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hisfavegirl · 2 days ago

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Fated Misconnections.

Pairing : Aegon Targaryen x Aemond Targaryen x Jacaerys Velaryon.

Chapter Summary : A week after the birth of your little brother Joffery, the whispers and abuse your mother received increased. Until she decided for you to move to Dragonstone, a decision that you reluctantly had to agree to.

The news of Rhaenyra’s decision to leave King’s Landing and return to Dragonstone reached every corner of the Red Keep. The whispers grew louder with each passing moment, and soon, everyone knew.

The air in the castle felt tense, as if something monumental was shifting.

You were in your chambers, carefully folding your clothes and placing your small belongings into a wooden chest. The soft rustle of fabric filled the quiet room. Your fingers moved slowly, as if delaying the inevitable. Every item you packed seemed to weigh heavier than the last.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang against the door. Urgent, frantic knocking.

You froze. Before you could respond, the door flew open with a loud creak.

Aegon and Aemond burst into the room. Their breaths were shallow, and their silver hair was a mess from running. Aegon’s eyes were wild, darting around the room before they landed on you and your chest of half-packed belongings. Aemond was calmer, but his eye locked onto you with an intensity that rooted you to the spot.

“No. No. You’re not leaving,” Aegon said breathlessly, storming toward you. His voice was loud, raw with emotion. He stopped right in front of you, his hands hovering near your shoulders as if he wanted to grab you but didn’t know if he should. “You can’t leave. You can’t leave us.”

“Aegon…” you sighed, glancing down at the chest. “I have to. My mother needs me. She needs all of us together.”

“She doesn’t need you,” Aegon shot back quickly, his tone sharp with desperation. His eyes searched yours, his voice cracking slightly. “Not as much as we do. Not as much as I do.”

You felt your heart tighten in your chest.

You glanced at Aemond, hoping for logic, hoping for understanding. But he wasn’t looking at the chest, nor at Aegon. He was looking directly at you. His single violet eye burned with something sharp and unspoken. He stepped forward slowly, his face unreadable but his posture tense.

“You belong here,” Aemond said firmly. His tone wasn’t as wild as Aegon’s, but it was far more resolute. “This is your home. Not Dragonstone. Here. With us.”

“My Mother says otherwise,” you replied softly. “Her place is my place. I am her daughter. I have to follow her.”

Aegon let out a bitter, humorless laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “She’s taking you away from us! She’s taking everything from us!” His words were sharper than before, louder, laced with anger and sorrow. His eyes darted around the room again, like he was searching for something, a solution, a way to make you stay.

“We don’t care about her,” Aemond said, his voice quieter but far more dangerous. He moved closer, his steps slow but deliberate. His gaze didn’t waver from your face. “We care about you.”

“Aemond… Aegon…” you said softly, reaching for them both. You placed one hand on Aegon’s arm and the other lightly against Aemond’s chest. “You’ll always have me. No matter where I go, I’ll always be with you.”

“No, you won’t,” Aegon muttered bitterly, his head lowering so you could no longer see his eyes. His fists clenched at his sides, and his body shook slightly as if trying to hold himself together. “You’ll leave and forget about us. Just like everyone else does.”

“I would never forget you,” you said firmly, giving his arm a squeeze. “You’re my uncles. My blood. No one could ever replace you.”

Aemond’s gaze narrowed. He tilted his head, studying you, his jaw set in a hard line. He didn’t believe you. Not fully. Not with the way his fingers twitched at his side, like he was gripping the air to stop himself from grabbing hold of you.

“Don’t lie to us,” Aemond said coldly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room like a blade. “You’re going to Dragonstone. You’ll live among them. You’ll fight for them. And one day, you’ll forget about us. You’ll forget who stood by you when you were alone.”

“That’s not true,” you said, frowning deeply. You stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his cheek. He stiffened at first, but he didn’t pull away. “You know that’s not true, Aemond.”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at you, his gaze unwavering

You stood at the edge of the ship’s deck, the cool sea breeze tangling your hair and brushing against your skin. King’s Landing grew smaller and smaller in the distance, its towering red stone walls slowly vanishing into the horizon. The proud towers of the Red Keep—a place you had called home for so long—looked smaller than ever before.

Your heart ached. No matter how much you had prepared for this moment, leaving was harder than you had expected.

You glanced over your shoulder. Your mother, Rhaenyra, sat on a cushioned bench, cradling your youngest brother, Joffrey, in her arms. Her face was calm but firm, her eyes distant as she gazed at the waves ahead. Her fingers gently stroked Joffrey’s back in soothing circles, and he yawned sleepily, his tiny hands curled into fists.

Laenor sat beside her, his gaze far away as well, though it was clear his thoughts were not on the sea. His fingers tapped against his leg in a slow, restless rhythm. He had always been like that — still on the surface but always moving within.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you leaned against the ship’s railing, gripping the wood tightly. The familiar scents of King’s Landing — warm stone, horse sweat, and the faint tang of the harbor — were slowly replaced by the smell of salt and the endless sea.

You could still hear their voices in your head.

Aegon’s sharp, desperate words. “You’ll leave and forget about us.”

Aemond’s cold, cutting promise. “Don’t lie to us.”

Their faces lingered in your mind. The hurt in their eyes. The way Aegon’s voice cracked when he realized you were really going. The way Aemond had stared at you without blinking, like he was trying to memorize every part of you before you disappeared.

You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about them.

“Are you alright, my sweet girl?”

Your mother’s voice pulled you back to the present. You turned to see her gazing at you, her head tilted in that soft, motherly way. Concern filled her eyes.

You forced a small smile. “I’m fine, Mother.”

Her gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if she didn’t quite believe you. But she didn’t press you. Instead, she adjusted Joffrey in her arms and glanced at the sea.

“Dragonstone will be different, but it will be home,” Rhaenyra said, her voice quiet but certain. Her eyes flicked to you, firm with the strength of a princess, but there was warmth in them too. “It will be ours. No one will question us there.”

You nodded, but your eyes flickered back toward the shrinking shape of King’s Landing, still faint on the horizon. It didn’t feel like victory. It felt like running away.

“Do you think they’ll miss us?” you asked suddenly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Your mother’s eyes softened. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on your cheek. Her thumb stroked your skin in slow, soothing motions, just as she had done for Joffrey.

“Of course they will,” she said. “But it’s better this way. Away from the whispers. Away from the wolves.”

Her words were meant to comfort you, but they didn’t. Aegon and Aemond were not wolves. They were your uncles. They were your family.

But as the ship sailed further into the vast, open sea, you knew that family was no longer something you could count on. It was something you had to leave behind.

The journey to Dragonstone had been long and exhausting. The sway of the ship still lingered in your legs as you stood at the base of the steep stone stairs leading up to the castle. The cool sea air, sharp with the scent of salt and smoke, whipped against your face, tugging at your hair and your cloak.

Dragonstone loomed above you like a shadowed giant, its sharp, jagged towers piercing the gray sky. The castle was nothing like the Red Keep. It was rough, ancient, and carved from volcanic rock, with dragon motifs curling along its battlements. It looked more like a beast lying in wait than a home.

Your legs felt heavy, each step requiring more effort than the last. The weight of the journey pressed down on you, and the chill of the sea clung to your bones. Every muscle in your body ached, but you kept moving forward, step by step. Your breath came out in soft, visible puffs, each exhale a sign of your exhaustion.

Ahead of you, your mother, Rhaenyra, ascended the stairs with quiet strength, her posture tall and regal despite her weariness. Her silver-gold hair caught the faint sunlight, glowing like a beacon of Targaryen pride. She did not falter. She never did. Beside her, Laenor carried little Joffrey in his arms, the boy’s head resting against his shoulder as he slept, oblivious to the world.

Your brothers, Jace and Luke, climbed ahead of you, racing each other up the stairs, laughing as though they had not spent days on a swaying ship. Their giggles echoed against the stone, breaking the quiet of the wind.

“Come on, slowpoke!” Luke called back to you, grinning mischievously. “We’ll reach the top before you!”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. His energy was endless, even after everything. He always found joy, even in places where there was none.

“Careful, Lucerys,” your mother warned, her voice firm but gentle. “The stairs are steep, and a fall from here would be your last.”

Luke slowed for a moment, his grin faltering, but he continued climbing at a more careful pace.

You took another step, feeling the ache in your legs, your hands gripping the sides of your cloak to keep it from getting tangled in your feet. The air grew colder the higher you climbed, and the wind howled louder. For a moment, you stopped to catch your breath, your eyes gazing up at the towers of Dragonstone.

It wasn’t the warmth of home. Not like King’s Landing had been. It felt… distant. Quiet. Lonely.

A soft hand touched your back. You turned to see your mother beside you, her eyes filled with quiet understanding.

“Just a little more, sweet girl,” she said softly, her voice gentle as she brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Then we will rest. I promise.”

Her warmth gave you strength. You nodded, determination hardening your gaze, and you pushed forward, climbing the remaining stairs step by step. One step. Then another. Then another.

By the time you reached the top, your chest was heaving, and your legs felt as if they were made of stone. You stopped, placing your hands on your knees, gasping for breath.

But you had made it.

The great doors of Dragonstone stood before you — tall, dark, and unyielding. Two guards in black cloaks stood at attention, their spears firmly planted at their sides. As your mother approached, they moved aside, their eyes cast downward in respect.

Your mother glanced back at you, waiting patiently as you caught your breath. Her eyes were soft, filled with pride.

“You did well,” she said, her lips curling into a small smile. “Come, let me show you your new home.”

With slow, deliberate steps, you followed her inside. The stone halls were dimly lit, the air cooler than you expected. The flickering light of torches danced along the walls, casting long shadows that twisted into the shapes of dragons. The air smelled of fire, ash, and sea salt.

As you walked, your fingers trailed along the cold, rough stone of the walls. It wasn’t smooth like the polished marble of the Red Keep. It was raw, unrefined — but there was something powerful about it. It felt alive, ancient, as though the very stones remembered every king and queen who had lived here before you.

Your footsteps echoed through the grand halls. Luke and Jace’s laughter faded into the distance as they ran ahead, their excitement filling the space like birdsong in a forest.

“Not too far,” your mother called after them. Her voice carried authority, and the echoes of it bounced off the high stone ceilings.

You gazed up at the vaulted arches overhead, wondering how many dragons had flown above them. How many dragons had been called here. You thought of Aegon and Aemond back in King’s Landing, their faces flashing in your mind like ghosts. Would they think of you too? Would they miss you as much as you already missed them?

You shook the thoughts away. This was your new home now. Dragonstone would be your fortress, your shelter, your sanctuary.

Your mother’s hand found yours again, fingers wrapping gently around yours as she guided you down the hall. Her warmth chased away the cold stone air.

“Come,” she said. “You will have a room of your own with a view of the sea. You’ll hear the dragons at night, calling to each other.”

Her voice was soft but certain, like a lullaby.

You stepped into your new chamber, the faint creak of the heavy wooden door echoing behind you. The first thing that caught your attention was the wide, arched window on the far wall. Golden sunlight streamed through it, illuminating the cold, gray stone of the room with a soft, warm glow. You approached it slowly, drawn to the view beyond.

Stretching out before you was an endless expanse of blue — the sea, vast and unyielding, glittering like a field of sapphires beneath the midday sun. The waves rolled in a steady rhythm, their distant crashes against the shore like a song that only the sea could sing. The salty breeze brushed softly against your face, carrying with it the faint call of gulls and the distant, guttural roars of dragons from beyond the cliffs.

Your gaze lingered there for a moment longer. It was beautiful, but it was not the view you were used to. The sprawl of King’s Landing, with its bustling streets and crowded markets, had always been full of life, movement, and noise. Dragonstone was different. Quieter. Wilder. Lonely.

Behind you, you heard the soft rustling of fabric as one of your maids entered, carrying a small trunk of your belongings. She set it down near the large wooden bed before bowing her head. “Shall I help you unpack, my lady?” she asked softly, her voice respectful but distant.

You glanced back at her and gave a small nod. “Yes, please.”

For the next hour, you worked together, pulling out dresses, cloaks, and trinkets from your old life. The maid carefully folded each gown and placed them in the carved oak wardrobe by the wall. You arranged your personal items on the wooden shelf near the bed — a small figurine that Jace had given you on your nameday, a silver hair comb from your mother, and a bundle of pressed flowers from King’s Landing, gifted by Aegon before your departure. You ran your fingers over the dried petals, their colors faded but still soft to the touch.

“Do you miss them, my lady?” the maid asked as she smoothed the wrinkles from a cloak. Her voice was quiet but curious.

You blinked, glancing over at her. You didn’t need to ask who she meant. “Yes,” you admitted softly, fingers still resting on the dried flowers. “I miss them very much.”

Her eyes flickered with understanding. “You’ll get used to it,” she said gently, folding the cloak and placing it neatly on the shelf. “Dragonstone has a way of growing on you. The quiet isn’t so bad once you learn to listen to it.”

You glanced back toward the window. The sound of waves crashing below was constant, like a heartbeat. Slow. Steady. Eternal.

The days at Dragonstone passed slowly. Each morning, you woke to the sound of distant dragon calls echoing across the cliffs. The chill of the stone floor nipped at your feet as you rose from your bed. It had been almost a week since your arrival, but the silence still felt strange. Back in King’s Landing, every day had been filled with noise — the clamor of horses, the calls of merchants, and the ever-present hum of people gossiping in the halls.

Here, there was only the sea, the wind, and the dragons.

You spent much of your time walking through the castle gardens, such as they were. The “gardens” of Dragonstone were not like the lush, colorful gardens of King’s Landing. There were no roses or delicate lilies, no chirping birds or marble fountains. Instead, there were hardy plants and wildflowers that grew in the cracks of stone and the shallow soil near the cliffs. Lavender, thistles, and wild grasses swayed in the wind, strong and resilient, just like the people who lived here.

You often found yourself drawn to one particular path that led to the edge of the cliffs. From there, you could see the sea stretching endlessly in every direction. The spray of saltwater brushed against your skin when the waves crashed against the rocks below. Sometimes, you would spot the dragons flying overhead — shadows moving across the clouds with the beating of mighty wings.

“It feels as though the world is holding its breath,” you thought to yourself as you gazed out at the sea one afternoon. The wind tugged at your hair, carrying with it the distant roar of a dragon. It wasn’t like King’s Landing, where there was always something happening. Here, everything was slower. Quieter. Too quiet.

At times, you wondered if your uncles missed you. Aegon and Aemond had been the hardest to leave behind. Aegon, with his carefree charm and playful smirks, had always found ways to make you laugh, bringing you little gifts or flowers as if you were a princess in one of his songs. Aemond, quieter but no less thoughtful, had a way of watching over you without saying a word. His gifts were more deliberate — a book, a polished stone, a carved figure of a dragon. He never said much, but he was always there.

You wondered if they felt your absence as much as you felt theirs.

One afternoon, as you sat near the cliffs, pulling wildflowers from the cracks in the stone, Jace and Luke ran up to you, breathless from play. Their cheeks were flushed, and their hair stuck out in wild tufts from the sea breeze.

“Come see!” Luke shouted, grabbing your hand and tugging at you. “There’s a cave! Jace found it, and it looks like dragon eggs might be inside!”

You arched an eyebrow, doubt flickering across your face. “Dragon eggs?”

Jace crossed his arms, his face filled with pride. “It could be! Maester says dragons sometimes leave them hidden in caves. Come on, you have to see it!”

They pulled you along, their excitement too strong to resist. Their laughter echoed down the stone corridors as they guided you toward the cliffs. For the first time in days, you felt something stir in your heart — a flicker of joy, of adventure, of belonging.

When you reached the cave, it was little more than a hollow carved into the side of the cliff, narrow and dark. Luke was already crawling inside, calling back to you, “Come on, it’s not that small!”

You crouched down, looking into the cave’s narrow entrance. It was damp, the air thick with the smell of wet stone and seaweed. Jace crouched beside you, his eyes bright with mischief.

“Are you afraid?” he asked, his grin teasing.

“Of course not,” you said, raising your chin. “But if a dragon is hiding in there, I hope it eats you first.”

Jace laughed, and the sound was so familiar — so normal. You followed them inside, your heart thudding in your chest. For the first time since arriving at Dragonstone, it didn’t feel so lonely.

That night, as you sat around the dining table with your family, the dim glow of the hearthfire flickered softly against the stone walls of Dragonstone’s dining hall. The quiet hum of dinner conversation was broken by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching.

One of the guards entered, his armor clinking softly with every step. He bowed his head respectfully before approaching your mother, Rhaenyra, and placed a sealed letter in her hand. The wax seal bore the mark of House Velaryon — the sigil of the seahorse pressed into deep blue wax.

“From Driftmark, my princess,” the guard announced before stepping back into position by the door.

Rhaenyra’s eyes lingered on the seal for a moment longer than usual, her thumb brushing over it slowly. Something about it made her pause. Her brows furrowed slightly as she broke the seal and unfolded the letter, her eyes scanning the words with growing intensity.

The room grew quiet.

You glanced at your mother, watching her face shift from calm focus to something more troubled — her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes hardening. Her fingers tensed on the parchment.

“What is it?” Laenor asked from across the table, his gaze narrowing in concern. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his eyes locked on her.

Your mother didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze flickered to you, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Her eyes softened, but there was something in them you didn’t quite understand — something distant. She glanced at Laenor and then back at the letter in her hand, as if weighing her words.

Finally, she took a steady breath and folded the letter in her lap. Her gaze remained downcast for a moment longer before she lifted her eyes to meet Laenor’s.

“Leana is dead,” she said softly, her voice steady but burdened with grief.

The silence that followed was absolute. You felt a chill crawl up your spine as the weight of her words settled into the room. Your hands, which had been resting on the table, slowly curled into fists on your lap.

“No,” Laenor muttered, his face contorting in disbelief. He blinked several times, as if trying to convince himself he had misheard her. His lips parted, his breathing growing unsteady. “No, that can’t be right.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes met his with quiet sorrow. “She died in childbirth.” Her voice was gentle, but her words cut sharper than any blade. “The babe did not survive either.”

