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fushitoru · 6 months ago

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chapter 2: the aftermath a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ after an eventful first ball after your debut, you continue the season with thinly veiled vexation towards gojo. but fate is not on your side; you and gojo keep encountering each other, matching fire with fire (7.8k)

a/n some parts of this chapter broke my brain to write but i kind of had fun! as always thank you to @/sinn-claire for beta reading :p i was going to say i'll try to have weekly updates but i don't want to jinx it lol

prev. the debutante | next. the manor

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest gentle reader,

It appears that Her Majesty has bestowed the coveted title of this season’s Diamond upon none other than Miss Itadori, who has indeed lived up to her newfound acclaim as the incomparable of the year. At the latest ball, our shining Diamond was quite occupied, with suitors lining up in such numbers that one might have thought them to be queuing for the royal throne itself. Furthermore, blooms were budding between many of the debutantes and gentlemen, including…..

...Yet, one particular couple captivated the attention of all: none other than Mister Satoru Gojo and our season’s Diamond. After having kept his words sparse and his attentions limited to none, Mister Gojo appeared utterly taken with Miss Itadori, conversing with her intimately on the dance floor. It seems your humble Author was indeed correct⸺Mister Gojo has entered the marriage market. However, the exclusivity he has adopted may not deter the determined maidens he seeks to avoid, for the Ambitious Mamas will no doubt perceive his selectiveness as a challenge to be overcome.

One cannot help but wonder if an announcement of particular interest will be made at the upcoming Gojo country house party. Although your Author has not yet laid eyes upon the guest list for the Duchess Gojo’s anticipated gathering, reliable sources suggest that nearly every eligible young lady of marriageable age will be journeying to Kent next week. The country house party is known to be a perilous affair. Married individuals often find themselves enjoying the company of someone other than their spouse, while the unwed frequently return to town betrothed with surprising haste.

Indeed, the most unexpected engagements often follow closely on the heels of such rustic diversions.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Satoru had no intention of squandering his time this season⸺or at any time, for that matter.

The notion of love matches held little appeal to him, despite witnessing such a union firsthand in his own parents. Make no mistake, the Duke and Duchess Gojo enjoyed a happy marriage, and Satoru held both his father and mother in the highest regard. Yet, he was perfectly content on his own.

Being one of the strongest bachelors⸺both intellectually and physically⸺has been Satoru’s destiny. Ever since his ancestors had been blessed by the royal family with the dukedom, the Gojo family had made its goal to be the most powerful nobility and the closest to the royal family. (Which is still maintained in the status quo, because the Queen dotes on Satoru, inviting him for tea every fortnight. The Queen lavished him with overly sweet biscuits, and in return, Satoru provided her with the latest gossip from court).

But this responsibility doesn’t get fulfilled without independence; one had to accept the solitary truth that to be truly great was to remain unswayed by the fleeting pleasures of the world⸺love included.

Satoru had little time or interest for the other vices that tempted men of his station, such as lust. Contrary to the whispers circulating among the ton, Satoru had never indulged in the life of a rake or frequented brothels as many of his acquaintances did. Really, the allegations were, in truth, merely just a byproduct of his appearance and demeanor; with a young man with the stature, face, and eligibility of Satoru, the public would immediately like to slap on the label of “rake” due to his arrogant personality. Moreover, any encounters he had witnessed between men and women⸺whether dropping his friends off at brothels in his carriage after an evening at the gentleman’s club or overhearing flirtations at parties⸺struck him as shallow and an utter waste of time, especially when he was already a week behind on the ledgers and other official matters his father had entrusted to him. (He did have one indulgence, however: a weakness for gluttony, with an array of sweet confections as his loyal companions during long, sleepless nights.)

Marriage was an even greater burden. The thought of being accountable for a wife, and eventually children, seemed like a daunting task to Satoru. With sleepless nights spent on covering just a fraction of the business his father must do as a duke, Satoru was tired. He was exhausted⸺exhausted from the weight of responsibility, from striving to meet his father’s expectations, from seeking the Queen’s approval, from worrying over what Whistledown might print about him, and from the gossip of the businessmen with whom the Gojo family dealt.

And yet, despite this weariness, Satoru was gripped by an insatiable obsession with perfection, an obsession that only deepened his fatigue. He craved approval, power, and the flawless execution of his duties⸺desires that gnawed at him even as they threatened to consume him.

Which is exactly why he needed a perfect wife. A wife that was capable, could handle bothersome people⸺which he was steadily losing the patience to deal with⸺and a reliable companion. Someone that would reduce his stress, not add to it.

Satoru had spent all day lurking in the shadows as best as he could; being the most eligible bachelor did mean that brothers and sisters were coming up to him, singing praises of their debutante in an effort to capture his interest. But Satoru knew all too well that the loudest families often had the most to compensate for.

As ladies in white paraded before the crowd, many buckling under the weight of judgment and attention, Satoru prowled like a jungle cat, staying hidden in the throng, biding his time, and waiting for the right moment to strike.

What he noticed first about you was your way of carrying yourself. Even Auntie⸺the Queen⸺who, after seeing countless of girls today, had been incredibly bored, dragged her eyes over you in slightly more interest than she did for others. The moment you stepped through those grand doors into the court, it was evident to everyone that your stride was that of someone who understood her role and position in life⸺a confidence that set you apart from the other debutantes. Satoru’s eyes raked over you, observing you as your chest rose slightly as you took a breath in.

And then you smiled.

Satoru's eyes widened, just imperceptibly, as he watched your expression as you made your way to the Queen. He made sure to shake his expression off to a more nonchalant one as he watched your form walk. Lesser men than Satoru would die for your smile. Men, out of all traits a woman could possess, cherished a pretty visage the most. Yet, what your smile conveyed went beyond mere beauty; it embodied innocence and the qualities most esteemed in a demure bride (which Satoru knew was just all a show, but it was indeed indicative of your skill to put up appearances, hence deeming you a reliable companion).

The corner of the young man's mouth rose. When the Queen declared you the diamond of the season, Satoru knew he had found his quarry.

When the ball came, Satoru acted similarly: observing from behind, staying in conversation with his friends and other noble men that did business with the Gojo family as he prowled the ballroom, waiting for the right moment to ask you for your hand. And then Naoya came in when you were finally alone, away from all the incompetent men that dared to think they had a chance to court you, and Satoru almost laughed snarkily at how easy it all was.

Approaching you, saving you from Naoya⸺it was all a perfect construction of his. Dancing, he noticed your steps were carried out with a practiced perfection and grace, and your responses to his questions displayed a respectable level of intellect. He could tell your responses were practiced and simple, your constitution and demeanor a result of much effort into presenting yourself as best as you could. But what does it matter, when you do it so perfectly?

Maybe it was a bit naive of him, but you seemed to glow when conversing with him. It amused him, as he kept watching your pretty eyes as you kept smiling while he kept throwing difficult questions at you. It was all expected, however. Satoru knew he was blessed with the brilliant blue Gojo eyes and eccentric fair, white hair; he was the most eligible bachelor for not only wealth and power but reproductive capabilities and opportunities as well. Which lady wouldn’t want to be mother to his cute and beautiful blue-eyed babies?

After witnessing such mediocre men who paled in comparison to Satoru, surely you must be smitten. Gojo could see right through you: you, the diamond, have been looking for a man as meritorious as you, and you had found it in Satoru.

So why were you acting this way?

When you wake up in the morning and get ready for suitors, it is as you expected; there are multiple carriages outside your doorstep, and there is a line from the drawing room, extending all the way down the stairs. When Choso stumbles into the drawing room, where you and your mother are enjoying tea, he is clearly unhappy at the selection of men waiting to be let in to call upon you.

“This is absurd!” Choso’s hands raked over his hair in an effort to process the scene he had just witnessed. ��Why do I see Naoya waiting outside?”

Your nose crinkled in distaste. “Well, dear brother, I certainly cannot control which suitors call upon me. He must’ve enjoyed our conversation yesterday. The enjoyment, however, is one sided.”

Choso’s eyes widened comically. “You had a conversation with him yesterday?” He then turned to your mother accusingly, who was reading a Whistledown while sipping on her tea innocuously. “This would not have happened if I was there, Mother. This is your fault.”

Your mother continued drinking her tea nonchalantly, waiting for a few beats to grace him with a response. “I prefer this, my son, to no visitors out there because our dear Lord Itadori scared all the bachelors away with his pickiness.” Then, her eyes flashed. “And don’t give me that tone.”

You snickered behind your palm as Choso visibly deflated.

“Kuna! Get back here!”

Pitter patters of small paws started to get closer and closer, as heavy footsteps followed it. Yuji and the family corgi, Sukuna Jr., burst into the room. Eyeing the biscuit in your hand, Kuna made his way directly to you, panting at your feet. A pet given affectionately by your-not-so-affectionate older brother, Sukuna, when he left for his year long trip around Europe, Kuna was the cutest little puppy. You and Yuji loved to spoil him, clearly shown as Yuji patted him while breathing heavily. You cooed as Kuna licked your fingers while inhaling the biscuit you had presented him.

“Well,” your mother stood up, having finished her tea, and began ushering in the maids to clear the table. “It seems our morning will be quite busy. You’d best be prepared for a long day, my dear.”

Choso was still grumbling as he took a seat across from you, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the long line of suitors outside. “I’m keeping an eye on that Naoya fellow. If he so much as looks at you the wrong way…”

You raised an eyebrow at your brother’s protectiveness, feeling both amused and touched. “Choso, I appreciate your concern, but I can handle myself. Besides, with Kuna here, I doubt any of these gentlemen will get too close without proper approval.”

As if understanding the conversation, Sukuna Jr. barked enthusiastically, his tail wagging as he looked up at you with bright, expectant eyes. You smiled and scratched behind his ears, watching as his tiny body wriggled with joy.

Yuji, still catching his breath from the chase, flopped onto the chair beside you, shooting a grin at Choso. “Come on, big brother, give her a break. It’s not every day our sister gets declared the diamond of the season. Let her enjoy it.”

Choso crossed his arms, still unconvinced. “I’m just saying, if any of these men don’t meet my standards⸺”

“Your standards?” you interrupted with a teasing lilt. “Choso, I’d never find a husband if I had to meet your impossible standards. Besides, you should be more concerned about finding someone yourself.”

Choso’s cheeks tinted with a slight blush, but make no mistake; he was hot with anger, ready to make a snarky retort. Your mother, who had been overseeing the maids, turned her attention back to the conversation with a soft smile.

“Your sister is right, Choso. It’s her time to shine, and as her family, we should support her, not make things more difficult.” She gave him a pointed look before turning to you with a gentler expression, and he backed down as he always does for your mother. “Now, my dear, are you ready to begin receiving your guests?”

You took a deep breath, nodding as you steeled yourself for the hours of polite conversation and careful navigation of the social battlefield ahead. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good,” your mother said, her voice laced with both pride and encouragement. “Remember, you are the diamond of the season. There isn’t a man out there who wouldn’t be lucky to have you.”

You offered a weak smile. “Let’s get this over with.”

As you walked toward the sofa where you would be talking with suitors, Kuna trotted alongside you, his presence a comforting reminder.With Yuji and Choso trailing behind, and your mother leading the way to open the door, you braced yourself for the onslaught of admirers waiting beyond the door.

But as you straighten your posture, in anticipation to greet the first suitor, you couldn't help but glance down at Kuna, who stared up at you with wide, curious eyes. You chuckled softly.

“Well, Kuna,” you whispered, “let’s see who passes your test today.”

Gojo’s gaze wandered down to Sukuna Jr. in your lap as you stroked his fur, and he gave you a saccharine⸺yet strained⸺smile. “Must this dog bear witness to our conversation?

As if sensing Gojo’s unfriendliness, Kuna started growling, and you could feel the rumble deep in his stomach. You met Gojo’s sweet smile with one of your own. “Yes.”

Gojo blinked, and the smile on his face faltered. You noticed that this was one of the first time Gojo’s ever expressed an emotion outside of smugness, and you count this as your personal win.

“Well,” he hesitated, and then a smile was on his face as if that stumble didn’t happen. “You look wonderful this morning, Miss Itadori.”

Your eyes flashed at his audacity to talk behind your back and try to fool you with flattery. “On the contrary, I think I look rather simple.”

Gojo, none the wiser as to what you were referring to, waved his hands. “Nonsense.”

Before you could respond, Kuna let out a low, rumbling growl, his sharp eyes fixed on Gojo. The sound was subtle, but in the quiet of the morning, it was unmistakable. Gojo’s gaze flickered down to the small dog, and his smile tightened ever so slightly.

You gently scratched behind Kuna’s ears, calming him, though his gaze never left Gojo. “I apologize on behalf of my dear Kuna,” you said, your voice light but nonetheless pointed. “He tends to be wary of many, particularly those he believes to be with ulterior motives.”

Gojo nodded, unfazed, and looked down at the dog in question. Upon eye contact, all your efforts to calm Kuna went to naught as the dog stood up, tense and teeth almost bared fully, to stare back at Gojo defiantly. Gojo, to his credit, was starting to be a little wary and was giving the pup an impassive stare.

“You know, I have an affinity for dogs. There are many pups that I have spent my entire childhood with.” He offered a chuckle and moved his hand to pet Kuna. “Dogs do have a way of sensing things, don’t they?” That was clearly the wrong decision because the dog’s growl grew louder, and suddenly, he snapped at Gojo’s hand. Before Kuna could sink his teeth into Gojo’s hand, however, Gojo smoothly withdrew it out of his reach.

“Protective, isn’t he?” Gojo laughed, but his stare towards Kuna was veering more and more into a glare. He tried to disguise his irritation by suavely adding, “Admirable. I’m glad he has protected my lady so well.” Gojo then grabbed your hand to give you a small kiss on the back of it while keeping eye contact. You had to divert your eyes elsewhere to avoid coloring your cheeks; while you knew this was just another one of Gojo’s pretenses to charm you, you were still fazed by it.

You cleared your throat and tried to uphold the conversation. After all, it would be outright rude to keep throwing thinly veiled insults his way when there were others in your company; he also had the potential to spread further malicious rumors about you if you showed attitude. You mustered up a fake smile, and offered, “He was a gift to me and Yuji offered by my older brother, Sukuna, when he went traveling,” you offered.

“Is that the brother you hoped to follow to Europe?”

You blinked and faltered. You didn’t expect him to remember that tidbit from your conversation at the ball last night. While most of the preferences you had asserted were artificial⸺supplemented to you by your tutor, who had drilled what fake preferences of yours would woo men⸺you truly did gain enthusiasm for the languages because you hoped to prove your helpfulness to Sukuna in an effort to run away from your inevitable debut. At the time, you were rebelling against anything your mama said, avoiding anything associated with being paraded around like an animal, put on display for men. “Yes,” you said slowly, “Yes, it is.”

Gojo smiled, this time a little more genuine at the fact it was his first time receiving an authentic response from you this morning, rather than something covered with a fake smile. Just as he leaned in slightly, probably preparing to make another smooth remark, Kuna, who had been shifting in your lap, suddenly stilled, his face buried in your lap and tail facing Gojo. For a moment, you thought he might be settling down.

And then it happened.

The largest fart ripped through the room out of Kuna’s arse, which was pointed directly in Gojo’s face. While you were not a scholar studying physics, you were aware that the air dynamics did not do Gojo any favors in preventing the smell from hitting him direct-on. Gojo’s eyes widened in surprise, and his suave expression faltered entirely as the smell quickly followed, filling the air around you both.

You could feel the heat rushing to your face in your effort not to laugh out loud. Trying to keep your composure, you gently patted Kuna’s belly, who was now face up, tongue lolling out in bliss. “Oh, dear,” you muttered, your voice strained with the effort to suppress a laugh.

Gojo, for once, was at a loss for words. His eyes were tearing up, probably at the smell; whenever you and Yuji spoiled Kuna with those biscuits, he dropped nasty-smelling dungs, and you knew Gojo wasn’t spared at all. The arrogant bachelor, who always seemed to have a witty response ready, was now at a loss of words as he weakly gazed upon the weak little poot! poot!s that escaped Kuna as you continued patting his stomach in an effort to relieve your pup’s digestive system.

At Gojo’s expression, you had to take quiet, deep breaths in an effort to rein in the cackles that were threatening to overcome you. You resorted to covering your mouth as you strained, “As you can see, my Kuna is quite expressive, and he seemed quite eager to show you that.”

He offered you a strained smile. “He does indeed generate quite a bit of wind.” At that, you could no longer hold back. Genuine laughter wracked through your figure, hurting your ribs as you tried to quell it with a hand to the mouth, but no avail. Your muffled laughter was still loud, and when the giggles subsided, you wiped your tears and threw an apologetic look at Gojo, preparing to express your regret.

But you stopped at the sheer wonder he contained in his face as his gaze fixated on your lips, which were drawn back in the ghost of the smile you had while laughing riotously. Without allowing you much time to dwell on it, he stood up and dipped his head in a little bow. “Well, I have been taking quite a bit of your time, Miss Itadori. I better let other suitors have their chance.” He kissed the back of your hand. “I hope to see you at the horse race tomorrow.”

“Likewise.” You couldn’t help but spy some red coloring Gojo’s alabaster cheeks as he made his way to the exit. As you greeted the next suitor, the imprint of a certain man’s lips continued to tingle on your hands.

“I told you he was a rake,” Nobara muttered as she scrubbed your arm with an intensity that matched her outrage. After hearing what Gojo had said about you, she was livid. Unfortunately, your skin was bearing the brunt of her frustration.

“Well,” you mused, trying to distract her, “what rumors have you heard that make you think that?”

“Momo told me a few months ago⸺” Nobara paused, her hands hovering over the various bottles on the counter. “Which scent would you prefer for your hair?”

“Sandalwood,” you replied.

Nobara nodded and poured some of the rich liquid into her hands before massaging it into your scalp. You closed your eyes, feeling the tension from the day's exhausting and dull conversations slowly melt away under her skillful fingers. “Momo mentioned that he’s often out late at night, which seems suspicious. But now that I think about it, Momo isn’t the most reliable source,” Nobara added, her tone shifting to one of skepticism.

You quirked an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

“There’s talk that she attempted to lure another maid’s husband into an affair,” Nobara replied, her hands now working the shampoo through your hair with a practiced ease. “She even tried to gain access to his quarters.”

You gasped. “How scandalous!”

“I know,” Nobara said, her hands now massaging the back of your neck with a gentler touch. “So, who knows how much truth there is to her gossip. But still, Gojo’s behavior is less than honorable, don’t you think?”

You sighed, gazing up at the ceiling with a mix of frustration and resignation. “He was gossiping about me with other men, calling me all sorts of horrible things⸺‘simple,’ of all things. And yet, he has the audacity to want to call upon me?”

“You know,” Nobara mused as she continued her task, “He sounds the exact opposite of what some of your books would imply.”

You hummed in agreement, recalling the radical works you kept hidden beneath your bed. Your mother would be appalled if she ever discovered them, but you often sought solace in political writings that challenged the rigid expectations of society. “I know. And that is precisely why I have no intention of encouraging his attention this season—at least, not before I ensure his complete and utter humiliation.”

“But do take care. His connections to the Queen are quite strong.”

You drew back from Nobara's hands, much to her chagrin. She gave you a glare while you exclaimed, "What?"

“Surely you’re aware that the Gojo dukedom is among the closest to the royal family?”

You fervently hoped your mother hadn’t caught wind of Gojo's status. Yet, the way she had been observing you⸺subtly scrutinizing you in the drawing room while feigning interest in a suitor awaiting his turn⸺suggested otherwise. She had certainly noticed Gojo's growing interest, and the thought of her getting involved, fixating on a match with him, filled you with dread. Drawing your hands over your face, you moaned, the very notion of her scheming to pair you with Gojo weighing heavily on your mind.

