homelander x plus size f!reader. office romance, stalking, voyeurism, office sex, cunnilingus, cream pie, breast play, flight sex, lite overstim, riding. nebulously takes place post s1. part 4/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander takes what's his, and you get what's yours.

welcome to the final chapter! thanks so much for reading. i really enjoyed the dynamic between these two, and i hope you do, too. 🖤

Homelander doesn’t hold it against you that you take him up on his suggestion to be absent the following day. He leaves a little peace offering in your office to say as much: a mug for your collection that reads simply, You’ve Been Mugged. He adjusts it seven times on your desk before he finally leaves it alone, surveying your office a while before letting himself out.

The thugs he lasered down in the alley don’t garner much attention, but it’s enough to warrant a statement on the truth of what happened. With them dead, the truth becomes whatever he makes of it, and his truth is that two vagabonds were assaulting a cherished Vought employee before he put a stop to it.

It’s precisely the kind of hero story the public loves.

“I acted on instinct,” he tells the newscaster. He relives the moment as he tells it, recalls only to himself how fierce you had been. How determined you were that if you were going to die, you would die fighting. “They were going to hurt her. I like to believe any good citizen in my position would have done the same.”

Madelyn taught him that conviction without contrition would always read as arrogance, so he speaks firmly but with a furrow to his brow, and he closes his eyes when he inclines his head to accept praise. No matter how dead she is, her voice remains an echo in his mind: follow the script, and you’ll be fine.

They use his words to segue into a discussion of gun control, and Homelander’s mind drifts somewhere distant, hearing without listening to the petty squabbles of humans crying about their little toys and laws. He supposes this is how God feels when humans pray to Him over every minor inconvenience. Bored and painfully above it.

While it’s easy enough to keep himself distracted during business hours, Homelander’s life comes to an abrupt halt alongside the end of the working day. Like the equipment that broadcasts him, there’s little use for him once the cast and crew goes home. All around him the employees commiserate at the end of their work day and pass around invitations to the bar.

He receives none.

Not that he would accept them if he did.

Seeking both council and companionship, Homelander finds himself in Noir’s apartment, seated in the chair Noir keeps for him. It’s the only one the hero owns, what with his interior design being deeply steeped in westernized ninja nonsense. The place is half dojo, half living quarters.

He laments his situation to Noir, explaining his patience in courting you, the lengths he’s gone to endear himself to you on a personal level, and the bitter sting of your rejection.

“See her,” Noir writes in his sketchpad, sitting on the floor on the other side of the low table. “If glad to see her, good. If not–”

Homelander snorts at the series of knife sketches that follow. He has no doubt Noir would put an end to anyone for any reason Homelander gave. Simplicity has allowed Noir an unwavering loyalty to Vought, and as an extension, Homelander himself. Luckily for you, he has no interest in that happening. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Noir,” he muses, clapping his hands on his thighs before he stands up. “You’re right. I’ll go see her. Thanks, buddy.”

Noir offers two thumbs up. A true uproar of approval.

Under the cover of darkness, Homelander returns to your house, the flight path a familiar one now. He lands silently on your roof this time, cocking his head. He’s not confident he’ll be able to resist your siren pull if he approaches now. He folds his hands behind his back and peers through each layer between him and your bedroom, stopping when he can see you.

You’re nestled deep in the splay of your blankets, lips parted around shallow breaths. He bites his own bottom lip, remembering how badly he’d wanted to feel them. Taste them. He’s certain now that if he allowed himself to be close enough, he would. Denial, for as much as it stung in that moment, has only made him hungrier for you. Fuck, the way he’s craved you from the moment you first brushed him aside.

He watches you shift in your sleep and his eyes narrow, honing in on a familiar flash. His stomach flips–it’s his cape, the fabric pinned between your blanket and your body. You really are sleeping with it, the star spangled blue fabric tucked up under your chin. Do you smell him on it? Homelander groans softly. Like your underwear in his bedside drawer, you sleep with a trophy of your own.

“Fuck,” he says, aching. His heart, his mind, his cock–all of it at once a cacophony of vicious yearning and impatience. The urge to peel the roof like a sardine can and carve his way straight to you nearly knocks the wind out of him, has him preemptively reaching for the shingled surface.

Only the lingering wound to his ego gives him pause. He’s been bitten once, leaving him shy to instigate, but this revelation feels like progress. You’re aching for him as much as he is for you. He’s sure of that now. It’s time that he made you feel that ache. Feel his absence. Then you’ll realize the foolishness of your coy game.

Clenching his jaw defiantly, Homelander lifts up into the sky.

He’ll be benevolent when you come to your senses.

The next day, Homelander keeps himself scarce, preoccupied. Ashley is perkier than usual, thrilled–if not suspicious–with his easy participation in whatever inane business she brings to him. It helps distract him from the endless feeling of waiting that he’s enduring.

He sticks stubbornly to his schedule, fantasizing about the torment his avoidance has surely wrought. He’s tempted a time or two to break, but each time he remembers the mortified Oh! you uttered before he kissed you, he refocuses himself.

You’ll come.

Not before lunch, but that is the perfect opportunity for it. He makes himself more available then, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair.

No sign of you.

He gives you the benefit of the doubt. A meal to embolden you.

Then you’ll come.

He waits.

Lunch long since over.

He waits.

The day is winding down.

He’s fucking tired of waiting.

Where the hell are you? He’s given you the entirety of the day to seek him out, ample opportunity to come thank him for his gift, to address the aching thing ruminating between you. You’d be a fucking liar to say you don’t feel it, too. By midday, he’s seething with impatience and hurt. There’s no chance he’s going to let you stand him up.

It’s precisely the wrong time for Ashley to rear her head back up. “Okay! That’s that, now regarding the amnesty for–”

“Ashley!” He snaps, a harsh and throaty sound. “Would you shut the fuck up?”

She stops in her tracks, staring wide-eyed. Of course it was too good to be true.

Homelander all but leaps to his feet, pushing out of his chair so hard that it flips backwards and into the wall in a heavy clatter. She clutches her vPad to her chest and quickly back steps out of his way, watching in frightened bewilderment as he storms from the room, making a beeline towards your office.

He doesn’t bother knocking this time. Still, his restraint is undeniable when he pushes your door open. He barely catches himself from pushing the damn thing clean off the hinges.

Your head snaps up from your computer, eyes wide. He hears your heart jump and he savors the alarm that shoots through you. Payback for the awful misery you forced him to endure in the hours since he last saw you. Still, the sight of you disarms him. For all his seething anger, there is something small in him that retreats it when your eyes are on him.

There’s a heaviness to your gaze that his strength can do nothing to alleviate. No incredible feat of his can wrench away what it is he wants from you. What he needs. It’s something you have to give him willingly, and that alone is enough to temper his rage. The familiar fear that you won’t.

He marches to the front of your desk and levels an accusatory finger on you.

“You like me,” he hisses, bending to brace his opposite hand on your desk.

You blink owlishly, lips parted. That clearly wasn’t what you expected him to say. He’s not sure it’s what he meant to say. “Homelander–”

“No,” he says, voice pitched low, a warning. “No, no. No games, no workarounds. You like me. You do. And I like you. So,” he abandons his point to make a vague encompassing gesture, but he doesn’t know what to say next. He didn’t think this far ahead. All day he had practiced the calm benevolence he would show when you approached him, chastised and yearning. He has nothing to back up this frenzied play for.

You stand. Homelander rises to his full height with you, jutting his chin out. He watches you with all the wariness of a wounded predator as you circle around your desk, your hand gliding along the wood like you would flank a horse so as not to spook it.

He can’t determine the intent behind your gaze. He angles his body towards you, facing you head on. You look like yourself again, in your element and free from the fawn fear of the alley. He can’t entirely decide which way he prefers you. When you were in his arms, he was your hero. In your office, his position feels more precarious.

The silence stretches on for hours–or seconds, it’s impossible to say–before he can no longer stand it. Sucking in a breath, he–

You kiss him.

Homelander goes shock still, hyper aware of your lips pressed feather light to his, your breasts against his chest, your hand on his forearm. He doesn’t know when he closed his eyes, but he senses when you begin to pull away.

In a flash he cups your face in his hands and pulls you in deep, inhaling sharply, like he’s only just remembered how to breathe. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you as if he can trap you in the cycle of it. You don’t resist, you don’t tense. Instead, you sigh an angel’s breath against his lips. Only then does he break to look at you.

“I don’t understand,” he says, bewildered, flushed.

“I do like you,” you say, eyes glassy.

His brows pinch. “But… That night–”

“Wasn’t right,” you interrupt. “I wanted to kiss you, but not like that. Not then. Not because you saved me, not because I was in shock, not because of…” you rock your head side to side. “Whatever other bullshit… You let me down that night.”

“Let you down?” Homelander echoes, taken aback. “By saving your life?” He asks, his temper a perpetual simmer ready to flare. He’s immediately tempered by your hands taking his wrists, squeezing. You hold his gaze and your expression is gentle, but there is a firmness in your stare that he finds intoxicating. Not an ounce of fear, even when his anger emerges.

Good. You shouldn’t be afraid of him. He saved you.

“I was shaken. Badly. My date was an entitled asshole, those men, they tried to…” You shake your head, holding his hands to your face. “I didn’t need you to be a man. I needed you to be a hero. I wasn’t ready.”

A light in Homelander’s eyes flicks on. You just weren’t ready. He’d been right after all. He fixates on that, choosing to forgive you for that, at least.

“Well, why didn’t… You could have said something,” he says, feeling like a deflated hot air balloon, all slack expansion and heat with no purpose.

“I would have,” you say, your cheeks soft and round in his hands, lips slightly puckered from his hold on your face. “But you ran away.”

“What? I–” He laughs incredulously. “I did not run away.”

“Flew away,” you say, pushing in to kiss him again. He screws his eyes shut. Fuck, fuck. Oh fuck. He’s been dreaming of this, aching for it. To feel you against him, wanting him as much as he wants you. “Pretty fast, too. Looked like you shot straight up to the moon,” you say, breath hot and sweet on his lips.

“I…” He swallows, hands slipping down to either side of your neck, thumbs tilting your chin up. “I’m sorry. I wanted you,” he says, trailing his parted lips along your jaw, kissing and breathing you in the way he’s craved to. He can feel your skin growing hot against his lips, hear the uptick of your pulse as your heart begins to race.

“Do you still want me?” You ask, voice lower now. It sends a delicious hot pang all the way through him.

“You have no fucking idea,” he murmurs, nipping at the lobe of your ear, desperate to test the give of you under his teeth, the feel of your soft and yielding flesh branded into his memory the moment his lips touched your skin.

A knock snaps his attention away from you, but it isn’t at the door. He looks down and sees that it’s you knocking on your desk. “So take me,” you say, voice laced with heat. His lips split into a wicked grin. He snatches the edge of your heavy wooden desk and effortlessly tips it backwards until everything slides off of it, clattering to the floor. He lifts you up, relishing your delighted little yelp, and places you down on the cleared surface like a doll, stepping in between your legs.

He kisses you again. Let me in, demands the press of his tongue. You yield to him, but it’s far from a surrender. Your tongue meets his eagerly, tasting him as much as he does you. Tasting you. That’s what he wants. He wants to map every inch of you with his tongue.

Homelander slips his hand between your legs, pushing your skirt up out of the way. He presses his fingers to the heat between your thighs, rubbing through the thin fabric of your panties. You sigh that same seraphic sound against his lips, slipping your hands up into his hair, already taking a handful of it to tug gently.