Laenor’s face crumpled. His hands gripped the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white. He hung his head, his shoulders trembling. His breath came in shallow, uneven huffs as he tried to contain himself, but his grief was too heavy. He closed his eyes, as if doing so might block out the pain.

Your heart ached as you watched him. Leana was his sister. And though you had not known her as well as he had, you knew what family meant.

Jace and Luke looked at each other, both confused and worried. Luke tugged at Jace’s sleeve, whispering, “What does it mean? What happened to Auntie Leana?”

Jace didn’t answer. His face was blank, his eyes distant, but you could see the subtle shift in his expression — the quiet understanding that someone was gone, someone important.

Your mother reached for Laenor’s hand, her fingers curling over his knuckles. She squeezed gently. “Corlys and Rhaenys have called for us to attend the funeral tomorrow at Driftmark.”

Driftmark.

The name of the Velaryon seat rang in your mind like a distant bell. It was a place you’d only visited a few times, but you remembered its rocky shores and stormy skies. It wasn’t a place of warmth. It was a place of power, of salt and stone.

Laenor said nothing for a long time. His head remained bowed, his breath shallow but steady. His other hand ran down his face, wiping at his eyes. You’d never seen him like this before — broken.

“I’ll be ready,” he muttered at last, his voice strained. He didn’t look up.

Your mother gave his hand another squeeze before letting go. Her eyes flickered back to you and your brothers. Her gaze was soft but firm. “You will all accompany us.”

You nodded, your throat tight. You felt something heavy in your chest — an ache you didn’t fully understand. It wasn’t your grief, not really. But it was the grief of your family, and you felt its weight all the same.

Luke sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Jace’s jaw was tight, his hands folded in front of him. You glanced at Joffrey in his cradle, still too young to understand the weight of the world he had been born into.

That night, the warmth of the hearth didn’t feel as strong. The food tasted duller. The quietness of the hall felt heavier.

You went to bed early, curling into your blankets, but sleep did not come easily. Images of the sea filled your mind — crashing waves and distant cliffs, the stormy shores of Driftmark. You wondered if Leana had been afraid, if she had known her end was near. You wondered if she had called for her daughters, or for Daemon.

Daemon.

You thought of him too. You had only met him a few times, but he was impossible to forget. Daemon Targaryen was fire wrapped in flesh — dangerous, unpredictable, and wild. He had a look in his eyes like he belonged to no one but himself.

Would he be at Driftmark tomorrow?

The thought of it stirred something uneasy in your heart.

Tomorrow, you would stand on those cold, stormy shores. You would watch the sea claim another soul. And you knew, deep down, that nothing would ever be the same after that.

Driftmark greeted you with an atmosphere as heavy as the waves crashing against its jagged shores. The sea, usually an endless expanse of strength and power, seemed furious today — its waves clawing at the rocks as if mourning alongside the living. The sky was a dull gray, mirroring the somber mood that hung over the island.

You sat in the carriage beside your mother and father, the rhythmic clatter of the horses’ hooves blending with the distant roar of the sea. The inside of the carriage was silent, save for the faint creak of its wooden frame as it swayed gently with every turn.

Your eyes drifted to your father, who sat across from you, his head leaning back against the cushioned seat. His face was pale, his usually vibrant expression replaced by one of emptiness.

Laenor Velaryon — a man known for his charm and laughter — looked hollow. His eyes were rimmed with red, and his cheeks bore the faint traces of dried tears. You had never seen him like this before. It was unsettling to see someone so full of life now sitting so still, so consumed by grief.

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to comfort him, to reach out and take his hand, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you settled for watching him, hoping your silent presence would be enough.

Your mother, Rhaenyra, sat beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm. She didn’t speak either, but her eyes were filled with quiet concern as they flickered between him and the window. You could tell she wanted to ease his pain, but she, too, seemed unsure of how to reach him.

The carriage jolted slightly as it hit a bump in the road, pulling Laenor from his thoughts. His gaze shifted to the window, where the jagged cliffs of Driftmark loomed closer. The great castle of High Tide was visible in the distance, its dark silhouette standing firm against the restless sea.

“She loved this place,” Laenor muttered suddenly, his voice hoarse.

Your mother turned to him, her brows furrowing. “What?”

“Laena,” he said, his voice cracking as he spoke her name. “She loved Driftmark. Even when we were children. She would always run to the cliffs, no matter how many times she was told it was dangerous.” He let out a soft, bitter laugh. “She wasn’t afraid of anything.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened, and she reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “She was brave,” she agreed quietly. “A true Velaryon.”

Laenor nodded, but his eyes remained fixed on the window. You could see the grief etched into every line of his face, the weight of loss bearing down on him like a storm.

You glanced back out the window, watching as the sea grew closer. The salty air stung your nostrils, and the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocks filled your ears. It felt as if the island itself was mourning.

As the carriage slowed to a halt in the courtyard of High Tide, you took a deep breath and looked at your father one last time before stepping out. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes distant, but he managed to rise and follow your mother without a word.

The courtyard was bustling with activity, mourners dressed in black moving solemnly toward the castle. You spotted Corlys Velaryon, your grandfather, standing at the entrance, his face grim and unreadable. Beside him was Rhaenys, your grandmother, her expression a mask of calm composure, though her red-rimmed eyes betrayed her sorrow.

The world felt heavier here, as if Driftmark itself was bowing under the weight of grief. You felt small amidst it all — a child in a world of sorrow and loss.

Your mother reached for your hand, guiding you toward the entrance. The sound of the sea grew louder in your ears, and you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder at the cliffs in the distance. Somewhere out there, the waves would soon claim your aunt’s body, taking her back to the sea she had loved so much.

Before the ceremony began, you found yourself wandering through the courtyard of High Tide, the somber atmosphere weighing heavily on your small frame. The salty breeze carried whispers of grief, mingling with the faint murmur of guests gathering for the funeral.

Your eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on two familiar figures—your uncles, Aegon and Aemond. They stood near one of the stone archways, their silver hair catching the dim light. But something felt off.

Neither of them looked at you, nor did they greet you. Aegon stared off into the distance, his expression unreadable, while Aemond’s face was stoic, his arms crossed over his chest. They didn’t smile, didn’t acknowledge your presence—as if you were invisible to them.

Your heart sank a little, confusion and hurt bubbling inside you. Had you done something wrong?

Before you could muster the courage to approach them, a soft voice called your name. Turning, you saw Alicent, your grandmother, walking toward you. She looked elegant even in her mourning attire, her emerald-green dress a stark contrast to the black-clad mourners around her.

When she reached you, she bent slightly to meet your gaze, her face softening into a warm smile. “My sweet girl,” she said, her tone gentle. “I’ve missed you so much.”

You managed a small smile in return, her familiar presence soothing some of your unease. “I’ve missed you too, your grace,” you replied.

Alicent reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your face. “You’ve grown even more beautiful,” she said, her voice tinged with pride. Then, with a glance toward your uncles, her expression turned more serious.

“They’ll come around,” she said softly, as if sensing your thoughts. “Aegon and Aemond… they’re still upset about you leaving for Dragonstone. They don’t understand why you had to go.”

Her words made your chest tighten. “I didn’t want to leave,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

“I know,” Alicent said, cupping your cheek. “But you did what was right—what your mother needed. They’ll see that in time.”

You nodded, though the ache in your heart didn’t fade completely. Alicent gave you a reassuring smile before pulling you into a gentle hug. Her warmth was a small comfort amidst the cold grief that surrounded you.

When she released you, she smoothed down her dress and said, “Come now, let us go inside. The ceremony will begin soon.”

As she guided you toward the hall, you stole one last glance at Aegon and Aemond. Aegon was still distant, his gaze unfocused, while Aemond’s jaw was tight, his expression unreadable. They didn’t look your way as you passed, but you held onto Alicent’s words, hoping that one day, things would be as they once were.

The funeral ceremony had concluded, leaving the air heavy with sorrow and the salty tang of the sea. You found yourself seated on a stone bench near the gardens of High Tide, the faint crash of waves providing a somber backdrop.

Beside you sat Baela and Rhaena, their faces still streaked with tears as they clung to one another. You placed a comforting hand on Baela’s, your voice gentle as you spoke.

“Everything will be alright,” you said, though a part of you wasn’t entirely sure. The weight of grief hung thick in the air, and you could feel the tension between the gathered family members. Still, you wanted to provide some comfort for the two girls who had just lost their mother.

Baela gave you a small, grateful smile, though her eyes betrayed her heartbreak. Rhaena leaned against her twin, her silence speaking volumes.

As you turned your gaze away from them to let them grieve in peace, a strange sensation washed over you—a feeling of being watched.

You shifted uneasily, your hands fidgeting in your lap, and slowly turned your head to search for the source of the sensation. Your eyes scanned the gathered mourners, the stone walls, and the shadows of the hall… until they landed on Daemon Targaryen.

He stood apart from the others, his arms crossed over his chest, his silver hair catching the dim light of the torches. His piercing gaze was fixed on you, his expression unreadable.

There was nothing harsh or threatening in his eyes, but the intensity of his stare made your heartbeat quicken. He wasn’t looking at anyone else—just you.

You quickly looked away, your cheeks warming under his scrutiny. Why was he watching you? What did he see?

Baela noticed your shift in demeanor and placed a hand on your arm. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly, her voice filled with concern.

“Nothing,” you replied quickly, forcing a small smile. “Just tired.”

Baela nodded, accepting your answer, but as the night wore on, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Daemon’s eyes following you. Even as the mourners began to disperse and the hall grew quieter, his presence lingered in your thoughts.

You returned to the chamber your grandfather had arranged for you, the weight of the day still heavy on your shoulders. When you opened the door, a wave of relief washed over you as you spotted Helaena sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked up at you with her usual soft, dreamlike smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Helaena!” you exclaimed, running over to her. Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

“I missed you,” she said quietly, resting her chin on your shoulder.

“I missed you too,” you replied, pulling back slightly to look at her. “It feels like it’s been so long.”

Helaena nodded, her violet eyes shimmering with a mixture of joy and melancholy. “The Red Keep feels different without you. It’s quieter.”

You both sat down on the bed, the day’s exhaustion momentarily forgotten as you caught up with her. Helaena talked about her days in the Keep, how she spent her time wandering the gardens, chasing butterflies, and reading in her favorite hidden corners. You told her about the journey to Dragonstone and how much you missed having her by your side.

The hours seemed to melt away as the two of you laughed and shared secrets, just as you always did. There was a sense of comfort in being with Helaena—a feeling that, no matter what happened in the world outside, you would always have each other.

When the moon hung high in the sky and the candles burned low, Helaena glanced at you hesitantly. “Do you mind if I stay here tonight?” she asked softly. “I don’t really want to be alone.”

You smiled warmly and nodded. “I’d like that. I don’t want to be alone either.”

Helaena’s face lit up at your response, and she quickly moved to lie down beside you. You both snuggled under the thick blankets, the chill of Driftmark’s sea air forgotten in the warmth of your shared companionship.

As you lay there, you felt her hand brush against yours, and you turned to see her staring up at the ceiling. “Do you think things will ever go back to how they were before?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

You hesitated, unsure of how to answer. “Maybe not,” you admitted softly. “But as long as we have each other, it’ll be alright.”

Helaena turned her head to look at you, her lips curving into a small smile. “You’re right,” she said, her voice filled with quiet determination.

With that, the two of you closed your eyes, the bond between you stronger than ever. The world outside might have been chaotic and uncertain, but here, in this small room, you found peace.

The sharp knock on your door stirred you from your sleep. The darkness outside the window told you it was still deep in the night. Confused and slightly disoriented, you got up and opened the door to find Ser Criston Cole standing there, his expression grim and urgent.

“Princesses you must come to the grand hall at once,” he said, his voice low but commanding.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, a knot forming in your stomach.

“Prince Aemond has been injured. Gravely,” he replied, refusing to elaborate further.

Your breath hitched as you quickly woke Helaena, explaining as best as you could before the two of you hurried down the dimly lit corridors of Driftmark. The tension in the air seemed to grow heavier with every step, and your heart pounded with dread.

When you entered the grand hall, the sight before you made you stop in your tracks. The room was a whirlwind of chaos and emotions. Your mother, Rhaenyra, stood protectively in front of Luke, who looked shaken but defiant. Blood smeared his face, his small hands trembling at his sides. Across the room, Alicent knelt beside Aemond, whose face was partially obscured by a bloodied cloth. Even from the distance, you could see the raw wound where his left eye had been.

Your heart sank. The sight of Aemond—proud, cold Aemond—reduced to this state sent a pang of guilt and sadness through you. But then Alicent’s voice broke through, sharp and accusatory.

“Your son,” she hissed, pointing at Luke, “has maimed mine. He has taken his eye!”

Your mother’s voice was equally sharp as she retorted, “Your son provoked him! He called my sons bastards! He stole Vhagar from Baela and Rhaena without a thought!”

The words hit you like a blow, and your gaze instinctively turned to Aemond. His remaining eye burned with fury, but beneath it, you could see something else—pain and anger, yes, but also a sense of defiance.

“Is it a lie?” Aemond’s voice, though pained, was clear and strong. “They are bastards.”

The words made your chest tighten painfully, and you looked toward Aegon, who stood beside his brother. His face was stony, but he didn’t deny the accusation.

The air grew thick with tension as you stood there, caught between your loyalty to your family and the ache in your heart for your uncles. Your hands trembled slightly as you tried to keep your emotions in check.

“Why would you say that?” you finally managed, your voice quiet but filled with hurt as you looked at Aemond and then at Aegon. “Why would you say something so cruel?”

Neither of them answered, but Aemond’s eye met yours, and for a brief moment, you saw something flicker there—regret, perhaps? Or maybe it was just the pain from his injury.

“Enough!” came the voice of King Viserys, who had entered the hall, his face pale and his expression furious. “This family has bled enough tonight! I will have no more accusations, no more fighting!”

But even as the King demanded peace, the damage was done. The rift between the two sides of your family deepened that night, and though you tried to hide it, the pain lingered in your chest. The words they had spoken echoed in your mind long after the hall had fallen silent.

The salty sea breeze brushed against your face as you stood on the edge of the Driftmark dock, watching the sails of the departing ships grow smaller in the distance. Above them, the silhouettes of three dragons glided across the skies, the mighty beasts casting long shadows on the waves below. Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena were leaving, and with them, any fragile semblance of unity that once existed in your family.

You stood beside your mother, her face stoic but her eyes betraying the turmoil within. Blood had been spilled, bonds had been broken, and the rift between your family and the Greens seemed irreparable now.

For a moment, you turned your gaze to Daemon, who stood not far from you and your mother. He leaned casually against a pillar, his expression unreadable, but his presence was a reminder of the man who had always been on the edges of your life, observing but rarely intervening.

Looking back at the horizon, you let out a quiet sigh. “May I go check on Luke?” you asked, turning to your mother.

Rhaenyra tore her gaze away from the sea to look at you. Her lips curved into a small, strained smile as she nodded. “Of course, my sweet girl. Make sure he knows he’s safe.”

You curtsied lightly before stepping away, your steps echoing softly against the stone dock as you made your way back toward the castle. Your heart ached for Luke, who must be feeling the weight of everything that had transpired. Aemond’s eye was gone, and Luke’s actions—though unintentional—had caused it.

As you entered the castle, the cool, dim corridors wrapped around you like a protective shield. You found Luke sitting in a small alcove near one of the windows, his knees pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. His face was buried, but his quiet sniffles reached your ears.

“Luke,” you called softly, your voice gentle as you approached him.

He lifted his head slightly, his tear-streaked face turning toward you. “It’s all my fault,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

You knelt beside him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know you didn’t,” you said, your voice soothing. “But it wasn’t just your fault. Aemond made his choices too. What happened was a tragedy, but it doesn’t make you a bad person, Luke.”

He looked at you, his wide, innocent eyes searching for reassurance. “Do you think he’ll hate me forever?”

You hesitated, knowing the truth was more complicated than a simple yes or no. “I don’t know what Aemond will feel in the future,” you admitted honestly. “But what matters now is that we’re a family, and we stand by each other. You’re not alone, Luke. None of us are.”

He leaned into you, seeking comfort, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. In the aftermath of chaos, all you could do was offer him your strength and hope that, in time, the wounds within your family might begin to heal.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @giirlinblack @yazzzmints

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pumpkennpie · 3 days ago

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mistletoe and ivy

landoscar ficlet, 867 words

i was wrapping christmas presents earlier and Received Revelation about stressed christmastime landad needing everything to be perfect for his little one, so here we are. bone apple teeth

Oscar’s first thought when he walks through his front door is that the apartment has been burglarized. He’s got his phone halfway out of his pocket to dial 999 when Lando’s face pops up from behind the couch, red and pouty, but unharmed.

Now that he’s not in panic mode, Oscar takes a second to pause and survey the scene.

To be honest, it looks like a Christmas themed bomb has been detonated in their living room. There’s wrapping paper everywhere, ripped to shreds and crumpled up into little festive balls. The couch is completely covered with unwrapped presents, and there are small, sticky bows strewn all over the grey suede.

Then there’s Lando. Oscar can only see him from the shoulders up, but every square inch he can see is absolutely coated in glitter. His cheeks are rosy, and he’s sporting a deep frown that can only mean one thing: he’s truly, unequivocally frustrated.

“Hi, love. Is there…” Oscar knows he needs to choose his words carefully. “Did you drop something behind the couch?”

Lando’s bottom lip quivers. Fuck.

“Hey, it’s alright, I’ll help you. Just tell me what you need, yeah?” Oscar soothes.

In his haste to get to Lando, he drops his overcoat and bag to the floor. He can hear the glass container Lando packs his lunch in clatter around in his bag, but that doesn’t matter right now.

By the time Oscar gets behind the couch and kneels in front of Lando, the first tears have already fallen. He takes Lando’s face between his hands, smoothing his thumbs over his cheeks to wipe away the wetness.

“I can’t get the corners of the paper to fold right, and the stupid bows aren’t sticking, and I didn’t buy enough gift boxes-” Lando cries, growing more upset by the second.