“But that should hardly be a concern if you’ve begun to distance yourself from him, correct? You have been creating some distance, haven’t you?”

Your silence spoke volumes, and Nobara, ever quick to discern your hesitation, gasped in exasperation. “You cannot seriously be considering giving this gentleman any encouragement, can you?”

"No, no, it’s not that,” you replied, massaging your temples in frustration. “It’s just that my mother is probably ecstatic at the prospect of securing a match between me and Gojo.”

“But surely, if she knew the things he’s been saying behind your back, she would understand.”

You tried to open your mouth to respond, but it felt as if your throat had closed up. Would she really? A match with Gojo would mean elevated status for the Itadori family⸺a duchess for a daughter. What worth is there in being the diamond of the season if not to secure the most advantageous match? The very thought made your chest tighten with the suffocating realization that your mother might very well advocate for the union, despite Gojo’s duplicity.

“I⸺” you swallowed. “I’m not sure.” Before Nobara could interrupt, you stood up and reached for your robe.

Nobara's brow furrowed as she watched you stand up. "Where do you think you're going? You’re not done with your bath, and your hair is still full of suds!" She reached out to stop you, her hands hovering as though unsure whether to pull you back into the tub or grab the robe you were now clutching.

You forced a small, tired smile, grateful for the distraction. “I need just a moment. The water's gone cold, anyway.”

“Oh, nonsense! You’ll catch a chill if you get out now. Sit back down,” Nobara insisted, her protest tinged with genuine concern. She placed a firm hand on your shoulder, guiding you back toward the warm water.

With a reluctant sigh, you allowed yourself to be coaxed back into the tub. The momentary reprieve from the conversation was a relief, and you welcomed Nobara’s determined focus on completing your bath. She picked up a sponge, her earlier frustration melting into concentration as she scrubbed your back.

“Well, we can discuss that scheming rake later,” she muttered, more to herself than to you. “For now, let’s get you properly cleaned up before your mother comes looking for you. She’d never forgive me if I let you appear anything less than perfect.”

You nodded with a lump in your throat, grateful for the change in topic, even if only temporary. The soothing rhythm of Nobara's hands working through your hair, the warmth of the bathwater, and the familiar, comforting routine helped ease the tightness in your chest. For now, the troubling thoughts of Gojo and your mother's ambitions could be set aside.

“Now, hold still,” Nobara said, her tone softening as she rinsed the last of the soap from your hair. “We’ll have you looking radiant again in no time.”

The conversation was left unfinished, hanging in the air like a question that neither of you was quite ready to answer. But for now, the silence was a welcome refuge.

"Do you have any notion of how impossible it is to charm a lady when there is a pup expelling such foul air right beneath your nose?" Satoru lamented, leaning back in his chair and raking a hand through his tousled hair. The trio gathered at the table presented a rather unusual sight: Satoru, visibly discomposed; Nanami, calmly sipping his drink as ever; and Suguru, nearly doubled over in laughter at his friend’s misfortune.

“Would you please⸺SMACK⸺cease your laughing?!” Satoru glared at Suguru, who seemed to be of no hope, now with tears in his eyes as he clutched his stomach and the back of his head, which Satoru had just hit.

“Truly, your vanity⸺haaah⸺your vanity was in need of humbling,” Suguru managed between breaths, still snickering behind his palms.

Satoru glowered, crossing his arms and staring daggers into his drink, as if his gaze alone could break the fine glass. “My pride had already suffered enough. She was positively frigid.”

Nanami hummed. “Perhaps she’s merely discerned your true nature.”

“It defies comprehension,” Gojo groaned, ignoring Kento’s statement. “What kind of lady disparages her own beauty as ‘simple’? I cannot fathom what has caused her such vexation. Only the night before, she was utterly taken with me!”

Suguru⸺who had now calmed down⸺was in the midst of wiping his tears when he suddenly stopped. “You don’t suppose it had anything to do with your careless words, do you?”

Kento eyed the pair in front of him with an accusatory side eye. “And what precisely did you say?”

“Satoru, in his usual fashion, could not contain his tongue. Out on the terrace, with the garden as witness, he spoke rather unkindly, referring to the diamond as ‘simple and dull.’”

“Nonsense,” Satoru waved his hands, dismissing the idea. “The lady would never wander the gardens at such an hour in the night unchaperoned.”

“I suggest you reconsider.” Kento gave him a stern look and continued, “I happened upon her last night, emerging from the gardens, and she appeared rather disheveled.”

This revelation gave Satoru pause, but if there was one thing certain about Satoru Gojo, it was this: his arrogance was such that he could scarcely fathom anyone, least of all a lady, finding his charm anything but irresistible⸺even if that very lady had overheard him uttering defamatory remarks about her. And this lady was one he could not let go of, unless he wanted to wave good-bye to his future.

“I am confident all will be well,” Gojo exhaled, his lips curving into a Cheshire smile. “Even if she did overhear, surely a few well-chosen sweet words will surely set matters right.”

(He was most grievously mistaken.)

“How many of those biscuits do you suppose we could finish?” Yuji was eyeing the biscuits from his seat next to you in the pavilion where you and your family were sitting. Out promenading with the other families of the ton, it was a scenic and beautiful day for you to mingle with even more suitors. The joy!

“Certainly less than me,” you remarked, sipping on your tea smugly. By the irritated pout on his face, you knew you were successful at getting a rise out of your younger brother. Knowing your mother wasn’t in sight, you quickly darted for the jam-filled biscuits, and your brother quickly followed in tow; soon, you were both stuffing your faces silly with the sugary treats.

“You two are incorrigible,” Choso scrunched his nose from where he sat across from you, arms crossed. “There’s no need to inhale those biscuits. What if someone sees?”

Yuji stuck out his tongue⸺now adorned with biscuit crumbs⸺and continued gorging, while you snickered at your younger brother’s pettiness.

“Miss Itadori.”

You began coughing wildly, caught off guard, and hastily straightened your posture to greet your guest. You turned to see Lord Ino, who offered you a slight nod before acknowledging your brothers. “Lord Itadori. Mister Itadori.”

“Lord Ino, nice to meet you on such a fine day.” You try to put a smile on your face as best as you can, even though you were caught off guard. “How do you find today’s weather?”

Takuma grabs the back of your hand to kiss it. “I find it wonderful for the prospect of promenading. Do you care to do so with me?”

“Of course,” You stand up and link your elbows with Takuma’s.

“We’ll be thirty paces behind you, sister.” You both turned to look at Choso, who was giving Lord Ino his inevitable protective glare. Given Ino’s acceptable station, Choso hadn’t immediately protested, unlike the many suitors he had chased out of your manor the day before. He grabbed Yuji by the elbow, who, with cheeks comically inflated like a chipmunk hoarding acorns, was promptly dragged away. “Yuji, get up.” The last you saw of your brothers was Yuji’s futile protests, his mouth too full to be coherent⸺inevitably sending some crumbs flying onto Choso⸺and Choso swatting him for it.

As you began your walk with Lord Ino, the conversation naturally turned to the upcoming horse race. “Are you looking forward to the race this afternoon?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

“I am,” the lord replied. “And you?”

“Very much so,” you said, a hint of excitement in your voice. “I have a feeling that the less popular horse⸺Blaze, was it?⸺might surprise everyone. The conditions seem just right for an underdog victory; the track is soft and warm, which would favor Blaze’s build.”

Lord Ino glanced at you with a polite but unconvinced smile. “But Thunder has higher odds and more bets. It’s as simple as that.”

You couldn’t help but bristle at the word “simple,” a word that had recently come to grate on your nerves. You pressed on, though, determined to keep the conversation pleasant. “I suppose there’s some truth to that, but sometimes there’s more to a race than just the odds and popularity.”

Ino chuckled softly. “Well, a good mentor and friend of mine⸺Duke Nanami⸺agrees with the odds, and His Grace is someone I deeply respect. I tend to follow his lead⸺the duke has a way of teaching lessons without hindering one’s growth.”

Before you could respond, the sound of a trumpet blared in the distance, signaling the start of the race. You looked at him, giving him a courteous nod, gesturing in the general direction Choso and Yuji were supposed to be in. “It seems the race is about to begin. I must rejoin my family.”

You curtsied as he bowed, and you watched as he walked away, leaving you momentarily alone. You took a deep breath, trying to dispel the lingering irritation from the conversation. Just as you began looking for your family, you felt a presence approaching.

You turned to find Lady Mei Mei and her entourage closing in. Their expressions were a study in artful contempt, laced with curiosity and barely concealed amusement. The atmosphere between you was thick with unspoken competition, each woman silently gauging the other’s position on the social ladder.

“Miss Itadori, what a nice surprise!” Lady Mei Mei remarked, her tone dripping with false sweetness. “It appears you are alone and unchaperoned in a garden yet again! At least, according to what the rumors say. Was it part of yet another one of your charming ploys to get what you want?"

You met her gaze with cool composure, not giving her the satisfaction of a visible reaction. "I have no clue what you're talking about."

Lady Mei Mei tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as if appraising a particularly interesting specimen. "Really?" she mused, drawing out the word as though savoring it. "It’s just that Lord Gojo hasn’t spoken with you all day. Even if Whistledown commended you in the last issue, I wouldn’t expect his interest to linger." The two ladies flanking her⸺unremarkable save for their sycophantic attachment to Mei Mei⸺giggled behind their fans, as though she had delivered a crushing blow.

You allowed yourself a small, almost imperceptible smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes. "So I’m assuming he called upon you?" you questioned sweetly, your voice laced with feigned politeness.

For a fleeting moment, Lady Mei Mei’s carefully curated composure slipped, the faintest flicker of irritation crossing her face before she regained control. She leaned in slightly, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper meant for you alone. “None of the suitors will be interested in you any longer. The Queen may have mistakenly proclaimed you the diamond, but a pretty face, empty smiles, and hollow words can only last so long.”

“Whatever would be most convenient for you to believe.” Her words were empty and her threats dull, but you couldn’t help but let it compound on the irritation you had experienced today. But you knew better than to let your tongue loose; you were quite impulsive when you had started, and you didn’t want to start any scandal anytime soon. Instead, you held your ground, trying to maintain your composure (outwardly, at least) as Lady Mei Mei and her entourage turned to leave, their laughter echoing in your ears.

You tried to implement a few things your tutor had ingrained in you: taking deep breaths and setting your posture correctly. However, as you stood there, collecting yourself, the last thing you needed seemed to manifest before you: Satoru Gojo.

His tall figure approached you with that familiar, self-assured stride, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Ah, Miss Itadori," he greeted, a sly smile playing on his lips. You were already irritated, and it took all your will-power to stifle a groan.

"I couldn’t help but notice you were conversing with Lord Ino," he remarked casually.

Give him a smile. "Indeed, we were enjoying a promenade. It is, after all, what young ladies and their suitors are expected to do."

“Quite the choice in company!”

KEEP up the smile. "He is a nobleman, and I am of noble descent. I fail to see your point, Mr. Gojo."

Gojo’s smile was quick and cutting. “Oh, I’ve no particular quarrel with Lord Ino. It’s simply that he’s hardly the sort I’d expect to see on your arm. After all, he’s practically Nanami’s lapdog.”

You felt the familiar irritation rising within you⸺and you were fighting for your life trying to keep a smile on your face⸺but you kept your tone measured. "And what, pray tell, are you implying by that, Mr. Gojo?"

"It’s quite simple, really⸺"

But your patience, already worn thin, snapped at that word.

"My good sir, do you not think it rather dishonorable to speak ill of others behind their backs?" Gojo began to respond, but you cut him off. "It’s curious how quickly opinions can change, is it not? Just the other evening, you seemed to hold me in rather low regard. Tell me, do you often dismiss people as ‘simple’ when they fail to meet any of the lofty expectations you have set? Or do you perhaps truly believe yourself to be at a station higher than others?"

Gojo stiffened, the smile slipping from his face as your words hit their mark. Before he could respond, Choso appeared at your side, his protective presence a welcome relief.

“Is there any problem, sister?” Choso asked, his tone polite yet firm as he glanced at Satoru, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Gojo’s gaze flicked to Choso, his irritation clear as he opened his mouth to make a cutting remark, and you couldn’t thank the gods enough for Choso’s mother hen tendencies. But the words faltered when he recognized who had interrupted. For a brief moment, surprise flashed in his eyes before he masked it with a tight-lipped smile.

You seized the moment, turning to Satoru with a sweet smile. “I think our time is up, Mister Gojo,” you said, your voice laced with venom.

Satoru hesitated for just a fraction of a second before nodding curtly, his expression unreadable. “Of course. Until next time, Miss Itadori.”

With that, he stepped back, allowing you and Choso to walk away toward where people were gathering for the race. As you moved through the crowd, you could feel Satoru’s gaze lingering on you, but you didn’t look back.

“That horse appears rather stout, does it not?” Yuji squinted against the blazing sun as he observed the horses from his seat beside you in the grandstand. “Why has it garnered so many bets?”

Choso, seated protectively on your other side, kept a steady arm linked with yours. His presence was reassuring, though your irritation was directed at the figure seated just below you. Satoru Gojo, to your endless chagrin, was sitting with Lady Mei Mei, who had all but forced her way into the seat beside him. Though he tried to appear indifferent, his signature flirty remarks flowing with ease, you noticed the subtle signs of irritation crossing his face. Whether it stemmed from Lady Mei Mei's advances or from your earlier exchange, you couldn't be sure. You refused to meet his gaze, though you could feel his eyes on you intermittently as the crowd waited for the race to begin.

“Men can be quite foolish at times,” you remarked hotly, your voice carrying just enough to be overheard. “Some people value the superficial and materialistic over true substance, much like they do with horses. Blaze, for instance, has the qualities that truly matter.”

You could almost feel Gojo’s gaze intensify, and despite yourself, you glanced in his direction. Lady Mei Mei, ever the actress, feigned a stumble, exclaiming with a coy smile, “These crowds are rather rough on a lady!”

You scoffed inwardly at her transparent attempt to press her bosom against Gojo’s arm.

“Oh my,” Gojo drawled, his voice oozing concern. “We can’t have that, can we?” Ever the gallant gentleman, he interlaced his arm with hers. “Here, for extra protection. I wouldn’t want a pretty lady shedding tears beside me.”

Mei Mei’s smirk was as satisfied as a serpent after a meal, and she batted her eyelashes coquettishly. “If I were to cry, would you console me?”

“Of course,” Gojo replied smoothly. “Though I might find myself crying should my horse lose. The bets I’ve placed are rather substantial.”

A flirtatious giggle escaped Mei Mei’s lips. “Then I shall cheer with all my might, so you needn’t suffer any losses, my lord.”

You were perilously close to tearing your hair out.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, my lady,” Gojo said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it with exaggerated flourish. “But rest assured, I am quite confident of a victory today. Thunder is swift and cunning, far superior to that... other horse. It’s simple, really—Thunder will win.”

Your composure cracked. “Yuji,” you called, your voice sharp. Your brother, who had been lost in thought, snapped to attention. “Despite the other horse’s popularity, Blaze possesses the one quality universal to all champions: speed and diligence. The track conditions are in its favor.”

Yuji, caught off guard, blinked in confusion. “Yes, of course, sister,” he mumbled, clearly unsure of why you were addressing him.

“And anyone who thinks otherwise,” you continued, raising your voice slightly, “is bound to lose their money. Sorely and simply.”

Gojo matched your tone, his voice ringing out. “But of course, it’s all in good fun. There’s no need for hostility over a sport, is there? Both horses are fine contenders, though I remain convinced Thunder shall emerge victorious.”

Mei Mei tittered, parroting his sentiments, but you could hardly see straight for the anger coursing through you. Unable to hold back, you retorted, “However, it is, after all, still a race. And Blaze will win.”

By now, your exchange had drawn the attention of those around you, including your brothers. Choso and Yuji exchanged puzzled glances before Yuji asked weakly, “Are you still talking to us, sister?” Meanwhile, Choso’s protective instincts flared, his gaze darting suspiciously between you and Gojo.

Before you could reply, the horses lined up at the starting gate, and the crowd collectively rose to their feet, including Gojo. “Steady now, Thunder!” he called out, his voice brimming with confidence.

Not to be outdone, you shouted, “Come on, Blaze!”

The bell rang, and the horses surged forward, the crowd erupting in cheers. Blaze and Thunder quickly pulled ahead, the two horses locked in a fierce battle for the lead. Thunder was currently ahead, its sleek form cutting through the track with precision.

“Steady, Thunder! Keep the lead!” Gojo’s voice was full of excitement, urging his horse onward.

Your heart raced with frustration as Blaze lagged slightly behind. “You can do this, Blaze!” you urged, your voice rising above the din. Without thinking, you began whistling sharply, drawing alarmed looks from your brothers. The stares from the crowd meant nothing to you as you focused solely on the race.

Blaze, as if responding to your encouragement, began to accelerate, its powerful strides eating up the ground between it and Thunder. You noticed Thunder’s pace faltering, fatigue setting in, while Blaze surged ahead, pulling into the lead with a quarter of the race remaining.

Now it was Gojo’s turn to whistle, his voice tinged with desperation. “Straight to the finish line, Thunder! Don’t let up!”

But Blaze only widened the gap, its momentum carrying it farther ahead. You couldn’t contain your laughter, a joyous sound that bubbled up from within as Blaze crossed the finish line first, with Thunder trailing behind.

“Goddamn it,” Gojo cursed under his breath, his frustration palpable. You clapped your hands in delight, your laughter ringing out.

With deliberate grace, you placed your hands on your hips and turned to Gojo, flashing him a triumphant smile. “I’m so glad the ‘simple’ horse won,” you said, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “It seems I’ve finally bested a duke.”

Gojo’s blue eyes bore into you, their intensity searing, but you met his glare with a boisterous laugh, savoring the victory as the crowd’s cheers and claps echoed around you. Until it was only the two of you, staring each other down.

Gojo ⸺ 0, you ⸺ 1.

Now, Duchess Gojo had always had a penchant for gossip, no one escaping her eye and observation. Of course, it was now the Whistledown era, for the unknown author could observe far more than the high-profile duchess, who was the receiver of much praise and attention due to her son’s eligibility. But this eligibility had only been achieved because of her ability to direct the tide based on her reconnaissance, and in all her years, no could match her sass and direction. Except one.

"You know, Lady Itadori," the Duchess remarked, her tone laced with feigned pensiveness, "the Gojo manor in the countryside has been dreadfully quiet, and, if I may say, it has been quite some time since we last enjoyed a proper tête-à-tête.”

The two ladies stood together near the stands, choosing a more secluded spot from which to observe the horse race. Lady Itadori, her closest confidante, met the Duchess’s gaze with a gleam in her eye. "Indeed, I must agree."

For a moment, the two women stood in silence, their eyes surveying the scene before them. From the ladies flirting shamelessly to the gentlemen scrambling for the favor of the season’s debutantes, they were like spectators at a grand circus. Yet, their attention was drawn to a particular act.

Raising her fan to her lips, Lady Itadori whispered conspiratorially to the Duchess, "I might add, my diamond has been spending a considerable amount of time in your son’s company."

The Duchess met her friend’s eyes and laughed lightly. "How many days do you wager it will take in the manor?"