He breaks the kiss and takes his fingers from you after the barest tease of pleasure. The impatient sound you make goes straight to his cock, as does your flustered expression. He brings his fingers to his lips and drags his tongue over the leather of them, sliding them past his lips to give a quick suck. It’s not enough, too slight a hint of you. He needs more. You watch him with rapt attention, giving his hair a demanding little tug.

“You can pull as hard as you like,” he tells you with a smile, tilting his head against the grasp you have on his hair. “Tells me I’m doing a good job.”

“I’ll tell you when you’re doing a good job,” you rasp, giving his hair a sharp pull and then a downward push. That sends a shiver down his spine.

Fuck yes.

Homelander sinks down onto his knees, lifting each of your legs up over his shoulders. You give a little gasp when he yanks your ass to the edge of the desk, giddy with the way he manhandles you. He swallows, mouth dry, thirsty for the wet, heady smell of your pussy. He maneuvers his head under your skirt until he’s close enough to drag his tongue up the soft cotton of your panties. Your breath hitches and your grip in his hair tightens while you egg him on with sharp little rolls of your hips.

He closes his eyes, giving a rumbling moan for the taste of you, even through the fabric. He laps until the fabric is soaked, clinging to your skin, and he can feel your clit swollen and stiff on his tongue through your panties. He closes his mouth over it, sucking you through your underwear while you writhe above him, keeping yourself quiet.

That won’t do.

He wants to hear you.

He wants the whole fucking Tower to hear you.

Hooking the crotch of your panties with his finger, it only takes one sharp little tug to tear them, exposing you to him.

“Homelander,” you moan. The sound of it lances a spear of heat through him, leaves his cock throbbing needily in the rigid confines of his cup. He groans into you, rocking his hips against the empty air. The only proper answer is to dive in, to close his lips around your clit and finally suck the rich nectar of your cunt without the filter of fabric between you. You taste even better than you smell, like salt and sex and sweet ripe fruit. It overwhelms his senses immediately, his eyelids flickering.

The more he laps at you, the silkier your pussy becomes. Between circling your clit, he drives his tongue deep into you, drinking you down noisily and messily, a parched man gulping from an oasis. Your thick thighs are tight on either side of his head, your pulse pounding in his ears. He moans low and wicked for the taste and feel of you.

Your grip on his hair tightens sporadically, sharp little tugs that match the staccato cadence of your breaths. “F-fuck, your tongue feels-feels fucking unreal,” you moan, grinding down against it. The strength of it, the slight thrum of restrained power that courses through him, and the sheer relentlessness of his stamina is driving you wild against his mouth. “Fingers, use your fingers,” you tell him. He loves the rawness of your voice, the authority and desperation in your demand.

Removing one of his gloves, he moves his bare hand to the sweltering wetness of you, teasing his finger just below where his tongue is rubbing your clit. His index finger slips easily into the slick mess, and he savors the quiver of your velvet walls around it. He lets you ride his finger, stays all but still while you greedily bounce your hips, both hands fisted in his hair. You use him for your pleasure, and it makes him delirious with want.

Homelander's gaze flickers up. He peers through the layer of your skirt to catch a look at you, to watch you while you cannot watch him. You’re losing track of yourself, lips parted, eyes glazed with pleasure, shivering with each flick of his tongue and dive of his finger. Euphoria looks good on you.

Christ, he has been patient. He would chastise himself for waiting so long to touch you, to taste you, to feel you, but he can’t bring himself to. The wait gifted him with this exquisite hunger, and he proved something important; you both yearn for the other. You crave him. He can see it in your hazy eyes, taste it in the spill of your sweet cunt.

You belong to him. He needs only to take you.

One finger becomes two, and then three. Your heels dig into his shoulders and fuck yourself down on them, moaning recklessly now, not caring who hears you. It’s music to his ears.

“Fuck, Homelander, I-I’m coming, I’m-don’t stop, don’t stop,” you beg prettily. You don’t need to, but he enjoys the song anyway. He laps at your clit in quick upward pulls of his tongue, lips creating a seal around it. His brows furrow tightly, his own neglected arousal pounding through his body like a wardrum, but he doesn’t touch himself, too focused on you.

Your whole body locks up tight when you come, breath caught in your lungs, your clit fluttering delicately. He presses his tongue to it, savoring the taste of your euphoria, how it floods your system and changes the flavor of you. Your pleasure grows his hunger into something monstrous, something demanding, but there is satiation at least in bringing you this, in showing you all the things he will be for you.

You’ll never want for anyone–or anything– else ever again.

Homelander doesn’t stop. You begged him not to. He finger-fucks you through the aftershocks, lapping up every drop of your pleasure, stroking you inside and out while your cunt squeezes his fingers. He doesn’t stop until he feels you pushing him away, your sweet songbird moans sounding more like whimpers, oversensitized. He withdraws his fingers, giving one last noisy slurp before emerging from beneath your skirt. His face is shiny and wet with your slick, his pupils blown black. He's panting, looking every bit like a beast lifting its bloodied head from the belly of its kill.

Crawling up your body, still predator hungry, he rests his knee on the desk between your legs. He cups either side of your face, fingertips digging possessively into the back of your neck. He meets your eyes, pinning you with the intensity of his gaze, wordlessly drilling into your mind that this moment, this feeling, this tingling warmth in your body is him.

I did this to you, his expression reads. You’re on my lips, he says by pressing them to yours, kissing your own taste into your mouth, his body throbbing, desperate for an ounce of that same relief. You’re mine.

To his amazement, your eyes mirror his own savage hunger. You kiss him hard, shamelessly licking into his mouth, huffing shallow breaths from your nose. “Lie down,” you tell him, voice as sweet and coarse as raw sugar. “I’m going to ride you.”

Homelander doesn’t need to be told twice. Exhilarated, he rolls over, flipping you with him and steadying you above him in a fluid motion. The desk isn’t as long as he is tall, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already half suspended in the air with his own excitement, helping you with overly eager hands that fumble alongside yours with his belt, which falls to the ground with a distinct thud. He gives a little jump at the voracity you rip his zipper down with, grinning.

Together, you shuck his pants down to his thighs. You grip him through his red briefs, a fractured moan falling from his lips.

“Cute underwear,” you coo. His cheeks flush to almost the same shade. You flatten your palm over his cock and he bites back a whimper, teeth sinking into his tongue. You give a light squeeze, fingers curling around his cock through the fabric, and he lets out a rough breath. “You feel close,” you tell him, stroking him in a loose fist, your hand warm, the fabric soft.

He nods fervently, the friction and your voice already teetering him towards the edge. He makes a sound of both anguish and relief when you release him, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. You tug his underwear down, his cock bouncing free, engorged and dripping precome.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, bracing one hand on his chest and sliding forward, your other hand moving between your bodies to steady his cock against the rapturously hot press of your soaked cunt. His hands fly to your hips, fingertips biting into the softness of your body. You allow him that, focused entirely on the act of taking him into you. The fat head of his cock it slips inside, evoking a sweet little gasp from you, and Homelander fights not to slam in the rest of the way.

Both of your hands fall to his chest, your eyes meeting his. He holds your gaze, mouth twitching around silent sharp breaths. He watches you sink slowly down the length of him, engulfing him in such sublime rapture it’s a wonder he doesn’t come right then and there for the feel of you alone. His grip on your hips flexes and he gives a sharp little thrust up, forgetting himself to the divine feel of your pussy.

“I said don’t move,” you remind him breathlessly. God, you’re beautiful like this. The fluorescent light behind your head haloes you, giving you the look of a debauched angel he plucked from the heavens to have and keep as his own. He expects you to move, to bounce yourself on his cock like you did his mouth and his fingers. He wants to watch your tits bounce, see your face clearly when you come on his cock, but the only part of you that moves is your hand.

His gaze drops and quickly darkens, watching intently as you stroke your clit. The initial contact alone makes you jerk, makes your pussy spasm and squeeze him so good he almost chokes on it. Your only response is to sigh, tipping your head back and spreading your legs a little wider, taking him deeper. He wants so badly to fuck you, to slam you down and rail you until your desk cracks in half.

“Mmmm, fuck,” you moan, rubbing yourself in circles, the lewd noise of it loud and irresistible to his ears. “Fuck, fuck–ah, god,” you start to pant, head falling forward, brows tightly pinched. You’re so sensitive after the assault of his mouth, the flavor of you still fresh on his tongue. The faster your fingers move, the closer he feels you get, the clench around his cock steadily tightening. He wants to thrash, but you keep him pinned in place with your look of expectation and pleasure. You’re getting off on him as much as you are your own fingers, on the swell and throb of his cock inside you, on the sheer power you hold over a god.

You’re loud when you come, nails clawing into the chest of his suit. Homelander’s eyes roll back, lips parted on a soundless cry of his own. The spasming heat of your release is too much and he loses himself to it, eyes flaring up with crimson light as he comes with you, every shudder of your climax stroking and milking him of his own, flooding you with his own wet mess.

His restraint breaks with the dam and he sits up abruptly, startling a noise from you, which he swallows with a hard kiss, cupping the back of your head. He holds you still and he fucks you, lifting from the desk entirely so that he alone supports your weight, driving you deeper onto his cock. Your legs tighten on either side of him, shaking.

Out of his mind with pleasure, he tears your blouse open with his teeth, diving in close to lick, suck and bite at your chest. He buries his face between your breasts, holding you tightly as he fucks you both through your respective orgasms, the slap of flesh against flesh echoing obscenely in your office.

Hitching your legs properly around his waist, he bounces you on his cock until the pleasure borders on pain and a secondary shock rolls through him like another orgasm, stealing his breath. Only then does he finally slow, mouthing languidly at your chest until he sucks your nipple into his mouth. He moans against you, grinding to an eventual halt. You comb your fingers through his hair and goosebumps erupt across his body, which shivers in the euphoric aftermath.

He loses track of how long he stays suspended like that, lost to the overwhelm of sensation. Your legs go slack while his angles slightly upward, his face pressed to your chest, your head resting atop his. He nuzzles at you, bleary eyed and slack with pleasure. He kisses a trail up to your clavicle, your throat, your jaw, smiling in the loose, easy way that only a good fuck can never make him.

“Wow,” he says after a while, voice thoroughly frayed.

You giggle, groggily lifting your head. He adjusts until you can relax against his chest, fold your forearms across it and settling your chin atop them, admiring him. He touches your face with his ungloved hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb, then the curve of your bottom lip. His smile widens when you kiss the pad of his thumb.

“Wow indeed,” you say, swinging your legs lightly. “Can’t say I’ve ever been fucked mid-air.”

“One of the many benefits of dating me,” he purrs, caressing your cheek with his knuckles. He kisses you again, drifting slowly back down, unhurried.

Your brows lift lazily. “Who says we’re dating?” You ask, but your smile keeps his hackles from rising.

“Me,” he says, eyes crinkled at the corners. He lands gently on the desk, helping you to it. “You and I are officially going steady.”

You give a thoughtful hum, carefully untangling your limbs from his. You slide off of the desk while he puts himself back together, your knees trembling faintly. “Fairly sure asking someone out requires a question mark. You know. The asking part. You didn’t even buy me dinner.” You attempt to button up your shirt, but it’s obviously a lost cause.

He exhales a quiet laugh, pulling you back into his arms. “Well, I certainly ate.”

“God,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, but they don’t stray from him for long. There’s a sparkle to your gaze that he wants to capture in his palm and never set loose.

“Will you go out with me?” He asks, lips brushing yours.

“Mmmmmmmm….” You hum once more, drawing it out, feigning a great deliberation. “There’s something you should know first.”