Oscar does the only thing he knows will work to get Lando to slow down and focus on anything else, if only for a moment. He leans forward and slots their mouths together, a chaste little thing that serves its purpose.

When Oscar pulls away, Lando’s eyes are still glassy, but not just with tears. There's a piece of cello-tape stuck to the tip of his nose.

“I just need this to be perfect,” Lando finishes, his voice barely a whisper. He’s smiling, but Oscar can see the desperation in his eyes.

That’s when it finally hits him.

It’s Ivy’s first Christmas.

The wrapping paper littering the floor is not red and green, nor does it have Santa or snowflakes on it. It’s pink and glittery, and Oscar can see a few pieces with Bluey characters here and there. The unwrapped presents on the couch are sensory toys, soft blankets and plushes. There’s a few new outfits folded neatly on the cushions, sized 12-18 months.

Everything around them, the entire mess that their living room has become, is all for their little girl.

“Lando, it won’t matter if the paper on her presents is creased, or if there aren’t any bows because they won’t stick. Ivy’s here, and she’ll be surrounded by people who love her, and that’s all that matters,” Oscar says, trying to reassure Lando. “Plus, she’s not even a year old yet. She’s not going to remember this.”

One big tear falls from Lando’s eye, running down his cheek to catch in the dimple Oscar has his thumb pressed in.

“She won’t, but I will. We’re not going to get another first Christmas with her.” Lando looks up at him in a way that tells Oscar everything Lando can’t put into words. This is more important to Lando than Oscar will ever know.

“Ok,” Oscar smiles, pushing himself to stand. He holds a hand out to help Lando to his feet. “Then let’s figure out how to fold some wrapping paper.”

______________________________________________________________

Hours later, when the presents are perfectly trimmed and stacked neatly under the Christmas tree, Oscar realizes something.

“Lando?”

Lando looks up at him with a smile. His head is in Oscar’s lap, and Ivy is sleeping soundly on his chest.

“Yeah?”

“Why were you behind the couch when I got home?”

Lando flushes a pretty pink, nearly the same color as the velvet-soft blanket draped over their daughter’s back.

“Oh, uh. I was trying to hang some mistletoe, and I dropped it back there,” he replies, his smile turning bashful as he points to the ceiling.

Oscar tilts his head back, and sure enough, hanging from a piece of string that’s shoddily taped to the ceiling is a tiny sprig of mistletoe. Oscar can’t help the surprised laugh that escapes him.

His laughter only grows when Lando reaches a hand up to swat playfully at his stomach.

“Lando, we’re married. You don’t have to trap us under mistletoe to get me to kiss you,” Oscar teases.

“It’s for the tradition, Oscar!” Lando chides. Ivy stirs on his chest, whining softly in her sleep. “Now kiss me before she starts crying.”

The second their lips meet, Ivy lets out the loudest wail her little body can possibly produce. Oscar and Lando break away with bright, joyous smiles.

There’s no other place Oscar would rather be than right here.

#i cried bc i couldn't get the ends of the christmas presents to look neat enough #so now lando is too!#merry christmas (five days early shhhhhh)#landoscar #landoscar drabble #landoscar ficlet #f1 rpf #ken writes

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maomiscorner · 2 days ago

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Holding on to You - short ff

Background: In this romantic fanfiction, Y/N, a girl battling depression and anxiety, finds comfort and hope in her relationship with Jake, a member of ENHYPEN. Through his love and unwavering support, Y/N learns to see the light in herself, even on her darkest days.

Pairing: idol!Jake x f!reader

There was a calming stillness in the small café tucked away in the alleys of Seoul. The soft, warm lights illuminated the pastel-colored walls, creating an intimate and cozy atmosphere. Y/N sat by the window, watching the light rain fall gently on the glass. It was her favorite spot, the one where she often retreated with Jake, far from the eyes of the world.

But today, she was alone. Jake was still busy with rehearsals for the new album, but he had promised he would come soon. Despite that, a slight sense of anxiety started creeping into her chest. Y/N wrapped herself in her oversized sweater, seeking comfort. Ever since she started dating Jake, her days had become brighter, but sometimes those dark moments came back. Depression and anxiety were like old ghosts that never fully left her in peace.Lost in those thoughts, the familiar sound of the door opening brought her back to reality. Looking up, she saw Jake walk in, his hair still a bit damp from the rain, and that smile that always made her heart beat a little faster. He quickly made his way to her, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead before sitting next to her.

"Did I make you wait too long?" he asked, his voice soft and concerned.Y/N shook her head, trying to hide the lingering restlessness inside. "No, everything's fine. I'm just happy you're here." Jake watched her carefully, as if he could read her deepest emotions without her needing to say a word. He had always been so attentive, so caring. Even when she felt lost within herself, he was there, with that gentle smile that seemed to pull her back to the surface. "I brought something for you," he said suddenly, pulling a small package from his jacket pocket.

Y/N looked at him curiously, her eyes widening. "What is it?" "Open it and see." With slightly trembling hands, Y/N opened the package to reveal a delicate silver necklace with a small star-shaped pendant. It was simple, elegant, yet incredibly meaningful.

Words struggled to come out. "Jake... it's beautiful, but why?" Jake smiled, taking her hand tenderly. "Every time you feel lost or sad, I want you to look at this star. Because even in the darkest nights, there's always a light shining for you. And that light, Y/N, is you. Even if you don't always see it."

Y/N’s heart swelled with emotion. There were times when the world felt too heavy to bear, but Jake always managed to remind her of her worth, even when she forgot it herself.Tears filled her eyes, but they weren't from sadness. It was as if Jake's love could melt away that invisible grip that often held her captive. "Thank you," she whispered softly, squeezing his hand. "I don't know how you do it, but you always make me feel better." Jake gently stroked her cheek, his gaze full of tenderness. "You don't have to thank me. That's what people who love each other do, right? They take care of one another."

Y/N nodded, feeling surrounded by a warmth that went beyond words. In that moment, with Jake by her side, the world seemed less frightening. He was her safe harbor, her light in the dark. "Just promise me one thing," Jake said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them."What?" "That you'll keep fighting, even on the days when everything feels harder. I'll always be here, but you're stronger than you think."

Y/N smiled through her tears, feeling the bond between them grow even stronger. It was true, her battles weren’t over, but with Jake by her side, she knew she could face anything.

Because love, true love, was the greatest strength of all. And in that moment, with the sound of rain in the background and Jake's warm hands in hers, Y/N understood that she wasn't alone. She never would be.

Jake kissed her gently, a simple gesture yet filled with promises. A promise of love, of support, and of a life to be lived together, despite everything.

#engene #enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen hard hours #enhypen jaeyun #enhypen jake #enhypen x reader #jaeyun fluff #jaeyun imagines #jaeyun x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen hard thoughts #sim jaeyun #enha jaeyun #jaeyun #jake sim

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sturnswrites · 2 days ago

Text

guarded hearts - pt.8

fratboy!chris x fem!reader

⤳ you meet chris while working on a class project, your personalities are very different but chris is determined to get you out of your shell.

⤳ resolving angst, fluff

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The silence after Chris leaves your apartment is deafening. The door clicking shut feels final, like a chapter of your life closing. You don’t move from the bed for a long time, staring at the spot where he stood just moments ago. His voice, his pleading eyes—they’re burned into your memory, and no matter how much you want to push them away, you can’t.

You should feel relieved. You stood my ground. You told him to leave. But the second he walked out that door, the loneliness crept back in, stronger and heavier than before.

The nights that follow are endless. You toss and turn, the empty space next to you a cruel reminder of how many nights he stayed, holding you close, whispering things that made you believe you were safe with him. Now, the silence is unbearable, stretching across the room and settling in your chest like a weight you can’t shake.

You cry more than you want to admit. To yourself, to anyone. Your roommates try to distract you, dragging you out for coffee or insisting on movie nights, but nothing fills the void. Every time your phone buzzes, you hope it’s him—even though you were the one who told him to leave.

Chris’s Point of View

Leaving her room was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Every instinct screamed at me to stay, to keep begging her to let me fix this, to hold her until she believed I wouldn’t leave again. But the pain in her voice, the way her body was stiff even as she cried—it told me everything I needed to know. I had broken her.

The walk back to my apartment feels endless. My chest is tight, my hands trembling as I unlock the door and step into the darkness. I don’t bother turning on the lights; the darkness feels appropriate. I collapse on the couch, staring at the ceiling, her words replaying in my head like a broken record.

“You broke me, Chris.”

I should’ve known this would happen. I thought I was doing the right thing by pulling back, by trying to protect her from me. But instead, I became the exact thing I was afraid of—a source of pain in her life.

The days blur together. I barely leave my apartment, ignoring texts from my friends, dodging questions about why I haven’t been at parties. The only thing I can think about is her—what she’s doing, if she’s okay, if she’s as miserable as I am.

It takes you days to muster the courage to even think about seeing him again. The hurt is still fresh, raw, but beneath it, there’s something else—an ache that won’t go away, a pull you can’t ignore.

You tell yourself you’re stupid, that you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak all over again. But no matter how much you try to convince yourself to let him go, you can’t.

When you finally decide to go to his apartment, your hands are shaking the entire walk there. Your mind is racing, every step filled with doubt and second-guessing. What if he slams the door in my face? What if he’s done with me? What if I’m making a mistake?

Before you can chicken out, you knock. The sound echoes in the quiet hallway, and your heart pounds as you wait.

The door opens, and there he is—Chris, looking just as wrecked as you feel. His hair is messy, his eyes tired, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he can’t believe you’re standing here.

“Y/N,” he says softly, his voice hoarse.

“I—can I come in?” you ask, your voice trembling.

He nods immediately, stepping aside to let you in.

The apartment is dim, cluttered in a way that screams he’s been neglecting everything. Empty takeout containers sit on the counter, and a blanket is haphazardly thrown on the couch. The sight of it tugs at something inside you, a reminder that you’re not the only one who’s been falling apart.

You stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure where to start. The air between you two is heavy, filled with everything left unsaid.

“What are you doing here?” he asks again, his voice softer this time.

You let out a shaky breath, staring at the floor. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I’ve been trying to figure that out since I knocked on your door.”

Chris doesn’t say anything, and the silence stretches. It’s unbearable, like it might crush you if you don’t fill it.

“I thought I could move on,” you say, your voice trembling. “I thought if I stayed away long enough, it wouldn’t hurt so much. But it hasn’t stopped hurting, Chris. It just keeps getting worse.”

You glance up at him, and the look on his face—hopeful, broken, desperate—makes your chest tighten.

“Y/N…”

“No, let me finish,” you interrupt, holding up a hand. “I don’t know if this is a mistake. I don’t know if I’m setting myself up to get hurt again. But being without you—it’s killing me.”

His expression crumples, and he steps closer, his hands twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if he’s allowed. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?” he asks, his voice breaking. “Every second of every day, Y/N. I’ve missed you so much it feels like I can’t breathe.”

You swallow hard, tears stinging your eyes. “Then why did you leave? Why did you make me feel like I wasn’t good enough? Like I wasn’t worth staying for?”

Chris flinches like you’ve slapped him, his face twisting in pain. “I was scared,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was so scared of messing things up, of hurting you, that I did the one thing I promised myself I’d never do. I hurt you anyway.”

“Yeah, you did,” you say, your voice cracking. “You hurt me more than anyone else ever has, Chris. Because I trusted you. I let you in, and you left.”

“I know,” he says, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I know, and I hate myself for it. But I’m here now, Y/N. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. If you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that you can trust me again.”

You stare at him, your heart aching at the raw vulnerability in his voice. “How am I supposed to believe that, Chris? How am I supposed to believe you won’t leave again the second things get hard?”

“You don’t have to believe me right now,” he says, stepping closer. “But let me show you. Let me prove it. Because I can’t lose you again, Y/N. I can’t.”

The tears spill over before you can stop them, and you wipe at your face angrily, hating how exposed you feel. “You broke me, Chris,” you whisper. “I don’t know if I can put myself back together for you.”

Chris’s voice breaks as he replies, “You don’t have to put yourself back together alone. Let me help you. Please, Y/N.”

You close your eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on you. Every instinct screams at you to protect yourself, to run before you get hurt again. But there’s a small, fragile part of you that wants to believe him. That wants to believe you can find your way back to each other.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice trembling. “I’m scared of getting hurt again. I’m scared of putting my trust in you and having it break me all over again. But being without you… it hurts more than the fear. It hurts more than anything.”

Chris moves closer, his hands reaching for yours but stopping just short, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Y/N,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll never hurt you again. I swear. I know I messed up, and I know I don’t deserve this, but if you let me try—if you let me prove myself—I’ll spend every day showing you that you can trust me.”

His words wash over you, and for the first time in weeks, the tightness in your chest eases just a little.

“You have to mean it, Chris,” you say, your voice firm despite the tears in your eyes. “I can’t go through this again. I can’t handle it if you change your mind or decide I’m not worth it.”

“You are worth it,” he says immediately, his voice breaking. “You’ve always been worth it. I was just too stupid to see that I was pushing away the best thing in my life. But I see it now, Y/N. And I’m not going to mess this up again.”

You stare at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt, any hint that he doesn’t mean what he’s saying. But all you see is sincerity, raw and unfiltered.

“Okay,” you whisper finally, your voice barely audible.

“Okay?” he asks, his eyes wide.

“Okay,” you repeat, nodding. “But this is your last chance, Chris. If you break my heart again, that’s it.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “I won’t,” he promises, his voice steady. “I won’t.”

When he pulls you into his arms, you let yourself believe him. Just this once, you let yourself hope.

Rebuilding with Chris feels like learning to walk again—hesitant, unsteady, but full of determination. Every step forward is deliberate, built on a foundation of late-night conversations and whispered reassurances.

He’s patient with you, more than you ever expected. There’s no rush, no pressure, just quiet understanding. The first time you hold hands again, it’s during a walk through the park. His fingers intertwined with yours, warm and steady, and for the first time in a long time, you feel safe.

You spend nights talking until dawn, the words spilling out like they’ve been trapped for too long. Chris tells you stories from his childhood, his biggest fears, his dreams. You open up about your past, the parts of you you’ve always been afraid to share. He listens without judgment, his eyes soft and full of something you’re still learning to trust.

One night, the two of you make pancakes in your kitchen. They’re a disaster—burnt on one side and raw on the other—but Chris laughs so hard he almost drops the pan. “I think we’ve discovered a new low for culinary arts,” he says, grinning as he flips the pancake onto the counter instead of the plate.

You laugh too, the sound surprising even you. It feels good—light, unburdened.

“Maybe we should stick to cereal,” you reply, leaning against the counter.

He smirks, sliding an arm around your waist. “Or we could just keep burning pancakes together. Could be our thing.”

The intimacy of the moment makes your heart ache in the best way.

A few weeks later, Chris invites you to a party at his frat. This time, you feel different walking into the crowded house. His hand rests on the small of your back, steady and sure, guiding you through the chaos.

The music is loud, and the room is packed, but Chris stays close, always keeping you within arm’s reach. At one point, he leans down, his breath warm against your ear. “You doing okay?”

You nod, smiling up at him. “Yeah, I’m good.”

You both make your way to the kitchen, where his friends are gathered around the makeshift bar. Chris greets them with his usual charm, his confidence infectious. But when he introduces you, there’s something different in his tone.

“This is Y/N,” he says, his arm slipping around my shoulders. He looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. “My girlfriend.”

The word sends a rush of warmth through you, and you can’t help but smile. His friends greet you warmly, their jokes lighthearted and teasing. But it’s Chris’s hand in yours, his thumb brushing against your skin, that keeps me grounded.

Later, you both find a quieter corner of the house, away from the noise. Chris pulls you onto a worn couch, his arm draped over your shoulders. You sit there for a while, talking and laughing like it’s just the two of you.

“Did you ever think we’d get here?” you ask, your voice soft.

Chris tilts his head, his eyes meeting yours. “I hoped. Even when I thought I’d messed everything up, I hoped. I didn’t want to lose you, Y/N.”

You reach for his hand, squeezing it gently. “You almost did.”

He nods, his expression serious. “I know. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure I never come close to that again.”

For the first time, you believe him completely.

As the night winds down, Chris leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The warmth of it settles deep in your chest, a reminder that maybe, just maybe, some risks are worth taking.

And as you leave the party together, his hand in yours, you know we’re not just rebuilding. You’re creating something entirely new. Something strong. Something real. Something worth guarding.

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This is the last chapter! Ah I love the two of them so much and a little happy ending

⭒ margot

@mattsdillon @hesvoid3434 @admeliora94 @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fandom #sturniolo fluff #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo

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lucy90712 · 4 hours ago

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Coming home for Christmas- Jude Bellingham

A/n: Happy holidays guys, I have one more Christmas story to come out in the next few days and then a surprise new mini series for new years so get ready Christmas is supposed to be a happy and joyful time of year but this year I just can't get myself in the Christmas spirit. My boyfriend Jude was supposed to spend Christmas with me and my family this year I left a week before Christmas to spend more time with my family and he was supposed to join us after his last league game but due to bad weather he hasn't been able to get a flight. He's been trying for days and last night he text me and said the last flight that would get here on time got cancelled and he wouldn't be able to make it. I had to hide my sadness in front of my siblings as they didn't need me to ruin Christmas for them but once they had gone to bed I did have a good cry with my mum.