Lady Itadori, now fully smirking, gave a delicate shrug. "It took you and the Duke but four days."

prev. the debutante | next. the manor

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n: reader is hearing boss music rn

forced proximity whatttt

gojo when kuna ripped one in his face

comment, reblog, and send in an ask to let me know ur thots :3 memes are also appreciated <3

TAGLIST:

@ncitygreen @backstagepaige @serinatly100986 @nappingmoon @coochellati

@extremelyexh4usted @yoshisaurmuchakoopas @nixiepixee @generalstephkenobi @vernasce-blogs

@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs

@megumiivs @anthastudios @arranacosmist @arishaxml @jingyuun

@undercooked-chaos-noodle @jaegersity @camzzn @bluelai @1sweetheart1

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@yamiyas @cherry-blossoms-in-red @r3inae @lagataprrr @sasfransisco

@fortunatelyfurrygiver @aurora-tiny @gojonegs @luna-v-roiya @xxemmarldxx

@soobssedwithyourex @manyno @samkysnks @stefnarda @bbqsauceonmytitties2

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nightingale-prompts · 5 months ago

Text

Sparing Batboy

First | Previous | Next

"You need to sleep." Bruce put his hand on Dick's shoulder.

Dick ran a hand through his disheveled hair. His eyes were dark from lack of rest.

It had been two days. Two days without a sign of Danny. Not even a glimpse on a street camera or his phone or clothes going missing. He's just gone. Evaporating into thin air.

"I need to find him," Dick said resolutely.

Bruce shook his head and opened his mouth to protest.

"Don't say anything," Dick said through clenched teeth. "You don't get to say anything about what I'm doing. You have done the same thing."

"Dick this is not the time to-"

"I said shut up! If you want to be helpful then go back to looking for him. Otherwise, leave." Dick said before jumping to another rooftop.

Dick knew at the end of the day he knew very little about Danny. He never asked because he knew it clearly hurt him to talk about it. All he needed to know was that Danny needed him. From the moment he first saw that watery smile on that kids face on his face when he invited Danny to eat with him.

Bruce definitely knew by this point that Danny and Batboy were the same. Especially when he asked where his grandson was while they searched. He hadn't said anything else about it. Dick didn't care at this point. I wouldn't change anything.

Part of Dick hated it. He has spent so many years comparing himself to Bruce. Trying not to become him yet still stuck in his shadow. To not repeat his mistakes.

Dick had made his fair share of mistakes and had paid for each one. He had lost so many people either from his own actions or not acting at all.

But what can he do now?

He just wanted to find his son.

He just didn't want to hear what came next. Commissioner Gordon called in with a clue…no it was a message.

A pair of wings splayed to mimic the iconic bat signal on a rooftop. The bloodied wings were severed at the base of the bone.

There were very few villains in Gotham that would do something so violent, fewer that would show off their act so brazenly. This kind of of senseless violence just to anger Batman was the mark of none other than Joker.

Joker had gotten his hands on another member of Dick's family. Flashbacks of Jason and Tim filled his mind.

And something just snapped.

In another part of the city, a certain clown glared at the limp body of the teen.

He had hoped the kid would at least wake up after having his wings cut off but despite his body state he slept soundly. He even had goons try to beat the kid awake but while the blood stayed any injuries disappeared instantly. Metas were a pain in the ass.

In the realm of dreams, Danny was comforted in the arms of the Nocturne. He got to visit his sister and friends in their dreams.

Jazz squeezed the life out of him as she asked him every question she could. Danny tried his best to answer each of them.

"Relax Jazz, I'm fine. I just can't come back. You know how it is. A grand destiny and all that." Danny said.

"But you're still just a kid Danny. You have school and-and-" Jazz said frantically trying to find the words.

"And I'm still going. Clockwork and Nocturne are teaching me everything I need to know until I take the throne." Danny wasn't ready to tell her about his new life.

She didn't need to know that he had a new family. Not when she was what he had to leave behind despite how much it kills him. There wasn't a day he didn't miss her or think of her. Nothing could replace her.

Unaware of this Nocturne and Clockwork watched as Danny dreamed within a dream.

"We should just kill the clown," Nocturne said resolutely as he peered into the material realm.

"You swore not to interfere with the mortals anymore," Clockwork warned.

"I'm not like you, Kronos. I can't sit idly by and watch this happen. I actually care." Nocturne said leveling a glare at the time ghost, his eyes blazing.

"So you care for the boy now? I thought you said you couldn't stand children?" Clockwork smirked his eyebrow raised.

Nocturne huffed shifting the blanket he had laid on Danny to cover him properly.

"I am close to mortals. It is what I am. Children tend to have the most innocent dreams. They have nightmares they don't know how to handle. They are fitful sleepers and cry before they wake. They can't parse dreams from reality. So much care goes into forming their dreams but at the same time, I must scare them. To remind them they should be afraid of the dark. I just can't stand to make them cry and lose those sweet little dreams." Nocturne brushed his clawed hand against Clock's cheek. "I don't understand how you do it. You let them hurt. You know what will happen yet you do nothing."

"It is my purpose. I care but all actions have consequences. I can't weigh the lives of a few for all. I asked you to put the boy to sleep to spare him the pain, at least for now. Had I not, I fear his fate would be darker." Clockwork sighed leaning into Nox's hand.

"Then let's kill that man. I know you want to my love." Nocturne's smiled wickedly eager to return to the living world.

"That is not our role. No, there is another who will come soon." Clockwork said pushing his malicious lover away. "Besides if the boy wakes you know he will undoubtedly cause untold damage. You know how much he hates clowns as is. There will be no coming back from that."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. I would be very proud." Nocturne hummed in delight.

(Am I ever going to run out of bat pics/gifs? Let's hope not.)

(Also gay ghosts dads. You're welcome.)

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #batman #nightwing #dick grayson #bruce wayne #dc joker #dc comics #dp clockwork #dp nocturne

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stylesispunk · 6 months ago

Text

"Did the love affair maim you too?" | Part ii

Joel Miller xf!reader

part one | next part

chapter summary: After getting back his memories, Joel and you slipped away again.

word count: 15,3k (yes, it's longer than the first chapter)

warnings: angst, perhaps fluff, mentions of death, mentions of blood, and more angst, you will find out why Joel is mean in this chapter. I know I'm a teacher, but I didn't proofread, so I apologize for any mistake. paragraphs in italics indicate flashbacks.

a/n: Hello! The awaited part 2 of this story is here! I want to say thank you for the amount of love the previous part received, it was so nice to see all your reactions to this one! It was also my first fic reaching 1k> in less than a week and was overwhelming (positively). THIS IS NOT THE LAST PART, so stay tuned for the next! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! happy reading and PLEASE tell me what you think. 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

For a mere second of time, wanting was enough for you. In a harsh reality where a tender love couldn’t be part of the writing pages of a tragedy that had changed the plans destiny had for humanity, even a simple glimpse of a spark was enough to initiate the fire.

Finding a reason to wake up was enough. Joel was enough for you, even when it was a path with not a clear ending.

A lie.

A maim affair engulfed in fire burning your lungs.

A tragedy.

You looked up from your work as you sensed people entering at the place, your eyes meeting Joel’s for the first time. His expression was hard, his eyes narrowed as he sized you up. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched you with a guarded look that made you feel like you were being evaluated.

“Can I help you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady under his intense gaze.

“She needs that looked at,” he said, his tone brusque as he gestured to Ellie’s arm.

You nodded, motioning for Ellie to sit down. As you began to clean the wound, you could feel Joel’s eyes on you, watching your every move. It was as if he was waiting for you to make a mistake, to prove that you didn’t belong there.

“So, you’re infamous nurse” Joel said after a moment, his voice still cool and distant.

You looked up from your work, meeting Joel’s eyes briefly before returning your focus to Ellie’s wound. His words hung in the air, a subtle challenge beneath the surface.

“Infamous?” you repeated, trying to keep your tone neutral. “I didn’t know I had a reputation.”

Joel shrugged, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze never leaving you. “Small town. People talk.”

You nodded, understanding that this was as much about sizing you up as it was about Ellie’s injury. You’d heard about Joel—everyone in Jackson had. He was a protector, a survivor, and not someone who trusted easily.

“I’m just here to help,” you said, keeping your voice steady as you wrapped Ellie’s arm with a bandage. “That’s all.”

Ellie, sensing the tension, glanced between the two of you, her eyes wide. “She’s okay, Joel,” she said, trying to ease the atmosphere. “It’s just a scratch.”

Joel didn’t respond to Ellie; his focus remained on you. There was something in his eyes—a guardedness, a wariness that told you he was waiting for you to prove yourself, or perhaps waiting for you to slip up.

“I’ve been in Jackson for a few days” you continued, finishing up with Ellie’s bandage. “Just trying to do my part.”

“Everyone’s got a part to play,” Joel said, his tone still clipped. “Just make sure you know yours.”

You felt the sting of his words but didn’t let it show. Instead, you nodded, stepping back as Ellie hopped off the table.

“Thanks,” Ellie said, giving you a small smile.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, managing a smile in return.

Joel pushed off the wall, his eyes still on you as he motioned for Ellie to follow him. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice softening slightly when he spoke to her.

As they walked towards the door, Joel paused for a brief moment, his hand resting on the doorknob. He turned back, his eyes meeting yours once more. There was something in his gaze, something more than just suspicion. It was as if he was searching for something in you, trying to read who you really were beneath the surface.

For a second, the hardened lines of his face softened, but just as quickly, the guarded expression returned. Without another word, he turned away and led Ellie out of the infirmary, the door closing behind them with a quiet thud.

You felt like breathing again.

By the moment you had reached your house, the sun had barely risen, casting a pale light over the quiet settlement. A few people were starting their duties as you walked with dried tears on your face, just wanting not to be perceive and being able to take a shower and follow your routine as you always used to die it since your arrival, but the ache was bigger than your wiliness and you ended up lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, the horror on Joel’s face kept replaying in your mind. The heartbreak was raw and overwhelming, making it hard to breathe, let alone face the day.

You didn’t even notice you had fallen sleep until a knock came at your door, it took a moment for you to register the sound. You dragged yourself out of bed, wiping at your newly fresh tears from your eyes and trying to compose yourself as best as you could.

Opening the door, you found Maria standing there, her expression concerned. “Hey,” she said softly, her eyes scanning your face. “Ramirez told me you didn’t show up at the infirmary this morning. Thought I’d check on you.”

You forced a weak smile, stepping aside to let her in. “Thanks, Maria. I just... fell asleep”

Maria nodded, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. She glanced around, taking in the disarray before turning back to you. “You don’t look like you’ve slept much.”

“I had a pretty good sleep” you said, voice breaking at how you so could still picturing Joel’s eyes looking at you with adoration last night “But morning came” you said, voice breaking “Joel got his memory back.”

Maria's eyes widened with concern and understanding. She moved closer, gently placing a hand on your arm. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes again. "He doesn't remember loving me, Maria. He thinks I took advantage of him. He hates me."

Maria's expression softened, and she pulled you into a comforting hug. "I can't imagine how painful that must be for you. But you didn't take advantage of him. You both shared something real, even if he doesn't remember it now."

You clung to her, "I don't know what to do. I feel so lost right now."

Maria pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "Take it one step at a time. Give yourself permission to feel what you're feeling. And remember, you have people here who care about you. You don't have to go through this alone."

You nodded, trying to find some comfort in her words. "Thanks, Maria. I just... I don't know how to face him now."

Maria squeezed your hand reassuringly. "You don't have to figure it all out today. Take some time for yourself. Maybe stay away from the infirmary for a today? give yourself a break."

You sighed, feeling lost. "Yeah, maybe that's a good idea."

Maria smiled softly. "We'll figure this out together, okay? You're stronger than you think, and you have a lot of people who care about you."

You managed a small smile. "Thanks.”

She nodded, giving you another comforting squeeze before standing up. "I'll check in on you later, alright? And if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

As she left, you felt a small sense of humiliation, as if what had just happened was just a small piece of gossip to feed a community.

You stare at the wall for a minute, getting your stuff together. If you could get over what happened before arriving to Jackson, you could follow your life. That’s what you were making yourself believe.

So, you changed into new clothes, placing Joel’s shirt under your bed to not having sight of it again. And with a deep breath you left your house, walking to de infirmary to get your job done.

A broken heart wasn’t really a big issue in an already broken world.

As you walked to the infirmary, the weight of the morning's events lingered in your chest. The usual bustle of the settlement seemed distant, like a muted backdrop to your internal turmoil. Every step felt heavy, but you kept moving, determined to focus on your responsibilities and find some semblance of normalcy.

Upon arriving at the infirmary, you were greeted by the familiar soft hum of activity. People glanced at you with curiosity, but no one asked any questions. You were grateful for their unspoken understanding, and you quickly immersed yourself in your tasks, finding solace in the routine.

Hours passed in a blur of tending to some Jackson residents, organizing supplies, and ensuring everything was in order. The work kept your mind occupied, though it couldn't completely drown out the ache in your heart.

As the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you saw Maria standing there, her expression gentle yet firm.

"Hey," she said, her voice soft but steady. "How are you holding up?"

You managed a small, tired smile. "I'm getting by. Staying busy helps."

Maria nodded, understanding in her eyes. "I'm glad you're here. I just wanted to check in and see if you needed anything."

You shook your head. "I don’t want to talk. It’s over” you said, avoiding her gaze.

She placed a reassuring hand on your arm. "I know you said you don't want to talk, but I'm here if you change your mind," she said softly. "Sometimes it helps to just let it out."

You looked at her, the pain still fresh in your eyes. "Thanks, Maria. Maybe... maybe later. I just need some time now."

She nodded, respecting your need for space. "Take all the time you need. Just remember, we're here for you."

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, a bit of rage simmered.

“You all were the ones who told me to go for it. You told me Joel was in love for me and him recovering his memory wouldn’t break what was there, but this morning he treated me like a whore and broke my heart.”

Maria's eyes filled with sympathy and regret. "I know, and I'm so sorry for what you're going through. We all believed it would be different. Joel... he's complicated. The things he's been through have left deep scars. But that doesn't excuse how he treated you."

You took a shaky breath, the pain still fresh and raw. "I just don't understand how it could change so quickly. One moment, we were so happy, and the next... he hates me."

Maria reached out, placing a comforting hand on your arm. "Joel's been through a lot, and sometimes people lash out when they're scared or confused. But that doesn't make it any easier for you. You deserve better than that."

You nodded, tears welling up again. "I just wanted to be happy. I thought we could be happy together."

Maria's grip tightened slightly, a gesture of support. "You will be happy again. It might not feel like it now, but you will. You're strong, and you have people who care about you. We'll get through this together."

Maria gave your arm one last reassuring squeeze before stepping back. You watched her leave, feeling of sorrow. The pain was still there, but you knew it would take time, but you also knew you wouldn't have to face it alone.

Later that evening, the emotional turmoil still roiling within you, you decided to head to the bar. You hoped the familiar atmosphere and a drink might help numb the pain, even if just for a little while. As you pushed open the door, the hum of conversations and the clinking of glasses filled the air, a stark contrast to the quiet despair you felt inside.

You made your way to the bar, trying to avoid looking around too much, but it was impossible not to notice Joel sitting at a table in the corner. His arm was wrapped around Lori, and they were laughing together, looking every bit like a happy couple. The sight hit you like a punch to the gut, the wound from the morning’s confrontation ripping open all over again.

Taking a deep breath, you walked up to the bar and ordered a drink, trying to keep your hands from shaking as you waited, Rick, the bartender, sensing your mood offered a small smile.

“What’s wrong with your face, darling?” he asked, concerned on his eyes.

You graced him with a small, tired smile at the question. “Just a rough day,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded understandingly, setting your drink in front of you. “Well, here’s something to help take the edge off. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” you said, taking a sip of the drink. The warmth of the alcohol spread through you, momentarily dulling the pain.

As you sat there, trying to lose yourself in the comforting anonymity of the bar, you couldn’t help but glance back at Joel and Lori. Their laughter and closeness were a stark contrast to the emptiness you felt. You turned away quickly, not wanting to see any more.

“Is it Joel?” Rick asked gently, his voice cutting through your thoughts.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak without breaking down.

He sighed sympathetically, shaking his head. “Love can be a real mess sometimes.”

You chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

The bartender gave you a knowing look. “It’ll get better, you know. It might not seem like it now, but time has a way of healing these things.”

You took another sip of your drink, hoping he was right. “I hope so.”

“If you need anything, just ask me, okay?” he said, smiling at you before going back to his task.

You took another sip of your drink, hoping he was right. “I hope so.”

You nodded, trying to muster a smile in return. As the Rick moved away, you felt the weight of the day pressing down on you again. Lost in thought, you barely noticed the person sitting next to you until you felt their presence.

Turning slightly, you saw Joel, his expression unreadable. Your heart skipped a beat, a mix of emotions surging through you, all the pain, anger, and a lingering trace of love.

Perhaps he was here to apologize.

Joel cleared his throat, looking almost as uncomfortable as you felt. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty.

You stared at him, trying to gauge his intentions. “Hey,” you replied, your voice strained.

Joel shifted in his seat, glancing at the drink in front of you. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to say much more. The sight of him so close, the contrast memories of his tender touch last night and the harsh words from the morning still fresh, made it hard to breathe.

He took a deep breath, his eyes finally meeting yours. “Look, about this morning…I was asking myself if I should let my door open tonight for you to come in the lure or something?”

The laugh he made after that cracked your already broken heart. The sound was harsh, cruel, and it cut through you like a knife. Your eyes widened in disbelief, and you felt your entire body tense.

“You think this is funny?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with hurt and anger. “You think what happened between us is something to joke about?”

Joel’s laughter died on his lips as he saw the hurt and anger in your eyes. “I- “

“What did you mean? you interrupted, your voice rising despite your efforts to keep it steady. “Because it sure as hell feels like you’re entertaining yourself by making jokes right now.”

Joel's face twisted into a bitter expression. “What do you expect me to say? That I suddenly remember everything and I'm head over heels for you? Life doesn't work that way, princess”

Your heart sank further, the cruelty of his words stinging more than you wanted “You don’t have to be cruel to be funny, Joel. You could at least try to understand what I’m going through.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms defensively. “Understand what? That you’re upset because you tried to rewrite a history that doesn’t exist between us? I’m sorry, but I can’t change how I feel—or don’t feel.”

You shook your head, feeling an anger bubbling within you. “You don’t get it.” You said, simply. Taking a seat on the stool, again.

Joel’s expression hardened. “You’re too busy living in a fantasy to see that whatever you think happened between us is over. I don’t remember it, and I don’t care to. Move on.”

You looked at him, fighting the tears. “I will move on from you. You’re not that important.” You looked towards the direction he had come from, not breaking the façade. You immediately spotted Lori who seemed amused at Joels treating you badly. “Go back to your woman, Miller”

Joel’s jaw tightened at your words, and he leaned in closer, his voice low and laced with anger. “You know what? I will. At least she knows where we stand. Unlike you, clinging to some fantasy that never existed.”

Your vision blurred with anger and hurt as you stared at him. “You really think you’re better than me.”

He smirked, a cruel glint in his eyes. “I’m done with your drama.”

The words hit you like a slap, and before you could stop yourself, you balled your hand into a fist and swung at him. The punch landed squarely on his jaw, causing him to stagger back, a look of shock and pain flashing across his face.

The bar fell silent as everyone turned to witness the commotion. Joel touched his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you, anger and something else—something more vulnerable—flickering in his gaze.

“Don’t you ever talk to me like that again” you spat, your voice trembling with the intensity of your emotions. “You are the worst mistake I’ve done here.”

Joel's eyes blazed with a mix of anger and shock, but he didn’t say anything. You could see his jaw clenching, and the vulnerability in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, hardened look. The silence in the bar was deafening, every eye on you.