He quirks a brow. “What’s that?”

“My guilty pleasure,” you say, nose bumping his.

Intrigued, he inclines his head to prompt you to continue. Can’t be worse than mine.

“Superheroes,” you say conspiratorially. “Can’t get enough of them. Loved them my whole life. Especially this one in particular…”

He breaks into a frayed, charmed laugh. “Let me guess, name starts with an H?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, lips curved downward in a mock grimace, and nod subtly. “ Total fangirl. Embarrassing, right?”

Homelander shakes his head. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never felt guilty about pleasure. Where’s the harm in it?”

The harm inflicted on those thugs couldn’t count. They had it coming.

“Harm to my pride, my ego, my reputation,” you list, tapping his suit to punctuate each one. “I made a pretty big fuss about not liking you. I had myself convinced that my Homelander only existed in my fantasies, and you were just the guy who plays him.”

My Homelander. The words stir an unexpectedly sentimental surge of emotion that wells up from somewhere deep in his chest. He clears his throat lightly. “What’s the verdict now?”

You sweep him with an appraising gaze. “Still deliberating.”

He clicks his tongue, nodding. “I don’t suppose I could arrange a meeting with the jury?”

“They’re available for dinner tomorrow,” you say, the tilt of your lips sly.

“It’s a date,” he murmurs, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. You kiss him, pressing your smile to his. He doubts he’ll ever tire of the softness of your lips, or the easy way you melt against him. He wraps his arms around you, content to let this moment pass only because he knows there will be more to come. He’s determined to make every one of them better than the last.

All of the pleasure, none of the guilt.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #my writing #x reader #yandere x reader

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mischievousmoony · 2 months ago

Note

Omg I love ur James fics. You think you could do one where reader finally feels comfortable getting drunk while going out with their group because she knows James is there to take care of her. Ur drunk reader x James interactions are too cute. I feel like I always have a hard time letting go cause I’m afraid I’ll need to take care of my other friends haha. Love your work!

thank u love! i have fun writing them, i just know james would be so caring! ps thank you for being patient ik this request came in a while ago

𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍

⟢ james potter x fem!reader ⊹ 1.0k ⟢ warnings/tags: intoxication (i think that’s it but lmk if i missed any pls)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"But what if Sirius tries to get a new tattoo again?" you ask, twisting back and forth with a steady squeak, squeak, squeak of your barstool.

James clasps his hand on your shoulder, turning you one last time to face him. "Remus is watching him."

"What if Marlene tries to go on another one of her adventures?"

Marlene has a knack for getting herself into precarious situations when she gets drunk, which she likes to call her “little adventures.” Usually, this means going home with a stranger, whether it’s for a hookup or to steal their lightbulbs because they looked at her wrong.

"Lily’s got her.”

"What if I do something stupid?" you ask, now swinging your legs. The nerves eating away at you just won’t let you sit still.

James puts his other hand on your knee, soothing you with a gentle squeeze. "I'm watching you," he says. After thinking it over for a moment, he adds, “And I don't think you'll do anything stupid. Even if you do, I'll do something more stupid so that nobody notices."

This earns him a giggle from you, and he’s happy to see you smiling. He picks up your glass, which is now covered in beads of water, plenty of time having passed for condensation to run its course. He dries what he can with a napkin because he knows you hate when the droplets land in your lap.

You once asked him why it happened, even though you knew the answer. He simply told you it was science.

“Science is stupid,” you had said, eyes fixating on several small spots of water soaking into your jeans.

Now, James wraps your glasses with napkins. He holds out your drink, a black napkin enveloped around it, as he asks, “You want to do this, right?”

You peek into the glass and watch the dwindling ice cubes swirl around in a vodka cran; a drink that James had called “beginner friendly.”

“Yeah,” you answer shyly.

James frowns. “It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind.”

You chew your bottom lip, thinking it over. A part of you wants to forget it, but another part of you knows you’d be disappointed in yourself for chickening out again.

You wrap your hand around the glass, cringing at the squish of the soggy napkin beneath your fingertips. You don’t know what’s worse: this feeling or the water dripping all over you. But James’ attempts to help make you feel warm inside, so you don’t complain.

“No, I still want to do this.”

“Then I’m here for you. Promise.” James gives your knee another squeeze.

You cast a look toward your friends. For years, you've nominated yourself as the designated driver. Or you've claimed to have early morning obligations. You've always felt better knowing someone sober was around to deliver plenty of water and carb-rich snacks to your incapacitated friends.

That was your excuse, anyway. Not that it isn't one of your concerns, but truthfully, something about drinking makes you feel uneasy. You always knew your friends were safe because you've been there, ready to hold back anyone's hair or stray them away from bad decisions. If you drank too, how could you be sure your friends would have someone to depend on? How could you be sure you would have someone to depend on?

Then, you started dating James, and you found a level of trust you never knew was possible. You know you can depend on him for anything.

When you admitted to him why you never drink when you go out, he swore up and down that he would be there for you.

Remembering his promise summons a wave of courage. You shoot James a nervous smile, and take your first sip, scrunching your nose as it burns your tongue.

"This is kind of gross."

James barks a laugh, "We can try to find something you'd like better next round. That is, if you decide to have another."

Feeling brave, you do have another. That's when you discovered something called the Cosmic Lemon Fizz; a drink that sparkles with edible glitter and manages to be blue, green, and yellow all at once. You laughed when you saw it, not knowing how in for it you were.

"Jamie!" you exclaim after taking a sip of your third Cosmic Lemon Fizz. "This tastes like happy feels!" you gasp as if the thought had just occurred to you, despite this being the fourth time you tell him.

"I bet it does!" James cheers. His eyes wrinkle in the corners as he beams at you.

"You should try one!" you declare, and immediately try to flag over the bartender.

James smoothly takes your hand, stopping you as he says, "No can do. Made a promise to a pretty girl that I wouldn't have a drop tonight."

You whip your head around. "Who!?" you ask, eyes wide.

"Who do you think, pretty girl," he says, poking you in the side.

Giggles escape you and you swat his hand away. He doesn't go far, lifting his arm to brush some stray hairs out of your face. His hand lingers on the side of your face, soothing the pad of his thumb against your cheek.

You lean into his touch, gazing up at him with an affectionate glaze in your eyes; a look that gives him butterflies.

"Wowww," you say dreamily. "You're handsome."

James feels his heart flip in his chest. "Thank you, love," he says, a soft smile playing at his lips.

"Hey," Sirius says, appearing out of nowhere as he lazily throws an arm over your shoulders, "How's it going over here?"

While you're distracted with Sirius, James waves over the bartender and replaces your drink with water. The next time you reach for your glass, you hesitate.

"Where's my cosmo magic fizzy thingy?" you ask, an eyebrow raised as you glance at James.

"You must've finished it," he shrugs, acting clueless.

"That's like the oldest trick in the book. You replaced it with water and now you're trying to be sneaky!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," James feigns innocence.

You giggle, bringing the straw to your lips. "I knew you'd take care of me. I love you," you say, happily sipping your water.

James feels another eye-wrinkling smile break out on his face. "I love you too, pretty girl."

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

#james potter x reader #james potter fluff #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x you #james potter oneshot #james potter drabble #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter one shot #james potter fanfiction #james potter #fluff #james potter x drunk!reader #marauders era #marauders fanfic #marauders era fanfiction #marauders fic #marauders fluff #marauders

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artist-issues · 1 year ago

Note

“At least it's not ferociously attacking God quite as directly as Steven Universe did…”

Not that I’m surprised by this statement, but can you elaborate on this? Kinda intrigued by your thoughts on Steven Universe.

Okie dokie, you’re not the only one who has asked me about this, so I suppose I’ll poke the hornet’s nest. 😅 I haven’t talked about this before because I assumed that everyone who wanted to hear my kinds of opinions on stories wasn’t watching or interested in Steven Universe.

It’s like asking vegetarian if they enjoyed a turkey dinner. The turkey dinner was so obviously not made for vegetarians to enjoy, so why would the vegetarian even bother analyzing the turkey?

But I think if some people are asking me why I think Steven Universe is anti-God (of the Bible) its because maybe they don’t know what the turkey is. Not completely. (Maybe not you, because like you said, you’re not surprised by my comment.) So I’ll explain my thoughts on Steven Universe.

If you’re just following me because you liked some stuff I posted, but didn’t realize that I’m a Bible-believing Christian and don’t want to hear about it, unfollow me now. Because I’m going to talk about some hot button issues here and the trolls will come out.

Steven Universe is really well-done. The jokes are funny, the writing is believable, the characters have great chemistry, great design, the concept is fascinating, the slow build-up and reveal of the plot elements is great. But when you watch the throne room scene in the last episode of Season 5 “Change Your Mind,” it’s alarmingly clear how much the whole show is not just settling for defending and championing the LGBTQ+ worldview—it goes all the way to attacking what Christians believe, on the other side.

Anything that’s pro-LGBTQ+ is doing that by default, but this show goes out of its way to do that.

You have to understand: God created and designed us. Deeper than that; He created and designed romantic relationships, and invented marriage. He didn’t just create love—He is love. So when humans come along and do what we’ve always done since the fall, and say, “I’d rather define what Your thing is and how it works for myself, God,” it’s not only an incredible slap in the face, it’s an attack on God’s actual identity—and it’s destructive for us and the people around us. Like a fish insisting it can breathe oxygen.

But Steven Universe goes beyond that. It knows that the Christian worldview is it’s biggest opposition. It digs right down to the heart of the worldview-battle. LGBTQ+ worldview says, “I should get to love what I want and be who I am, because I’m me. Love is love. (By which I mean, any action or relationship I choose to call love is love, because I’m the one calling it that.)”

Biblical worldview says “No, wait, you shouldn’t base your decisions on you alone; what you want changes day to day, and you’re broken, so you can’t ever be satisfied based on what you want—the Bible says God made you for something, and you rejected that, and it broke you. You’re not how you’re meant to be: even what you want and what you think love is is twisted up and can hurt you and others. But if you submit to God He’ll help you, He’ll fix what’s broken and give you new life by making you how you were supposed to be: He’ll live in you and through you.”

Are we beginning to get the picture?

See, the whole thing with the opposing views between LGBTQ+ and Christian people is as old as time. It’s not a new debate. It’s Satan and Eve in the garden. She says, “This is not how God said things should be,” and Satan says, “Are you sure that’s what He said? He knows if you do this thing, you’ll be like Him. You’ll be god: you’ll get to decide ‘how things should be’ for yourself.”

He lied and said that disobedience would satisfy her. That she knew what her own heart needed better than the God that made it did. That the very act of being imperfect would make her godlike.

And then Steven Universe comes along and says “if every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hotdogs.”

And has a cast of created being characters who’s imperfections (Garnet’s forbidden “love,” Pearl’s obsession, Amethyst’s insecurity) are supposedly “the best thing about them; what makes them who they are.”

And has a main character who used to be a part of the god-like creator relationship, but used her power to come down to earth and completely change who she is into a fully different person.

And has a godlike Creator character who claims she “doesn’t need” her created beings (just like the God of the Bible) but they all have a little part of their creator in them so she has to repress their imperfections; she holds them all to a standard that’s impossible to reach called “perfection” and punishes them when they don’t meet it even though it hurts them to try; she expects them all to do what they were created by her for; she fixes them when they can’t meet her standard by shining her light through them and making them extensions of their Creator.

And has a main character who argues, fights back, tries to stop her, and is answered with lines that sound surprisingly like what LGBTQ+ people hear when Christians argue with them: “you’re only making things worse; you’re just deceiving yourself; even while you resist it your actual light can’t help shining through,” etc.