Last year I spent Christmas with Jude's family so this year we were supposed to switch and he'd spend Christmas with my family for the first time. I was so excited to have him here and so were my parents and siblings as they love Jude. We had so many plans and Jude was going to join in with all the family Christmas traditions like the matching pyjamas which I have on while I cry looking at Jude's untouched pair on the dresser in my room. Jude did promise to FaceTime me for most of the day but it just won't be the same as having him here.

~~~~~~~~~~

I must've fallen asleep at some point last night as I got woken up by my youngest sister jumping on top of me yelling that Santa had been. She was trying to drag me out of bed and straight downstairs but I managed to convince her to wait just a minute which gave me just enough time to brush my teeth and grab a hoodie to keep me warm. It was only as I walked down the stairs I realised I had one of Jude's hoodies on which made me miss him all over again. Yet again I put on a smile as all my younger siblings were so excited and looking at all the gifts waiting for them under the tree.

The kids really wanted to open presents but my parents insisted we all have breakfast first which in recent years has become my job as everyone loves my pancake recipe. I got the hint and got up to start making the pancakes but before I could get very far the doorbell rang and because I was closest I offered to answer it. My parents didn't say anything which has me a bit confused as I thought they'd be more curious about who was at the door at 7am on Christmas Day but I didn't think much else of it.

I opened the door still holding the spoon I was about to use to mix the pancake batter but that quickly landed on the ground when I saw Jude stood in front of me. I couldn't believe it he wasn't supposed to be here but here he is stood right in front of me. After taking a second to process what just happened I jumped into his arms which luckily he was expecting and he caught me holding me tightly to his chest.

"What are you doing here I thought your flight was cancelled" I said

"I may have lied the flight was delayed for a while but I got in at 3am and slept in the airport for a bit before getting a taxi here to surprise you I thought it would be fun to see your face when I turned up which is why I didn't tell you" he said

"This is the best Christmas present ever I was so sad that you were going to miss everything but now you're here you can help me make pancakes as that's the first tradition we have" I said excitedly

"Let me bring my bags in then I'll help make your famous pancakes" he said

I helped him bring in his suitcases and he took one up to my room but he told me to leave the other one downstairs as it had presents in. He greeted all of my family on his way back down and made sure to act over the top excited when the kids showed him all the gifts under the tree. Eventually he escaped and helped me make the pancakes and serve them as they came out the pan. As Jude can’t take anything seriously for more than five minutes once I'd made both of us some pancakes he grabbed the whipped cream and put some on the pancakes but also my nose. He managed to take a picture before I could wipe the cream off and put it in his face instead. We had to clean up otherwise I'd get in trouble but we laughed the entire time which really made me happy as this is exactly what I wished today would be like.

After breakfast it was time to open presents so Jude went and got his second suitcase which was completely filled with presents which he'd clearly wrapped himself as they weren't very neat but it's the thought that counts. He'd got a couple presents for all my siblings and my parents then he piled the rest of them up in front of me. He has a tendency to go a bit overboard with presents but I didn't expect him to get so much for the rest of my family too as I told him that he didn't have to and I could put some of my presents from him too. The kids all opened their presents first which they were very happy with especially their gifts from Jude as he got them all things they really wanted so they were happy.

While they played with their new toys the rest of us took turns opening gifts. Jude really showed me up with the gifts he got my parents but I'm ok with it as it just shows me that I picked the best boyfriend who cares for my entire family not just me. I managed to redeem myself with my presents for Jude as I went all out I got him things I knew he'd like but also some more sentimental personal gifts which he seemed to really love. Jude can be hard to buy for as he already has everything and he makes a hell of a lot more than I do but I like getting him things that mean something. Jude like always got me things he knew I'd love and like always he was right although I think I'm going to need another suitcase to get it all back out Madrid.

Just when I thought he couldn't possibly have bought any more gifts for me he grabbed my hand and took me to my room upstairs where he handed me a small wrapped box. I took the wrapping paper off but hesitated for a second before opening the box because part of me wondered if it was an engagement ring and as much as I love Jude we said we would wait a bit longer to take that next step in our relationship. My heart rate felt like it tripled when I opened the box and saw a beautiful but delicate ring but Jude quickly managed to calm me down.

"Don't worry this isn't an engagement ring I know we agreed to wait for that but I wanted you to have something that showed how much I love you and shows my commitment to you until the day I give you a proper ring so I guess this a promise ring my promise to always be there by your side and to love you" he said nearly making me cry

"Jude that's the sweetest thing you've ever said and this ring is beautiful" I said

"I hoped you'd like it and I get if you don't want to wear it on your ring finger we don't want to give people the wrong impression but I thought you could wear it on your right hand and it could be our little secret only we know the true meaning behind it" he said

"Thats a great idea" I said leaning in to kiss him

"I do have them sometimes" he joked

I gave him another kiss before he put the ring on my finger and we headed back downstairs. It was a matter of seconds before Jude was stolen from me by my brothers to play football even though it's freezing outside. Before I knew it I'd been roped in too and I was forced to be in goal but it was kind of ok with me as it meant I could put on thicker gloves and pretend they are goalkeeping gloves. Jude taught the boys a lot of little tricks which they picked up quickly and soon they were able to get just as many goals past me as Jude. They had fun but eventually even they felt the cold and we all got to go back inside where my sister was waiting with her new dolls that Jude got her so he was made to play with her but he didn't seem to mind. One of the many reasons I love Jude is because he's so good with all my siblings and they all love him so much when I come home they always ask for Jude even when he's not with me.

Jude eventually got freed from doll playing duties and we got to relax for a little while before my mum started cooking the Christmas dinner and I agreed to help along with Jude who decided he didn't want to leave my side. I was a little nervous about him helping as he's not the best cook in fact he's the worst cook I know but with detailed instructions he did quite well dealing with the vegetables. As he watched the water bubbling his arms wrapped around my waist while I made the Yorkshire puddings which didn't help me at all but he's cute and I've missed him in our week apart so I let him. Once my part was done my mum made us go and enjoy ourselves which we didn't need to be told twice we finally got a few minutes to ourselves to relax and cuddle on the sofa.

Dinner was lovely my mum did a great job and Jude was proud of his contribution so I didn't bother telling him the carrots were slightly overdone. For the whole meal he had a hand on my thigh occasionally rubbing circles on it all while smiling at me like he'd just seen a puppy. His smile was so infectious that we were both smiling at each other throughout the entire meal and completely in our down world. This is exactly how I pictured Christmas with Jude being the little moments like playing with my siblings, cooking together and enjoying dinner together really just made my heart feel filled with love and the Christmas spirit.

After dinner we didn't have to help with cleaning up as we both helped cook so Jude carried me upstairs over his shoulders to my room. He insisted that we put on our matching pyjamas as he missed that part of my family tradition and then he made sure we took pictures together which he promised he would post but I know in a few hours one will be on his instagram story. Despite it only being 8pm we got ready for bed and got under the covers to cuddle as that's the only thing that felt right to end off the perfect day. Just when I thought things couldn't get any better Jude put on miracle on 34th street which I love to watch but he doesn't so I know he did it just for me.

"I'm so glad you could make it today has been the best day" I said

"Me too your whole family are so lovely your brothers are going to be great footballers, your sister has one hell of an imagination and your parents are just so kind to me" he said

"They all love you so much probably more than me but that's ok because I love seeing all of you get along" I said

"Well my family loves you more than me so I guess we're even" he joked

"I guess we are" I smiled kissing him before settling back down to finish watching the movie

#jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham #football imagine

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4vanaa · 9 hours ago

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WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING, rafe cameron, 10

summary: y/n left the outer banks years ago, determined to build a life far from the memories of her childhood love, rafe cameron. now a botanist, she's moved on-though a quiet part of her still clings to the past. when an event brings her back to OBX, she's forced to confront the one person she never truly forgot.

cw: slight angst, mature language | masterlist | 09 | 11 |

❀ ❀ ❀ - indication that the chapter takes place in the past!!

❀ ❀ ❀

The wooden planks beneath your feet are slick with mist, the chill seeping through your sneakers and biting at your skin. The water below laps gently against the beams, a sound that used to soothe you. Now, it just feels hollow — like everything else.

You hug your arms around yourself, trying to ward off the cold that has nothing to do with the night air. You aren’t even sure why you’re here. Maybe for closure. Maybe because you still need to see him one last time. To understand how everything you built together fell apart so violently.

Footsteps behind you, hesitant and uneven, interrupt the quiet. He’s here.

You turn slowly, and there he is.

Rafe.

His hair is tousled and damp, like he’s been running his hands through it for hours. His eyes are red-rimmed, exhaustion and something more — something deeper — clouding them. His shoulders slump under the weight of everything unsaid, and when his eyes lock onto yours, you feel it. That electric ache, raw and unresolved.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence stretches between you, sharp as broken glass.

“You came,” he finally says, his voice low and rough, like it physically pains him to get the words out.

“You asked,” you reply, your words coming out quieter than you intended. Your heart aches at the sight of him — how can you still feel this way about him after everything? But you swallow the feeling, pushing it down deep.

He takes a step forward, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His eyes trace your face, lingering on the tear-streaks on your cheeks, the way your jaw is set firm. Like you’re holding yourself together with sheer willpower.

Even now, when everything is shattered, his voice drops into that familiar rough drawl. “How do you still look this good?” The compliment, if it even is one, is soaked in bitterness and disbelief. “I’m falling apart, and you… you look like you just walked out of one of those memories I can’t fucking escape.”

Your breath catches in your throat, but you fight to keep your composure. “Don’t do that, Rafe. Don’t turn this into something it’s not.”

He laughs bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “What’s it supposed to be, then? Just another night where I realize I can’t ever have you back?” His voice cracks, his eyes burning into yours. “I can’t stop fucking thinking about you. Every night. Every goddamn second.”

A tear slips down your cheek, and you wipe it away quickly. “Thinking about me doesn’t change what you did. It doesn’t fix how you treated me.”

“I know.” His voice trembles, and his hands shake as they fall from his hair. “I know, and I hate myself for it.”

You want to say something cutting. Something to make him feel the weight of what he’s done. But all that comes out is a strangled whisper. “You made your choice.”

He flinches, his face twisting. “I didn’t mean to. God, I didn’t mean to, Sunshine. I—I didn’t mean to push you away.” He takes another step, his hands trembling. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

The nickname hits you like a punch to the gut. Sunshine. The name he used to call you when everything felt right between you two. Now it only feels like a lie.

“Don’t,” you say, voice sharp. You take a step back, arms crossing over your chest like a shield. “Don’t call me that.”

He hesitates, but then his gaze softens. His voice breaks as he whispers, “I can’t help it. You’re still my sunshine.” He reaches out, like he’s about to touch your arm, but pulls back, his hand falling to his side. “Even if you hate me for it. I can’t stop myself.”

You press your lips together, your chest tight with grief and frustration. “You wanted to trap me, Rafe. You couldn’t stand the idea that I had a life outside of you.”

“I wanted to be enough for you.” His voice is desperate, eyes pleading. “I wanted to be the only thing you needed.”

“But that was never the problem.” You shake your head, your voice trembling. “I loved you, Rafe. I chose you, over and over. But you were so busy trying to keep me somewhere I already was, that you didn’t realize you were pushing me away.” You let out a shaky breath, the ache in your chest almost unbearable. “By the time you noticed, I was already gone.”

He steps closer, eyes shining with tears he refuses to let fall. “I can’t let you go.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

His hands reach for you, but stop short, like he’s afraid to touch you, afraid he’ll break you again. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” you say, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You didn’t want me when you had me. And now you want me to stay?”

His shoulders sag under the weight of those words. He looks at you like he’s dying inside, like the thought of losing you is something he’ll never recover from. And maybe that’s true. But it doesn’t matter now.

“I never wanted this,” he chokes out, tears running down his face. “I just wanted you.”

“But you chose something else.” Your voice breaks, and you step back, each movement like walking through shards of glass. “Goodbye, Rafe.”

You turn, tears blinding you as you walk away. The sound of your footsteps fades into the night, and he doesn’t follow. Behind you, the boy you loved shatters in the dark, his sobs swallowed by the empty silence he created.

a/n: 🥳🥳 10 chapters of while you were sleeping eek !! the final past chapter!!

tags: @xoxo-ada @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @sleepiibunniiii @urbrunettebombshell @sideboobrry11 @acidfeens @marleymarleymarleymarley

#rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe fic #rafe cameron angst #rafe angst #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe x reader #obx season 4 #drew starkey #rafe cameron x oc #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey fanfiction #outer banks angst #while you were sleeping

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kissingarthurclaus · 8 months ago

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Grrggh...good morning everypony = w = I rewatched the episode of the ppg reboot where Utonium gets a girlfriend...

#jane journals #self insert talk #🔬 starkissed scientist 🔬#i woke up at 5 in the gah damn morning and MY HEADPHONES are gone so im gonna have to ride the bus w/o them >:[#hell on earth 10 dead 4 missing!!!#and i choose to do this before i go ajfjg #anyways this sucks #like im not bothered by love interests but this whole reboot is ass and the characters are badly written #but theres like....at least one or two cute moments where utonium is smooth with it >//<#it cant even get the FIRST THING RIGHT ABOUT HIM THO #in literally THE FIRST EPISODE he says that spiders creep him out and they basically just. not even ignore but contradict it entirely #for why? the purpose of this ep where the love interest studies spiders and turns into one ig #they could say that hes PRETENDING to like them because he likes her. but they didnt do that #ALSO why spider? why not werewolf? that would be hot #and the love interest is that bland brand of 'adorkable' thats so disingenuous #on the other hand i DO like spiders. and the way she talks to one and like treats it like a pet...yeah id do that ._.#and idk they always write utonium as way more harsh than he'd usually be especially with bubbles #he wouldnt tell her shes being SELFISH by not wanting to give away her last piece of popcorn to a spider #especially when she barely got any #maybe he'd remind her that its GOOD to be generous BUT NOT CALL HER SELFISH #but yeah....theres maybe a moment or two 😒#like when his love interest spoils a whole MOVIE for the girls and ofc theyre upset #but he holds her face and says 'everything i need to see is right here'...>//<#THAT was smooth #and idk they don't play with the idea of the girls wanting to break them up ENOUGH #they just write one fake email and its done. then spider reveal #it sucks maybe i shouldnt have started my day this way 😂😂😂#whatever hopefully work is good!!#and i always have og utoniom to think about 🥺👉👈💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘

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onskepa · 7 months ago

Note

Hi how are you? If you want, could you tell us what your headcanons would be for what the Sully children's relationship would be like with a human/avatar mother who was mated with Jake and Neytiri? Thank you very much, have a great day!

I can see a lot of possible outcomes for this one! So here ya go! Enjoy!

P.S: Reader will not be given a name in this one, instead she will be called "small mama"

Pinnacle protection

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

Pinnacle motherhood

Right off the bat, the whole family loves their third mother, second mate. Jake sully couldn't ask for a better family, and better mates. Especially his little human mate. Neytiri will agree with him, while yes she has her children to hug, her little mate is just what she needs. Something small yet full of love just for her.

Now like any trio, there is a balance between the parents. Jake is the head of the family, the brains with his clever ideas. Neytiri at times can be the brains but most muscle due to her skills in fighting and hunting. And their beloved human is the heart of the family. Keeping everyone together.

And like any child, the sully kids will have favorites. And their favorite is their amazing human mother. She is the most fun, loving parent any child could ever ask for. Are they not getting their way with Jake or neytiri? To mama it is! And mama will always fold by the simple look of her kids.

Another thing about their favorite mama, they all believe she has the power to read their minds. How else would it explain she knows their next move?

Lo’ak and tuk can recall so many instances where they were barely forming an idea only for their mama to say “dont even think about it” or “it is not worth the trouble”.

For neteyam, as he is the oldest he does try to be a good example for his mischievous siblings, along with holding so many responsibilities, but he can always count on his small mama for anything. Small mama consoles him, talking about anything neteyam has his mind about.

Unlike Jake or neytiri who neteyam has to put up a strong warrior face, with a small mama he can revert back to being a baby with her. He feels safe and be a kid again with her. And small mama always called him her “little baby boy”. Neteyam won't admit it but he likes it when she calls him that.

For kiri, she definitely adores her small mama. She is closer to her third parent than she is with neytiri. Not to be mean or anything. But with Jake, Kiri can talk about what odd things happen around her, ask her about her mother and stuff but with her small mama. Well, she can express far more with her, be free to say anything not be judged upon. Kiri can dare say small mama understands her more than anyone in the world.

With tuk, the baby of the family. Why, she loves to be the taller one, it makes her happy. Of course she would never tease her small mama that she is taller, but small mama would call her “tiny tuk”. A name tuk loves and will glady flex it for some reason.

If tuk can't go somewhere with her older siblings, small mama would personally take her anywhere she wants to go. As long as it is safe. With small mama, everything is fun and never boring. Tuk loves the times where her hair is braided or she braids small mama’s hair.

Now, if small mama would use her avatar, nothing much would change. Except that now the kids will demand piggy back rides. Tuk or lo’ak would be front of the line for that.

Hunting would be easier and much more fun with jake and neytiri, running, riding their ikrans, less risk overall.

Even with her avatar, she is still short compared to her two mates. She is smaller than Neytiri by 9 ½ inches. Not something she is super thrilled about. No matter what body, she is still small mama through and through.

Small mama is forever grateful to live her best life with her family, loving them and saying her thanks to Eywa for blessing her to be the best of her two worlds. Through hardships, through trials, small mama has a mighty heart and a roar of an ikran. Yes sometimes she might be stressed or frustrated but life is not perfect. Small mama knows that all too well. But there is nothing better than what she has.

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tender-rosiey · 1 year ago

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“OH GOD! IT’S WALKING?!”

— baby’s first steps with gojo, nanami, geto, and sukuna (f!reader)

GOJO SATORU:

your daughter simply adores her father, and she is almost as energetic as him. you recall multiple times when he would pick her up smiling, and she would hold his face giggling and smiling just as much.

it’s such a cute scene, and you have at least 6 similar photos.

so yeah, it doesn’t surprise you that she keeps looking at the door, waiting for him to come back from his mission.