You didn’t wait for his response. You turned on your heel and marched towards the door, your heart pounding in your chest. The weight of your emotions threatened to overwhelm you, but you refused to let Joel see you break down.

As you pushed the door open, the cool night air hit your face, offering a small respite from the intensity of the bar. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the tears you had been holding back finally spilled over. You wiped them away angrily, not wanting to show any more weakness.

As you stormed out into the night, the tears mingling with the cool air, you heard the door swing open behind you. Heavy footsteps quickly followed, and you knew who it was before you even turned around.

"Hey," Tommy called out, his voice filled with concern. "Wait up."

You spun around to face him, your anger and hurt bubbling over. "What do you want, Tommy?" you snapped, your voice trembling with emotion. "Did you come to see the fallout of your brother's words?"

Tommy stopped a few feet away, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "I came to check on you," he said softly. "I saw what happened in there. Are you okay?"

You laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and broken. "Do I look okay to you, Tommy? Your brother just ripped my dignity there?”

Tommy's eyes were filled with sympathy. "I know Joel can be a real asshole sometimes. But he's just confused. This whole memory thing has messed with his head."

You shook your head, the tears streaming down your face. "No, Tommy. This isn't his memory. He doesn't care about me. He never did. He never will”

Tommy took a step closer, his expression pained. "That's not true. I know my brother, and I know he cared about you. He's just scared. He doesn't know how to handle this."

You scoffed, the anger boiling over. “Care about me?” you laughed. “He was just dumfounded. What you saw inside is the real him.”

Tommy's face twisted with concern, his eyes pleading for you to understand. “Look, I know it seems like that right now, but Joel’s been through a lot. This memory thing has him all messed up.”

You shook your head, your voice trembling. “No, Tommy. You didn’t hear the things he said. He thinks I took advantage of him. He doesn’t remember any of the good times, any of the moments we shared. He just sees me as some... some opportunist.”

Tommy sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know what to say. Joel’s always been stubborn, and this whole situation is making it worse. But you’re not alone in this. We all care about you.”

“Caring about me doesn't fix what he did," you said, your voice breaking. "He treated me like I was nothing.”

“I get it. I really do,” Tommy replied, his voice softening. “Just... give it time. Maybe things will get clearer.”

“Time won’t change what he said. It won’t change how he made me feel,” you replied, the bitterness in your voice evident.

Tommy opened his mouth to speak but then closed it, realizing there were no words that could ease your pain. He took a step back, giving you space. “I’m here if you need me. Just remember that.”

“I don’t need the baby miller protecting me.” You spoke. “From now on, I’m just the nurse and if you need me patrolling, I don’t want Joel near me.”

Tommy's face fell slightly, but he nodded, understanding the gravity of your words. "Alright. I'll make sure to arrange things so you don't have to cross paths with him."

You could see the concern in his eyes, but you didn't have the energy to address it. "Thank you," you said, your voice hollow. "I need to be alone now."

Tommy hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Take care of yourself, alright?" He turned and walked back towards the bar, leaving you standing alone in the quiet night.

As you watched him go, you felt a mixture of relief and sadness. The night air was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to find some semblance of comfort.

Turning away from the bar, you started walking, not sure where you were heading but knowing you needed to move. Each step felt heavy, but you forced yourself to keep going. You would find a way to heal, even if it felt impossible right now.

One step at a time, you told yourself again. One step at a time.

Week one.

You had promised yourself to not having. And Joel had had started to have punctuating headaches.

When he arrived, he noticed another guy standing where you used to be. The unfamiliar face caught him off guard, and a sense of unease settled in his stomach.

"Where's the nurse?" Joel asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

The new guy, a young man with sandy hair and a nervous demeanor, looked up from his preparations. "She asked to be reassigned. Said she didn't want to do patrols anymore."

Joel's heart sank. "Did she say why?"

Before the guy could answer, Tommy walked over, overhearing the conversation. "I'll take it from here," Tommy said, looking at the new guy, who nodded and walked away.

Joel turned to Tommy, his expression a mix of confusion and worry. "What's going on, Tommy? Why'd she ask to be reassigned?"

Tommy sighed, crossing his arms. "She didn't want to be around you, Joel.”

Joel felt a pang of guilt and frustration. "I didn't mean for things to get this bad. I was just... I was trying to deal with everything, I think I handled it wrong."

Tommy nodded. "Yeah, you did. And now she’s moving on as you asked her to.”

Joel's chest tightened at Tommy's words. "I didn't think she'd actually was…I- I thought she’d... I don’t know, understand.”

"Understand what, Joel?" Tommy asked, his tone sharper than usual. "That you were scared and hurt, so you took it out on her? You made your bed, now you’ve gotta lie in it."

Joel ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his mistakes. “Okay what’s so wrong? Since when she is in love with me?”

“Did you know she was the one who brought you back here when you feel and hit your head so hard you forgot about her? Or about all this past year?” Tommy said exasperated, “She was there for you every single day and man, she was scared of letting you in because she knew all this was going to happen.”

Joel's mind reeled as Tommy's words sank in. "She brought me back?" he echoed, a wave of guilt washing over him.

"Yeah," Tommy said, his voice heavy with frustration. "She did everything for you. Every single day. And you just pushed her away like she meant nothing."

Joel felt his heart constrict. He had been so consumed by his own confusion and pain that he hadn’t stopped to consider what she had gone through. "I didn't know. I didn't remember."

"That’s the point, Joel. You didn't remember, and instead of trying to understand, you lashed out at her."

Joel nodded slowly, trying to absorb the pieces of new information.

"You can't just fix this with a few words, Joel.” Tommy added, as if he had just read his brother’s mine. “She had gone through much already.”

“What do you mean by that?” Joel asked, concern came from nowhere.

Tommy sighed deeply, looking away for a moment before meeting Joel's gaze again. "She went through hell before she even got here, Joel.”

Tommy’s words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken pain. Joel's brow furrowed as he tried to grasp what his brother was saying.

"What do you mean?" Joel asked, his voice low and hesitant, the concern now unmistakable.

Tommy looked at him for a long moment, as if debating whether to reveal something he wasn’t sure Joel was ready to hear. Finally, he sighed, his expression softening with a mix of empathy and frustration.

"She was on her own for a long time before she found Jackson," Tommy began, his tone measured. "Lost her family, everyone she ever cared about. Saw things that would break most people. But she survived. She made it here, and despite everything, she decided to stay and help us. She didn’t have to, but she did. And when you came back hurt and lost, she put everything into helping you, even though she knew it was a risk."

Joel felt a lump forming in his throat as Tommy spoke. He had been so wrapped up in his own struggles that he hadn’t seen the depth of what she had endured.

"And you," Tommy continued, his voice thick with emotion, "you were her last straw, Joel. She let her guard down for you, and you crushed her.

Joel’s heart ached at Tommy’s words. He felt the sting of regret deep in his chest, knowing that he had only added to her pain.

"Tommy, I..." Joel started, but the words failed him. What could he say that would make any of this right?

"You need to understand something, Joel," Tommy said, his voice firm but not unkind. "She’s not just some woman who’s here to patch us up and send us on our way. She’s a survivor, just like us. And she deserves a hell of a lot better than what you gave her."

Joel nodded, feeling the full weight of his actions pressing down on him. He realized now just how much he had taken for granted, how much he had failed to see.

That same afternoon, the weight of his guilt and determination pressing heavily on his chest, Joel made his way to the infirmary. He had rehearsed what he would say a hundred times in his head, but the closer he got, the more uncertain he felt. He needed to talk to you, to apologize, to start making things right.

When he arrived, he hesitated at the door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open. The familiar smell of antiseptic and the soft hum of activity greeted him as he stepped inside.

You were at the far end of the room, organizing supplies and preparing to leave for the day. Your back was turned to him, and for a moment, he just stood there, unsure of how to start. But then you sensed his presence and turned around, your eyes meeting his.

For a brief second, something flickered in your gaze—recognition, maybe even surprise—but it was quickly replaced by a cold, distant expression.

"Hey," Joel said, his voice sounding more tentative than he intended.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you continued with what you were doing, organizing a stack of medical supplies. It was clear you were trying to keep busy, to avoid engaging with him.

"Can we talk?" Joel asked, taking a cautious step closer.

You paused, your hands stilling for a moment before you turned to face him fully. Your expression was unreadable, your eyes guarded. "I'm busy, Joel," you said, your tone clipped and distant.

Joel felt a pang in his chest at your coldness, but he knew he deserved it. "I know. I just... I wanted to apologize. For everything. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry."

You looked at him for a long moment, your expression hard. "I don’t need your apologies," you replied, your voice steady but laced with an edge of bitterness. "What’s done is done."

Joel swallowed, feeling the sting of your words. "I understand that, but I still want to make things right. I want to try."

You shook your head, a small, bitter smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "You can’t just fix this with a few words, Joel. You made it clear how you felt. I was so pathetic for seeking tender love in a world like this, and I was so pathetic for accepting it from you."

Joel flinched at your words, the harsh truth of them cutting deep. He opened his mouth to respond, to say something—anything—that might reach you, but you were already moving past him, grabbing your coat and heading for the door.

"Wait," he said, reaching out to stop you, but you brushed past him without a second glance.

"I’m done with this conversation, Joel," you said over your shoulder, your voice cold and final. "If you have something to say, save it for someone who cares or maybe for when you fuck Lori.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move, his heart pounding in his chest as he replayed the conversation in his head. The way you looked at him—so detached, so unlike the sweet person you were—shattered any remaining hope he had of mending things between you. Joel clenched his fists frustration welling up inside him.

And with that, you were gone, leaving Joel standing in the infirmary, the empty room echoing with the silence of everything left unsaid.

Week two.

The distance between you and Joel grew even wider. You kept yourself busy with your duties at the infirmary, throwing yourself into work to avoid thinking about him. Jackson was large enough that it wasn’t hard to avoid each other, especially since you made a point to steer clear of any places where you might run into him.

Joel, on the other hand, wasn’t faring as well. The days felt like they were dragging on, each one heavier than the last. The guilt and the lingering regret of how things had ended between you, was starting to take a toll on him. He found it harder to concentrate on anything, his mind constantly wandering back to you, replaying your last conversation over and over again.

Things hadn’t started bad between the both of you. There was a time, not too long ago, when things between you and Joel had been different—better. When you first arrived in Jackson. He was wary, of course, just as everyone. People with big walls up for protecting the same from the dangers from the outside.

Initially, he had kept his distance, observing you with a cautious eye. But as days turned into weeks, something shifted. You’d taken on the role of a nurse with a quiet determination, and your compassion and dedication gradually began to break through the walls Joel had built around himself.

There was one particular evening when you both found yourselves at a small community gathering. It was one of those special moments for people to unwind and reconnect. Joel, usually reserved and gruff, had shown up with Ellie in tow, and you were surprised to find him engaging in casual conversation, a rare sight indeed.

You and Joel had ended up chatting while sitting around a makeshift bonfire. The conversation had started with practical matters—how best to handle a certain type of injury or a recommendation for new supplies—but soon it evolved into more personal topics. Joel had shared stories from his past life, and you found yourself opening up about your own one.

The old versions of two people trapped in the endless tragedy

The atmosphere was relaxed, and for the first time, you saw a different side of Joel.

Joel was seated across from you, a relaxed look on his face that you rarely saw. His eyes, usually so guarded, were softer tonight. Ellie was nearby, occupied with a makeshift game she’d crafted from scavenged materials.

“So, you actually went through all that trouble for a single, mediocre meal?” you asked, chuckling at Joel’s tale of a particularly botched cooking attempt.

Joel grinned, a rare and genuine smile that lit up his face. “You’d be surprised what we went through to get even a half-decent meal back then. We were pretty desperate.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I can’t imagine. I’m just grateful for what we’ve got now, even if it’s not gourmet.”

Joel nodded in agreement. “Yeah, things are better here. A lot better than they were.”

There was a comfortable silence between you, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire. You glanced at Joel, noticing how his eyes softened as he spoke. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice to have someone who understands what it’s like out there.”

Joel met your gaze, his expression sincere. “And I’m glad you’re here too. You’ve done a lot for everyone. For Ellie, especially.”

For Joel, dealing with all of this started to become unbearable the moment migraines hit. They had started as a dull ache, a constant pressure in his head that he could push through if he focused hard enough. But as the days went on, the pain intensified, becoming sharp and unrelenting. The pounding in his skull would come in waves, leaving him dizzy and disoriented. He tried to hide it at first, not wanting anyone to see him weak, but it wasn’t long before people began to notice.

He’d find himself gripping the edges of tables or leaning against walls to steady himself, his vision blurring as the pain surged through him. He hadn’t had migraines like this in years, not since the early days when the world had first gone to hell. But these were different, more intense, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were somehow connected to something else.

Maybe someone, his thoughts screamed.

Tommy noticed too, of course. He had been keeping a close eye on his brother ever since the confrontation in the infirmary, and it didn’t take long for him to realize that something was wrong.

Joel had just returned from patrol; his face pale and his movements unsteady. As he walked through the door of the house, he winced, his hand pressing against his temple. The migraine had hit him hard, and he was struggling to keep it together.

Tommy was already in the kitchen, grabbing a drink when he noticed Joel’s distress. He set the cup down, crossing the room quickly. “You okay, Joel?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Joel tried to force a casual shrug, but the pain in his head made it difficult. “Yeah, just—” He hesitated, trying to find a plausible excuse. “—just got a bit of a headache. My new patrol partner’s been causing me more stress than usual. You know how it is.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Your new partner? We’ve only had him for a few days. Doesn’t seem like he’d cause this much trouble.”

Joel rubbed his temples more vigorously, trying to stave off the waves of pain. “It’s been rougher than I expected, okay? Just one of those days.”

Tommy didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push the issue further. “Alright, if you say so. But if this keeps up, you should get it checked out. Don’t let it go too long.”

Joel nodded, grateful for Tommy’s concern but unwilling to admit the full extent of his struggle. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just need to rest.”

Joel couldn’t even convince himself. He just didn’t find strength to face you.

That evening, the bar was lively, filled with the hum of conversation and laughter. Joel sat at a corner table with Lori, Tommy, and Maria. He was trying to focus on the conversation, but the throbbing pain in his head made it difficult. Lori, noticing his discomfort, kept a concerned eye on him, occasionally reaching out to touch his arm reassuringly.

As you walked in, the bar’s ambient noise seemed to momentarily quieten, and Joel’s gaze instinctively shifted toward you. You moved with purpose, but your demeanor was cold and distant. Tommy and Maria spotted you first and greeted you warmly.

“Hey, it’s good to see you,” Tommy said, waving you over.

Maria offered a friendly smile. “Yeah, come join us.”

You returned their greetings with a nod, but when your eyes met Joel’s, you turned your attention elsewhere, ignoring him completely. Joel shifted in his seat, trying to hide his discomfort, but the strain was visible in the tense lines of his face.

Lori noticed the awkwardness and frowned. “You could at least hide you jealously and stop being a mean bitch” she said to you, loud enough for everyone around to shut.

The bar’s noise seemed to drop as Lori's words cut through the air. You felt every eye on you as the tension escalated.

You turned to Lori, your face hardening. “I’m not here to entertain you or play nice.”

Lori’s face flushed with anger. “Well, if you can’t be civil, then maybe you shouldn’t be here at all.”

Joel, trying to defuse the situation, interjected, “Lori, that’s enough.” His voice was strained, both from the growing migraine and the emotional weight of the confrontation. “We don’t need to make this any worse.”

“No! I’m tired of this bitch being a pain to us just because you don’t love her back” she continued, calling you out.

Joel’s face tightened with a mix of frustration and pain. “Lori, seriously, stop. This isn’t helping anyone.”

You stood tall, your voice icy as you spoke. “I don’t need a lecture from you or anyone else. I’ve been nothing but professional, and this—” you gestured between yourself and Joel, “—is a personal matter. I’m done being the target of everyone’s frustration.”

Joel’s gaze wavered, his eyes reflecting the hurt from your words. “You don’t have to be like this.”

“No,” you snapped, “I don’t have to be here at all. If you want to know why I’m acting this way, it’s because I don’t want to be around someone who can’t see my worth.” Your voice cracked with emotion. “You can keep Joel. I don’t want a man who can’t appreciate me.”

You sighed, taking a deep breath. “I’m so done with all your pity because the man I’m in love with doesn’t remember loving me. But life moves on, and so do I. I’m done being the center of anyone’s misplaced sympathy.” You sighed a little, embarrassment creeping up your body “I’m just- I want you all to stop talking about me as if I’m a broken little girl, please.”

With a final, resolute glance at the group and the rest of people inside, you turned and walked out of the bar. The door swung shut behind you, the muffled noise of the bar fading as you stepped into the night.

Joel froze there, the harsh sting of your words lingering.

The man I’m in love with.

Why did you even love him?

Joel’s heart pounded in his chest as he processed your words. The sting of your rejection mixed with the searing pain in his head, making it hard to think clearly. He stood frozen for a moment, watching you leave, his mind racing with regret and confusion.

After a few seconds, he shook himself out of his daze. He could feel Lori’s eyes on him, her frustration still palpable. Ignoring her, Joel pushed himself up from the barstool, his movements tense and hurried.

“Sorry, I need to go,” he muttered, his voice rough and distant. He didn’t wait for a response and headed for the door. As he stepped outside, the cool night air hit him, offering a brief reprieve from the oppressive atmosphere of the bar.

Joel saw you standing just outside the bar, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed tightly over your chest. The cool night air seemed to accentuate the solitude you radiated, and the flickering streetlight cast uneven shadows over your face. Joel’s heart ached as he approached, the intensity of his migraine fading into the background compared to the weight of his regret.

He stopped a few feet away, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "Hey," he said, his voice rough but gentle. "I didn't mean to... to make things worse tonight."

You looked up, your eyes meeting his. They were red-rimmed, a sign of the emotional toll the evening had taken. "What do you want, Joel?" Your voice was quiet but edged with defiance.

Joel shifted uncomfortably, the words coming out in a rush. "I know I screwed up. I know I can’t undo what’s been done. But I want you to know that I’m sorry. I was a damn fool, and I didn’t see how much you were hurting."

You shook your head, looking away. "It’s too late for apologies. You made your choices."

“I know,” Joel admitted, his voice heavy with sorrow.

“Go back inside to your woman” you said, voice steady yet the truth of the words cut your throat.

Joel looked at you, his eyes filled with an aching with regret and yearning. He could feel the pounding in his head lessen, as if your presence, though tense and fraught with pain, was soothing the storm within him.

He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "I don't want to go back inside. I came out here to talk to you. I need to explain—"

You cut him off, your voice colder now. "I don’t want explanations, Joel. I want you to be honest with yourself and with me."

Joel's expression faltered, his usual resolve wavering under the weight of his migraine and the emotional strain. "I don't know what to say," he admitted quietly. "Every time I try to make things right, I just seem to make it worse."

"Look," Joel said, taking a step closer, though he kept a respectful distance. "I know I can’t fix everything right now, and I know I’ve hurt you more than I ever intended. But if there's any chance at all to mend things, I want to try. I need to try."

You glanced at him, feeling the strange mix of emotions. His presence, his apology, even his struggle, created a confusing pull. You nodded, not trusting your voice.

"Just... take things slow," you said finally, your voice softening slightly. "Show me, don’t just tell me."

You gave him one last, lingering look before turning away, the night air feeling strangely lighter as you walked back toward your house. Joel watched you go, a fragile sense of relief mingled with the lingering weight of his migraine.