White Diamond just wants everything to be perfect. Like her. She just wants her created beings to “be themselves.” But what she means is, be how she created them to be.

And she’s the bad guy. She’s playing God in this show, and Rebecca Sugar is saying, “If God is telling us that can only be happy by being perfect, as He is perfect, and doing what He created us to do, then He’s wrong. Our imperfections are what make us special—unique—individuals—free—and there is nobody who has the right to take that freedom away from us, not even out creator!”

And you know what?

If God were like White Diamond, like Rebecca Sugar believes Him to be, Steven Universe would be right.

But He is NOT.

God is not a dictator who forces us to conform to a standard of perfection and then smashes us when we don’t meet it. He is a King who made us perfect to begin with, and we rejected him, because He allowed us to do that. He knew that true love was love that had to be chosen, and He wanted us to love Him by choice, so he gave us the option. But Rebecca Sugar doesn’t understand—there was never “Choose God or Choose Yourself.” There was only, “Choose God or Choose Nothing.” There was nothing except God. Then He created everything. There is no version of reality where you have something better than God, or even slightly less good but different, to pick. You’re not jumping from one ship into a smaller one, but at least it’s yours—you’re jumping from one ship into a void, and then complaining that there’s no other ship. That’s humans. That’s not God. / White Diamond didn’t make her creations perfect (Amethyst) and she didn’t make them for love. She made them for power. That’s not the God of the Bible.

Even when we did choose to try and love ourselves instead of God, and therefore warped our ability to perfectly love at all, He didn’t smash us. True, everything fell and was cursed, which is exactly what He warned us would happen if we chose it, but it was a natural consequence of breaking ourselves. And then He didn’t leave us that way. He didn’t give up on us. And He certainly didn’t just zap us, snap His fingers, quick-fix it and turn us all into robots who are extensions of Him, who say they love Him but only because it’s His voice puppeting us to say it.

No. He came to us, chose to give up His life at the exact point on the timeline when Romans, masters in the art of slow, humiliating, torturous death, would be the ones to carry out His crucifixion, and saved us Himself. Through the sacrifice of His own life. And even then, we still have a choice. We get to choose to accept that incredible self-sacrifice when we don’t deserve it, and be given new life and a relationship with the Creator who knows us and loves us better than we can love ourselves or receive love from others—OR we can just keep stubbornly insisting that our slavery to the opposite of what God wants is somehow freedom, and our twisted versions of love are genuine, and we’re not broken, and die like that. Die broken creatures who lived their whole lives stomping their feet and screaming “I’m not a creature, I’m a god!”

White Diamond sacrifices nothing, because Rebecca Sugar doesn’t know the God of the Bible. She just knows her idea of Him. She’s never actually gotten to know Him. If she had, she’d learn how silly and twisted her idea is.

Because you know what, yeah, if every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hot dogs. But people aren’t pork chops. And hot dogs have flavor (not better than pork chops) but they are awful for you.

Christians aren’t perfect cuts of meat with no individuality or flavor. Just because we all know and love the same God doesn’t mean we have no personalities. It just means we don’t think so freaking much about what we are, or who we get to be, or what we like and want. Jeez, what a self-centered, narcissistic, self-obsessed way to live. She plays Steven like he’s this wonder-child, innocent and full of heart, who encourages his friends to love and keep trying. But honestly?

This is very pretty animation but it’s not real. Steven looks happy hugging Steven but self-love doesn’t ultimately get you that.

That’s all based on the premise that what he’s encouraging them to do is actually good, and will make them happy, and will help them love better. And it just won’t. Not in real life. That’s not how any of this works. Self-love is just self-obsession. And that is a sure-fire way to hurt you, and everyone around you.

You’ll never be free by choosing to run to a worse master. You’ll never be satisfied with your crappy attempts at loving yourself, because you were made to be loved flawlessly and forever by someone who is Love Himself.

And choosing to identify with your imperfections doesn’t make you uniquely you. It just makes you exactly like every other human being marching in the same line since the Fall.

White Diamond’s not relational. She’s up high and distant. That’s not God. He made you to be in relationship with Him. He loves you, totally and perfectly, and He proved it by sacrificing for You.

So yeah. That’s the problem with Steven Universe. Come get me, SU fans.

#Steven universe #su #Pearl #amethyst #garnet #Steven universe fans #change your mind #white Diamond #Christianity #Christian’s #asked #answered #thanks #rattling the cage #Rebecca sugar

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odoraful · 5 months ago

Text

𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐄𝐘𝐄

it was one of the few days zayne had returned home earlier than sunset. he opened the door to the apartment to find you painting your nails. after a shower and some short pleading on your part, he was seated in front of you, hands laid out on the table for you to do his nails.

content: zayne x fem!reader; established relationship; small banter! ; greyson apperance; ~1k words a/n: i've been dipping in and out of writing, so i thought i'd make something short to get me back into practice :)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Hand tremors aren’t good for dexterity, you know,” Zayne quipped, gazing at your expression as you applied the polish.

You looked up at him through your lashes and he smirked at the flat stare you gave him. With a slight tilt of his head, he enjoyed how animated your reactions were to his remarks. Towel-dried hair brushed past his brows, framing his discerning hazel eyes. Did he always need to be this handsome while poking fun at you? Your hands weren’t shaky before, but they certainly felt so now.

“Oh hush.”

Putting the brush back in the bottle to collect more polish, you reset your focus.

“Just ‘cause you’re a surgeon, doesn’t mean you’d make a good nail artist,” you retorted, bringing your eyes back to your work.

You were currently on the last nail, painting it a navy blue to match the others you already finished. Zayne’s nails were well kept and trimmed short, making for a perfect canvas for you. Whilst it was rare for surgeons to wear polish, he assured that it wouldn’t be an issue so long as it did not chip. He wanted you to do it for him, anyway. Having your undivided attention on him was a perfect way to unwind after a long day at the hospital.

“And what other qualifiers need to be met besides a still hand?” he asked, teasing giving way to curiousity.

You finished up the last nail with a few glides of the brush. “An eye for aesthetics,” you declared, moving the blue nail polish aside and selecting two more colours among your collection.

“Now, pick the colour for the design.”

You presented two colours to him. A cool silver embedded with fine glitter, and a rustic gold. His eyes flicked between the two. Mind having been made up almost the second you asked.

“Silver.”

You hummed. “An excellent choice.” Shaking the polish, the glitter dispersed throughout. “Perhaps you might consider nail tech as a side job, Dr Zayne.”

Waiting for his nails to dry before you could begin the next layer, you lightly fanned them with both your hands. He chuckled—both at your comment and your cute attempt to try and speed the drying process.

“My primary job keeps me busy enough,” he replied. “Besides, I don’t have much of an eye for aesthetics.”

You were reminded of the palette of his closet. Blacks, greys, browns, and the only splash of colour being a deep green shirt. Though somewhat monotone, it did suit him well.

He continued, “I think I’ll leave that expertise up to my girlfriend.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Mouth opened ever so slightly, not wanting to reveal the way every use of that nickname slipped under your skin and made your heart skip.

You began to draw tiny snowflakes on each of them with the silver polish. Zayne admired the furrowed concentration on your face as you were locked into this task. When the design had dried, you finished by squeezing some cream onto his hands. He let out a soft sigh as you massaged it in, feeling the tension of the day release under your gentle touch.

Once you were done, you stretched your arms out and twisting around to crack your back. You held his fingers in your hands, inspecting them.

“Look how pretty they are!” You bubbled.

Zayne was honestly floored. The level of coordination it took to paint something so small was incredible.

“They’re very pretty indeed.”

You were too enthralled by your own work to see the warm smile on his face at how satisfied you were.

“Now, that’ll be sixty dollars,” you said, looking up at him smugly, placing your hands on your hips in waiting.

Zayne lifted a brow. “Do you accept payment in desserts?”

“Hm… an interesting offer,” you placed a hand on your chin in mock thought. “What kind?”

“Will each flavour of macaron at the shop that just opened suffice?” he replied. The sparkle in your eyes signalled that it was more than enough to cover the cost of your service. Promptly, the two of you went outside to resolve his payment. You walked hand in hand, matching one another with freshly painted nails.

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EPILOGUE

At Akso Hospital the next day, peoples’ gazes lingered a little too long on Zayne. As he handed out folders to nurses and gestured to screens when presenting, eyes trailed on his hands. Now, it wasn’t unusual for doctors to wear polish, but it was unusual for Zayne to have it. Another layer of mystery to unravel about the cardiac surgeon.

Greyson entered Zayne’s office to drop off some documents, sliding them towards him on his desk. “Going to some fancy event later?”

Zayne adjusted his glasses, not looking away from his computer screen. “Unless you consider a seminar at the university as fancy, I’m not sure what you’re implying.”

He gestured towards the keyboard Zayne was typing on. “I’m talking about your nails! Don’t tell me you really just got them done for fun?” Greyson asked, incredulous.

“I did.” Zayne splayed his hand out. “Is that so strange?”

“No! Not at all!” Greyon reassured, shaking his head fervently. “They do look nice though,” he admitted. “Maybe I should get their number so I can get mine done too.”

“She doesn’t take up new clientele, unfortunately,” Zayne said, resuming his typing.

At such a quick defence, Greyson immediately clocked who this person was. He was one of the few that were privy to the relationship between you and Zayne, and he knew only you could make Dr Zayne change up his style.

Exaggerating a sigh, he turned to leave. “A true shame! She sure seems talented.”

“I’ll make sure to pass that on to her,” he heard Zayne reply. Though his back was to Zayne, the smile in his voice as he answered was undeniable.

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#odorawrites #love and deepspace zayne #zayne love and deepspace #l&ds zayne #lads zayne #zayne x reader #l&ds zayne x reader #lads zayne x reader #zayne fluff #love and deepspace #l&ds #lads #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader

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kinzis-writing · 2 months ago

Text

Almost Over You | Joe Burrow

summary: It happened suddenly, you and Joe had broken up and you never understood exactly how it happened. All you know is that his ex-girlfriend was brought up and an argument started leaving to you being heartbroken. Your friends swore to you that they would stop at nothing until you got over your ex-boyfriend, but what if that's harder than you think?

Pairing: Joe Burrow (Bengals/NFL) x Fem! Reader (Joe Burrow x You)

Requested: Yes | No

Warning(s): mentions of heartbreak and breaking up, mentions of Joe x Olivia, mentions of alcohol.

Little note from me: This is the first time I have ever written for Joe Burrow. I usually write for Tee Higgins and Josh Allen. I wanted to give Joe a try because he is starting to grow on me a little bit. I may end up making a part 2 to this if I feel like it. Also I started writing this in Y/N format and then I switched to "You" after like the second paragraph lol. *gif not mine*

Word Count (lyrics not included): 4.5k

*Not Edited*

I also hate how I ended this. I need to work on the ending of my stories but I will work on getting better. May be a part 2 later... I haven't decided yet!

I've stopped looking for your truck, every time I go somewhere I don't scroll through the past anymore 'cause I don't care I'm finally putting on the shirt I like, tight jeans, big hoops with my hair up high. The least you could've done was give me the bar tonight.

Y/N browsed her outfits that she had brought over to her friends house. Her and her girls were having a girls night and going to the bar to let loose and have fun. It happened to be her best friends idea, mainly because she had been struggling to get over a recent breakup. Y/BFF/N had insisted that he wasn’t worth it and that she was going to get you over him one way or another.

“Let me do your hair, Y/N!” One of the girls in your group spoke up. She was the hairstylist and makeup guru of the group, so she was the designated hair and makeup artist for the friend groups and any events that they attended. “I’ll fix your makeup too.”