you’re both sitting on the ground, a little distance from the door. you lightly tickle her, “you wanna see dada?”

she looks up to you then looks to the door and murmurs, “dada.”

“he will be here soon; I promise,” you press a kiss to her cheek, and she squeals. soon, the door clicks and it slowly opens to reveal your dear husband who’s holding what you think are bags of sweets, toys, and souvenirs.

“the world’s best dad and husband is here!” he announces brightly. quickly, you get your phone out to record yet another cute moment between your daughter and your husband.

however, neither you nor your husband expected your little girl to stand up excitedly and try to waddle her way to her dad.

“dada! dada!” she says as she hurriedly stumbles and waddles her way to him.

satoru kneels down on the ground, opening his arms widely as he grins, “yes, dada! come to dada, baby!”

successfully, the girl stumbles into satoru’s arms and giggles as he peppers her face with kisses.

he looks up to you with a pout, shifting d/n into one arm, “excuse me, but I would like my two favorite girls to be in my arms, right now!”

you chuckle and settle into his embrace and he presses a kiss to the top of her head and your own.

d/n gives him a kiss—more like simply put her mouth on his cheek—and nuzzles into his chest. satoru grins before looking at you, “she is so cute!”

you quip with a big smile, “I got that on video!”

“you and your gorgeous mind,” he hums as he kisses your cheek.

NANAMI KENTO:

“kento, you’re going to grow grey hair early like this.”

honestly, you can’t blame him for worrying like this. you were finally going on vacation, so your husband wanted everything to be organized.

the last thing he needs is a headache after he finally got rid of the walking one (read: gojo).

he sits down, sighing, “I know; I just don’t want anything to go wrong.”

you chuckle, and settle down beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, “don’t worry,” you say, “we checked everything over a million times. nothing will go wrong.”

nanami smiles tiredly before pulling you into a gentle kiss, “well, I guess you’re right,” he looks around for a moment, “where is d/n?”

“she is playing with her toys on the mat; why?”

“she is not on the mat.”

“she is not on the what?!” you yell, bolting out of your seat and frantically searching for her, “d/n, honey, where are you?!”

“y/n, calm down!” your husband tries to comfort you, “she is still in the house, so don’t stress about it; we will find her.”

as if on cue, a giggle and a coo are heard behind nanami. he turns to find the culprit, his 10 months old girl grinning. she squeals and tries to walk towards him, hands eagerly reaching out for him.

she is stumbling a bit, and her steps are clumsy, and nanami couldn’t have been prouder.

he smiles fondly, “good girl, d/n,” he opens his arms, encouraging, “you can do it.”

she flails her arms as she giggles, “da-dada!”

d/n finally reaches his leg and holds onto it for dear life. she starts swaying as she looks up at him, “dada!” he bends down to kiss the top of her head.

she hums happily, before waddling towards you, worried, “mama?”

you breathe a sigh of relief and hold her in your arms, “you got me worried, baby,” you stroke her hair and she nuzzles into your embrace, little hands gripping your shirt tightly.

nanami lets out a chuckle as he watches your daughter starts to fall asleep in your arms.

he moves to hug you two, and hums with content, “and you say that I am the worrywart.”

GETO SUGURU:

“y/n, what makes you so sure that they will start walking soon?” your husband says as he watches his two little girls play in the garden.

he already had nanako and mimiko, but god chose to grace him with his own pair of twins.

he couldn’t be happier, especially with way the twins both care for each other and beam whenever they see him.

he also adores seeing them play with you; it brings a type of serenity to his heart.

you chuckle, “call it a mother’s instincts.”

suguru rolls his eyes and pulls you by the waist, “you showing off, pretty?”

“nope! just asserting dominance.”

with a roll of his eyes, he gives you a peck on the nose. the both of you then settle down on the grass as well, quietly watching the girls try to chase—wait what chase?

suguru and you lock eyes, and he quickly scrambles to get the camera. meanwhile, you’re trying to encourage the girls to continue their walking, “who’s winning, girls?”

each one of the stumbling babies yells out a—supposedly—‘me!’. they‘re both squealing as they walk around.

soon enough, suguru makes an appearance and starts recording, “I am gonna get you!”

the girls squeal and try their best to run away from the big bad monster.

the very cute thing that even has suguru pausing in his chase is that when one of them falls, the other waits for her or tries to help her up.

of course, the latter mostly results in both of them falling on their small little bums. luckily, they clumsily stand up instead of crying their eyes out.

they get tired eventually though, so they waddle their way to you. both of them sit beside you and rest their heads on your lap.

suguru stands in front of you, hands on his hips, “you leaving me out of this group cuddle?”

your twins perk up and turn their heads to peak at him and they giggle when he pouts. still, they open their little arms for their dad to join the family hug, “dada! hug!”

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

your husband is not exactly the most enthusiastic father.

he wasn’t that affected by your son’s first word being dada, and a lot of things that you can’t be bothered to think about.

so yeah, you’re left with the role to be the encouraging parent, and to hype your son whenever he accomplishes something.

so obviously, your son adores you more than he does his father. however, there is no denying that sukuna’s genes are indeed strong.

despite the kid’s beaming smile, he could be choking a snake. it actually reminds you of that one hercules scene.

your son also has a quicker development than most kids, but it doesn’t lessen the excitement when he finally took his first steps.

you held onto sukuna’s arms, pointing at your boy, “sukuna, look, he is walking!”

“so?”

you pause then look at your husband, “what do you mean ‘so’?” you grin, “they’re his first steps, you silly goose!”

sukuna frowns, “I am not a silly goose,” he then rolls his eyes, “he was going to start walking sooner or later anyway, woman.”

you huff, “you’re no fun.”

however, you don’t get to dwell on it for much longer as you hear the scream of one of the servants. you and your husband are looking towards them, and—suffice to say—it’s a memorable scene.

your son, who just started walking, is somehow holding a wooden pickaxe and waddling his way behind the servant.

he is grinning and squealing too like he isn’t about to beat up an innocent person (it reminds you of something or rather someone).

the servant is surprisingly terrified form the kid as she screams, “my lady, please save me!”

you have no idea how a grown woman is terrified of a one year old, but you will give her the benefit of the doubt that he is, after all, the son of the king of curses.

you sigh with a chuckle and walk towards them, “on my way.”

the kid squeals, waddling quicker after the servant who’s about to shit her pants.

meanwhile, sukuna is smirking proudly as he watches his son, “now, that’s my kid.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @sonder-paradise @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author @stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412 @anakalana @maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

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josephandrewstarkey · 3 months ago

Note

drew and reader have a toddler but they are broken up because reader thinks that drew and odessa are together. drew came to pick up the toddler and they start arguing over nothing because they miss each other so much.

ty for your request anon, i hope you like it!

second chances

warnings: slight angst

disclaimer: this is absolutely no shade/hate towards odessa, this is simply just for the plot <3

words: 1.036

❧ drew starkey x reader

The familiar sound of Drew’s car pulling up in the driveway sent a wave of tension through Y/N. She adjusted her grip on their toddler, Harper, who was happily babbling in her arms, blissfully unaware of the heavy silence that had settled between her parents for weeks.

It hadn’t been easy since the breakup. Y/N had thought she could handle it, but every time Drew came to pick up their daughter, the ache in her chest only grew deeper. It wasn’t just the end of their relationship that stung—it was the constant thought that he had moved on with Odessa. The rumors, the paparazzi photos, they all painted a picture that was too hard to ignore.

As Drew walked up the steps and knocked on the door, Y/N’s pulse quickened. She let out a slow breath and opened the door, greeted by the sight of him—his tousled hair, the familiar warmth in his eyes as he looked at Harper. For a moment, her heart faltered. Despite everything, seeing him still made her stomach flip.

“Hey,” Drew said softly, his eyes flicking to hers before focusing on Harper, who squealed with joy and reached out for him.

“Hi,” Y/N replied, handing their daughter over, careful to avoid letting their fingers touch. She couldn’t handle that right now.

Drew cradled Harper with ease, making her giggle as he kissed her cheek. For a moment, there was a pause, a heavy silence that neither of them knew how to fill.

“I’ve packed her bag,” Y/N said quickly, gesturing to the small backpack by the door. “Everything she’ll need for the weekend.”

Drew nodded, bouncing Harper slightly in his arms, though his gaze lingered on Y/N. “Thanks. I’ll have her back by Sunday night.”

Another stretch of silence filled the space between them, awkward and stifling. Y/N clenched her jaw, her mind swirling with all the things she wanted to say but couldn’t. She didn’t want to argue in front of Harper, but the frustration, the loneliness—it was all building inside her, begging to spill out.

And then it happened.

“So… how’s Odessa?” she asked, the words sharper than she intended, bitterness lacing her tone. She regretted it as soon as they left her lips, but the question hung in the air between them.

Drew’s brows furrowed, his hold on Harper tightening slightly. “What?”

Y/N crossed her arms defensively, her voice quieter now but still tense. “You two seem pretty close lately. The pictures... the rumors...”

Drew’s expression darkened, and he shifted Harper in his arms as she started to squirm. “Y/N, there’s nothing going on between me and Odessa. You know that.”

“Do I?” Y/N’s eyes flashed with hurt. “Because all I see is you spending more time with her than—”

“This again?” Drew interrupted, frustration creeping into his voice. “You’re really going to bring this up every time I come here? You think I don’t miss you? Miss us?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, the raw emotion in his voice catching her off guard. But she wasn’t ready to back down. “If you miss us so much, maybe you shouldn’t be cozying up to her in every photo.”

“I’m not cozying up to anyone,” Drew said, his voice rising slightly as he shifted Harper to his hip, trying to stay calm in front of their daughter. “I’m doing my job, Y/N. Odessa is a friend, and you know that. But you’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. “I made up my mind because you didn’t fight for us, Drew. You let us fall apart.”

Drew’s jaw clenched, his gaze softening as he saw the hurt written all over her face. “I didn’t want to lose you. I still don’t. But you keep pushing me away.”

“Because I can’t compete with her!” Y/N cried, her voice breaking. “I can’t compete with everything your world demands. It was always the two of us, and now... now it feels like I’m on the outside.”

Harper, sensing the tension, began to fuss, and Drew immediately began soothing her, rocking her gently. His eyes never left Y/N’s, though, filled with frustration, pain, and something else—something deeper.

“You’re not on the outside,” Drew said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re the one I love, Y/N. You’re the mother of my daughter, and you’re the only one I want. Odessa... she’s just a friend. That’s it.”

Y/N stared at him, her defenses crumbling as the weight of his words settled in. She wanted to believe him—God, she wanted to believe him so badly. But the pain of the last few months had built walls around her heart, and it wasn’t easy to just let them down.

“I miss you,” Drew whispered, his voice raw. “I miss us. This… this isn’t what I want. We’re a family, Y/N. I can’t keep doing this if we’re not going to at least try.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her heart aching as she looked at him, holding their daughter in his arms—their little family that felt so fractured. “I miss you too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t know how to fix this, Drew. I don’t know how to trust that it’ll be different.”

Drew stepped closer, his free hand reaching out to gently cup her cheek. She didn’t pull away. “We fix it by talking, by being honest. Not by pushing each other away. Please… let’s try. For Harper. For us.”

Tears slipped down Y/N’s cheeks as she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. She felt the weight of his words, the sincerity in them. Maybe they could try. Maybe they could find their way back to each other.

Opening her eyes, she met his gaze, filled with hope and longing. “Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s try.”

Drew let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his thumb brushing away her tears. “I love you, Y/N. That’s never changed.”

“I love you too,” she whispered, her heart finally beginning to mend.

And as Harper giggled between them, oblivious to the pain and healing happening around her, Y/N and Drew realized that maybe, just maybe, their family wasn’t broken after all.

#drew starkey #rafe cameron #drew starkey fic #rafe outer banks #my husband #drew starkey x reader #rafe obx #drew starkey smut #obx

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pucksandpower · 2 months ago

Text

Royal Pardon

Charles Leclerc x Arthur’s best friend!Reader

Summary: Charles isn’t a violent man at heart, but when he saves you from being harassed while celebrating his Monaco win, he quickly realizes that there’s not a single line he wouldn’t cross if it means keeping you safe

Warnings: attempted sexual assault, violence, and injury

Note: a break from your regularly scheduled October programming because Charles just won the United States GP and that calls for a celebration

The music pulses through the club, a steady, hypnotic beat that thrums in Charles’ chest. He’s never felt like this — untouchable, invincible — as if tonight could stretch on forever, an endless loop of victory and laughter.

He’s just won Monaco.

Monaco. His Monaco.

The thought alone makes him smile, a small, private thing that he hides behind the rim of his champagne flute.

Around him, the crowd swirls in a blur of lights and shadows, everyone shouting their congratulations over the music, pulling him into hugs and clapping him on the back. Arthur is here somewhere, of course, dragging you along because where else would you be? The two of you are like shadows, inseparable since childhood.

Charles can still see you, just barely, out of the corner of his eye, chatting with a couple of Arthur’s friends near the bar. You’re laughing, a sound that somehow cuts through the noise and settles in the back of his mind. It’s a good sound, one that feels familiar, like home.

“Charles, mate!” A voice shouts, pulling him back. Max is there, leaning in with a grin that’s all teeth, like he’s just as buzzed on adrenaline as Charles is. “I swear, you’re going to be insufferable after this. Monaco, finally!”

Charles laughs, shaking his head, though the truth is he probably will be insufferable. But can anyone blame him? He’s worked so damn hard for this, pushing through every setback, every disappointment. And now, here he is, celebrating the win of his career in the only place that really matters.

He’s about to respond when someone else pulls him into a hug, a flurry of excitement and congratulations that Charles barely processes. He doesn’t mind, though. Tonight, it feels like nothing can touch him, like nothing could ever bring him down from this high.

But then, something shifts. It’s subtle at first, just an itch at the back of his mind, a sense that something isn’t right. He glances over to where you and Arthur were standing, but Arthur is gone, nowhere to be seen. And you … you’re not laughing anymore.

Charles’ stomach twists. You’re cornered against the bar now, a man leaning in too close, too aggressive. Charles can’t see your face clearly through the throng of people, but the way you’re holding yourself, tense and small, tells him everything he needs to know.

His blood turns to ice, freezing the euphoria in his veins. He can’t hear what the man is saying, but it doesn’t matter. The way the man’s hand snakes around your waist, the way you try to push him off with trembling hands — Charles’ vision goes red.

He’s moving before he can think, pushing through the crowd with a single-minded focus. The people congratulating him moments ago scatter as he brushes past them, their laughter and cheers fading into the background noise.

“Hey!” Charles’ voice cuts through the music, sharp and commanding. The man doesn’t even turn at first, but you do, your eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. Charles feels something break inside him at the sight, but he channels it into a fury that propels him forward.

When the man finally notices Charles, it’s too late. Charles is on him, grabbing the man’s shoulder and yanking him away from you with a force that sends the man stumbling backward. “Get the fuck away from her,” Charles snarls, every syllable dripping with venom.

The man barely has time to react before Charles slams him against the wall, the impact rattling the bottles on the shelves behind the bar. Charles’ forearm presses against the man’s throat, cutting off whatever protest he might have had.

“Charles, stop!” You gasp, your voice choked with a mix of fear and something else, something that twists the knife already lodged in Charles’ chest. He doesn’t stop, though. Can’t stop. The image of the man’s hands on you is burned into his mind, and all he can think about is making him pay, making him hurt.

The man struggles, clawing at Charles’ arm, but it’s useless. Charles is stronger, fueled by a rage that’s been simmering just beneath the surface for too long. The man’s face turns red, then purple, and still, Charles doesn’t let up. His grip tightens, and he leans in closer, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

“If you ever so much as look at her again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and deadly serious. The man’s eyes widen, a flash of genuine fear crossing his face, but Charles doesn’t care. He wants him to be scared. Wants him to know that there’s no escaping this, no escaping the consequences of what he’s done.

“Charles, please!” Your voice breaks through the haze of anger, and it’s only then that Charles realizes how close you’ve gotten. You’re right there, your hand on his arm, tugging gently, desperately trying to pull him away.

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and sees the tears streaming down your face, the fear etched into your features. It’s like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head, shocking him back to reality. The club, the music, the people — all of it comes rushing back in a disorienting wave.

Charles blinks, his grip on the man loosening just enough for the man to gasp for air. He’s still furious, the anger simmering beneath the surface, but he’s no longer blind with it. He takes a breath, then another, trying to regain some semblance of control.

“You’re lucky she’s here,” Charles says quietly, his voice barely more than a growl. He shoves the man away from him, watching with cold satisfaction as he stumbles and nearly falls to the floor.

The man doesn’t stick around. He scrambles to his feet and disappears into the crowd, no doubt eager to get as far away from Charles as possible. Good. Charles hopes he never sees the man again, because he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop himself if he does.

For a moment, Charles just stands there, his chest heaving with the effort of reining in his emotions. The crowd has started to notice the commotion, a few curious onlookers craning their necks to see what’s going on. But none of that matters. None of them matter.

All that matters is you.

Charles turns to you, his expression softening as he takes in your tear-streaked face. “Are you okay?” His voice is gentler now, full of concern that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You nod, but it’s a shaky, uncertain thing. “I-I’m fine,” you manage, though it’s clear you’re anything but. You look like you’re about to collapse, your legs barely holding you up.

Without thinking, Charles steps closer and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. You don’t resist, you just sink into him, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if he’s the only thing keeping you upright. And maybe he is.

“It’s okay,” Charles murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “You’re safe now. I’m here.” He holds you tighter, as if he can shield you from the world, from everything that just happened. And for a moment, it feels like he can. Like nothing bad can touch you as long as you’re in his arms.

You don’t say anything, just press your face into his chest, your breath hitching with the remnants of your tears. Charles presses his lips to the top of your head, a gesture that feels both instinctive and impossibly intimate. He’s never held you like this before, never been this close, but it feels right.

The music still pounds in the background, the lights still flash in a dizzying array of colors, but it’s all distant now, muted. The only thing that matters is you, and making sure you’re okay.

Charles pulls back just enough to look down at you, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Where’s Arthur?” He asks, his voice still soft but edged with a protective concern.

“I-I don’t know,” you admit, your voice small. “He was here a minute ago, and then …” Your words trail off, and Charles doesn’t need you to finish the sentence to know what happened next.

He clenches his jaw, trying to keep his anger in check. Arthur should have been here, should have been looking out for you, but he isn’t. Charles isn’t sure where his brother is right now, but he’ll deal with that later. For now, he needs to focus on you.

“It’s okay,” he says again, though the words feel inadequate. “You’re with me now. No one’s going to hurt you.”

You nod again, but this time it’s a little steadier, a little more certain. “Thank you,” you whisper, the words barely audible over the music.

Charles shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says, his voice rougher than he intends. “I’ll always protect you. Always.”