Joel nodded, his heart aching.

Week three

The situation between you and Joel remained tense and unresolved. Despite the brief moment outside the bar, there was still an emotional chasm between you two. Meanwhile, Joel's migraines continued to worsen, each one more debilitating than the last. The pain had become a constant companion, gnawing at him, making it difficult to focus on anything else.

Tommy had been watching his brother closely, his concern growing with each passing day. He had noticed how Joel winced at the slightest noise, how he gripped the edges of tables to steady himself, and how he often retreated to dark corners to try and alleviate the pain. Tommy knew something had to give, and he wasn't sure how much longer Joel could keep this up, especially with patrols still on the agenda.

During the morning, as the patrol assignments were being handed out, Tommy pulled Joel aside. “You sure you’re up for this?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “These migraines… they’re getting worse, Joel.”

Joel nodded, though the movement sent a sharp pain through his temples. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered, not wanting to admit how bad things had really gotten. “Just need to keep moving, keep my mind off it.”

Tommy sighed, not entirely convinced. “Alright, but I’m pairing you up with someone who won’t hesitate to call for backup if things go south.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, wondering who Tommy had in mind. His answer came when you walked into the room, your expression unreadable as you glanced at Tommy, then at Joel.

“You’re on patrol with Joel today,” Tommy said, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument. “Consider it part of the consequences for that little outburst at the bar the other night.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but then closed it, seemingly deciding against saying anything. Instead, you simply nodded, surprising both Tommy and Joel.

Due to your situation with Joel, you would have argued, pushed back, but you didn’t. Whether it was out of a sense of duty, or because you had your own reasons for going along with the assignment, neither man could tell.

Joel looked at you, his expression hard to read. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew that this patrol was going to be anything but ordinary. The tension between you two was palpable, and the fact that you hadn’t fought the assignment left him uneasy.

As the two of you geared up and headed out, the silence between you was thick, neither of you willing to break it first. The path ahead was familiar, but the atmosphere was charged with unresolved emotions and the weight of things left unsaid.

As you and Joel prepared to head out for patrol, Tommy pulled you aside, his expression serious. “Listen, I know things are tense between you two, but if Joel starts feeling bad, you come back immediately. No heroics, no pushing through it. Understood?”

You nodded, not meeting Tommy’s eyes. “Understood,” you replied, your tone neutral. The truth was, you didn’t know how you felt about being on patrol with Joel, but you weren’t going to argue with Tommy’s orders.

Tommy looked at you for a moment, as if he wanted to say more, but he held back. Instead, he just gave you a small nod before turning back to Joel, who was adjusting his gear a few feet away.

Joel caught Tommy’s eye, and there was a silent exchange between the brothers—Tommy’s concern evident, and Joel’s stubborn determination clear.

Once outside the gates, the silence stretched between you and Joel, heavy and uncomfortable. The forest around you was quiet, the only sound was the crunch of your boots on the dirt path. You kept your eyes ahead, focused on the task at hand, but you couldn’t help but be aware of Joel’s presence beside you.

As you walked, you noticed something strange. Joel, who had been rubbing his temples and wincing in pain earlier, seemed to be a bit more at ease. The tight lines of pain on his face had softened, and he wasn’t clutching his head like he usually did.

You didn’t want to think too much about it, but you couldn’t help but wonder if your presence had something to do with it.

Joel, too, was aware of the change. He had been bracing himself for another wave of pain, expecting the migraine to hit hard as it had been for days now. But instead, he felt… better. The pain was still there, lurking in the background, but it was muted, manageable. And the only thing that had changed was that you were with him.

As you continued walking, the strange shift in the atmosphere didn’t go unnoticed. Joel glanced at you every now and then, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he was trying to figure out what had changed. You kept your focus straight ahead, but the weight of the unspoken tension between you two was hard to ignore.

After a while, you slowed down and finally came to a stop, gesturing for Joel to halt as well. Without saying anything, you walked over to your horse and untied a small bouquet of flowers that had been carefully wrapped and secured to the saddle.

Joel watched, puzzled, as you held the bouquet tightly in your hand. "Just... just wait for me here for a bit," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. There was a softness to your tone that caught Joel off guard, and he nodded, sensing that whatever you were about to do was important.

You walked a short distance off the path, through the dense trees and underbrush, until you reached a small clearing. The air was still, and the only sound was the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze.

Joel stayed where he was, leaning against his horse, but his eyes followed you, curiosity and concern mingling in his expression.

In the clearing, you knelt down beside a small, unmarked grave, the earth slightly raised from where you had buried your boyfriend two years ago.

You placed the bouquet gently on the grave, your fingers lingering for a moment on the petals. Your heart ached with the familiar pang of loss, the pain of carrying love for someone who was no longer here. It was a pain you had learned to carry with you, but it never really went away.

As you knelt there, a few silent tears slipped down your cheeks, and you quickly wiped them away. This was a private moment, one you hadn’t shared with anyone, not even Joel. He had no idea about the depth of your loss, about the man you had loved and lost before arriving in Jackson.

When you finally stood up and turned back toward the path, Joel was still waiting, his expression unreadable. You walked back to him in silence, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice soft as his eyes studied your expression.

You didn’t answer right away, your fingers brushing lightly against your jacket. Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "This is where I buried him. My fiancé."

Joel’s heart sank as he remembered the voice of Tommy telling him some things he didn’t even remember about you. And now seeing you here, in this quiet, sacred place, made the weight of your grief all the more real.

"I didn’t know," Joel said, his voice laced with regret. He felt a pang of guilt for not being there for you when you had gone through this, for not understanding just how much you had carried with you all this time. "I’m sorry."

You nodded slowly, still staring at the grave. "It’s been a long time since I’ve come here. I didn’t think I’d be able to handle it, but… I guess I needed to say goodbye again. Properly."

Joel stepped closer, his presence a comforting warmth at your side. He didn’t know what to say, but he knew he needed to be there, to offer whatever solace he could.

"He was a good man," you continued, your voice stronger now. "He was kind, patient, everything I could have asked for. But this world… it takes everything good and leaves you with nothing but memories."

Joel clenched his jaw, feeling the familiar ache of loss that never truly went away. He knew all too well the pain of losing someone you loved, the emptiness that followed, the way it changed you forever.

"He deserved better," you said, your voice cracking slightly. "He deserved a future, a life. But instead… he got this."

Joel rested his hand gently on your shoulder. "I’m sorry," he repeated, the words feeling inadequate but all he could offer.

But instead of finding solace in his touch, you flinched, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. The grief, the anger, the overwhelming sense of loss—it all came flooding back, and you couldn’t handle it, not right now.

“Don’t touch me, okay?” you said, your voice trembling as you pulled away from him, putting a small but significant distance between you. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you needed space, needed to breathe without feeling like you were suffocating under the weight of your emotions.

Joel froze, his hand lingering in the air for a moment before he slowly lowered it, the rejection hitting him harder than he expected. He swallowed, trying to push down the rising tide of guilt and pain that your words had stirred up.

“Okay,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew better than to push, knew that you needed time to process everything on your own. But it didn’t stop the sting of your words from cutting deep, reminding him of all the ways he had failed before, all the ways he had let the people he cared about slip through his fingers.

“Peter was the only man who deserved my love,” you said, your voice laced with a mix of bitterness and sorrow. The truth of it stung, cutting through the air like a blade. You didn’t mean to be cruel, but the words slipped out before you could stop them, a reflection of the turmoil swirling inside you.

Joel swallowed hard, the hurt in his eyes evident as he processed what you had just said. He knew you were grieving, that you were speaking from a place of pain, but it didn’t make the words any easier to hear. For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond, his mind reeling from the sudden shift between you.

“I get it,” he finally said, his voice tight with emotion. “You loved him. And he was… he was a good man. Better than me.”

He looked away, unable to meet your gaze, feeling the weight of his own inadequacies bearing down on him.

“Yes, he was” you said without a doubt. “And that killed him.”

Joel’s heart clenched at your words, the blunt truth of them landing like a blow. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, the weight of your statement pressing down on him. The silence between you grew thicker, charged with the grief and anger that neither of you could fully express.

“He and I had a kid” you confessed, you heart clenched at the memory of that little boy you took care of for five years of your life.

Joel’s head snapped up at your confession, his eyes widening in shock. The weight of what you had just revealed hit him hard, leaving him momentarily speechless.

“He and I… we had a kid,” you repeated, your voice trembling as you forced the words out. Your heart ached at the memory of the little boy you had taken care of, loved, for five years of your life. The pain of losing him, of losing the family you had built, was still fresh, a wound that hadn’t even begun to heal.

Joel’s expression softened, the anger and frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface giving way to something deeper—compassion, understanding, and an overwhelming sense of sorrow for everything you had lost. He could see the pain etched into your features, the way your shoulders slumped under the weight of your grief, and it broke something inside him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He didn’t know what else to say.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you quickly wiped them away, not wanting to break down in front of him. “His name was Sam,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “He was just a baby when we found him, abandoned… we took him in, raised him as our own. And then, one day” you sobbed, “They killed him…Those fucking soldiers killed him.”

“Peter and I had planned on how leaving all behind, he had hear about Jackson from a friend, and then he trusted the wrong people.”

Joel’s breath caught in his throat as he listened to you, the horror and anguish in your voice cutting through him like a knife. He could see the pain etched deeply into your features, the way your body trembled with the force of your grief. The image of what you had endured—losing not just your partner but the child you had raised together, taken away in such a cruel and senseless way—was almost too much to bear.

“They killed him,” you repeated, your voice thick with emotion as tears streamed down your face. “They took everything from me… from us. We just wanted to be safe, to give him a life that meant something. But those soldiers… they didn’t care. They saw us as a threat, as nothing more than collateral damage.”

Joel’s fists clenched at his sides, anger surging through him at the thought of what had been done to you and your family. He knew the kind of world you were living in, where trust was a dangerous thing, and hope could be ripped away in an instant. But knowing it didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“I’m so sorry,” Joel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He wanted to say more, to find the right words to ease your pain, but everything felt inadequate in the face of such a profound loss.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself as you continued. “Peter and I… we had it all planned out. We were going to leave everything behind, start over in Jackson. He had heard about it from a friend, and it seemed like the only chance we had. But… he trusted the wrong people.”

Your voice broke again, the sobs coming harder now as you relived the nightmare. “They promised us safe passage, said they’d get us out. But it was a trap. They turned us over to the soldiers, and Sam… he didn’t stand a chance. He was just a little boy. He didn’t even know what was happening…”

Joel felt a lump in his throat, his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him as he watched you unravel before him.

Without thinking, Joel stepped closer, pulling you into his arms and holding you tightly against him. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to offer empty words of consolation. He just held you, letting you cry against his chest, his hand gently stroking your back in an attempt to soothe you.

The world had gone eerily quiet after the gunfire ceased, the only sounds left were your ragged breaths and the distant cries of crows circling overhead. You could still feel the heat from Peter’s body fading beneath your hands, his blood soaking into the earth beneath him. The image of his lifeless eyes, staring blankly up at the sky, was seared into your mind, a horrific reminder that he was gone, that the man you loved, the father of your child, was never coming back.

You had been too stunned to cry, too numb to feel anything beyond the cold realization that you were alone.

Hours seemed to pass in a blur before you finally forced yourself to move. You couldn’t stay there, not with Peter’s body cooling beside you, not with the knowledge that those men might come back to finish what they started. So, you rose on shaky legs, your heart pounding in your chest, and stumbled away from the scene of the massacre, your mind numb as you left him behind.

The sun had begun to set by the time you found the old cabin, hidden deep within the woods. It was small, decrepit, with broken windows and a door that hung askew on its hinges, but it was shelter, and that was all that mattered. You pushed open the door and stepped inside, the musty smell of decay filling your nostrils as you surveyed the dark, empty space.

It felt wrong to be alive, to still be breathing when Peter wasn’t, when Sam wasn’t. But survival was instinctual, and something inside you kept pushing you forward, kept you searching for a way to stay alive, even when all you wanted was to curl up and disappear.

You sank to the floor, your back pressed against the rough wooden wall as the tears finally began to fall. They came slowly at first, like a trickle, but soon they turned into gut-wrenching sobs that echoed through the empty cabin. You clutched your knees to your chest, rocking back and forth as the storm outside began to roll in.

The wind picked up, howling through the trees and rattling the cabin’s fragile walls. Rain began to pour in heavy sheets, drumming against the roof and leaking through the cracks, pooling on the floor around you. Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark interior in brief, blinding bursts, and the thunder that followed was so loud it shook the very foundation of the cabin.

You were alone for the first time in years, truly, devastatingly alone. The weight of that realization crushed you, making it hard to breathe, hard to think of anything other than the emptiness that stretched out before you. The storm outside mirrored the chaos inside you, the violence of it a reflection of the torment that raged in your heart.

Maria and a group of people found you two days later

And you had become terrified of storms ever since.

You stiffened in Joel’s arms, the overwhelming flood of emotions too much. You couldn’t let yourself be comforted, couldn’t let someone else get close, not after everything you’d lost. The fear of opening up, of allowing yourself to be vulnerable again, was suffocating.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you stepped back, pulling away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

Joel’s arms fell to his sides, the rejection clear in his eyes as he took a step back, giving you the space you needed. The hurt in his expression was evident, but he didn’t push, didn’t try to reach out for you again.

“You just feel pity because you see me as a broken doll” you said.

Joel’s expression tightened, his brow furrowing as your words cut through the air like a knife. He opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, clearly struggling with how to convey what he was feeling. The accusation hung between you, heavy and bitter, and the silence that followed felt suffocating.

“I don’t—” Joel started, his voice low and rough. He took a breath, trying to gather his thoughts, but the hurt in his eyes was unmistakable. “I don’t see you that way.”

“Then why are you here, Joel?” you demanded, your voice rising with the pent-up frustration and pain. “Why are you trying so hard to be… whatever this is? You didn’t care before, but now you do because I’m broken?”

“How were you so sweet to everyone after what happened?” he finally asked, his voice tinged with a mix of confusion and a hint of disbelief. It was as if he couldn’t comprehend how you managed to keep going, how you could still find kindness within you after everything you’d endured.

You looked at him, your expression softened by the lingering sadness, but there was a strength behind your eyes, a resilience that had kept you moving forward. “Because I didn’t lose them because of you all,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the pain that laced your words. “I wasn’t going to become angry at the people who gave me another chance.”

The truth of your statement hung in the air, a stark contrast to the turmoil you felt inside. You had chosen to protect the small bit of humanity you had left, to hold onto the kindness that others had shown you when you needed it most. But that didn’t mean the anger, the grief, or the pain had disappeared—it was still there, buried deep, threatening to consume you if you let it.

Joel looked down, his shoulders sagging slightly as he absorbed what you said. He understood the weight of guilt, the way it could twist inside you, making you question everything. He had carried his own burden of guilt for years, but hearing you speak those words, seeing the strength it took for you to hold onto the good in the face of so much loss, it humbled him.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, the words barely above a whisper. “I wish I could take it all back, change what happened. What I did to you and how I treated you the morning you woke up in my bed” he sighed, “Sorry for not remember what happened between us”

You looked at him, your eyes filled with a quiet, resigned sadness. “It doesn’t change anything, Joel. It’s done. I can’t change the past either.”

Joel’s shoulders slumped, the weight of your words settling heavily on him. The finality in your voice, the distance between you, made him feel even more lost, and he turned away, the ache of regret and loss deepening with each step he took.

Joel walked away, his steps heavy and deliberate. The weight of your words hung over him, a constant reminder of the things he couldn’t change, the pain he had caused. Each step felt like a step further from any hope of repairing what had been broken.

You watched him go, the solitude of the moment pressing in around you. The quiet was suffocating, filled with the echoes of the past and the weight of unspoken words. You turned back toward the grave, the memories of what you had lost mingling with the present pain.

A simple affair, torturing you.

Grieving the death and grieving the living were taking a tool on you.

Week four

A week had passed since that tense confrontation. The days had been a blur of activity and emotional exhaustion, the storm within you a constant companion. The quiet conversations with others and the daily routines in Jackson offered little distraction from the lingering sadness, but they kept you moving forward, one step at a time.

Everyone could say than a simply affair would dissipate with the time, that each week would make you unlove Joel, but you couldn’t take a complete distance from your lingering feelings.

And Joel? Joel had kept his distance, following your request for space. His presence was felt in the background, a reminder of the unresolved tension and the feelings that had been left hanging in the air. You had seen him around, in passing, but there was an unspoken agreement that he would not intrude upon your space.

He couldn’t bear to face you.

One morning, as you prepared for another day at the infirmary due to Tommy’s request, you found yourself in the familiar surroundings of the clinic. The routine was a small comfort amidst the chaos of your emotions. The soft hum of medical equipment and the scent of antiseptic filled the air, offering a sense of order and control.

As you were organizing supplies and checking on your patients, a familiar voice broke through the calm. “Hey.”

You looked up from your tasks to see Joel standing in the doorway, his expression a mix of hesitation and resolve. He seemed slightly out of place in the clinical setting, but there was a determined look in his eyes.

“Joel,” you greeted, your voice steady but tinged with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Joel took a step inside, his gaze scanning the room before settling on you.

“I’ve been trying to find the right time to give this to you,” Joel said, his voice a bit rough, as if he was struggling to find the right words.

Curiosity mingled with the apprehension you felt. “What is it?”

Joel took a deep breath, stepping closer but still maintaining a respectful distance. “It’s a little something I thought might help. I know it doesn’t fix anything, but I wanted to offer it to you anyway.”

You hesitated for a moment before reaching out to take the package from him. It was small and wrapped simply, the gesture surprisingly thoughtful given the circumstances. You carefully unwrapped it, revealing a worn leather-bound journal. The cover was embossed with a delicate pattern, and as you opened it, you found pages filled with blank lines, waiting for your thoughts and feelings.

“You can write on it,” Joel said softly. “And I thought maybe, if you wanted to, this could be a place for you to put everything that’s been on your mind. It’s not much, but I thought it might help.”

The gesture was unexpected, and as you looked up at Joel, you could see the genuine care in his eyes. It was a small attempt to bridge the gap between you, to offer something meaningful despite the unresolved pain.

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of gratitude and sadness. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice almost choked with emotion. “It’s… thoughtful.”

Joel nodded, a small, almost relieved smile touching his lips. “I hope it helps, even just a little.”

There was a moment of silence between you, the weight of the past week settling in the air. Joel’s eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of the connection that had once been there, while you felt the tug of conflicting emotions—appreciation for the gesture, but also the lingering pain of his actions.

“How are your migraines doing?” You asked.

Joel looked slightly taken aback by your question, the personal nature of it a stark contrast to the more distant conversation that had been unfolding. He studied your face for a moment, perhaps surprised by your concern.

“They’re getting worse every day,” he admitted, his voice carrying a weight of weariness. “But today, I’m feeling a bit better. It’s been rough, though. The migraines have been relentless.”

You felt a rush of blood to your cheeks, concern and embarrassment at the question. “Tommy mentioned it,” you said quickly, wanting to clarify your source of information. “I just—well, I wanted to know how you’re doing.”

Joel nodded, his eyes softening slightly. “Thanks for asking. It means a lot. It’s been tough, but I’m managing.”

The vulnerability in his admission made you feel a pang of empathy. It was hard to see him struggling, especially when you had your own unresolved feelings and painful memories.

“Well, I’m glad you’re having a better moment today,” you said, your voice steadying as you tried to offer some comfort.

Joel’s expression grew more thoughtful, and he gave a small, appreciative smile. “Yeah, I’m holding onto that. Thanks for checking in.”