Y/N knew arguing would be pointless, so she sat down in the vanity chair and let her hair artist friend have at it. “I need help picking an outfit.” She spoke up looking towards her best friend while the other friend continued doing her hair. “I’m torn between the three on the bed.” She added pointing to the three outfits.

In less than 20 minutes, her hair was done and makeup was touched up. Her best friend had left her choice on the bed before finishing getting ready and making everyone a pregame shot before heading to the bar. She was finishing pulling up her jeans when her friends came in with two trays of shots.

“I’m not sure about this outfit.” Y/N spoke up. She usually wasn’t one to feel insecure, but looking at herself dressed in a pair of tight skinny jeans and a blouse, both of them not belonging to her, made her self conscious. “Why didn’t you pick one of my outfits?” She asked her best friend turning around.

“Girl, you look hot!” She replied not answering your question at first. “You’re freshly single, so we’re gonna act like it today.” She added picking up a shot and handing it to you.

You hesitantly grabbed the alcohol before glancing around the group of girls you loved so much. They were your best friends and you would do anything for them and they would do anything for you. “To Y/N, for finally taking a large step in getting over the dick.”

“Cheers to that.” The other girls replied before downing the shot.

“Don’t call him that.” You spoke up softly hating the way her comment made you feel. The night you two broke up was still a blur and was anything but easy for you. More than likely you had blacked it out due to heartbreak, but still it lingered in your mind.

“Honey, he had his hooks sunk deep in you. So deep that you literally wouldn’t even walk into a shop, restaurant, or anything if you noticed a vehicle that looked like his.” Y/BFF/N reminded you as you threw back your shot in hopes of forgetting about Joe tonight. Your ultimate goal was to finally and fully move on, to get over Joe tonight.

After a couple more shots, the girls were heading to their favorite bar. Which just so happened to be the bar that Y/N and Joe always went to together.

Why'd you have to come back in right then right when I was just getting good and gone? 'Cause I was in the wrong place at the wrong time You must've heard I was moving on, Then right out of the blue a quarter past two, I'm all about you. When I was just about, just about over you.

The girls had gotten to the bar around 11:45 or midnight. It was officially 1:42 and Y/N was letting loose. She felt the best she had in forever and to her, it had nothing to do with the guy that she was practically grinding against. The alcohol in her system made her feel a bit more easy-going and less paranoid of running into “he-who-should-not-be-named” at their bar.

The loud pounding music came to a halt and was replaced with a slower song causing you to turn around and face to mystery bar guy. You weren’t one to just go and have hook-ups with anyone or randomly show pda to guys you didn’t know. In a plan to get over someone… it felt almost right to do it that way.

“You want to get out of here?” The mystery guy asked seductively trying to keep you enticed with him.

You gave him a look before your eyes caught a group of men walking in together. Your blood ran cold, face turning pale as you seen the familiar dirty blonde locks and perfect smile of your ex-boyfriend. You took a chance to catch your breath when you moved your eyes over and caught Jamarr and Tee already noticing you. You had been close with a few of Joe’s teammates seeing as you were together for a bit.

Jamarr gave you a quick nod of greeting before avoiding your gaze and Tee flashed you his smile before heading to an area with the boys. “I have to go.” You told the mystery man before leaving towards your group of girls. You were hoping that you could convince your girls to leave and do this another night. Maybe you could fake sick and go home by uber, you weren’t sure what your whole plan was, but you knew something would have to go down to leave.

Once you reached your group of girls, who were either occupied with boys/girls or chatting with each other while drinking, you put on your best sick face. “Hey, I’m not feeling the best… I think it’s best if I uber home.”

Your hairdresser best friend gave you a saddened look believing the story that was being told. “Bullshit.” Y/BFF/N spoke up crossing her arms. “I noticed him walk in with his groupies.” She responded raising an eyebrow in your direction.

You shrugged not really caring if she noticed him, “I’m not in the mood to deal with this tonight.”

“Y/N, you are not leaving. I promised you that I would help you get over him and with that promise it means not letting you leave all because he came into this bar.” Your best friend stated. With her tone of voice, you knew it was pointless to even argue with her.

“Isn’t it weird that he showed up after you were fixing to go home with some guy?” Another one of the girls in your group spoke up.

“I was not going home with that guy.” You objected crossing your arms over yourself feeling a bit uncomfortable. “That’s not who I am.”

“Maybe that’s what you need for one night.” Another spoke up causing you to roll your eyes.

You shook your head in disbelief at your friends, “I’m getting another drink.” You mumbled before turning and making your way to the bar. Last call would be announced within the next fifteen minutes, and you were not waiting until then.

You could've stayed with the guys, acting like you didn't see me It would've hurt a little less if you'd bought some girl a drink but you had to walk up, messing me up I'm drunk, wondering why it's gotta be like this I thought I was moving on, but now I'm starting back over again.

After another drink and a shot, you had simply ordered a glass of red wine. You were already feeling the effects of the alcohol and you were worried that you would do something stupid if you ordered anything other than wine. Part of your friend group had gone home with whoever they had met here, no doubt going to have a fun night. Your best friend and one other girl were the only ones that were left of your group besides you.

“Can I get another round for our table back there?” His voice spoke up causing a chill to run down your back. You hadn’t heard that voice since the night that it ended. Without paying him any attention, you picked up your glass and took a drink of the crimson liquid. It was easier to pretend that he wasn’t there instead of trying to make everything weird. Joe seemed to have different plans, “Hey, I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.” He mumbled as he sat down on the seat next to you.

“I was hoping I wouldn’t see you.” He would never admit it, but your reply felt like a knife. He knew that the whole breakup should had been dealt with sooner and talked about. If not to fix it, then to at least to make it less messy.

Joe chose to ignore your blunt reply as he waited on their final tray of drinks, “How have you been?” he asked carefully knowing that it hadn’t been easy for him. He would never admit that to you unless you asked him yourself.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked. Finally, you turned to face him noticing the stubble that adorned his face compared to his usual clean-shaven self. There was no point in answering his question because you had not felt your best since your last night with him. “You could have avoided me and let me heal.” You added taking another sip of win after.

Joe looked exhausted; anyone could tell. You had heard that they were currently not playing their best even if you refused to watch the games. You were his problem, not that he blamed you. He blew up for no reason, mainly due to stress and you felt as if it was a personal attack. “I didn’t mean what I said that night.” He told you. Even if you wanted him to leave you alone, he just knew he had to tell you what he felt after that night. “When you brought up my past… it never compared to us. She never meant as much to me as you did, I get that I was with her longer, but it wasn’t the same.”

You shrugged trying your best to act like you didn’t care. “I am not talking about this.” You shook your head before finishing off your glass of wine. “If we’re being honest, I shouldn’t have brought up Olivia, but that’s all I’m going to say.” You added before standing up from your seat. You needed to get back to your best friend before your body decided to fully give in to the handsome quarterback right next to you.

“Y/N don’t do this. Let me in and let’s talk about this.” Joe practically begged as he stood up quickly noticing that you were trying to make your escape. The look on your face was unreadable, why was Joe begging you to talk about it? What would it help and why was it such a big deal to him?

“Joe, you ended it. I don’t owe you anything.” You whispered as you pushed back tears not wanting them to surface. You were beginning to feel defeated because your heart and your body yearned for the man in front of you.

“Y/N… please.” He pleaded one last time in a whisper, in the same way that you had answered him. Before you could say anything, the bartender placed the tray of drinks down giving you the chance to get away from Joe before he could continue begging you and you gave in.

maybe you caught me on a bad night maybe tomorrow I'll be just fine maybe it's the red wine that put you back in my mind

Final call had happened at 2:30, but the bar was still alive with drunk couples, singles, and others. Your best friend had told you that she was going home with the guy that she had been with all night, only she was staying with you until you wanted to leave. Truth be told, she was probably just trying to ensure that you would stay away from Joe the rest of the night.

“I’m going to the restroom and then I’ll head home.” You promised your best friend before pulling her into a hug.

Once you two pulled away she gave you a small smile, “want me to wait for you?” she offered.

You didn’t miss the eye roll from the guy that she was going home with. You internally scoffed and rolled your eyes at the guy who wanted inside your best friends pants before returning the smile, “No, I’ll be fine. Just be careful on your way home.”

Your bestie nodded before giving you a knowing look, “There’s plenty of people still here. I think you should reconsider what I told you earlier.” She added before locking arms with the guy beside her. You rolled your eyes and shook your head, “If you change your mind you have to let me know.” She teased before blowing a kiss and turned to head out with the man that she had met tonight.

You turned around and grabbed your wristlet before making your way towards the bathroom. In all seriousness you were more than ready to go home, you had been since your conversation with Joe. However, it still made Joe stay in your mind. Flashbacks from the relationship played over and over again. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, Joe Burrow was a huge green flag when you’re in a relationship with him. He may act cocky or arrogant sometimes, but most of the time it’s to hide how he is truly feeling.

Even if he was a green flag, you still argued some but it wasn’t often. The night you broke up was the only big fight that you had experienced in that relationship. Why did the relationship break after one fight? You just guessed that your relationship was not strong enough to last.

After you finished in the bathroom you exited (after washing your hands of course) and got on your phone so you could order an Uber for the ride home. You knew it was a bad idea for you girl’s to ride together, but no one disagreed and you weren’t going to be the first one to object.

“Really? 25 minutes.” You huffed as you leaned against the hallway leading to the bathroom. You wanted to be away from the crowds and try to catch a ride back to your place. “Why did I agree to do this tonight?” you mumbled placing your phone back in your pocket after seeing the wait time.

“Are you okay?” a familiar voice spoke up. You looked towards the dimly lit hallway and noticed the guy that you had been dancing with before Joe came in. You had been hoping that he had already went home because you didn’t want to see him again either. “I heard you huffing.” He mentioned with a half smile forming on his face.

You nodded assuring him that you were fine, “Yeah. Just waiting for my ride.” You lied knowing good and well that you didn’t order that Uber that was going to take almost half an hour.

He nodded, “I could take you home if you’re getting inpatient.” He offered hoping that you would accept his invite.

Your body was overcome with a feeling of dread when you looked into his eyes. You weren’t sure why, mainly because he had been a nice guy earlier. Thinking back, maybe you missed this feeling because of the alcohol and then the fact that you noticed your ex before you could process the guy in front of you.

You shook your head forcing a fake smile, “No it’s fine. My ride will be here very soon and I don’t want to leave them hanging.” You lied again in hopes that it was believable.

“Come on.” He urged walking closer and leaning against the wall next to you.

You opened your mouth to object before a voice beat you to it, “Babe, what’s taking so long?” Joe’s voice rang out down the hallway as footsteps were heard getting closer to you. The mental relief you felt hearing his voice was unreal. No matter how much you didn’t want to be around him, you always knew that you were safe with him.

“I was just talking to a friend.” You lied knowing that Joe could hear the hesitation in your voice and he definitely noticed your body language. Your body relaxed once you felt his familiar embrace around you.

“Babe?” The mystery guy from early asked glancing between the two. It was obvious that many people in Cincinatti knew who Joe was, the guy in front of you especially. “You should be aware that your girlfriend lead me on earlier.” He told Joe causing you to tense.

Joe’s grip around you tightened, probably not liking the chance of you going home with you before he got there. “Well, I’m sure whatever she was doing earlier was just for fun. No strings attached just innocent fun.” Joe muttered making sure to get his point across.

“Whatever.” The guy mumbled before eyeing you one more time before stepping around the two of you and leaving the hallway.