The weight of those words hangs between you, a promise that feels more real than anything else in this moment. Charles knows, without a doubt, that he means it. He’ll protect you, no matter what. Even if it means facing down every threat, every danger, with the same ferocity he showed tonight.

He takes a deep breath, trying to let go of the lingering anger. The night isn’t over yet, but he’s not sure how much longer he can stand to be here, in this place that suddenly feels too crowded, too loud, too full of people who didn’t notice, didn’t care. Charles’ grip tightens on your shoulders as he scans the room, trying to spot Arthur in the sea of faces. But it’s a lost cause — the club is packed, and he knows Arthur could be anywhere.

“Come on,” Charles says, his voice a bit steadier now. “Let’s get out of here.”

You don’t argue, just nod and let him guide you through the crowd. The bodies pressing in around you both feel suffocating, the music that once electrified the night now grating on Charles’ nerves. He keeps a firm hold on your hand, as if letting go might mean losing you to the chaos.

As you near the exit, the cool night air becomes a welcome relief, a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat inside. The streets of Monaco are quieter now, the party shifting indoors as the night grows late. Charles doesn’t stop moving until you’re both far enough from the club that the noise fades into a dull hum, barely audible over the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks.

He finally releases your hand, only to immediately wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You’re shivering, whether from the cold or the shock, Charles isn’t sure. Either way, he holds you tighter, wishing he could do more, say more.

But the words don’t come easily. They never have. So instead, he just walks with you, slowly, allowing the night air to calm the both of you. You lean into him, and he can feel the tension gradually leaving your body, though you still seem a little too fragile, too breakable.

Charles isn’t sure how long you walk like that, side by side in the near silence, before you finally speak.

“Charles, I …” Your voice is hesitant, unsure. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.”

He stops walking, turning to face you, his expression serious. “You don’t have to think about that,” he says, his voice firm. “I was there. And I always will be.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his face for something — reassurance, perhaps, or maybe just understanding. “But what if next time-”

“There won’t be a next time.” Charles cuts you off, his voice harder than he intends. He takes a breath, softening his tone. “I won’t let there be a next time.”

He can see the worry still etched on your face, the remnants of fear that haven’t quite faded. He wishes he could take it all away, erase the memory of that man and the way he made you feel. But he knows he can’t. All he can do is be there, to protect you, to make sure you know that you’re not alone.

“You’re safe,” he repeats, quieter now, but with no less conviction. “As long as I’m here, you’re safe.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment, and he wonders what you’re thinking, what’s going on behind those eyes that have always been so easy for him to read. Eventually, you nod, and some of the tension in your posture seems to melt away.

“Okay,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

Charles nods too, though a part of him still feels on edge, like the danger hasn’t completely passed. But he pushes that feeling down, focusing instead on you, on the fact that you’re here with him, and that’s all that matters right now.

“Let’s go,” he says again, but this time, his voice is softer, more gentle. He takes your hand again, lacing his fingers with yours, and starts walking, leading you away from the club, from the noise and the memories that he hopes you’ll never have to revisit.

As you walk, the tension between you both begins to ease. The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of the sea, and for the first time in what feels like hours, Charles allows himself to breathe.

He glances over at you, your profile illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. You look calmer now, more like yourself, though there’s still a shadow of what happened lingering in your eyes. Charles’ heart aches at the sight, at the knowledge that he couldn’t protect you from that, even if he was there to stop it from getting worse.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he just keeps walking, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your knuckles, a silent reassurance that he’s here, and he’s not going anywhere.

Eventually, you reach the familiar streets that lead back to your apartment. The night is quiet now, the revelry of earlier giving way to the peaceful stillness of a city that’s finally starting to sleep.

When you reach your building, you both stop, lingering on the sidewalk as if neither of you wants the night to end just yet. Charles knows he should say something, anything, but the words are stuck in his throat, too heavy and too complicated to untangle.

You’re the one who breaks the silence, your voice soft but clear. “Thank you. For everything.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says, echoing his earlier words. “I meant what I said — I’ll always protect you.”

There’s a pause, a beat of silence that stretches on just long enough to make Charles wonder if you’re going to say something more. But you don’t. Instead, you step closer and, without warning, wrap your arms around him in a tight hug.

Charles is momentarily stunned, his breath catching in his throat as he processes the warmth of your embrace, the way you cling to him like he’s your anchor in a storm. He hesitates for only a second before his arms come up around you, holding you just as tightly, if not more.

The hug lasts longer than it probably should, but neither of you seems to want to let go. When you finally do, you pull back just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his with a softness that makes his chest tighten.

“Goodnight, Charlie,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Goodnight,” he replies, his voice equally soft, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile moment between you.

You give him one last, lingering look before turning and heading into your building, the door closing softly behind you. Charles stands there for a moment, staring at the door, as if willing it to open again, as if hoping you might come back out and say something more.

But you don’t, and eventually, Charles turns and starts walking back the way you came, his thoughts a tangled mess of emotions he’s not sure how to deal with.

The night is still, the only sound the distant crash of the waves against the rocks. Charles lets the quiet seep into him, trying to find some semblance of calm, but it’s difficult. The image of you, scared and vulnerable, keeps flashing through his mind, a constant reminder of how close you came to being hurt.

He knows he should feel relief — that you’re safe, that the night ended without further incident. But instead, all he feels is a gnawing sense of guilt, of not having been there sooner, of not being able to protect you from everything.

Charles clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he walks. He doesn’t want to think about what could have happened if he hadn’t been there, doesn’t want to imagine the fear and pain you might have endured.

But he can’t stop the thoughts from coming, can’t shake the anger that simmers just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment.

As he rounds the corner to his own street, Charles makes a silent vow to himself. He’ll be more vigilant, more careful. He won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. He’ll be there, always, to protect you, no matter what.

And if anyone tries to come between you and your safety again, well … Charles isn’t sure he’ll be able to hold back next time.

He reaches his apartment, but he doesn’t go inside right away. Instead, he stands outside, staring up at the stars barely visible above the city lights, his mind still racing with thoughts of you.

Eventually, he takes a deep breath and turns to unlock his door, stepping inside and letting the door close behind him with a quiet click. The apartment is dark and silent, but it doesn’t feel like home tonight. It feels empty, hollow, as if something is missing.

And Charles knows exactly what that something is.

As he heads to bed, his thoughts are still on you — on the way you looked at him tonight, on the way you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. And somewhere, deep down, Charles knows that you’re more than just Arthur’s best friend to him.

But he’s not ready to confront that just yet. Not tonight.

So he pushes the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the promise he made to himself: to always be there for you, to protect you, no matter what.

It’s a promise he intends to keep.

***

The morning sun stretches over Monaco, its golden rays catching on the waves that lap against the harbor. The city is just beginning to stir, and for a moment, everything feels like it should: calm, peaceful, normal. But as Charles hits his stride on his morning run, his mind is anything but calm.

The events of last night replay in his head on a loop, the image of you — shaken, scared, fighting back tears — burned into his memory. Every step he takes feels heavier, weighted down by the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

He’s tried to push it down, to focus on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the sound of his shoes hitting the pavement, but it’s no use. The rage is still there, as fresh and raw as it was the moment he saw you in that club.

Charles turns a corner, heading down toward the harbor where the yachts bob gently in the water. The morning air is crisp, a stark contrast to the heat that still lingers in his chest. He needs to clear his head, to shake off the lingering sense of helplessness that clings to him like a shadow.

But then he sees him.

The man is walking casually along the harbor, hands in his pockets, his face a picture of smug indifference. He looks like any other tourist enjoying a morning stroll, not like someone who was grabbing you, hurting you, just hours ago.

Charles stops dead in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, he thinks he’s imagining it, that his mind is playing tricks on him. But no, it’s him. The same face, the same sneer that Charles wanted to wipe off with his fist last night.

Something snaps inside Charles. The anger he’s been trying to control, trying to bury, erupts like a dam breaking, flooding his veins with adrenaline. His vision narrows, locking onto the man who dared to touch you, who thought he could get away with it.

Without thinking, Charles changes direction, his strides long and purposeful as he closes the distance between them. The man doesn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in whatever thoughts a man like him could have. But then, as Charles gets closer, something makes the man glance over his shoulder.

His reaction is immediate. The smug look falters, replaced by a flicker of recognition, then quickly by a lazy grin that only fuels Charles’ rage.

“Well, well,” the man drawls, stopping to face Charles, clearly not sensing the danger. “If it isn’t the big hero himself. What’s the matter, Leclerc? Didn’t get enough attention last night?”

Charles doesn’t answer, his jaw clenched so tightly he can feel his teeth grind together. He’s close enough now to smell the lingering stench of alcohol on the man’s breath, the same breath that spewed vile words at you.

The man chuckles, a sound that grates on Charles’ nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “You know, she had it coming,” he says, his tone almost conversational. “The way she was dressed, the way she looked at me — what did she expect?”

That’s all it takes. The words cut through Charles like a knife, sharp and searing, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, shoving him back against the railing of the harbor.

“What did you say?” Charles’ voice is low, dangerous, barely more than a growl. His knuckles are white where they grip the man’s shirt, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

The man’s grin only widens, unfazed by the fury in Charles’ eyes. “You heard me,” he sneers. “And you know what? There’s nothing you can do about it. We’re in public, Leclerc. You’re a famous guy — can’t have your precious image tarnished, can you?”

Charles’ lips curl into a smile, but it’s not the kind that reaches his eyes. It’s cold, calculated, the kind of smile that sends a chill down the spine. “You think I care about that?” He asks, his voice dangerously calm.

The man’s bravado falters just a bit, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, but he doesn’t back down. “Yeah, I do. You’re not gonna do anything. Not here, not in front of all these people.”

Charles laughs, but there’s no humor in it, just a bitter edge that makes the man shift uncomfortably. “You really don’t get it, do you?” Charles says, his voice softening into something almost pitying. “This is Monaco. And I’m Charles Leclerc.”

The man’s face pales slightly, but he still tries to hold his ground. “So what? You think being a driver gives you a free pass to do whatever you want?”

Charles’ smile widens, though there’s nothing friendly about it. “Exactly.”

Before the man can react, Charles yanks him away from the railing, dragging him along the harbor. The man stumbles, trying to pull away, but Charles’ grip is ironclad, unyielding. The few people who are out this early watch with interest, some even clapping or calling out congratulations as they recognize Charles.

“Hey, what the hell?” The man protests, his voice rising in panic as he struggles against Charles’ hold. “Let go of me!”

Charles doesn’t respond, his eyes focused straight ahead as he forces the man to walk, his grip tightening whenever he feels him start to resist. The man’s attempts to free himself are pathetic, laughable even, compared to the strength Charles has built up over years of training, of pushing his body to the limits.

As they pass by a group of people, one of them cheers, “That’s the way, Charles! Show him who’s boss!”

The man tries to appeal to the onlookers, his voice frantic. “Someone stop him! He’s crazy!”

But no one moves to help. They just watch, some amused, others indifferent, as Charles continues to drag the man through the streets of Monaco like he’s nothing more than a piece of trash that needs to be disposed of.

“Where are you taking me?” The man demands, his voice trembling now as fear starts to seep in. “You can’t do this! I’ll-I’ll call the police!”

Charles’ laugh is cold and devoid of any warmth. “Go ahead,” he says, not slowing down for a second. “Tell them Charles Leclerc is dealing with a problem. See how far that gets you.”

The man’s protests grow weaker, his struggles more desperate, but it’s clear he knows there’s no escaping this. Charles is too strong, too determined, and the reality of his situation is starting to sink in.

The two of them reach a more secluded part of the harbor, where the buildings are fewer and the noise of the city fades into the background. There’s no one around to witness what’s about to happen, no one to hear the man’s cries for help.

Charles comes to a stop in a narrow alleyway, shoving the man against the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of him. He leans in close, his face inches from the man’s, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

“You made a mistake last night,” Charles says, his tone icy. “You thought you could get away with it because you were in a crowded club, because she was alone. You thought no one would stop you.”

The man’s eyes are wide with fear now, all traces of his earlier arrogance gone. “I-I didn’t mean-”

“But you did,” Charles cuts him off, his voice like steel. “You meant every word, every touch, every threat. And now, you’re going to pay for it.”

The man tries to push Charles away, his movements frantic, but Charles is relentless. He grabs the man by the throat, pinning him against the wall, his grip just tight enough to make him understand how serious this is.

“You think I can’t do anything to you because we’re in public?” Charles hisses, his breath hot against the man’s ear. “You’re wrong. In Monaco, I can do whatever I want. And no one will stop me.”

The man’s hands claw at Charles’ arm, trying to pry his fingers away from his throat, but it’s useless. Charles is too strong, too focused, his anger giving him a surge of power that the man can’t hope to match.

Charles leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You hurt someone I care about. Someone I’ve known my whole life. And for that, I’m going to make sure you never forget what happens when you cross me.”

The man’s breath comes in short, panicked gasps as he realizes the gravity of his situation. He tries to speak, to beg for mercy, but Charles isn’t interested in hearing his excuses.

“Please …” the man finally manages to choke out, his voice barely a whisper. “I-I’m sorry …”

Charles’ eyes narrow, his grip tightening for a moment before he abruptly lets go, letting the man collapse to the ground in a heap. The man gasps for air, his hands trembling as he scrambles to his feet, his eyes wide with fear.

But Charles isn’t done. He grabs the man by the collar, dragging him deeper into the alley, where the shadows swallow them both. The man’s struggles are weak now, more out of instinct than any real hope of escape.

“People like you,” Charles says, his voice low and menacing, “think you can do whatever you want. But here’s the truth: you’re nothing. Just another coward who preys on the vulnerable. And cowards like you don’t get to walk away.”

The alley is cold and dark, the early morning light barely reaching the grimy corners where Charles drags the man like a lifeless doll. The sounds of Monaco are distant now, just a low hum that fades into the background. The only noise that matters is the ragged breathing of the man at Charles’ mercy, and the echo of their footsteps on the uneven pavement.

Charles stops abruptly, his grip still tight on the man’s collar. He looks around, taking in the silence, the isolation. This place, this forgotten corner of the city, is perfect. No one will find them here. No one will hear what happens next.

He shoves the man against the wall again, harder this time, the force of it knocking the breath out of him. The man lets out a choked gasp, his eyes wide with fear, the bravado from earlier completely gone.

“Please,” he stammers, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean-”

Charles cuts him off with a sharp punch to the gut, and the man doubles over, wheezing. “Don’t bother,” Charles says coldly. “You’re not sorry. You’re just scared. There’s a difference.”

The man tries to straighten up, but Charles doesn’t give him the chance. He lands another punch, this time to the man’s jaw, the crack of bone echoing in the alley. The man’s head snaps to the side, blood already beginning to trickle from his split lip.

“You like hurting people, don’t you?” Charles asks, his voice calm, almost conversational as he paces in front of the man. “That’s what you were doing last night, right? You saw her and you thought you could do whatever you wanted.”

The man groans, trying to push himself up from the ground where he’s fallen, but Charles is on him in an instant, his knee pressing into the man’s chest, pinning him down.

“You thought she was alone,” Charles continues, his voice still eerily calm as he looks down at the man struggling beneath him. “You thought no one would stop you.”

He leans in closer, his knee digging into the man’s ribs, making it harder for him to breathe. “But she wasn’t alone. And now, you’re going to pay for what you did.”

The man tries to shake his head, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. “I’m sorry,” he gasps out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know-”

Another punch, this one to the side of the man’s face, silences him. Charles doesn’t care about his excuses, his lies. All he cares about is making sure this man understands the pain, the fear that you felt last night.

He grabs the man by the hair, forcing his head up so their eyes meet. The man’s face is already swelling, bruises blossoming under his skin like dark flowers. “You think this is bad?” Charles asks, his voice low, dangerous. “This is nothing compared to what you deserve.”

The man whimpers, his hands weakly trying to push Charles away, but it’s no use. Charles is relentless, his grip like iron as he drags the man up and slams him back against the wall.

“You like to take what you want, don’t you?” Charles says, his breath hot against the man’s ear. “Well, let’s see how you like it when someone takes something from you.”

Without waiting for a response, Charles delivers a brutal kick to the man’s knee, and the sickening sound of bone cracking echoes in the alley. The man screams, a high, desperate sound that only fuels Charles’ anger.

He watches dispassionately as the man crumples to the ground, clutching his leg, his face contorted in agony. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” Charles asks, his voice devoid of any sympathy. “Now imagine how she felt. Imagine how scared she was, how helpless.”

The man tries to crawl away, his movements sluggish, hindered by the pain, but Charles isn’t done. He grabs the man by the ankle, dragging him back, his face set in grim determination.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Charles says, his voice flat, emotionless. “Not until I’m finished.”

He pulls the man up, slamming him into the wall again, his grip never loosening. The man’s head lolls to the side, blood dripping from his nose, his mouth, but Charles doesn’t care. He won’t stop until the man feels every bit of the fear and pain he inflicted on you.

“You think you can just walk away from this?” Charles asks, his voice soft, almost a whisper, but there’s a dangerous edge to it that makes the man’s eyes widen in fear. “You think you can just go back to your life, like nothing happened?”

The man shakes his head weakly, but Charles doesn’t believe him. He knows men like this, cowards who prey on the vulnerable, who think they’re invincible because they’ve never had to face the consequences of their actions.

“Wrong,” Charles says, his voice hard, unyielding. “You’re not walking away from this. Not ever.”

He lands another punch, this one to the man’s ribs, and the man gasps, the air knocked out of him. Charles steps back for a moment, watching as the man collapses to the ground, coughing, wheezing, barely conscious.

“Look at you,” Charles says, his voice filled with contempt as he circles the man like a predator. “Pathetic. All that confidence, all that arrogance — gone. Now you’re just a scared little boy, begging for mercy.”

The man’s eyes flutter open, bloodshot and filled with pain. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a low, pitiful moan. Charles crouches down beside him, his eyes cold, calculating.

“Did you really think you could get away with it?” Charles asks, his voice soft, almost gentle, but there’s a cruel undertone that makes the man flinch. “Did you think no one would care? That no one would come for you?”