The silence between you was charged with unspoken emotions. You both stood there, the weight of your recent conversations lingering in the air. Joel looked like he was about to say something else, but instead, he gave a nod and started to walk away.

“Take care,” you called after him, the words carrying a genuine warmth despite the emotional distance that remained between you.

You had settled onto a barstool, a glass of whiskey in hand. The amber liquid was smooth and comforting, its warmth spreading through you as you took a sip. The effects of the alcohol were starting to take hold, making everything feel just a little more relaxed, a little more bearable.

Joel was at the bar, nursing a drink of his own. He hadn’t been particularly social that night, just sitting in his usual spot, lost in his thoughts. As the evening wore on and you became tipsier, you found yourself drawn to him, the comfort of familiarity outweighing the shyness that normally kept you at a distance.

You slid off your stool and made your way over to Joel, the room spinning slightly as you approached him. “Hey,” you said, your voice a bit louder than intended, carrying the cheerful buzz of someone who’d had a few too many drinks. “Mind if I join you?”

Joel looked up from his glass, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. “Sure, have a seat,” he replied, gesturing to the empty stool next to him.

You plopped down beside him, the warmth of his presence surprisingly comforting. “You know,” you said, leaning in slightly and grinning, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here this early before. You’re usually so… serious.”

Joel chuckled softly, the sound of a low rumble that was both soothing and grounding. “Yeah, I guess I am. Just needed a drink tonight.”

In the afternoon, the usually calm atmosphere of the infirmary was disrupted by the sound of the door swinging open with a sense of urgency. Joel stumbled inside, his face pale and etched with pain. He moved slowly, his usual steady gait faltering under the weight of his unbearable migraines.

You looked up from your work, your heart sinking at the sight of him. He was clearly in distress, his eyes squeezed shut as if trying to shut out the world. You quickly set aside what you were doing and hurried over to him.

“What do you want?” you asked, intending to sound too rude.

“I—” Joel started, but the words were interrupted by a sharp grimace of pain. “I can’t take it anymore. The migraines… they’re just too much.”

“From one to ten? How much is the pain?” you asked.

“What’s that bullshit?” He cried out.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your own frustration in check. Despite the roughness of Joel’s response, you could see that he was in genuine distress, and you needed to get a handle on his pain level to help him effectively.

“It’s just a way to measure how bad the pain is,” you explained, your voice firm but compassionate. “On a scale from one to ten, where one is no pain and ten is the worst pain, you’ve ever felt, where are you right now?”

Joel clenched his teeth, his face twisted with agony as he tried to focus. “It’s… it’s an eight,” he finally managed to say through gritted teeth.

He had saved that ten.

The ten was the amount of pain he had when he lost Sarah.

A ten was the pain his heart felt when he looked at you from the distance.

You nodded, quickly assessing the situation. “Alright, I’m going to get you something stronger for the pain. Try to sit down and breathe slowly. I’ll be right back.”

As you hurried to prepare a stronger medication, you felt the weight of the past few weeks pressing heavily on you. The bitterness in your words and his pain seemed to intertwine, creating a tense atmosphere that was hard to ignore. But your focus remained on getting Joel the relief he needed.

You quickly gathered the necessary medication and made your way back to Joel, who had seated himself on one of the examination tables. As you approached, you noticed his breathing was uneven, and his eyes were squeezed shut as if he was trying to block out the pain and your presence.

"Let me check your head," you said softly, your voice gentle despite the tension that hung between you. "I need to make sure there's nothing else going on."

Joel nodded slightly, his face still contorted in discomfort. As you leaned in to examine his head, your proximity made his breath catch in his lungs. The closeness between you seemed to amplify the charged atmosphere, making the air around you feel heavy.

You carefully placed your hands on his temples, your touch light but firm as you assessed his condition. Joel's breath became shallow and uneven, a sign that he was acutely aware of your closeness. He tensed under your touch, the intensity of his pain mixed with the vulnerability of the moment.

"How's that feel?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady as you moved your fingers over his forehead and the sides of his head.

Joel swallowed hard, his eyes still closed as he tried to focus on your touch rather than the pain. "Feels… a bit better," he managed to say, though his voice was strained. "Just… don’t know if I can handle this much longer."

You gave a reassuring nod, trying to offer comfort despite the lingering tension. "You're doing great. The medication should help soon. Just hang in there a little longer."

You both could feel your breathing mingling together, the agony of the closeness taking everything from you.

Joel closed his eyes for a bit, feeling you scent and your fingertips on his temples. In the haze of his agony, there were fleeting glimpses of a night that felt both distant and achingly familiar. He remembered the warmth of your touch, the softness of your lips against his. The kiss you had shared the night before he got his memory back began to resurface, bringing with it a surge of emotions he had long tried to bury.

The kiss had been tender. Joel could almost feel the echo of that moment now, a soft, lingering taste of intimacy that was both comforting and heartbreaking.

He remembered the way you had looked at him, the way your eyes had softened with unspoken words. The image of your face, so close to his, the way you had smiled before the kiss, replayed in his mind with a clarity that cut through the pain. It was as if your closeness was pulling these memories to the surface, forcing him to confront them once more.

Joel’s breath caught as he recalled the warmth of your lips, the way it had felt to hold you close. It was a vivid contrast to the overwhelming pain he was experiencing now, and it made him realize just how much he had missed and lost. The memory of that kiss, the feeling of being connected to you, made his heart ache with a mix of longing and regret.

He let out a slow, shaky breath, trying to ground himself in the present while the memories swirled around him. As much as the past few weeks had been a struggle, this moment of closeness with you was stirring up feelings he had tried to keep buried. Joel’s eyes opened slightly, looking at you with a vulnerability that he hadn’t shown before.

“Sun…” he started, his voice barely above a whisper.

The sound of "Sun" coming from his lips felt almost foreign, yet deeply familiar. It was a term of endearment he had used before his memory loss, one that had held a special place between you two.

“Sun…” he repeated, the word carrying tenderness and longing.

Your heart skipped a beat, the nickname a bittersweet reminder of the bond you had shared. It was a small yet significant piece of the past surfacing, offering a glimmer of connection despite everything that had happened.

You felt a rush of conflicting emotions, the glimmer of hope mingling with a deep-seated fear of revisiting old wounds. The nickname, the touch, the faint echo of past affection—it all stirred up feelings you weren't sure you were ready to confront.

Taking a steadying breath, you stepped back, your hand moving quickly to hand him the medication. “Here,” you said, your voice steady as you handed him the small packet of pills. “This should help with the pain. You should head home and rest.”

Joel looked up at you, a flicker of understanding and disappointment in his eyes. He could sense the shift in your demeanor, the way you were putting distance between you both. “You sure you don’t need any help?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You shook your head, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “No, I’m fine. Just… please, go home. A storm is coming, and you should get back before it hits.”

Joel hesitated for a moment longer, but the look in your eyes told him that you needed space, that pushing further would only cause more pain. With a reluctant nod, he took the medication and turned to leave, his steps heavy with the weight of what was left unsaid.

As he walked out of the infirmary, you watched him go, the storm outside a stark parallel to the storm brewing inside you. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to steady yourself against the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. The fleeting connection, the memories stirred up—it was all too much to handle right now.

You were a bit tipsy, the effects of the whiskey making your steps a little unsteady. Joel walked beside you, his presence a steady anchor amidst the haze of your inebriation. You were both quiet, the conversation from the bar having dwindled into comfortable silence.

As you approached your house, you turned to him, a small, tipsy smile playing on your lips. The intimacy of the evening and the warmth of his proximity were too comforting to ignore. Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against his lips. The action was impulsive, driven by a mix of affection and the blurred boundaries of alcohol.

Joel's reaction was immediate. He responded to the kiss, his arms finding their way around you as he deepened the connection. There was a brief moment where the world seemed to hold its breath, the kiss a sweet and tender promise of something more.

When you finally pulled back, your faces were flushed, and you looked at him with a mixture of uncertainty and contentment. Joel’s eyes were filled with a mix of surprise and warmth, the kiss having ignited something within him that he hadn’t anticipated.

“Good night, Joel,” you murmured, your voice soft and slightly slurred as you turned to go inside.

Joel watched you enter your house, his thoughts swirling in the wake of the kiss. He felt a strange blend of hope and confusion, uncertain about what the kiss meant for both of you. But the feelings were there, undeniable and strong.

The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a soft glow in your bedroom. You woke up with a throbbing headache, the remnants of last night a blurry haze. As you shuffled through your routine, the details of the previous evening remained frustratingly out of reach. The bar, the tipsy laughter, Joel walking you home—these were fragments, but the kiss itself was a complete blank.

When you encountered Joel later that day, you greeted him cheerfully, assuming nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Hey, Joel. How’s it going?”

Joel’s response was curt, his eyes avoiding yours. “Hey. I’m alright.”

You noticed the shift in his demeanor, the coldness in his tone. It was as if he was keeping you at arm's length, his usual warmth replaced with a frigid distance. You tried to brush it off, attributing it to a possible bad mood or personal issue.

Joel had resolved never to bring up the kiss, his feelings of hurt and confusion simmering beneath the surface. He’d come to see the incident as a miscommunication, a misunderstanding that he’d decided to keep buried rather than confront. The bitterness of feeling forgotten and dismissed had solidified into a quiet, unspoken rift between you.

Joel found himself unable to shake the feeling of the day's events. The migraine had ebbed slightly during the patrol, but as soon as he was back in his house, the pain returned, gnawing at him with a persistent, dull ache.

The house was quiet, save for the steady patter of rain against the windows. The storm outside was fierce, the wind howling and the rain pouring down in relentless sheets. Joel’s mood matched the tempest outside—stormy, unsettled.

As he was trying to organize his gear and get ready for bed, his eyes fell upon something on a chair near the door. It was the blouse you had lost that morning when he pushed you away from him, a soft, familiar fabric that he recognized immediately. He picked it up, holding it gently, and his mind replayed that morning events.

Joel held the blouse up to his face, breathing in deeply. The scent was faint but unmistakable—a mix of the outdoors, a hint of your perfume, and something more personal, something that reminded him of you. As the scent reached his senses, it hit him with a wave of emotions he hadn’t fully processed until now. He felt a rush of regret and longing. The migraine that had been a constant presence in his head now seemed to fade slightly as he held the blouse. The emotional weight of his actions, the pain he had caused you, and the gulf that had grown between you all came rushing back

You sat in the dimly lit living room of your small house, wrapped in a blanket, trying to find some semblance of comfort amidst the chaos outside. The storm had intensified, the wind howling and the rain slashing against the windows with a ferocity that made the walls tremble. Every rumble of thunder and flash of lightning felt like a jolt to your already frayed nerves.

You tried to focus on something—anything—to distract yourself from the fear that had settled deep in your chest. The living room was sparsely decorated, the bare walls and simple furnishings reflecting the practical, no-frills life you had tried to build for yourself. But tonight, it all seemed cold and empty, unable to offer you the comfort you so desperately needed.

You glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight, and sleep was elusive. The noise of the storm outside seemed to drown out any thoughts of rest. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, trying to stave off the chill that had little to do with the temperature and everything to do with the lonely feeling that had enveloped you.

As you huddled on the couch, the flashes of lightning illuminated the room in brief, stark bursts. Each flash cast eerie shadows on the walls, making the storm outside feel even more menacing. You found yourself jumping at every crack of thunder, your heart racing with each one.

Part of you wanted to reach out to someone, but who? The distance between you and Joel felt insurmountable, and you had made it clear that you wanted to be left alone.

The living room was filled with the sound of the storm, punctuated only by your occasional sighs and the rustling of the blanket around you. You tried to focus on breathing deeply, calming yourself in the midst of the chaos. But as the storm raged on, so did the turmoil within you.

It was during a particularly intense flash of lightning that you heard a knock on the door. Your heart leaped into your throat, and you froze. Another knock, louder this time, followed by a faint call. “It’s Joel. Can I come in?”

The voice was muffled by the storm, but it was unmistakable. Your emotions were a whirlwind of confusion and surprise. You hesitated, wondering why he would come here, why he would seek you out now, but the desperation in his voice made you move towards the door.

You opened it cautiously, the cold wind rushing in and mingling with the warmth of the living room. Joel stood there, drenched from the rain, his face lined with worry and a mixture of other emotions that you couldn’t quite place.

“Joel,” you said, barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

He looked at you with an expression that was a mix of regret, concern, and something softer that you couldn’t quite define.

Words weren’t need for moments like these. Two hearts beating as the silence felt like freedom of the remised prisoner love victim of the passage of time, the destiny or perhaps the fate of cursing spells.

It was there for you to see it and it was there for him to see it, but blindness was his curse. Not remembering was his curse. Joel wasn’t incapable of loving someone, but he was terrified of the pieces of the old him coming to the present where losing people was a daily occurrence.

Joel was terrified of loving and losing the last flame of goodness left in this mad world that had tainted people, but you. There was a pure innocence in your eyes, in your actions and in your kindness and he had come to face his old him through you, the old him that had died with his daughter years ago.

Joel’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes reflecting the soft light from the flickering candles. His voice was a murmur, almost lost in the howling of the storm outside. “You’re afraid of storms.”, he said quietly, his voice low and gentle. It wasn’t a question. He was stating a fact, something you had confessed to him when the love affair between you was burning.

You looked at him, the realization dawning on you like the slow break of dawn. “You remember.” You whispered.

And you could only hear the steady beat of your own heart and the sound of Joel’s breathing.

I tagged everyone interested in part 2 but I couldn't tag everyone because all got mixed () if you don't want to be tagged you can tell me, if you want to be tagged, you can also tell me

💌 tags: @dreamtofus @paperstarzzz @chewie-bars @hotleaf-juice

@riedswifts @dizzyforyou @prideandaesthetic @chateaujoon

@18dmlk @orcasoul @whirlwindrider29 @frogjumps-world @camy-nyancat @sarahhxx03 @jasminedragoon @cuteanimalmama @eleganthottubfun @skysmiller @nana90azevedo @astralqueenoc

@missladym1981

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lizzieheartsfanclub · 2 years ago

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The most effective thing about Ever After High is that every student has their own personal struggle that adds another element to just how life-ruining the destiny system is.

Apple is so terrified of what will happen to her if she doesn’t follow her destiny, that she is willing to compromise everyone else’s happiness to make sure it happens. This disregard for other people is only encouraged by the influential adults in her life.

Ashlynn has to be a servant to an abusive family and live knowing that the ultimate end to her supposedly happy ending is dying to set the stage for her daughters traumatic backstory, starting the whole cycle over again with no chance for any of them to escape.

Blondie feels so pressured to fit in to a deeply classist/monarchist society and ashamed of her parentage that she constantly presents a fake version of herself to everyone she knows, even her best friends.

Briar has to spend her whole life waiting for the moment her destiny comes and she falls asleep for a century. She knows that when she’s woken up, she will be forced to marry a boy dozens of years younger than her who she’s never met and live knowing that everyone she ever loved is dead and gone, the very things that she watched cause her mother’s emotional breakdown.

Cedar’s father was so afraid of watching her repeat his mistakes that he overcorrected, making it impossible for her to ever learn lessons for herself. She is also forced to share incredibly personal details with anyone who asks her questions, and can’t be trusted by her friends with any of their secrets, and it’s all because of her father’s past trauma.

Cerise has to hide who she truly is and never gets to see her family together and happy despite the fact that her parents have potentially the most healthy and mutually beneficial marriage in the whole franchise.

Daring was groomed from birth for a destiny that ends up not actually being his at all, leaving him aimless, feeling as though he has no purpose and has wasted his entire life.

Darling is forbidden by patriarchy and destiny to become a knight, the only thing she really wants, and at which she would be better than both of her brothers. She has to hide who she is and what she loves from everyone she knows

Dexter lived his whole life never knowing what his destiny would be but also knowing that whatever it was he’d have to commit to it forever the moment he discovered it at Legacy Day.

Duchess has spent her whole life knowing that the story she’s commited to living out ends in tragedy for her, and then had to watch the very people she’s been jealous of for years because of their seemingly happy endings give up those endings, while Duchess, loyal and rule following Duchess, is still stuck with her tragedy.

Faybelle tries so hard to commit to what she sees at her destiny that she’s never had a real friend in her life. Even still, no one recognizes her for all that effort and all she’s given up to be a suitable villain. Everyone is more afraid of Raven, who doesn’t even want to be evil.

Hunter has to constantly go against his moral compass to fulfill his destined role as a Huntsman and to try and make his father proud of him.

Kitty has been taught over and over again to value her Mother’s approval over all else, even at the expense of her friends. Her destiny is to create mischief, but how much more mischief can a dissolving world take before it’s too much?

Lizzie finds it almost impossible to express love or care for anyone else due to her mothers excessive conditioning that’s nearly akin to brainwashing. The saddest thing might be that her mother is actually, in her own way, trying her best to prepare Lizzie for a world that will only ever see her one way—as a villain. Now she lives in Ever After, princess to a kingdom that might not even exist for much longer, having given up everything for a destiny that may soon be impossible.

Maddie is a refugee forced from her home into a world she barely understands at a tender age. But she cannot express any angst or negative feelings about this circumstance, because to do so would go against her character. She lives in a world obsessed with destiny and stories while not even knowing if she’ll ever be able to return home and live out her story.

Raven is judged by almost everyone around her for her mothers crimes, many of which were required of her by destiny in the first place. She is nearly forced to commit to becoming a tyrannical megalomaniac (and almost falls into it herself, several times) who would be sentenced to lifelong punishment and torture for committing acts that weren’t even her idea in the first place, and the one punishing her would have been the very girl who begged so often for her to stop being so difficult and just follow her destiny.

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anistarrose · 1 month ago

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thinking about:

Fisher's home planet, and entire species, was destroyed when they were a baby, and Magnus took them aboard the Starblaster.

Once Junior, Fisher's own baby, was born, they were the only other Voidfish — the only other creature in the multiverse like Fisher — that Fisher had seen in over sixty years.

But Lucretia took Junior away.

Lucretia took Junior away, because it was the only way to save the world.

Lucretia took Junior away, because it was the only way to get Magnus, Merle, and Taako back.

Lucretia couldn't see any way to reunite her own family without separating a different one.

Junior grew up in secret, hidden away, with Lucretia caring for them.

Junior grew up without getting to see any other Voidfish — any other creature in the multiverse like them — ever since they'd been a baby.

Junior becomes the Announcer at the start of episodes, because Junior is the voice of the Story.

The Announcer never acts mad at Lucretia.

Junior was raised by Lucretia. Junior barely got to meet the rest of the IPRE.

But Junior was fed by, and raised on, stories of the whole IPRE, before they were separated.

The Announcer all but flat-out urges the audience to be sympathetic, to both Lucretia and the rest of the IPRE, for each of their most morally gray and consequential choices.

At the start of the episode where the IPRE create the Grand Relics, and Lucretia erases her family's memories to stop the ensuing war, the Announcer calls upon the viewers to imagine the apocalypse. To imagine the burden, and to imagine how it would change you. To imagine how desperate you would be to "protect the ones you loved."

The Announcer wants the IPRE to be understood.

The Announcer unfailingly refers to Tres Horny Boys, and later, all seven birds, as "our heroes."

The Announcer is barely able to contain their excitement about Barry coming back.

The Announcer pokes fun at the protagonists, and the circumstances they find themselves in, but does it like another part of the family would.

The Announcer loves the IPRE so, so much, and wants you to love them too, and understand their mistakes.

The Announcer is Junior.

Junior never even got to meet most of the IPRE.

But they grew up hearing the story of the IPRE, and how they cared for Fisher.