You let out a sigh of relief once he was officially out of hearing range, “Thank you.” you mumbled pulling yourself out of his arms. It didn’t take long for you to miss the feeling of him around you, it felt like home. It felt safe.

Joe shook his head, “Don’t thank me.” He replied noticing how you were calming down now that you were alone. “Was that the guy you were with when I got here?”

Even though Joe asked, you felt as if he already knew the answer. You just weren’t sure if it was from his comment or if he actually caught you. “How did you… Jamarr and Tee.” You sighed knowing that they told Joe about seeing you with him.

Joe shook his head, “I actually noticed you first.” He denied your allegations. “I made a comment about the guy you were with which is what made the guys notice you.” He shrugged acting like his comment meant nothing.

If you were honest, you felt giddy knowing that Joe was looking at you first before you even noticed him.

why'd you have to come back in right then right when I was just getting good and gone? guess I was in the wrong place at the wrong time you must've heard I was moving on then right out of the blue a quarter past two, I'm all about you when I was just about, just about over you. I was just about over you.

You knew that you were going to regret this. It was the biggest mistake and was what your best friend was trying to get you over. The only thing was that you could not argue with how right it felt to be sitting in the passenger seat of Joe’s vehicle. You had accepted a ride home instead of ordering an Uber late, and it didn’t help that the mystery guy from the bar was lounging around almost like he was waiting to see if you were with Joe for real. After feeling uneasy noticing the guy looking at you while you went and visited with your old friends for a moment, Joe secretly proposed for you to stay with him for the night. Just to ensure that you were safe until daylight. Being unsure of the bar and going home alone, you agreed.

How did you get yourself in this situation though? You promised yourself that this would be the night that you got over Joe, however you felt as if all your progress was thrown out the window. You truly loved Joe and a part of you always would. He was the first person that you truly loved, which is why you knew apart of you would always belong to Joe. You were moving on the best you could, and you were sure that you could have gotten over him. Maybe there was a reason why it wasn’t tonight? Maybe it was protection from someone or something, but all you knew was that sitting in his car made it real that you would in no way be over him.

“Do you need anything?” He asked more than likely referring to medicine or water due to the alcohol consumption tonight. You shook your head feeling more sober than ever. The house was so familiar, and a warm feeling came over you being back in his home. “I’ll get you a change of clothes before we head to bed.” He mentioned shooting you a small smile before walking towards his room. The room you used to basically live in when you were together.

Without waiting for him to call you, you carefully made your way into his bedroom seeing him lay out the clothes on the bed. “Can I shower before we head to bed?” You asked softly hoping you wouldn’t scare him.

Joe nodded, “You don’t have to ask.” He mumbled picking up the clothes he sat on the bed and handed them to you.

You silently thanked him before heading to his private bathroom and locking the door behind you. You knew where he kept his towels and everything so there was no need to make him get everything ready for you. You let the water run for a moment to get warm before stripping your clothes and getting into the shower. You sighed feeling the heat soothing your tense muscles due to the stress you were under tonight. You were trying to rack your brain over every event that happened tonight before noticing the array of products in Joe’s shower caddy.

Everything you used sat untouched in the corner. Your shampoo, conditioner, exfoliating scrub, shaving items, body wash, and skincare. Everything that you had left here was sitting there looking untouched due to how little you had used them. You had just restocked before you two broke up, meaning that you never wanted to face him to get those items back. You just went out and bought new ones because it was easier… emotionally.

Instead of crying due to your relationship being over, you pushed it out of your mind and finished showering. You knew how Joe was, and he wouldn’t go to bed until you got out of the shower. Once doing your skincare and haircare, you got out and dried off and got dressed. You gave yourself a once over in the mirror, noticing that Joe gave you his favorite shirt of his and a pair of bengals shorts that he had gotten you. You remember him saying, “If you’re going to be my girl, we might as well give you some gear.” You smiled at the memory before cleaning up the bathroom and heading out to Joe’s room.

You’d be lying if you said that seeing him lying on his bed in only shorts was a turn off. He was definitely the best-looking guy you have ever seen in your life, there was no doubt about it. The sound of your footsteps caused Joe to lock his phone and turn his attention towards you.

“Do you need anything before I head to the guest room?” He asked softly getting out of his bed. He waited to see if you needed anything because he knew that you usually had to rack your brain over your nighttime routine.

“You don’t have to go to your guest bed. I’m not taking your bed.” You refused even if you secretly wanted his bed. What could you say? It was so comfortable to the point to where you wanted it in your apartment. “I can sleep in the guest room.” You knew he would deny but it was worth a shot.

Joe refused, “You know I never let you sleep in the guest room.” He reminded even though she knew. She had practically moved in with him so when they argued, Joe would start the nights in the guest bed and weasel his way back into his bed with you. That’s just how the two of them were in their relationship.

Instead of playing the back-and-forth game you sat down on the bed and gestured for him to join you. “Can I ask what the real reason is that you are doing this?” You asked softly as you felt the bed dip with his weight, only he was sitting in front of you. “You don’t owe me anything, Joe.” You assured so he didn’t feel as though he owed a debt to you.

“I know.” He replied, “actually I do owe you an apology. I’m sorry about that night, I was stressed about the game, and I took it out on you.” He apologized.

You gave him a small smile in return, “I think we both said some things that we regret that night.” You whispered worried that everything would come crashing down.

“I love you, Y/N.” Joe admitted softly his hand coming up to your neck. “I’ll never stop no matter what happens.” He added in a whisper to not spook you too much.

You bet your lip trying to keep from tearing up at his words. For the last three months you had been wanting to hear those words come out of his mouth, yet it was surreal to actually hear them.

“I was trying so hard to get over you.” You whispered out, a crack in your voice that did not go unnoticed by Joe. “I still love you so much and it kills me every day.” You added full of emotion due to staring into the blue eyes that you loved so much.

Staring into Joe’s eyes, you felt the walls that you had built the last three months come falling down. You promised yourself that you would get over him and never fall back into his arms, yet you weren’t going to stop. You knew that even if you two never got back together officially that you would always be safe and have a home around Joe. Your heart would always be his no matter what.

Instead of overthinking and thinking of the worse possible outcomes, you decided to finally do what your heart and body have been craving. In one quick motion, you had your hands on the back of his neck and pushed your lips on his. It didn’t take him but a second to start kissing you back because it was clear that he had missed you all the same.

You sighed in content at the kiss, causing Joe to apply a bit of pressure to where his hand was resting on your neck. You could feel the want for him building up, wanting the two of you to make up for lost time. You were unsure of how far you would go but being in his arms, at least for one more night was something that you were okay with.

It was safe to say that you two did in fact make up for the lost time that was three months. You had texted your best friend telling her that you took her advice about going home with a “nice” guy from the club and that he was full of “green flags”. She was beyond excited wanting to know the details, which you would give her without letting her know that it was indeed your ex.

Joe woke up the next morning thinking everything would go back to normal. You two had talked a bit, had makeup sex, and even cuddled to sleep. He woke up to an opposing reality, which made him question if you were ever really there. You had left early, not knowing what it meant for you two. Not wanting to have another intimate conversation, you ran saving it for another day.

Joe’s clothes laying on the end of the bed told him that it wasn’t a dream. You were in fact with him last night and he wasn’t just lost in a drunken dream. Joe knew after last night; he would not be letting you go as easy as he did before. No matter how upset and angry he was, he was going to find you and make you his again. He was sure of it.

#imagines #nfl imagine #nfl fandom #nfl player x reader #requests are open #imagine requests #joe burrow #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x oc #joeyb #SoundCloud #Spotify

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swordsandholly · 6 months ago

Text

Across the Way

Chapter 4: New and Old Problems Alike

Retired!Ghoap x Fem!Fat!Reader

Ao3 | Previous - Next | Masterlist

MDNI | cw: fainting, some medical inaccuracies

Word Count: 5.8k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

You haven’t texted them, even three days later. That little sticky note haunts the surface of your kitchen counter. It taunts you - tells you that you should text them and at least give them your number. That you’re being a terrible neighbor. They might need you too, after all. Even though you can’t figure out why they might for the life of you. On the other hand, you can’t help but feel wary about it. Men don’t take an interest in you - people in general rarely take interest. It’s hard not to feel suspicious, as pure as you’re sure their intentions probably are.

More so than any of that, you don’t know what to say. If it had been day one you could have just put your name, but now you feel like you need to explain. Or at least be funny or something. Tossing and turning on your designated rest day about what the hell you should do.

You’re overthinking it. You know that. You can’t stop, either.

They just seem so cool - so put together. So unlike you. You want to impress them. You don’t want to ruin the first possibility of friends in this new life you’re building for yourself.

Eventually you work up the courage to send off an initial text to each of them. Just to give them your name to save if they so choose - plus an extra thank you to Simon for giving you their numbers in the first place. Something simple and borderline cold. Too cold, maybe? Maybe you sound irritated. You hope not. You just want them to like you. Friends in new places are hard and to have someone around you who gets how it feels to need accommodations would just feel so… lovely. Your phone may or may not go flying onto your bed while you bury your face in your hands out of sheer nervousness.

You don’t expect it to chime about a minute later. Right as you’re staring to calm down, of course. It sends your heart violently pounding all over again.

J >> Bonnie lass!

J >> So glad u texted!!

>> Sorry it took so long lol

Oh, you could just slap yourself. You don’t have anything better than that? At all? Christ.

J >> Nah Nah

J >> No worries

J >> Actually I was wondering if u would mind if I came by tomorrow

J >> Just to chat

J >> need an excuse to get out of the house

“How the hell does he type that fast?” You scoff to yourself.

>> Yeah, come by anytime.

>> totally

>> yea sounds cool

>> rad, man

A message from Simon pops up mid your internal battle with how to respond, replying with a simple thumbs up. Very in character, you think. He knows how to be nonchalant. What would Simon say? Something casual, maybe a little formal.

>> If you like. You’re always welcome.