The man doesn’t answer, his body trembling, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Charles watches him for a moment, his anger still simmering, but there’s a part of him — a small part — that feels a twisted sense of satisfaction. This man, this coward, is finally paying for what he did.

But it’s not enough. Not yet.

Charles reaches down, grabbing the man by the throat, his fingers digging into the bruised flesh. The man’s eyes go wide, panic setting in as he struggles to breathe, his hands weakly clawing at Charles’ arm.

“You’re not going to forget this,” Charles says, his voice low, dangerous. “Every time you look in the mirror, every time you see those scars, you’re going to remember what happens when you cross me. When you hurt someone I care about.”

The man gurgles, his eyes rolling back in his head, his body going limp in Charles’ grasp. For a moment, Charles considers finishing it, squeezing the life out of the man until there’s nothing left. But then he releases his grip, letting the man collapse to the ground, gasping for air.

The man barely has the strength to lift his head, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desperation. “You … you can’t … do this,” he wheezes, his voice weak, barely audible. “I’ll … have you arrested … for attempted murder …”

Charles stares down at him, a cold, humorless smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down the man’s spine. “Go ahead,” he says, his voice dripping with contempt. “Try it. See how far you get.”

The man’s eyes flutter closed, his body trembling uncontrollably as the reality of his situation sets in. He’s helpless, broken, barely clinging to consciousness. And Charles knows that the man’s threats are empty, born out of desperation, a final attempt to grasp at some semblance of control.

“You’re nothing,” Charles says, his voice cold, final. “No one is going to believe you. Not after what you did. Not after what I’ve done to you.”

The man’s breath comes in short, shallow gasps, his body shuddering with pain and exhaustion. Charles watches him for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before he finally stands up, looking down at the broken, bloodied man at his feet.

“Consider this a warning,” Charles says, his voice low, menacing. “Stay away from her. Stay away from Monaco. If I ever see you again, I won’t stop next time. I won’t show mercy.”

The man doesn’t respond, barely clinging to consciousness, his body slumped against the wall like a discarded puppet. Charles takes one last look at him, his eyes cold, before he turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing in the silent alley.

As he steps out into the morning light, the anger that had consumed him begins to fade, replaced by a cold, detached calm. He knows what he’s done, knows that he’s crossed a line that most people wouldn’t dare to. But he doesn’t care. He did what he had to do, what you needed him to do.

And he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

***

The atmosphere in the police station is tense, a quiet hum of activity threading through the open space. Officers move about, their conversations muted, eyes occasionally flicking toward the door where Charles Leclerc is expected to enter any moment. There’s a palpable discomfort in the air, a mix of respect and unease. No one wants to be the one to arrest Charles Leclerc. And yet, protocol demands his presence.

When Charles finally walks in, the room seems to still. Heads turn, eyes widen slightly. He’s dressed casually — sweatpants, a loose-fitting t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. Despite the nonchalance of his appearance, there’s an unmistakable tension in his shoulders, a hardness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

The desk sergeant, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a lined face, stands up hastily. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he begins, his tone overly formal, almost reverent. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice. We’re, uh … we’re very sorry about this.”

Charles offers a curt nod, his expression unreadable. “What’s this about?” He asks, even though he already knows.

The sergeant hesitates, glancing around nervously. “We, uh, received a complaint this morning,” he explains, his voice wavering slightly. “From a … an individual who claims that you assaulted him.”

Charles’ lips twitch into something resembling a smile, though there’s no warmth in it. “He’s not wrong,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. “I did.”

The sergeant’s eyes widen slightly, and there’s a nervous shifting among the other officers in the room. This isn’t how these things usually go. “Monsieur Leclerc,” the sergeant begins again, more carefully this time, “we understand that this man may have … done something to provoke you. But we have to follow protocol. We need to ask you some questions.”

Charles crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back slightly as he regards the sergeant with a cold, detached stare. “Protocol,” he repeats, his voice dripping with disdain. “Fine. Ask your questions.”

The sergeant shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “Did you, uh, did you physically assault the complainant?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.”

There’s a collective intake of breath from the officers around them, as if they can’t quite believe what they’re hearing. The sergeant blinks, clearly taken aback by Charles’ bluntness. “And … do you regret it?”

Charles laughs then, a dark, humorless sound that sends a shiver down the spines of everyone in the room. “Regret?” He echoes, shaking his head. “No, I don’t regret it. In fact, I’d do it again.”

The sergeant’s face pales, and he looks around as if searching for some way out of this conversation. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he begins again, his voice trembling slightly, “I don’t think you understand the situation. You’ve just admitted to a serious crime. We … we can’t just let you go.”

Charles’ expression hardens, his jaw clenching. “Yes, you can,” he says, his voice cold, unyielding. “And you will.”

The sergeant opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get a word out, the door to the station bursts open, and the man from the alley stumbles in. His face is still bruised, his movements stiff and pained. But there’s a look of triumph in his eyes as he spots Charles standing there.

“There he is!” The man shouts, pointing a shaky finger at Charles. “That’s him! That’s the bastard who tried to kill me!”

Charles turns slowly to face the man, his expression unreadable. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with tension. The man, emboldened by the presence of the police, takes a step closer, his voice rising with every word. “You think you can just walk away from this, Leclerc? You think you’re untouchable? I’m going to see you rot in prison for what you did!”

Charles doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. The man falters slightly, confused by the lack of reaction. Charles taps the screen a few times, then puts it on speaker.

“What are you doing?” The man sneers, though there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Calling your lawyer? That’s not going to save you.”

Charles doesn’t bother to reply. The phone rings once, twice, before a familiar voice answers on the other end.

“Charles,” comes the smooth, authoritative voice of Prince Albert of Monaco. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Charles doesn’t take his eyes off the man as he responds. “Your Highness, I’m at the police station. There’s a man here trying to press charges against me for something I did last night.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line, and then Prince Albert’s voice, calm and steady, fills the room through the speakerphone. “I see. And what exactly did you do, Charles?”

Charles’ eyes narrow as he stares down the man, who is now looking increasingly nervous. “I made sure he understands that there are consequences for hurting people I care about,” Charles says, his voice low, menacing. “I made sure he knows that no one lays a hand on her without answering to me.”

The silence in the station is deafening. Every officer in the room is holding their breath, waiting to see what happens next. The man’s face drains of color as he realizes what’s happening, who Charles is talking to.

Prince Albert’s voice is measured, careful. “And you believe this was necessary?”

“Yes,” Charles replies without hesitation. “It was necessary.”

There’s another pause, and then Prince Albert speaks again, his tone decisive. “Then I trust your judgment. You did what you had to do. Consider this a royal pardon. I’ll have an official document delivered to the station within the hour.”

The man’s mouth falls open in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You … you can’t do this!” He sputters, his voice rising in desperation. “He assaulted me! He nearly killed me!”

Charles finally lowers the phone, ending the call. He slips it back into his pocket, his expression as cold and unyielding as ever. “You heard him,” Charles says quietly, his eyes locked on the man’s. “You’re done here.”

The man looks around wildly, as if searching for someone to back him up, but all he finds are the wary, sympathetic gazes of the officers. No one is going to help him. No one is going to defy Prince Albert.

The desk sergeant clears his throat, stepping forward. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he says, his voice carefully controlled, “it appears that you’re free to go.”

Charles doesn’t smile. He simply nods, his gaze never leaving the man who stands trembling before him. “Good,” he says softly. “Because I have more important things to do than waste my time here.”

The man opens his mouth to protest again, but the words die on his lips as Charles steps forward, his presence overwhelming, almost suffocating. “You should leave Monaco,” Charles says, his voice low and dangerous. “Before I change my mind about letting you live.”

The man stumbles back, his bravado crumbling as fear takes hold. He casts one last desperate glance at the officers, but they all turn away, unwilling to meet his eyes. He’s alone in this, and he knows it.

With a final, defeated whimper, the man turns and flees from the station, his steps hurried, unsteady. Charles watches him go, his expression unreadable, his heart pounding with a mixture of adrenaline and satisfaction.

The desk sergeant shifts awkwardly, unsure of what to say. “Uh, I … we’re sorry for the inconvenience,” he stammers. “It’s just … we had to follow procedure …”

Charles waves a hand dismissively, already heading for the door. “It’s fine,” he says, though there’s a hardness in his voice that suggests otherwise. “Just make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

The sergeant nods quickly, grateful for the reprieve. “Of course, Monsieur Leclerc. It won’t happen again.”

Charles doesn’t respond. He steps out into the sunlight, the tension slowly draining from his body as the warmth of the day washes over him. The streets of Monaco are as busy as ever, people going about their lives, oblivious to what just transpired inside the police station.

He takes a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs, grounding himself. The day is far from over, and there are still things he needs to do, but for now, the threat has been neutralized. The man who hurt you is gone, and Charles made sure he’ll never come back.

As he walks away from the station, Charles can’t help but think of you, your face, your voice, the way you smiled at him when you were just a little girl. He knows he’s crossed a line today, done things that most people wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t condone. But he doesn’t care. He did it for you.

And he’d do it all over again if he had to.

***

Charles stands outside your apartment, a paper bag of takeout in one hand, his other raised to knock on the door. He hesitates for a moment, nerves he didn’t expect twisting in his stomach. It’s strange, feeling nervous about seeing you. He’s known you for years — watched you grow up, shared countless family dinners with you, laughed at your jokes, teased you about your school crushes.

But this … this feels different. Everything feels different now.

He finally knocks, a light tap that he knows you’ll hear. A few seconds pass, and then the door swings open, revealing you standing there in a casual outfit, your hair pulled back, a soft smile on your face.

“Charles,” you greet him, your voice warm, familiar. “Come in.”

He steps inside, glancing around the cozy space. It’s a small apartment, but it’s yours, filled with little touches that scream your personality — bookshelves overflowing with novels, a blanket draped over the back of the couch, a half-finished puzzle on the coffee table. It’s homey, comfortable, and it smells like the vanilla candle you always seem to have burning.

“I brought lunch,” Charles says, holding up the bag. “Figured you might be hungry.”

You smile, your eyes brightening at the sight of the food. “You know me too well. What did you get?”

“Your favorite,” he replies, setting the bag down on the table and beginning to unpack it. “Pasta from that little place near the harbor.”

“Perfect,” you say, moving to grab plates from the cupboard. “You always know how to spoil me.”

Charles chuckles, though his mind is far from the light-hearted conversation. There’s something heavy sitting on his chest, something he knows he needs to tell you, but the words stick in his throat. Instead, he focuses on the food, dishing out generous portions onto each plate.

You both sit down at the small dining table, and for a few minutes, there’s nothing but the sound of forks scraping against plates and the occasional hum of satisfaction as you enjoy the meal. It’s comfortable, easy — just like it’s always been between you.

But then, as if sensing his unease, you break the silence. “So, I heard the craziest thing this morning,” you say, your tone light, almost teasing. “One of my friends told me that you were almost arrested yesterday. Can you believe that?”

Charles’ fork pauses midway to his mouth, his heart skipping a beat. He hadn’t expected you to bring it up so casually, hadn’t prepared himself for this moment. He forces a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh? What did she say?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “She said she heard you were involved in some kind of fight and that the police were called. I told her she was crazy. I mean, you wouldn’t hurt a fly, right?”

There’s a playful glint in your eyes, but Charles can’t bring himself to join in. Instead, he sets his fork down, the sound of metal against porcelain unnaturally loud in the quiet room. He looks at you, his expression serious, all traces of his earlier smile gone.

“Actually,” he begins, his voice low, steady, “it’s true.”

Your smile falters, confusion flickering across your face. “What do you mean?”

Charles leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he meets your gaze head-on. “I was at the police station yesterday,” he says, the words heavy, deliberate. “They called me in because that guy — the one who … hurt you — he tried to press charges against me.”

You stare at him, the shock evident in your wide eyes. “Wait, you’re serious? This isn’t some joke?”

“I’m serious,” Charles replies, his voice calm, almost too calm. “I’m not proud of what I did, but I’m not ashamed of it either. He deserved what he got.”

For a moment, you just sit there, trying to process what he’s telling you. You set your fork down, your appetite suddenly gone. “But … Charles, what did you do?”

Charles takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I made sure he understood that there are consequences for his actions. That he can’t just walk away after what he did to you.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for your glass of water, taking a sip to steady yourself. “You … you didn’t …”

“I didn’t kill him,” Charles says quickly, sensing your fear. “But I hurt him. Badly. And I don’t regret it.”

You’re silent for a long moment, your mind racing. The Charles you know — the Charles you grew up with, the one who used to give you piggyback rides when you were too tired to walk — wouldn’t do something like this. But then again, this isn’t just anyone we’re talking about. This is you. And for Charles, you’re different. You’ve always been different.

“I did it to protect you,” Charles continues, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I couldn’t just stand by and let him get away with what he did. I couldn’t …”

He trails off, his gaze dropping to the table, his shoulders slumping slightly. It’s as if all the fight has drained out of him, leaving behind only the raw, honest truth of his actions.

You swallow hard, trying to make sense of everything. “But … you could have been arrested. You could have gone to jail.”

Charles laughs, a bitter sound that holds no real amusement. “Not in Monaco,” he says, shaking his head. “Not for this.”

You furrow your brow, confusion evident in your expression. “What do you mean?”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I talked to Prince Albert. He gave me a royal pardon. The guy had no chance.”

You blink, stunned by the casual way he says it, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “A royal pardon? Charles, that’s … that’s not normal.”

“No, it’s not,” Charles agrees, his tone somber. “But I don’t care. I’d do it all over again if it meant keeping you safe.”

The weight of his words hangs between you, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. You’ve always known Charles was protective of you, but this … this is something else entirely. He’s crossed a line, and there’s no going back.

For a moment, you’re both silent, the tension in the room thick, suffocating. Charles watches you, his heart pounding in his chest, waiting for you to say something, anything. He’s prepared for you to be angry, to be horrified by what he’s done. But he wasn’t prepared for the look of sadness that crosses your face, the way your shoulders slump as if the weight of the world has suddenly fallen on you.

“I don’t know what to say,” you finally whisper, your voice shaky. “I never wanted you to do something like this for me.”

Charles leans forward, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. His touch is warm, steady, and for a moment, it grounds you, pulls you back from the edge of the panic that’s been rising in your chest.

“I know,” he says softly. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. But it’s what I needed to do. I couldn’t just stand by and let him hurt you.”

You squeeze his hand, your grip tightening as if you’re afraid to let go. “But what if you had been arrested? What if you couldn’t get out of it? I couldn’t bear the thought of you being locked up because of me.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Charles replies, his voice firm, resolute. “I told you, I’d do anything to protect you. And I mean it.”

You look up at him then, your eyes searching his, trying to find some sign that this is all just a bad dream, that you’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal. But all you see is the truth — the raw, unfiltered truth of what Charles has done, and why he did it.

“I don’t know if I should be angry or grateful,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “You’ve always been there for me. But this … this is something else.”

Charles smiles then, a small, sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t have to be anything,” he says softly. “Just know that I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

For a moment, you just sit there, holding his hand, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words. There’s so much you want to say, so much you want to ask, but you can’t seem to find the right words. Instead, you focus on the warmth of his hand in yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his eyes never leave yours.

And then, before you can second-guess yourself, you lean across the table and press your lips to his. The kiss is soft, tentative at first, but it quickly deepens, the tension that’s been building between you finally finding release.

Charles’ hand comes up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer. The kiss is everything you didn’t know you needed — desperate, passionate, full of all the emotions that have been bubbling beneath the surface.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you try to catch your breath. Charles’ eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide, and there’s a look in them that you’ve never seen before — something raw and vulnerable, something that makes your heart stutter in your chest.

For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence heavy with the weight of what just happened. Charles’ hand is still in your hair, his thumb gently stroking the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You can feel his breath on your lips, warm and steady, as if he’s trying to anchor himself in this moment, to hold onto it for as long as he can.

Eventually, you pull back just enough to look into his eyes, your own heart pounding so loudly in your ears that you’re sure he can hear it too. “Charles …” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, but the words catch in your throat. You’re not sure what you want to say, what you’re supposed to say. Everything feels too big, too overwhelming.

Charles doesn’t say anything, just watches you with that same intense gaze, his eyes searching yours for something — reassurance, maybe, or understanding. Slowly, he lowers his hand from your hair, his fingers trailing down the side of your face before he lets it fall to his lap. The loss of his touch leaves you feeling cold, and you almost want to reach out and pull him back to you, to kiss him again and forget everything else. But you don’t.

Instead, you take a shaky breath and try to gather your thoughts, your mind racing. “What … what does this mean?” You finally manage to ask, your voice trembling.

He looks down at his hands, his brows furrowing in thought. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “All I know is that I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve known you my whole life, but … this is different.”

You bite your lip, trying to make sense of it all. “I’ve always cared about you. You know that. But I never thought …” You trail off, unable to finish the sentence, but the implication hangs in the air between you.

Charles finally looks up at you again, his expression softening. “Neither did I,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “But now that it’s happened … I don’t think I can go back. I don’t want to.”

You’re silent for a moment, the weight of his words settling over you. There’s a part of you that wants to be cautious, to protect yourself from whatever this is, but there’s another part — one that’s stronger — that wants to take the leap, to see where this could go.

“I don’t want to either,” you whisper, the admission almost too much to say out loud. But it’s the truth, and once it’s out there, you feel a sense of relief, as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

Charles’ eyes soften even more, his smile widening slightly. He reaches out, taking your hand in his once more, his grip warm and steady. “Then let’s see where this goes,” he says, his voice low and full of promise.