Junior know they're a survivor of a destroyed home planet, one they've never even seen themselves. They know they were separated from their parent, the only other survivor.

They know the IPRE's home planet was destroyed too. They know the IPRE were separated from each other, too.

Junior was raised on these stories. Junior's destiny is to tell these stories. The interwoven stories of two families, which were torn apart, but were also always really one family, one story.

But Junior can't tell the Story alone.

Until they finally meet someone they'd only heard about in those stories before. They finally meet Magnus, who saved Fisher all those years ago, who raised Fisher like he was their father — who's like a grandfather to Junior, a grandfather they never got to meet before.

Magnus fulfills a promise, and brings Junior back to Fisher.

And... Junior's nervous. Because it's been so long since they saw their parent? Because Fisher's injured, and Junior's terrified to lose the only other Voidfish like them, let alone when they just got each other back?

But for the first time in so long, Fisher is able to reach out and touch their child. To reassure Junior — it'll be okay.

And the two of them, finally, get to do what Voidfish are destined to do, but cannot do alone. Fisher sends out the Song...

And Junior tells the world, the whole world, the Story of how much they love the IPRE.

#taz #taz balance #taz balance spoilers #voidfish #lucretia taz #magnus burnsides #ipre #taz meta #did you know i love this baby fish. this baby jellyfish who's afraid of ghosts #and has a goddamn livejournal account #long post

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eloquentlytired · 2 months ago

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18+ CONTENT. MDNI.

wade x fem!reader x logan

word count: 3k

summary: Wade and Logan are your neighbors and best friends. You've been through many things together in the span of little time. When things take a turn for the worse, they're there for you.

warning(s): brief physical abuse ( reader's ex bf ), logan and wade are the bestest of friends fr, sassy wade, smut, threesome, fluff, tension, these three actually love eo too much, I LOVE THEM!!!, besties to lovers

note: sorry for any mistakes, I didn't re-check it but take it bc I'm ovulating intensely while also coping. this will be very self indulgent I fear

Your new life wasn't amazing but it was yours. It was good.

Your own rented apartment, your cat, your car and your neighbors which you'd somehow ended up best friends with. You've known Logan and Wade for half a year but you'd probably sacrifice a bunch of people for them — as terrible as that sounds.

“Ever thought we might be linked by destiny?” Wade asked one day while munching on a few chips.

“I was actually trying to think if I should link my fist to your left or right side.” Logan lovingly replied before the two began bickering. Yes, you truly loved them as they were.

At some point you had gone through all best friends shit with them. New relationships, breakups, toxic boyfriends and girlfriends. Or what Wade liked to call ‘the final boss’ known as your current boyfriend.

“He eats burgers with a fucking fork.” Wade argued while slurping his pasta. Logan was quiet next to him, taking in all the information of your newest relationship. In all honesty, he didn't like the guy — something seemed off about him — but you still appreciated how Logan wouldn't pry too much or judge. The opposite of Wade.

“You can't cross him out just because of that.” You talked back to Wade, roughly swallowing your own bite of pasta.

You were all gathered in Wade’s apartment, sitting at his dining table and talking.

“Cross him out? I'll do worse. I'll cancel him, gonna film it and everything too.” Wade turns to Logan then while pointing at you with his fork. “Tell her something now. This is an order.”

Logan glanced at Wade sideways before shrugging.

“She’s a big girl. Let her breathe a little.” Your face lit up at Logan’s reaction while Wade’s darkened unusually. But Logan was quick to soothe him with mere words.

“We’re a door away, bub. She needs us then she yells.” Logan stared at you as if waiting for a sign of confirmation and you found yourself obediently nodding — agreeing with his words. At least Wade seemed more relaxed now.

There were many things you hated in this life. Workload, bugs, traffic, Wade being right about things.

You blankly stared in the mirror, observing the bruise that was forming near your right eye. It hurt, of course it did, but the physical pain was somehow masked by the mental one. Whatever was going on in your head was simply worse.

You tried to remember everything that happened correctly.

Your boyfriend, yelling and screaming over some unwashed clothes he needed for tomorrow. You were a girlfriend not a maid, you'd told him before he punched you.

You remember the silence that followed and then how fast he left.

Wade and Logan were out working; a convenient time for your former boyfriend to do what he wanted then dip.

You stared at the clock on the wall signaling 3:20AM. Logan and Wade wouldn't get off until 6.

Sleep seemed impossible but it wasn't when you laid your head on your pillow and cried for what felt like an hour. So you cried yourself to sleep.

“Baby.” There were hands on you. Not rough or unfamiliar but quite the opposite. You opened your eyes slowly, feeling the aftermath of your crying affect your body. The headache, the puffy eyes, the dried drool on your face.

Wade’s thumb brushed over a spot on your face and you winced. It hurt. Then you remembered why it hurt.

You sat up in your bed, not caring that everything was spinning for a while. You spotted Wade sitting in your bed next to you then Logan with his arms crossed, standing at the doorway of your bedroom. He seemed even more intimidating like this, his expression caring suppressed anger. Rage.

“We had an unfortunate meeting last night.” Wade said, capturing your entire attention. “Your boy thought it was a good idea to choose our bar and get drunk. Said a lot of shit but more specifically what he did to his girlfriend. Boasted about showing you your place.”

The tension was thick but nothing could compare to Logan’s tensed stance. He was clenching his fists so hard, it was a miracle he hadn't popped a vessel yet.

“We decided to show him his instead.” It took you a while to realize how serious Wade was. There were no snarky comments or jokes or stupid comebacks. His eyes weren't even smiling anymore. Wade was simply angry and so was Logan.

“I would have killed him.” It was Logan’s voice that followed, speaking to himself more than you. “I would have killed him if it weren't for you two. Otherwise I wouldn't have something to lose.” Logan murmured, looked between you and Wade and then he exited your bedroom.

Some silent seconds later, you could hear Logan doing things in your kitchen. Probably cooking something.

“Is he alive?” It was your attempt at a joke but also not really. You were being genuine because you knew that these two people would kill for you. Actually.

Wade gave you a faint smile. His first of today.

“Yeah. Definitely won't be able to eat burgers with a fork for a while though.”

You giggled and his heart eased up when he saw you smiling. It was a good sign.

“I told Logan that if I don't see you smile once today, I'll find him again and do worse.” The glint in his eyes proved he was being genuine with his threats.

After all, Wade only made real threats and educated wishes.

“Dinner will be ready soon. Get her to shower, Wade.” Logan yelled from the kitchen and it made both of you grin simultaneously.

Wade followed Logan’s advice for once and held you by the hand while leading you to the bathroom.

You and Wade exchanged long glances once you entered the bathroom, as if having a silent conversation that no one else knew about.

Then you began undressing carefully as Wade’s eyes remained glued to your face until you were done.

He helped you into the shower and took off his shoes before joining you — although he was fully clothed.

When the hot water began dripping down both of you, Wade seemed unbothered by his clothes getting wet and sticking onto his body.

His focus was on you as he turned you around until your back was facing him and poured shampoo into his hands.

He washed your hair carefully as if you were the most fragile creature to exist. But it was also incredibly soothing as he ran his fingers through your hair and over your scalp, drawing invisible lines.

Then he took care of the rest. He rubbed soap across your neck, your chest and beneath your breasts as if he'd done it a million times before. He hadn't but it wasn't awkward — nothing could ever be awkward with him or Logan.

His fingers washed your sides then your stomach and when it was time, he gave you the initiative to clean lower.

It was silent for a long time. Wade stared at you and you stared back while rinsing the soap off your body.

“Food’s ready.” Logan cracked the bathroom door slightly open and spoke within the small gap.

When he received no reaction, he entered.

The three of you somehow ended up tangled in the small shower. You stood in between Logan and Wade, your back pressed against Logan’s bare chest while your breasts kept grazing Wade’s chest in return.

“The food will get cold.” You whispered as Wade bent down to kiss you, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

Your hands moved to grip the back of his neck as you brought him closer, creating no space between you two. The same could be said about you and Logan as the latter kept rutting against you, his hardened cock moving in the space between your buttocks.

“We don't have to do this. Just say the word.” Logan whispered, pressing a faint kiss on your head.

You appreciated the affection and how gentle he was trying to be despite how hard he was.

“I want it. I want you.” You mumbled between them and that's all they really needed to know.

The bed creaked as the three of you moved in unison. Logan laid on his back while you crawled to him and laid on your stomach by his side. Your hand moved first, wrapping around his thick cock and giving it a few experimental tugs.

When he groaned in approval, you leaned your face closer to kiss the crown of his cock.

“Princess.”

He was already leaking in your hand, voice grumbling low.

The bed dipped beside Logan as Wade moved his knee there with odd familiarity and leaned over. You almost stopped what you were doing when you saw it happen—

Wade leaning in, grasping Logan’s jaw so naturally before kissing him hard. “Shit.” Logan cursed beneath all this attention and wrapped a hand around Wade’s nape while the other disappeared into your hair.

Logan gently urged you and you picked up where you left off — placing several kisses on the side of his cock before wrapping your lips around the tip. You gave it a tiny suck before sliding your tongue against his slit, feeling his thighs tense around you.

You swirled your tongue around his cock. Licking, tasting. Your hand remained clutching his base as your head began sinking and your mouth stretched around the fat girth.

Logan’s hips twitched but one of Wade’s hands moved to pin one of them down.

Your eyes watered but you didn't stop, taking him deeper and deeper. His fingers tightened their grip in your hair and once your nose was buried against his pubic hair, he lost it.

Your eyes fell shut as Logan fisted your hair into a messy bun and began fucking into your mouth without mercy.

Wade followed the noises you were making with his gaze — watched you as you stared at them both while swallowing Logan’s cock until it was impossible to breathe.

You hollowed your cheeks then, making Logan shudder beneath you.

Despite the restricted air in your lungs and the fat tears rolling down your cheeks, you didn't pull off. Even as Wade’s hand accompanied Logan’s on your head and forced you down, it still wasn't enough to break you.

You drooled around Logan’s dick happily as he used your mouth, raising his hips just a little to build a steadier rhythm. Even as his balls slapped against your chin, it didn't matter—

“I’m gonna come.”

Logan warned with a shaky breath as you hollowed your cheeks once more, sucking whatever precum you could into your mouth. Your fingers shifted from his base to his balls as you massaged them thoroughly, making his head spin.

Wade slid his hand away from your head and watched Logan dissolve into a mess of incoherent mumbles and lustful expressions while your actions took place.

“Gotta give her what she deserves, Lo.” Wade whispered against Logan’s lips to egg him on and it worked.

You felt Logan tense beneath you, his tip hitting the back of your throat without mercy. It took a few more thrusts to watch him come undone while Wade kissed him hard, swallowing every loud noise.

His moans turned into satisfied grumbles instead, faint purrs too.

You swallowed every drop carefully, eyes shut and throat contracting around Logan’s softening cock. A few moments later you pulled off, releasing the soft cock with a pop.

Something inside you snapped as you crawled higher to reach Wade, pulling him to you and kissing him hard.

Logan couldn't help how sensitive he felt upon seeing you two exchanging sloppy and dirty kisses — especially after he'd filled your mouth.

It was Wade’s turn and clearly he wanted everyone to know it.

“There!” You gasped as Wade pressed his cock in a spot that had your toes curling. Your hands fisted the sheets as he fucked you from behind, his cock stretching you out while his balls collided against your clit with each rough thrust.

It was wet and over the top.

His cum from previous orgasms was already beginning to drip out of you, coating Wade’s cock and your own pussy.

“Think I'll just ruin you for everybody else.” Wade grunted, his hands clutching your hips tightly.

Logan watched as you buried your face in a pillow and screamed, your entire body shaking as Wade miraculously ripped another orgasm out of you.

“In— I want it inside.” You pushed your hips back as if to make your point clear and Wade complied because you deserved every moment of this.

The hands around your hips tightened their grip as Wade suddenly pushed himself forward, slamming his cock too deep, and emptied himself inside you.

Wade pressed his forehead against your back while your body completely crumbled beneath him. Spent and full.

You felt so sleepy that it was impossible to hear the exchange between Logan and Wade.

“Got carried away,bub.” Logan commented as he sat up, watching Wade’s cum leak out of you.

“I think it's barely enough.” Wade teased while looking back at him, completely slipping his cock out.

By the time you woke up, you were starving. Logan reheated your dinner which you basically inhaled afterwards.

You took another shower then — a proper one — and spent time watching tv sandwiched between Logan and Wade.

Their hands which were resting behind you were different this time.

First of all, you now knew they were definitely intertwined. Secondly, you were officially a part of this equation. Whatever that was.

“You have a really hairy ass.” Wade decided to cut through the silence, throwing a glance at Logan.

Your eyes shifted between them as you tried to muffle your laughter.

“Your mother likes my hairy ass.” Logan grumbles and Wade gasps in fake offense.

“You cheating bastard. With my own mother?” Wade places a hand over his chest theatrically. You giggle.

Logan rolls his eyes and decides to flip him off.

Yeah. You would sacrifice everyone for these two.

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novaursa · 4 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/novaursa/763433066909810688/hello-dear-how-are-you-i-hope-im-not-bothering?source=share

Thank you for your answer. I would like to send a request for Maegor. I hope he has no problem. Dark Maegor Targaryen and second wife reader. (Reader can be Tyrell or Dayne. Or nobel lady from another house.) When Maegor starts looking for a woman to have an heir (37 Ac/earlier than the year he started in the original story) he meets the reader. When he gets , he is determined to make the reader his wife. He gets rid of Ceryse (maybe by poison or by accident) and marries the reader. The reader immediately becomes pregnant and gives birth to three babies. This causes Maegor's obsession to increase. Because the reader gave him three babies like the three-headed dragon in the symbol of his house. The reader is fertile enough to get pregnant every year.

Crimson Fate

- Summary: Maegor takes you as his bride after Ceryse fails to give him an heir.

- Pairing: dayne!reader/dark!Maegor I Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Maegor’s eyes settle on you the moment he arrives at Starfall, and from that moment, there is no mistaking his intentions. You hear the whispers from the courtiers, the rumors of Maegor’s insatiable ambition to secure an heir, to further his line and strength. His first wife, Ceryse, has yet to bear him a child, and many speculate he has come south seeking a new wife—one capable of giving him what the Hightower woman could not.

The first time Maegor speaks to you, his presence is overwhelming. His tall, imposing figure clad in black and crimson, his eyes burning with something far more dangerous than mere desire. It is as if he has already decided your fate without consulting you, as though the idea of refusal is inconceivable.

“You are Dayne,” he says, his voice low and commanding, the words wrapping around you like chains. “From the blood of the stars.”

Your throat tightens, a shiver of unease sliding down your spine. You manage a nod, keeping your gaze lowered, though you feel the weight of his stare, lingering on you like a predator studying its prey.

“Tell me,” Maegor continues, stepping closer, “how many sons does your house expect from you?”

There is no answer you can give that will change your fate. In that moment, Maegor has already chosen you to bear his heirs, to fulfill the destiny of House Targaryen. You are no longer a daughter of the stars, but a piece in his game.

Weeks later, news comes from Oldtown—Ceryse has died. There are whispers, dark ones, that she and Maegor had quarreled, that the fight escalated, and her death, though unexplained, was no accident. The dread among the court is palpable, as many know Maegor is quick to wrath, but none dare speak it aloud in his presence. The timing is too convenient to be coincidental. Ceryse's death clears the way for what Maegor desires.

You know what is coming, yet you are powerless to stop it. When Maegor asks for your hand in marriage, there is no question of refusal. He does not ask out of love, nor does he seek your opinion. It is a demand cloaked in formality. And so, you are wed to the King’s half-brother, the man who would soon rule with fire and blood.

Your wedding is a display of power, of domination. Maegor does not look at you as a man looks at his bride, but as a conqueror looks at new territory. That night, you feel the true weight of what it means to be his wife. His touch is possessive, harsh, as if he is claiming you in both body and spirit. You are not just a woman to him—you are a vessel, the key to his legacy, the bearer of his children.

And soon, that is exactly what you become.

Your belly swells with the evidence of Maegor’s claim, and the court watches in awe as the rumors begin to swirl. You are carrying not one, but three babes. It is as if the gods themselves have blessed your union, gifting Maegor with a legacy befitting his house—the three-headed dragon of Targaryen. His obsession grows with each passing day as your pregnancy progresses. He watches you constantly, his hands never far from your stomach, his gaze intense, possessive, and burning with an unspoken madness.

When you finally give birth, it is as if the entire realm holds its breath. Three babes—two boys and a girl, each as perfect as the dragons their blood rides—are born to you. The court hails it as a miracle, and Maegor’s obsession deepens, solidifying into something far darker. He sees you not just as his wife but as the mother of his dynasty, the woman who gave him three heirs, who brought the Targaryen sigil to life in flesh and blood.

“You have given me what no other could,” he says to you, his hand resting possessively over your belly, even as you cradle your newborns in your arms. His voice is thick with pride, but there is something else there—something darker. “Three-headed, like the dragon. You are my wife, my queen. You will give me more.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air like a threat, and though your body is still weak from the birthing, you know Maegor will not wait long. He is not a patient man, and now that you have proven yourself capable of giving him heirs, he will want more. His hunger is insatiable, and his obsession with you—his vessel, his wife—has grown into something that feels like madness.

It is not long before you are with child again, your belly growing heavy with Maegor’s next heir. The court watches with a mixture of awe and fear, for they know that you are the key to Maegor’s power, the woman who can provide him the legacy he so desperately craves. He watches over you like a dragon guards its hoard, his eyes always on you, his hand always tracing the swell of your belly as if ensuring that his claim remains intact.

But there is no love in Maegor’s gaze—only possession. You are his, body and soul, and you know that you will never escape him. He is the dragon, and you are his queen, bound to him by fire and blood.

#fire and blood x reader #fire and blood #maegor i targaryen #dark maegor #maegor x reader #maegor targaryen #maegor the cruel #maegor x you #maegor x y/n #house targaryen #house dayne #house of the dragon #game of thrones #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf #asoif/got #a song of ice and fire #hotd x reader #got x reader

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logaenhowlett · 5 months ago

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Last Updated: Feb 10, 2025 ✧ Fluff | ❄︎ Angst | ☘︎ Smut (18+)

— ONE SHOTS

IF ONLY YOU KNEW PART ONE Old Man!Logan x Reader ✧ ❄︎ | 1.8k | Read Here

To keep up the ruse of Charles, Laura, you and him being nothing but an ordinary family, Logan shares a heartfelt memory he’s been hiding.

IF ONLY YOU KNEW PART TWO Old Man!Logan x Reader ✧ ❄︎ | 1.6k | Read Here

Dealing with the aftermath of everything that occurred last night, Logan decides it's time to stop running from his desires.

THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD IN HER HANDS Logan Howlett x Reader ✧ ❄︎ | 1.6k | Read Here

After months of watching you relentlessly try to gain control of your powers, Logan finally takes matters into his own hands.

NO END TO THIS ROAD Origins!Logan x Reader ☘︎ ❄︎ | 2.6k | Read Here

Desperate and on edge after escaping from Alkali Lake, Logan seeks shelter in your barn, fighting to repress his primal urges.

THIS NIGHT HAS OPENED MY EYES Old Man!Logan x Reader ✧ ❄︎ | 3.3k | Read Here

Fate isn’t something Logan believes in. So what happens when he crosses paths with someone who has haunted his mind for nearly 50 years?

SOMETHING HAPPENS AND I'M HEAD OVER HEELS Worst!Logan x Reader ✧ | 4.4k | Read Here

What starts off as a simple favour to watch Laura’s cat sends Logan into a spiral as you continue to make your way into his life.