Okay maybe that was too much like Simon. You sigh heavily m before adding,

>> I’m trying out a new blueberry loaf

>> If you want to test for me :)

Better. That’s a little better. With another heavy sigh you decide to drop your phone into your nightstand for the rest of the day. Your heart really cannot handle this much emotional pressure.

~~~

You sort of end up just forgetting about the texts. With your phone out of sight and out of mind upstairs in your apartment it almost catches you off guard when Johnny comes striding through the door just before close. He’s dressed more casually than the last couple of times you saw him - having broken out the summer shorts and a graphic tee for some band you don’t recognize. It suits him, though.

“Hey, bon.” He grins.

“Hey.” You smile back, finishing with putting up your stocking baskets before dusting off your hands and turning around. “Simon closing up?”

“Aye.”

You hum. “Come on back, I’ll get you a slice of that loaf I mentioned.”

Johnny follows you quietly. Uncharacteristically quietly. That’s okay - you don’t have a problem with hanging out in silence. It doesn’t feel tense, surprisingly enough. He leaves Riley out front again. Should you get her a dog bed? Maybe if he comes by consistently. That would be nice. Maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“It’s sort of a pound cake but fluffier. I might make an icing for it but I don’t know if that would be too sweet…” You trail off, focusing on plating up the piece. You’re not sure what compels you to try and make it pretty for him. Probably something you could blame on your grandmother. She did have an obsession with presentation.

Johnny hums loudly after taking a bite, talking around the mouthful. “Y’should totally make an icing.” He swallows roughly. “Si would go crazy fer this.”

“Oh?” You smile. “I’ll send some home with you.”

There’s a lapse of silence while Johnny chews on his slice of bread and you pack up some in a paper bag for him to take home. The only sounds in the room comprised of your cutting and folding and the hum of the cooling oven.

“You’re being weirdly quiet.” You blurt, immediately covering your mouth with your hand. “I, uh, I mean that isn’t a bad thing! I don’t mind… I just, uh, was… sorry, never mind…”

“Well I did come wit’ a bit of an ulterior motive…” Johnny admits, glancing off to the side shyly. It’s a show, you think. Johnny doesn’t seem the type of man to have felt shy a day in his life.

You tilt your head. “Oh?”

He dusts off his hands and grins. “Let us take ye out! In celebration of yer first full month.”

Has it been a month already? “Oh - no, no you don’t have to-“

“C’mon! It’s a big accomplishment.” His smile is so bright that you almost believe his idea that you’ve done something great.

“…alright.” You give a tentative smile. It’s hard to believe they like you enough to want to hang out casually in the evening. Hard to imagine anyone liking you that much but you’re not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“There’s a pub down the street - the one on the corner. Want tae meet us there around six?” Johnny gives you that lovely smile. How could you ever say no to a smile like that?

“Okay.”

You spend far too long changing in and out of clothes and fussing with your hair. Up-do’s and buns and braids. A tank top then a sweater then a t-shirt. There’s no reason to feel this stressed over it. It’s not a date or anything. Besides, it doesn’t seem to make a difference. Either way you look like a frumpy dumpling. Eventually you land on jeans and one of your designated ‘going out tops.’ At least it’s a good excuse to wear something other than work clothes or loungewear.

Excitement and anxiety thrum under your skin like electricity as you make your way down the street. You feel painfully nauseous - stopping once or twice just to make sure you aren’t about to throw up for real.

The pub is surprisingly quiet when you enter. Obviously somewhere only real locals hang out - there’s no theme or really any decor in general. Just a bar, some booths and a couple pool tables. You scan the floor a few times, not seeing either Johnny or Simon (not that they would be hard to miss). Eventually you just grab a soda from the bar and slide into one of the booths closer to the back. A quiet spot facing the door where you can easily watch for them.

As time ticks on you begin to grow increasingly nervous. Did you get the time wrong? No, no you triple checked. You even wrote it down in your planner. Your leg begins to bounce furiously, heart nearly beating out of your chest. Did they decide to ditch? You wouldn’t really blame them. They’re way out of your league when it comes to friends. Maybe Johnny had an emergency? Should you call Simon? If he had an emergency it would make sense that they would forget to notice you. What if something really bad happened? What if-

The front door opens and Simon’s wide frame strides through, holding the door for Johnny and Riley to come in behind him. You let out a quiet sigh of relief, willing your leg to stop bouncing with a pinch to your thigh. Why are you always so damn dramatic?

Johnny lights up with an ear to ear grin when he spots you, bee-lining for the booth while Simon casually walks up to the bar. It’s almost comedic, the way he dwarfs the counter. Johnny leans on the side of the booth, waiting for Simon, you think.

“Glad ye could come out.” He looks you over, eyes flicking from your plain top to the very practical, not at all stylish up do that you landed on for the evening.

You do your best not to squirm under his gaze. “Me too…”

Simon comes back with two beers in hand and slides them onto the table. He scoots into the inner booth to give Johnny the outer edge. Riley happily sits beside his leg and practically grins at you in a near mirror image of Johnny’s. You’d never do it while she’s on the job, of course, but part of you wants to give her a pat on the head and coo at her for being so polite.

Johnny gives you an apologetic smile. “Sorry we were a bit late-”

“Johnny redid his hair about five times.” Simon butts in, not reacting at all to Johnny’s sputtering protest. He glances at your half-drunk soda. “Want me t’ grab you a beer?”

“Oh, no, I’ll just stick to coke.”

They blink at you. Simon cocks his head slightly. “You sure?”

You chew your lip. “Uh, alcohol tends to aggravate my symptoms is all...”

“Then why’d ye agree to drinks? We coulda gone somewhere else.” Johnny frowns.

You shrug. “I don’t mind. I… maybe this is over sharing but I’d rather go out and be kind of normal than just… not ever. Y’know?”

His expression softens. For having such icy blue eyes they are so, so warm. “I get it.”

“How’d you two meet anyway?” You blurt, taking a left turn to get the conversation off of you. It’s the first question that comes to mind. Maybe it’s rude - maybe you’re prying too much already.

“Military.” Simon grunts. “SAS.”

“Si retired wit’ me after I was discharged.” Johnny points to his scar the same way he did when you first met. “Russians scrambled my egg a bit.”

“Couldn’t do the time apart…” Simon murmurs, eyes locked on Johnny’s face. It’s vulnerable. More than he’s used to - you can see it in the way he tenses after saying it.

Something passes between them that a deep, wounded part of you desperately wishes to understand.

You can’t help but start giggling to yourself. They both give you an incredulous look. “Sorry, sorry - it’s just, that’s like… totally a romance book premise. It’s sweet. Really.”

“Och, aye. Wouldn’t know it t’ look at him but Si’s a real romantic.” Johnny bats his eyes at the other man, who just rolls his in response. The corner of his scarred mouth quirks up subtly.

“SAS…” You repeat, staring at your drink. “That’s like Navy Seal shit, right?”

“We worked with them a few times, yes.” Simon nods. There’s an air of ‘do not ask anything more specific’ in his voice.

“Huh.” You take that for what it is and sit back, squinting at them. “You don’t look it, honestly.”

Johnny laughs. “Tha’s just cause ye havennae seen Simon with his gear on. The Ghost.” He wiggles his fingers along as he makes a stupid, spooky sound effect. “I domesticated him.”

Simon scoffs but doesn’t deny it, just takes a quiet sip of his beer.

“Riley’s a vet, too.” Johnny pats her head. “Got too skittish around loud noises but she transitioned into a service dog nicely.”

“Now she’s just spoiled.” Simon rolls his eyes in faux annoyance. You get the strong feeling that he’s the one doing the spoiling.

You find yourself relaxing as the night goes on. Slouching in your seat rather than sitting ramrod straight and nervously twiddling your thumbs. They never press you to drink, never insist that you’ll be fine with just one. They take your statement as fact and it isn’t brought up again. That shouldn’t be as significant as it is, now that you think about it.

Johnny’s words begin to slur a little bit on his fourth, no maybe fifth, beer. You aren’t sure. It’s very cute, the little blush that forms across his cheeks. Simon loosens up, too. He slings an arm around the back of the booth and Johnny readily tucks himself into the open spot. You find yourself wondering about their military career again. You can’t picture either of them committing violence - especially Simon. Sure, he’s big and gruff but he looks at Johnny so, so softly.

Simon is the one to call it a night - though you have a feeling its because you nodded off a couple times. Not out of boredom, you try really, really hard to pay attention to Johnny rambling about the chemistry of different explosives. He makes it interesting, somehow. Really it’s just that you’ve been awake for… holy shit almost twenty hours!

“D’you need a ride?” Simon asks as you exit the pub, hands firmly shoved into his pockets.

“No, I’ll be fine.” You don’t know how to interpret the look he’s giving you. It’s intense, but not annoyed or displeased. He has such a weird knack for unreadable but distinct expressions. You wonder if you’ll ever get close enough to get good at deciphering them.

You jump when Johnny takes both your hands in, kissing the backs of them with a sloppy, drunk smile. “Thank ye fer comin’ out. “

Somehow your face feels hotter than a damn oven. You tuck your hands to your chest, kicking shyly at the sidewalk. “Th-thanks for the invite. We, uh, we could do it again sometime?”

You glance up hopefully, praying that you didn’t misread the situation. You’ve done that before - thought people liked you more than they did. Johnny just grins wider somehow and nods excitedly.

You watch them walk off in the other direction, hand in hand. Johnny giggles about something loudly and you can see Simon’s shoulders shake with a far more silent laugh. All the way until they disappear down the street.

The sheer amount that the image hurts your heart makes you feel evil.

~~~

The pub changed something. What, you don’t know. Either way, you fall into an easy pattern with Johnny and Simon over the next couple weeks. Exchanges of food, leftovers or morsels about to turn, little visits back and forth between your shops. Johnny continues to stop by after close, just hanging around with you while Simon closes up shop.

You can’t deny how much you look forward to hearing that door chime followed by a too-loud greeting from Johnny. How your heart flips in your chest when those bright blue eyes peek around the corner into the back room or light up while trying a new recipes you’ve been testing. You’re still a bit awkward - unsure how to react when he throws an arm around your shoulders or listens oh so intently while you talk about nothing important.

Things can’t ever be all sunshine and rainbows, though. Not for you. A new problem has arisen as summer truly sets in - the comfortable spring breezes giving way to nothing but bright, unfiltered sun. One you didn’t expect to impact you this much living this far north.

Heat.

It’s hard to breathe in the back room while you’re baking. Hard to keep your water and salt intake high enough to compensate for how fast you lose them. You might as well get a permanent saline drip attached to you at this point. You definitely didn’t google if that was physically possible. Your budget for liquid IVs and other supplements nearly doubles. Standing over the massive oven in the back room has your head swimming a few times. You end up resting longer on your weekends, unable to keep up like you could in cooler weather.

It’s okay, you tell yourself, the summer here isn’t like back home. It will pass quicker. Plus, you at least have methods of dealing with it now other than crossing your fingers and praying.

“Bonnie!” Johnny suddenly appears in your doorway - that charming smile splitting his face from ear to ear. “Ye made it up Main Street yet?”

“No?” You tilt your head and try to ignore the way your vision spots momentarily at the motion. “Why?”

“Ye dinnae hear about the summer festival?” He leans on your counter. You shake your head. “It’s a yearly thing. Not that big a deal but they have some fun games an’ it’s nice tae see everyone out an’ about. Si an’ I are about tae head down. Come wit’?”

You hesitate. The exhaustion in your body tugs at your spine. Your limbs feel heavy. This morning really got to you - out of towners who must have come for the festival flooded your shop the moment it opened on top of your Saturday regulars. Not that you’re complaining, really. It’s easily your best day so far. You want to go with them, though, despite the ache in your back and the sting in your joints. It sounds so fun and it’s never a bad idea to take part in your new community’s festivities.

“Yeah. That sounds nice.” You smile. You can tough it out for an hour, then come back home. Yeah, just an hour. You’ll be fine.

You hadn’t noticed Simon leaned up at the entrance to your shop. Your eyes lock on his arms. This is the first time you’ve actually seen him in short sleeves. You can’t help but stare at his half-sleeve tattoo - all skulls and bombs and other military motifs. Faded and sun worn. Yeah, if you’d seen that sooner you definitely would have picked up on the whole military thing. You bite your lip to keep from snickering about it.

You can hear the music drifting from the speakers down the street. A few kids run by with balloons and cheap carnival prizes. It almost reminds you of the Spring Fling back home, just missing the extreme American flag theming across every booth and vendor front. Now that you’re looking around, you can actually see several booths that have been sponsored by various businesses in the area. Even the post office has a snow cone stand. The deeper you get into the event, the more flamboyant the decor becomes. Multicolored streamers and pennet flags connect stands, creating an almost canopy effect.

Simon stops rather abruptly at a booth, waiting behind a few teenagers tossing rings onto bottles. You stop with Johnny about two feet away. What’s he thinking? Simon doesn’t seem like the type who would be too entertained by basic carnival games. Even so, he steps forward and passes over a couple bills to the vendor as soon as the teenagers leave.

“Si’s really good at these. Watch.” Johnny grins beside you.