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. “Okay.”

For a moment, you both just sit there, hands intertwined, the food on the table long forgotten as the reality of what just happened begins to sink in. There’s still so much you need to talk about, so many questions that need answers, but for now, this is enough. The kiss, the confession, the promise of something more — it’s all more than you ever expected.

Charles gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes never leaving yours. “Whatever happens next, I want you to know that I’m here for you.”

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “I know,” you say softly. “And I’m here for you too.”

He nods, his expression earnest. “Good.”

The silence between you is comfortable now, the tension from earlier finally dissipating. You feel a sense of peace settle over you, a feeling that everything will be okay, no matter what comes next.

Finally, Charles glances at the table, his smile turning sheepish. “We should probably finish our lunch,” he says, his tone light.

You laugh, the sound easing the last of your lingering nerves. “Yeah, we probably should.”

You both pick up your forks, and the conversation shifts back to lighter topics, the ease between you returning as if nothing has changed. But you both know that something has. There’s a new understanding between you, a new connection that wasn’t there before. And as you finish your meal, stealing glances at each other across the table, you can’t help but feel excited about what the future might hold.

***

Monaco at night is a different kind of magic. The streets are quieter, the buzz of the day replaced by the hum of luxury cars and the distant sound of waves crashing against the harbor. The city glows with a soft, golden light, the kind that makes everything look a little more romantic, a little more surreal. And tonight, with you tucked into Charles’ side as you walk home from dinner, it feels like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you.

You’ve been together for a few years now, and yet there’s still a thrill in the way he holds you close, his arm draped around your shoulders as if he’s claiming you all over again. There’s something comforting in the familiarity of it, the way your bodies just fit together, like two puzzle pieces that were always meant to be.

The conversation between you is light, filled with teasing banter about the dessert you shared at the restaurant — how he insists you ate most of it, and you argue that he’s the one with the sweet tooth. It’s the kind of easy back-and-forth that comes with knowing someone inside out, with having weathered storms together and come out stronger on the other side.

But as you turn down a quieter street, the atmosphere shifts. It’s subtle at first — a flicker of movement in the corner of Charles’ eye, the sense that you’re being watched. And then, out of nowhere, a voice cuts through the night, crude and jarring in its tone.

“Hey, baby, how about a smile?”

You freeze, your muscles tensing instinctively. The voice belongs to a man leaning against a lamppost, his eyes raking over you with a leer that makes your skin crawl. You feel Charles stiffen beside you, his arm tightening around your shoulders protectively. But before you can react, the man pushes off from the lamppost and approaches, his hand reaching out to touch you.

It all happens in a blur. The man’s fingers graze your arm, and you flinch back, your heart racing. But before you can fully process the disgust that courses through you, Charles is already moving.

The look in his eyes is one you recognize — a dark, dangerous glint that you’ve only seen a handful of times, but each one burned into your memory. It’s the same look he had that night at the club, the night he became more than just your protector, the night everything between you changed.

He’s about to lunge, his body coiled like a spring, ready to unleash all the anger simmering beneath the surface. But you place a hand on his chest, stopping him just in time.

“Charles,” you say softly, but there’s a knowing edge to your voice, a familiarity with the situation. “Should I call Prince Albert? Let him know you might need another pardon?”

Charles pauses, his gaze flickering to yours, and for a moment, the tension eases. The corners of his mouth twitch upward, a dark, almost feral smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice low and laced with a dangerous amusement. “This must be the fourth one this year.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound lightening the mood, if only for a second. “Actually,” you correct him, your eyes sparkling with mischief, “it’s the fifth.”

His smile widens at that, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. But the humor doesn’t last long. The reality of the situation pulls him back, and his expression hardens once more as he turns his attention to the man who dared to touch you.

“Stay here,” Charles says, his tone leaving no room for argument. It’s the voice of a man who’s about to do something he won’t regret — something he’s done before.

You nod, trusting him, knowing that whatever happens next, it’s out of your hands. And as Charles steps away from you, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction, a sense of justice in knowing that this man is about to face the consequences of his actions.

The man, oblivious to the danger he’s in, sneers at Charles, clearly unbothered by the presence of another man. “What are you gonna do, pretty boy?” He taunts, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You think you can scare me?”

Charles doesn’t respond immediately. He takes his time, closing the distance between them with a measured, almost predatory grace. And when he finally speaks, his voice is as cold as ice.

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Charles says quietly, the words laced with a threat that hangs heavy in the air.

The man laughs, the sound grating and unpleasant. “Oh, I know exactly who you are,” he sneers. “You’re that driver, right? Leclerc? Big deal. Doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”

Charles tilts his head slightly, as if considering the man’s words, and then, to your surprise, he laughs — a dark, cruel sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You think being in public will protect you?” Charles asks, his voice dripping with mockery. “You think because there are people around, I won’t make you regret ever laying a hand on her?”

The man falters, some of his bravado slipping as he realizes that Charles isn’t backing down. He glances around, perhaps expecting someone to come to his aid, but the street is empty, save for a few onlookers who are too far away to hear the exchange.

Charles doesn’t give him time to think. With a speed that takes the man by surprise, he grabs him by the collar, yanking him forward with a strength that belies his lean frame. The man stumbles, his cocky demeanor evaporating as he realizes he’s in over his head.

“You should have walked away,” Charles murmurs, his voice dangerously calm. “But now … now you’re going to pay.”

The man struggles, trying to push Charles away, but it’s futile. Charles is a professional athlete, his body honed for strength and endurance, and the man is no match for him. Within seconds, Charles has him pinned against the wall of a nearby building, his forearm pressed against the man’s throat.

“Get off me, you psycho!” The man chokes out, his voice panicked as he claws at Charles’ arm.

But Charles doesn’t budge. He leans in closer, his face inches from the man’s, his eyes filled with a cold, calculated fury. “You’re going to regret ever touching her,” he says quietly, his words laced with venom.

And then, without warning, he drags the man away from the wall, pulling him down the street with a force that makes it clear this isn’t just a warning — it’s a promise. The man tries to resist, tries to fight back, but it’s no use. Charles is stronger, faster, and more determined, his grip unyielding as he hauls the man toward a darker, more secluded part of the street.

You watch from a distance, your heart pounding in your chest. Part of you wants to stop him, to tell him it’s not worth it, but another part of you— the part that remembers the fear and helplessness you felt when that man touched you — wants Charles to follow through, to make sure this man never does this to anyone else again.

As they disappear around a corner, you take a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside you. You trust Charles, you know he’ll be careful, but you can’t help the worry that creeps in, the fear of what might happen next.

Minutes pass, each one feeling like an eternity, and then finally, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up, your breath catching in your throat as you see Charles emerging from the shadows, alone.

His expression is unreadable, his eyes dark and stormy as he walks back to you. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence heavy with unspoken words.

Then, without a word, Charles pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if he’s afraid to let go. You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your hair. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You shake your head, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “You don’t have to apologize,” you say softly, your hand cupping his cheek. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He smiles then, a small, tired smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m okay,” he says, though you can hear the weariness in his voice. “But he won’t be bothering you — or anyone else — again.”

You nod, knowing there’s more to the story than he’s telling you, but you don’t press him. Not now, not when he’s holding you so tightly, as if he’s afraid to let you go.

“Let’s go home,” you say gently, taking his hand in yours.

Charles nods, his grip on your hand firm as he leads you back down the street, away from the darkness and into the light. And as you walk together, side by side, you can’t help but feel a sense of relief, a sense of safety in knowing that no matter what happens, Charles will always be there to protect you.

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 2 months ago

Note

The Reader gets jealous/upset because Sukuna gets Concubines, with a happy ending though. pleaseeeee

Wish I didn’t care

Tags: true form!Sukuna x fem!Reader, king!Sukuna, royal au (?), angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending i promise

An: Ooo, this was such a good idea. Thank you for requesting it from me!! I hope it’s everything you wanted!!

Sukuna never felt the need to give you a title for being in his life. To him, titles were superficial… There wasn’t a title in the world that could explain or encompass the complexities of his relationship with you.

However, you, coming from the mortal realm, wanted a title. It’s not that you wanted the power that was associated with being the betrothed of the King of Curses. You just wanted to feel.. irreplaceable to him.

So, to make you happy, you were his wife.

Kings rarely ever are allowed the luxury of marrying for love. Most kings marry daughters of other powerful kings to create allies between nations. However, Sukuna didn’t need allies. He didn’t need to marry for power when he had more power than he knew what to even do with.

Everything was simply child’s play for him. He even stopped trying to conquer the mortal realm because it was just too damn easy for him. The “sorcerers” could barely even put up a fight. It was embarrassing.

Life was truly becoming boring for him.

That was, until a female curse was delivered straight to his chamber. He was confused and honestly pissed that Uraume would simply guide this harlot into his chambers without his permission. Only you were granted such luxuries.

He was leisurely splayed in his bed with no cloth to cover himself. He truly appreciated the concept of being completely in his own skin at all times, and he often encouraged you to do the same. Though, he also learned to appreciate your more modest approach. You didn’t have to show any skin to get Sukuna riled up.

“State your purpose.” His voice was low and menacing as he spoke to the woman. He slipped his robes on over his shoulders, tying it in the front so he was no longer exposing himself.

“My father sends his regards. Says that a newly wedded king deserves a ‘fresh’ concubine.” The girl spoke with no humility towards him.

Sukuna’s face twisted in disgust that her dad would even suggest such a thing. He was even more put off that she described herself as ‘fresh’ as if she were a type of vegetable in the garden.

“Your father can kindly go fuck himself. I’m not interested.” He responds coldly, and his large palm grabs onto her shoulder with the intention of throwing her out of his chambers. He knew that if you saw her here, you’d probably be devastated.

“My lord-“

“I am not your anything. You address me as Lord or King, but make no mistake. I am not your lord.” He rudely cuts her off, not letting her think she has any sort of claim to him.

“Okay, Lord Sukuna, when’s the last time she’s fulfilled her wifely duties? I can see she’s not in here tending to you now, right? She’d probably feel grateful that you’re being satisfied around the clock.” The concubine’s voice was like a purr, and she looked up at him with eyes that’d rival a siren’s.

And for a split second, Sukuna almost considers her offer.

“You’ll never believe it, Kuna!” Your happy voice fills the air, and the door swings open to reveal you holding a small flower in your hand. “I got a jasmine to bl-“ Your eyes fall upon to scene in front of you.

Sukuna’s towering over an unfamiliar woman. His hand is touching her neck and shoulder area, while she has her hand leisurely pressed against his bicep.

“Who’s.. this?” You quietly ask, and immediately, Sukuna can feel a strange feeling pour into him. It feels like… guilt? He regrets even momentarily entertaining the idea about this harlot occupying his bed.

“Nobody-“

“Oh my lady, it’s nice to meet you. I apologize. Lord Sukuna and I were just getting aquatinted with each other since we’ll be seeing each other a lot from now on.” The serpent of a female cuts him off, and he immediately realizes just what this is. Whichever king decided to send her is hoping to ruin his marriage. She’s quite literally a snake in his garden, trying to ward his wife away from him.

“I don’t… understand.” The way your voice sounds so small. The small pout upon your lips. The way the flower you were once carrying with such confidence is now sagging in your hand. Fuck. Sukuna felt like a complete imbecile.

“Oh, come on now. You know he has needs that are beyond your abilities. I’ll lay with him when you’re too-“

“Enough.” Sukuna’s voice snaps. His teeth grit together as he practically drags the woman out of his chambers. “Go fuck off for a while. I’ll deal with you later.” The door immediately slams in her face.

After a moment of trying to comprehend what just happened and how it all happened so quickly, Sukuna slowly turns to you. It feels like a gut punch once he sees the tears brimming in your eyes.

“That wasn’t…”

“You took up a concubine?” You ask in a sniffle. Your hands are barely even holding the jasmine that’s you were once so excited to show him. Flowers rarely ever bloom in Sukuna’s desolate kingdom, but with hard work and determination, you had gotten a jasmine to bloom in his kingdom.

“No, she was sent to me. I didn’t seek her out.” He tries to dispel the claims while he slowly approaches you. His chest aches as he watches you take a step back away from him. “Do not cower from me, woman.”

“Was I not good enough? Was I not doing enough for you..? I thought… I thought it was good, b-but I can try harder.” Your voice is so shaky, and you won’t even look him in the eye. What has he done?

“Silence. You will not speak of yourself like that to me.” Sukuna orders, and he takes another step forward. You take another step back with another sniffle. Your tears are streaming down your cheeks.

“Please…” The word sounds foreign on his tongue. He’s never ever pleaded for anything in his life. He could simply take what he wants, but he doesn’t want to hurt his delicate flower. He wants her to seek out comfort in him. “Please don’t cower. It was not like that. She showed up at my door, spoke of lies and filth, and I was trying to throw her out when you walked in.”

“So you didn’t even con..consider taking her on as a concubine?” You ask while you rub the tears away with the back of your hands. Hopefully, this was all just a poorly timed miscommunication.

Sukuna takes a moment before responding. He has two options. He could tell you a white lie that would instantly comfort you, but it would be a lie. Or he could tell you the truth and face the consequences of his actions.

“It was one moment of weakness.” He replies carefully.

He instantly wishes he just lied from the way your face immediately twisted in disappointment and pure hurt. The jasmine falls from your hands, and your footsteps trail away from his chambers, leaving him dumbfounded.

Sukuna is immediately on your trail, unable to let you be. He needs to fix this. His dear wife is upset, and it’s all his fault.

A pair of hands slither up his arm as he walks. He already knows who’s touching him based off the nasty feeling from their contact. “My lord, let her be. She needs to-“

“Dismantle.” The concubine’s body drops to the floor in two, split directly at her waist. He had warned her already about referring to him as her lord. She didn’t deserve to speak of you so carelessly, and she didn’t deserve to live after causing this rift in his marriage.

Sukuna continues on his hunt for you without another hitch, leaving the harlot’s body right where she once stood for one of the servants to clean up.

He searches for you in all your usual spots: the gardens, the kitchen, the library, the rooftop. You’re no where to be found. You don’t want to be found. He starts to wonder around his perimeter. The longer he goes without finding you; the more his heart starts to race.

Did you leave him? Did he lose you for good?

The thought of not having his delicate flower by his side makes his body feel ill. You must’ve placed some sort of binding curse on him, but he didn’t necessarily mind.

He’s close to waging war when he finally sees your small human body tucked underneath a weeping willow on a bed of grass. His body moves on it’s own: running to you. When’s the last time he’s ran like this?

Crouching over you, he can see no visible injuries on your body, but he knows he’s wounded your heart with his foolish actions. How could he ever have a wandering eye when you were the real prize?

His four arms carefully scoop you up and cradle your body as he takes a seat underneath the willow. Your poor cheeks are flushed and tear stained. Your eyes and lips are so puffy. You must’ve tired yourself out from crying.

“I’m sorry, flower.” He whispers softly, even if your eyes are still resting. He pulls your body closer to his chest, and he contemplates when he started becoming so soft for you.

A part of him hates it. That small unconscious voice of his telling him that he shouldn’t concern himself with the feelings of a mere mortal, but the bigger part of him knows that he can’t just ignore you. He cares far too much for you.

“Kuna..?” You murmur as your hands rub your eyes. You’re immediately met with remembering just why you had fallen asleep. “I do not wish to see you right now.”

Sukuna chuckles quietly from your defiant little comment. It reminds him of when you first arrived to his estate. “Then close your eyes.” He simply states as one of his hands start to comb through your hair. “Woman, tell me what to do to fix this.”

You shift your gaze away from him with a small huff. If he wasn’t so much bigger than you, you’d try to wiggle away from him. However, you know it is of no use. “I don’t know, Kuna.” Your words are sharp and still so full of emotion. “Imagine how you’d feel if I told you I contemplated sleeping with someone else… in a moment of weakness.”

The sheer thought of it has Sukuna’s anger burning up like an inferno. You’re his delicate flower. No one would even know how to take care of you like he can. His arms subtly tighten around your frame. “I’d kill every man you gaze at.”

“Well, men can rest easy because I only have eyes for you.” You mutter while rolling your eyes. “I love you so much that the thought of being with someone else repulses me, and it… just really hurts that you don’t feel the same.”

“Flower, I took you for granted. It was a brief moment of contemplation, but I instantly decided against it. I did not desire her in the slightest.” Sukuna tries to explain, and his hand gently brushes against your soft cheek.

“You still don’t deny that you don’t feel the same for me.” You respond quietly, still not giving him the satisfaction of you looking at him.

“You are everything to me. I will not lose sight of what’s important again.”

“Kuna.” You finally look up at him, and you frown slightly. Sukuna secretly adores the little nicknames you have adorned him with, but he’d never admit it.

“What is it, woman?” He asks, titling his head to the side a bit to get a better look at your face. You’re so pretty in his lap like this.

“Do you love me?” You quietly ask, even if you can already hear his voice telling you ‘do not ask questions you don’t want answers to’… because even if he’s the incarnate of evil, Sukuna will not lie. Liars are weak cowards who can’t get jobs done by being upfront. Sukuna isn’t afraid of what the truth is.

Your husband contemplates your question for a moment. He thinks about how disgusting that wannabe concubine was. He thinks about how you preoccupy his mind majority of the time. He thinks about the weird mix of feelings he has felt today in your absence.

“What I feel for you… is probably the closest to love that I’ll ever get.” Sukuna responds, carefully choosing his words. “You, my flower, are the only thing that keeps me grounded to the mortal plains.”

You give him the best smile you can muster despite the disappointment that you feel since he won’t tell you that he loves you. You suppose you have no one to blame other than yourself. Sukuna told you when he married you not to get your hopes up for love, but you still can’t help but crave that sort of affection from him.

“I don’t like seeing you upset, flower.” He speaks tenderly as his thumb brushes against your bottom lip. “If I could, I’d snap my fingers and assure you that I love you whole heartedly. It just not in my genetic code.”

“I know… I’m grateful for your effort at least.” You murmur as you wrap your arms around his neck.

His arms wrap around you, cradling you to his chest. He inhales deeply, savoring your sweet scent that he enjoys so much. “Am I forgiven, woman?”

“Mmm, no.” You smile cheekily in his embrace, and Sukuna chuckles heartily.

“Oh? Is someone going to use this blunder to her advantage?” When you nod in his shoulder, Sukuna lays back against the soft pillowy grass. “That’s my girl. Go on. Make me work for your forgiveness.”

On a completely unrelated note, Sukuna had that harlot’s body mailed back to her father as a ‘thank you’ for sending a whore to his kingdom.

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