“Aren’t they rigged?” You raise an eyebrow.

Johnny doesn’t answer, eyes locked on his husband as he lines up one of the rings. You have to lean slightly to see around the breadth of the man - the multicolor rings almost cartoonishly small in his hands. Cute. Your eyes get impossibly wide with each toss, every single one landing comfortably on the bottle necks as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. As if this isn’t one of the most commonly rigged carnival games.

“Holy shit…” You mutter, still staring.

“Aye, tha’s a SAS sniper for ye.” Johnny laughs. “Glad tae see it still comes in handy.”

Simon huffs out a quiet laugh at that. Almost more of a sigh if it weren’t for the shaking of his shoulders. You love it - their little dynamic. The bond between them that’s so strong it’s almost visible.

“‘ere.” Simon turns to you suddenly, holding out a cheap little carnival prize. You can’t even begin to decipher what it’s supposed to be - some sort of furry puff ball with big, embroidered anime eyes and two felt antennae sticking up out of it’s purple head… body… thing…

Your face heats. “F-, uh, me?”

He shrugs. “Suits you. Riley will just chew it up if we take it home.”

“Aye. She’s so good with everythin’ but cheap plushies.” Johnny snickers.

You glance down at the dog in question - her dark eyes glued to the toy in Simon’s hand. Her tail thumps against the ground where she sists dutifully, but you can see the desire to snatch the thing away in her twitchy ears and pleading eyes. You snort, taking the stupid thing and tucking it under your arm with the prayer that they don’t notice the heat now spreading from your cheeks to your ears.

“Thanks…” you murmur, already mentally deciding where to add it to the mess of stuffies covering your bed already.

Somehow you end up walking between them down the street - Simon on your left and Johnny on your right with Riley in tow. You stop at a few other games here and there. All pretty basic. Johnny absolutely kills at the dunk booth.

Simon tires his hardest to help you with your terrible aim, “Just visualize it. Y’have t’ account for the arc.”

You get to the point of sticking your tongue out in concentration. Even so you only manage to knock down a couple of the wooden ducks at the ‘Dunk-A-Duck’ stand. You do, however, win one of those rock candy sticks at the guessing booth. You just hand it off to Johnny. It’s probably not best to load up on sugar in your current state.

Johnny excitedly points to different buildings giving you a rundown of the history of his hometown as you walk. Simon seems to barely be listening. He’s probably heard this a thousand times. Prattling on about the old town square, the church bell that a bunch of teenagers spray painted one time (Johnny was not involved, how could you accuse him of that?)

You find yourself focusing on your feet - keeping each step even and fast enough to remain on pace with them. One, two, one, two, one, two. The air begins to thicken. Muggy and heavy on your skin. Your breaths become shallow and fast. You can’t catch it, the air seeming to get stuck in your throat rather than reaching your lungs. Spots begin to dance across your vision. You stumble over nothing.

Not now! Come on! You’ve been doing so well!

Riley presses against your leg acting as a counter weight. Your body moves on instinct to grab whatever you can - hands wrapping around something strong and covered with cloth. An arm solid as rebar. Hopefully it’s someone you know. All you can see are colorless shapes.

“Gonna pass out - don’t freak!” You gasp before your legs give out.

It’s not that you go entirely out - it’s rare that you fully black out. It’s more like being stuck. Limp and fuzzy and confused. Almost like sleep paralysis. There’s voices and people moving around you. Someone has picked you up, you think, based on the swaying motion and the passing shapes around you. Maybe that’s just vertigo. A door bell chimes.

You finally begin to really come to when something icy is pressed to your forehead. It couldn’t have been more than a handful of seconds that you were gone, but it takes much longer for the world around you to come back into focus.

“I’m sorry…” You murmur, eyes stinging. Even after all these years it’s so damn embarrassing. You blink, the distinct mural that decorates the ceiling of the post office slowly coming into view. Johnny said a big time traveling artist painted it back in the nineties.

“Ye alright?” Johnny murmurs, crouched down beside you. Riley sniffs at your hand, seeming satisfied when you finally move it on your own.

You nod slowly. “Overheated…”

“Give her this.” Someone says. An event medic, you think. The boys must have flagged them down. Fingers press to your pulse point, a light shines in your eyes and you follow it. A quick check of vitals. Johnny shoves a water bottle in your hand as soon as the medic decides you’re fine to move - the contents distinctly murky from some sort of electrolyte pack that’s been shaken into it.

“Up y’get. Slowly does it.” Simon helps you sit up with a hand on your back. It’s so gentle. You don’t miss how he cages in your body the way only someone intimately familiar with caretaking might. Fully ready to catch you if you go limp again.

You sip slow, eyes glued to the ground. You feel so fucking stupid. Can’t even walk down a street without creating some sort of scene. They’re never going to want to hang out with you again, are they? You can’t go out drinking, can’t walk around a festival for longer than a couple hours. You distracted Riley. What if something happened to Johnny while you were having your spell? She might not have alerted correctly because of you. She might have gotten confused and then he could have gotten hurt. He might have-

“Ye really should drink tha’ instead of glarin’ at it.” Johnny pulls you from your thoughts. He’s now sat with his legs crossed beside you. Riley’s head rests in his lap. She seems calm. Content now that the emergency is over and happily lying on a cool floor.

You hum, chugging the last bit of it quickly. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.” Simon says curtly. “Does this ‘appen often?”

You shrug. “Not as much anymore… usually my medication keeps me stable.”

“Do ye need a doctor?” Johnny tilts his head slightly. There’s no judgment in his tone - in either of their tones. Just calm concern. It probably shouldn’t make you want to cry as much as it does.

You shake your head. “I’ve got liquid IV at home. Just need to sleep it off.”

Hopefully. In reality, a pain flare up is inevitable now. You just won’t know how bad until you’re fully in it.

“Let’s get ye home.” Johnny says, knees popping as he stands.

“I-I’m fine!” You insist, mentally preparing to get yourself up off the floor. “I can get home on my own - I don’t want to ruin your time.”

Johnny levels his gaze onto you, so serious it almost looks angry. It doesn’t match his face. “We’re not leavin’ ye tae get home alone like this.”

You’re caught off guard when an arm slides under your back and another under knees - lifting you like you weigh half of what you do in reality. Like you’re a paperweight instead of a boulder. You blink up at Simon, far too surprised to be embarrassed. At least at first. You splutter out a poor attempt at convincing him to put you down. Excuse and reason after reason and excuse. They roll off him like water off a ducks back. Your face burns as he steps out of the post office with you neatly tucked against his chest - Johnny and Riley in tow.

If you allow yourself to be honest, to give into that weaker part of you (or, at least, the part you consider to be weak) you could possibly admit that this feels nice. Being cared for feels nice. Having your body up against someone else feels nice. It’s been a long time since anyone touched you outside of a polite handshake or accidental bump. You sink into it despite yourself - relaxing against Simon’s chest. They were right, you wouldn’t have made it back. Your head is too fuzzy and there’s that telltale pain in your shoulders radiating up to your neck that signifies an oncoming Bed Day.

It doesn’t take long with Simon’s lengthy strides to get back to your building. You probably wouldn’t have been able to keep up to that running. Well, you can’t really run much at all so you definitely wouldn’t. A stupid, muddled train of thought that melts into the hazy bog of your current mental state. Even Johnny trails a few feet behind. Neither of them speak, marching in determined silence. You attempt to subtly check their faces for any anger. You’d understand if they were angry. Most people would get angry. You interrupted their day out with your useless drama. All you get is a wide, bright grin from Johnny when your eyes eventually meet his.

Simon puts you down with all the care in the world. As if you’re made of fine china. His hand stays on your upper back - planted firmly between your shoulder blades and ready to catch you if need be. Your vision swims a bit, your joints feel like jelly but you manage to dig your keys out of your pocket and unlock the door.

“Here.” Johnny plops the puff ball back into your hands just as you turn to say goodbye. To say thank you - to apologize profusely.

Your brows raise. You completely forgot about it while swimming around in a sea of embarrassment - he must have picked it up for you. You hug it to your chest with a quiet, “Thanks.”

You shift your weight side to side, psyching yourself up for the crawl up the stairs. Probably literally. You don’t think you could stay upright if you tried to walk them like a regular day, or even with an aid. Like a regular or semi-regular person. Fuck.

Johnny follows your eyes up at the staircase. He must sense some hesitation in you. “Do ye need help up?”

You bite your lip, staring at the ground. Standing in one place seems alright, but the thought of climbing is so daunting, even with the cane you have stationed at the bottom of the steps for that exact purpose. It’s embarrassing. You’re young, you should be able to walk up some damn stairs. It isn’t even that many. It’s barely a full flight. Just one story of stairs for fuck’s sake.

“Hey.” Simon touches your cheek, the action snapping your eyes to his in surprise. “It’s okay. C’mere.”

He picks you up again in the same fashion with barely a grunt, taking his time up the steps so as not to jostle you. How many times has he done this with Johnny? you wonder. That’s the only explanation for how good he is at keeping your equilibrium so even. You wonder if he practiced - if he took caretaking classes. He probably did. Does he keep up at the gym just so he can take care of his husband? Simon might be quiet and a little formal, but he exudes dedication.

“Sorry it’s messy…” You murmur when they reach the top of the steps. Glancing behind you, you see Riley sitting patiently at the bottom. Johnny must have told her to stay. “Haven’t gotten to fully unpack…”

You’ve been spending too much time in bed on the weekends. Fucking lazy.

Johnny just laughs. “Ye shoulda seen the first place Simon an’ I had.”

“Wasn’t that bad.” Simon argues, carefully setting you down on the couch. His hands hold your waist to steady you. They’re so warm… It feels wrong to be disappointed when he lets go.

“We hadnae figured out a system yet.” Johnny huffs, hands on his hips. “We ended up hirin’ a specialized maid service the dishes got so backed up.”

You scoff, laying back against the couch with that stupid carnival prize still in your arms. Like it’s the only thing grounding you to reality. The tears that have been stinging your eyes this entire time continue to threaten to spill - a myriad of blinks and careful breaths the only thing keeping them back.

Johnny sits beside you slowly. You can’t meet his eyes. “Do… do ye want tae tell us what it is? Ye donnae have tae - it’s up tae ye. Just if somethin’ happens again…”

“We’d like to be prepared.” Simon jumps in where Johnny trails off.

You chew your lip, still staring up at the ceiling. It splits and that coppery taste coats your tongue for a moment. “I, uh, it’s called POTS. There’s different types but basically my body can’t regulate blood flow and pressure right…” You shrug. “Like I said my medication usually keeps me mostly okay.”

It’s the pain that really gets to you usually, but you don’t need to start dumping on them about that. There’s no reason to spill your guts about things they can’t fix.

“Thanks fer tellin’ us.” Johnny smiles. You stiffen slightly when he reaches out to tuck some hair behind your ear. You tilt your head, still resting on the back of the couch, to meet his eye. “Get some rest, yeah? We’ll lock the knob behind us. Call if ye need anythin’.”

“Okay.” You nod, keeping your eyes down and picking at your nails. “Sorry… about all this… I didn’t - I don’t… I’m sorry.”

“Donnae apologize.” He says softly as he stands. “Never apologize. We’re your friends, aye? Friends help friends. Tha’s all there is to it.”

Simon gives you a discerning nod behind him, expression both soft and deeply serious.

Friends? They consider you real life proper friends? Really? You can’t help but beam up at him. “Yeah.”

A/N: I’ve re-read this chapter so many times that it’s total mush in my brain which tells me it’s time to be done with it.

Bonus: I made a Pinterest board for this fic

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