TEACH YOU HOW TO GET TO PUREST HELL Logan Howlett x Reader ☘︎ ✧ | 4.0k | Read Here

On the way to one of his cage fights, Logan's truck begins to break down and that's how he meets you, the owner of a repair shop in Northern Alberta. He promises to pay you with his winnings - but what he ultimately offers is far more interesting.

MY BEATIN' HEART BELONGS TO YOU Logan Howlett x Reader ✧ ❄︎ | 5.9k | Read Here

Logan believed he was sentenced to a life of solitude until he found you - an unexpected dawn promising the sunrise of a love he always deemed impossible. But then again, destiny never was merciful to fools like him.

I THINK THEY CALL THIS LOVE Origins!Logan x Reader ✧ | 6.0k | Read Here

A flat tire, a blinding snowstorm, and a mix-up leads you to Logan's cabin. Things happen after another, and before you know it, Christmas means being snowed in with a complete stranger.

MY MISTAKES WERE MADE FOR YOU Worst!Logan x Reader ☘︎ ❄︎ | 2.1k | Read Here

You lost him. He lost you. What if there's a universe where you find each other?

— DRABBLES

EVERYTHING I AM IS YOURS Old Man!Logan x Reader ✧ ❄︎ | Read Here

With Logan, it's always one step forward, two steps back. Until it isn't.

MAKE YOU MINE DoFP!Logan x Reader ✧ | Read Here

The question isn't if you'll give in - it's when. And Logan knows that all too well.

I ONLY WANT TO BE WITH YOU Origins!Logan x Reader ✧ | Read Here

The small things are never just small things. For Logan, they're the constellations charting the story of him and you.

WHEN YOU TOUCH ME Worst!Logan x Reader ☘︎ ✧ | Read Here

Since when do neighbours fuck like this?

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan x you #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett smut #deadpool and wolverine #old man logan x reader #old man logan #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett angst #wolverine x you #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine imagine #wolverine smut #logan smut

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kaivenom · 2 months ago

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Hello, could i ask for shanks x a pregnant reader, before during and after the pregnancy (sfw and nsfw if possible) , i just had a baby and im already so stressed 😭 i love your writing btw, have a nice day!

Akagami Shanks with a pregnant!reader HCS

Warning: mentions of sex, of course.

Masterlist

Before

I believe It isnt planned.

He said that when he becames the pirate King then you both would have a family.

But mistakes are made so after the obvious result of him cumming inside you multiple times, you get really anxious.

You try to hide It until you feel ready to tell him, you even thought about just aborting without telling him, but that isnt the right thing to do.

So you told him, and you thought you were about to die.

He hugged you softly and kissed your forehead, making you cry instantly.

"I know we talked about doing this when i was king of the pirates but if the destiny wants it now then maybe you and i can try?"

He doesn't want to force you to have the child and that's why he asked you about it like 10 times.

You couldn't be more happy about it and you both decided to continue.

He instantly yelled to the deck of the ship the news.

"Crew, i am going to have a baby!!!!!!!" everyon cheered but you were a little embarrased.

During

Really caring and paranoid.

You almost can leave the ship and only if you are being guarded.

Surely he talks go your belly like you arent there and tries to put his music to your baby.

The part of not having sex its really difficult to him but he has to cope about It, especially doing dirty jokes and whispering dirty things on your ear about how he would do to you when the baby IS born.

You dont have a chance to be insecure about yourself cause he always reasures you with compliments and physical contact.

He doesn't want you to know but he reads almost like 50 books about being a parent.

Fantasizes a lot about your unborn child and the things they would do together.

If it's a boy, he could restle with him and teach him about tabern games and drinks.

If it's a girl, he could teach her about weapons and how to escape marines with a triumphal exit.

But he would love them equally and would teach them the pirate ways.

You did a baby shower but really improvised cause you both got to your island and your parents insisted.

On the previous moments of giving birth he would be at your side, shouting orders to the crew so they got everything you needed/wanted.

On the moment of giving birth you squeezed his hand so hard that he was yelling more than you, but he didn't leave your side, even though the thought he would pass out.

After

He almost left his captain charge while taking care of the baby, like a maternity leave, but nobody on the crew let him do that.

Cause he is indispensable and you are the second hand so also irreplaceable, all the crew started to take turns to take care of the baby.

All the man on the crew wanted to be the uncle of the baby, at the end you know that when the baby could speak he would call uncle all of them.

All swords or weapons are guarded on a closed room or put on a high shelf, even putting foam rubber on the edge.

In the night when the baby cries, it's ussually Shanks who gets up and even starts singing to the baby.

Im pretty sure that the first gift the baby gets it's a wooden sword (really small) and a "pirate hat", everyone started to take pictures of it and hang it on the ship.

Tje baby tends to climb onto your bed and be sandwiched on the middle, which sometimes upsets Shanks cuase he wants to spoon you.

Another thing that upsets him is breast feeding, he doesn't know why but sometimes he feels jelaous (this man is a boob man)

When you both need a time out, he orders someone of the crew to watch out the baby and takes you to a walk on the island or a dinner on some restaurant.

At the end of the day even with the chaos of the baby crawling or climbing into a dangerous place, the night cries and all, he loves the baby and he loves that you are his mother and his partner.

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dyingswanpavlova · 6 days ago

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Your ghostly lover

Chapter 1

Pairing: Jaime Lannister × Targaryen!Reader × Aemond Targaryen

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Mentions of Violence and Murder, Mentions of Forced Marriage, Threatening, Isolation, Loneliness, Ghosts and Spirits, Joffrey being Joffrey and butchering some rats

Author's note: This is a House of the Dragon/Game of Thrones-Crossover. The first chapter takes place in the past. The wedding doesn't take place until the Reader is 19.

You're one of the last two living Targaryens. While your sister Daenerys roams free across the Narrow Sea, you're being forced to marry the man who once killed your father. The Kingslayer has yet to find out about the spirit that lives in your mirror and his evil plans.

Six Years Ago

Life was a terrible thing.

In your book, things were going pretty roughly. Was it destiny? Fate? Or maybe you were made to suffer, because of the mistakes you made in your past life. Another theory you had was that you had to pay for the terrible things your ancestors did. Your father, for a start, had been a terrible person. That much was out of question.

Your sister was on her best way to destroy the rest of the world.

Your brothers, they were more complicated. Viserys had been a lost cause, ever since he had been forced to flee. Of course life had taken a toll on him, but did that really make up for all the terrible things he did?

Rhaegar. Rhaegar had been…good, or so you thought. So you had heard.

You missed him. Actually, you missed them all. Without even knowing them.

You were the youngest, the babe of the family, if so you wish. But that didn’t help you much back in the day.

As problems come, this one came fast and unexpected. Your eldest brother died in battle, while your father got murdered by the man who swore to protect him. The same man you were now forced to wed.

Poor, little you. Too tiny and helpless, nothing more than a bundle of joy and youthfulness, when life took its toll on your family. Everyone else either made it out or got butchered.

Daenerys and Viserys were gone. Viserys made sure of it. And of course, he tried his best to keep you safe as well. But to take care of two little babes at once? When he, himself, was no more than a boy?

He set you down for no longer than a minute, desperate to find a way to get out of this godforsaken place. He only had two arms, and yet two little bundles to carry. Three mouths to feed. No milk in sight.

And when the men with the golden colored cloaks came, he had no choice.

It was too late for you anyway. And at least, you wouldn’t know what was going on. You were tiny and helpless. They would make it quick, right?

So, your brother scurried off, your sister in his arm, while you stayed on the concrete, writhing and crying, all cold and alone.

Poor, little you.

And even more so, because it was the Kingslayer himself who found you. They all had the same specific order.

Kill them all.

No matter the age, the size, the gender or how tiny and helpless they were.

He was supposed to kill you.

But when he picked your tiny form up, amethyst eyes full of tears and your little fists swinging through the air, he felt himself smile a sad smile.

A stubborn one. So fierce.

And in the end, he couldn’t do it. He knew, obviously, it might cost him his head. But no matter what or who he was, he wasn’t that.

He was not the right man to butcher a babe. And so he didn’t.

Sooner than later, you found yourself in the arms of the new king. Whatever it was that you possessed – maybe the fire in your big eyes? The innocence? – it gave him pause. To everyone’s great surprise, the new named king didn’t kill you.

If only he did. It would have spared you such heartbreak.

The next few years, you grew up in the Red Keep. Of course you were no one’s child. Expect for your hair color and the amethyst glint in your eyes, there was nothing Targaryen about you.

Aside from your stupid pride and your stubbornness.

You spent your days reading and watching the knights fight in the training yard. Your best chance for some company was your governess, but even that was an old woman, devoid of any emotion.

You were no one’s child.

And you name was given.

The king came from time to time to see how things were going. How you settled in in a world in which you didn’t belong. His children and his gruesome wife eyed you with disdain.

No, that was not true. The eldest one did, and the mother for sure.

The girl was curious and the boy was rather frightened. You loved to make a habit of scaring him. He was like a lost pup and for some reason you found it rather delightful how big his eyes got, whenever you attempted to lunge at him and stopped the last second.

The witch, how you liked to call her, would scold you and threaten you with all kinds of vile crimes, until her tiny, little brother came by and stopped her.

You hated her. You hated everyone.

And what you hated most was how no one spoke to you.

You were no one’s child and you were no one’s responsibility. In court, you saw children with their mothers. They picked them up and cradled them close, when they were weeping.

Weaklings, you thought. But it was not your heart that spoke there. It was your wounded pride and your loneliness.

Oh, how you wished to have a mother. A father. A sibling even. Someone to banter and to argue with, someone who wasn’t Joffrey. He was a twisted little rodent. Someone who cut open living rats, just to see their blood flow and the life leave their eyes as they hissed and cried. Someone who yanked on your hair and cried to his mother when you yanked at his.

Until the witch finally got her will. And you weren’t allowed near anyone. No one spoke to you, unless Tyrion came to fetch you some books. He pitied you, you could tell. How sad was that? Being pitied by the most pitied person in Westeros. Maybe that was the reason, you thought. He knew how it felt. But at least he was someone. You were no-one.

So you read. And you watched. Observed. Listened. But you never spoke.

Everyone was going about their own business, ignoring your existence as good as they could.

Sandor would glance at you with disdain whenever you threw a tantrum, and yet he’d be the one to pull you back, whenever you got into too much trouble.

There was that one time when you were in an especially bad mood. You felt there was no one the world who cared about you and what was far worse, you didn’t care about anyone either. What was there to live for in this godforsaken place?

You mustered up some courage, which wasn’t all too hard. You were a stubborn little wench.

Once the castle got surrounded by darkness, you snuck out of your chambers and blindly stepped your way through the halls. You knew the walls and every stone on the way, because all you did was observe. It wasn’t like you had other children around you to play with. All you had were your books and all the adults you had grown to despise. One more than the other and so on.

So that particular night, you were ready to leave this all behind, cornering the next hallway, when a firm voice stopped you. You froze instantly.

He was that one person you couldn’t quite decipher. You were almost sure, he had never spoken a single word to you. When you caught sight of him, he looked away immediately. It was like there was an invisible wall. And whenever you got too close to it, he pushed you back with all the fervor his constant ignorance and disdain could muster.

“Where do you think you are going?”

With the softest sigh, you turned back around. Your hair was a mess from all the tossing and turning and your eyes glassy by the way you hated life. This one, at least.

“I-“

“No, forget it. Follow me.”

You sighed again and with slow, hesitant steps followed the Kingslayer back to your chambers. He held the door open and ushered you inside. The guards nearby got the scolding of their life, but you? He didn’t regard with yet another glance. He disappeared back into the night and left you alone with your sadness.

You didn’t truly mind. You found, there was something unsettling about him. Of course you knew the rumors about him and his sister, the witch of Westeros. And if one paid close attention, you could see the lewd glanced they’d share from time to time.

It wasn’t that you cared about that per say. It was more that you couldn’t understand how anyone ever managed to love that heartless hag. Not even him. The knight who held no soul.

You were clever enough never to let anyone see your sadness outright. When it came to these people, the ones who fiercely ignored you, you had no feelings but anger and no traits but stubbornness.

It wasn’t until another night, few years later, when someone was kind to you. You couldn’t quite tell who it was, you just knew she was old, but her eyes were gentle. Much different from your governess’ or the dark lord who owned Casterly Rock and half of Westeros.

“Dear child. Forgive me the intrusion.”

You had eyed her suspiciously, half-expecting her to set your hair on fire by Cersei’s order. You had been no older than ten and three, when the old man approached your chambers.

“I used to work for your mother, you see.”

Now, that caught your interest.

“My mother? What do you know about my mother?”

The warmth in her smile had been enough to make you feel wistful and even more lonely.

“I know that she loved you very much. Which was also the reason, why she gave birth to you, despite all the high risks. She knew she would not make it, child. But she still had you.”

A low, sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach later, she added: “I have something of hers. And I think you should have it, instead.”

Her visit had been short-lived, but her presence stayed with you. It changed the entire course of your life and probably, the whole future of Westeros.

It was a mirror. A pretty one, indeed, but simply a mirror. It felt odd in your hand. No one ever gave you any presents, except for Tyrion and his countless books. But this, it was different. The weight of the mirror in your hand made you feel somewhat comforted. It was your mothers. Your mothers.

She had loved you.

Someone had loved you.

Even if no one did now, it gave you endless comfort to know, that there once been someone who did.

After holding onto the mirror tightly for what felt like an eternity, you finally set it down and choked back your own tears. Was this how life was supposed to make you feel?

The next thing you remembered varied in your mind. It had been too much and too overwhelming to remember it clearly. It was just too odd. Your mind couldn’t comprehend and so it made up new scenarios and details whenever you thought back to it.

In some versions of the memory, you heard his voice first.

In other versions, you saw the soft glow that gleamed around the handle first, slowly stretching out over the cold surface.

Whatever it was, it was.

And suddenly you weren’t alone anymore.

“Princess.”

A voice so soft-spoken that you hardly recognized it. No, you were sure you were making up things. Maybe the mirror was indeed a cruel jest Cersei pulled on you. Maybe it was tinged in something, some substance, that made you lose your mind.

“Princess.” You heard again. Soft and gentle, like a caress.

You had no idea what a caress felt like.

When you heard him a third time, you were suddenly certain. It was indeed real. You stiffened when you realized the sound came from the mirror.

There was a tight knot in your stomach, as well as your throat.

“What?” You murmured. “What is this-“

You sat up carefully and glanced down to where the mirror was set, only to realize it wasn’t your own reflection you were seeing.

With a soft shriek, you recoiled and scurried over the bed, nearly falling to the ground. This wasn’t a trick, but you wished it was.

He had long, straight hair that looked like it was made of silk, in the same color your own hair was tinged. His expression was soft, but there was something so off about him. His one eye was amethyst-colored like your own were, but the other one, you couldn’t tell. It was covered by a black eye-patch, his lips pressed into a straight line.

He was a pretty sight, indeed. Beautiful even. More handsome than any man, any knight you had ever seen.

But why was he there? Why was he at all?

“I can hear your breathing, princess.” God, his voice felt like a thousand little stabs, caused by the gentleness of a cloud. “Fear not. I wish to see you. ‘tis me, princess. I am your blood.”

After what felt like forever you slowly crawled back over the bed, but not yet enough to face him fully.

“What are you?” You heard yourself whisper in a voice that was your hardly your own.

What then happened was even more strange. His lips curved into a smile and it lit up his entire face. The dark, gloomy prince, who missed an eye, suddenly became something kind and gentle. It made you swallow.

“Not what, princess. Who. ‘tis me, your blood.” He repeated. “You may have heard of me. Aemond. Aemond Targaryen.”

That made you pause. And suddenly you felt nauseous.

Aemond Targaryen? The prince? The same prince who had died so long ago?

“What? You cannot be. Aemond Targaryen died and I am talking to a mirror, for the Gods’ sake! You can tell Cersei-“

“I am not sent by Cersei, princess.”

“Then who sent you?!” Your disbelief slowly turned into anger. Whatever trick this was, it felt cruel to you. You had no one after all. And to make fun of your parentage like this? It was simply cruel.

“No one sent me.” He sighed in a way that made you feel calmer than before, but also tired. “Let me see you, princess. I promise you, I will bring no harm your way.”

You fought and argued with yourself in your head. The clever thing would have been to discard the mirror and inform…Who would you even inform? No one spoke to you and no one would believe you. You would end up the mad girl. So, with a soft sigh of your own, you picked up the mirror, but you held it as far away from your body as you could. And then you faced him, very carefully.

He observed your reaction and his lip twitched in amusement.

“Look at that. The princess is fearless.”

You frowned at that. “I am no princess.”

His good eye shot open. “They poisoned your mind.” He murmured.

Your frown deepened. “Who?”

“The bad people.” He hummed softly. Everything about him was so…calm. “The lions.”

After a beat, he quietly asked: “Do you even know who you are?”

You had a rough idea about it, but you weren’t entirely sure. You knew your parentage held some kind of importance to some people, but that was in the past. You were left to fend for yourself, in a pit filled with lions, but no dragons in sight.

“I…”

He tsked softly.

“My darling, darling girl. It is about time your fire returned. And I will make sure it does.”

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scriptedinkbyxim · 9 days ago

Text

Past the Finish Line: The Final Lap [LN4]

Amidst the warm Spanish countryside and the joy of a family wedding, (Y/N) Sainz finds herself at a crossroads between the life she's built away from the track and the echoes of a world she can't quite leave behind. But destiny has a way of pulling you back to unexpected places — and people, and as laughter and celebration swirl around her, fate steps in with a familiar face, reigniting conversations left unfinished and the undeniable sparks of a story that’s far from over. Will love take on a new form, or will fear keep the past in its place?

Pairings: Lando Norris x Sainz! Female Reader, Ex! Max Verstappen x Sainz! Female Reader, Sainz! Female Reader x Brother! Carlos Sainz, Sainz! Female Reader x Sainz! Family.

Warnings: Smut (Non explicit), Talks of sex but nothing explicit, Pregnancy. This is LONG.

A/N: Hi, Xim here. Here is one of the alternative endings of "Past the Finish Line" short series. English is not my first language so apologies in advance for any mistake. There won't be more parts.

Part. 1 | Part. 2 | Part. 3 | Charles Ending

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

Love had always seemed like a race to (Y/N). A relentless chase, with no time to catch your breath. Corners you had to take at breakneck speed, hoping not to crash. And when she met Max, it had felt exactly like that — thrilling, intense, and dangerously beautiful. But love like that always came with tire degradation. Eventually, you ran out of grip.

Her heart had skidded out long before she was ready to let go, crashing into a barricade that left her questioning everything she thought she knew about love and herself.

Now, three months after that chapter closed with that chaotic night in Abu Dhabi, life had slowed into a gentler rhythm. There were no screaming engines or frantic pit stops, only the steady hum of mornings spent writing by her window, her fingers tapping across the keyboard as she poured her heartache onto the page.

She had retreated from the world of Formula 1. The flashing lights of the paddock had been replaced by the quiet solitude of her writing desk. Her latest book on how to get over a heartbreak — ironic as it was — had become her sanctuary, a raw and honest exploration of grief and healing. It was cathartic but draining, each page pulling memories she had tried to bury.

But something was still missing, tugging at her, like the faint echo of a faraway engine calling her back to the track — a sense that her story with the paddock wasn’t over.

That nagging sense of incompleteness lingered even as she tried to ignore it. Even when life had settled into a steady rhythm — book signings, interviews and late nights spent agonizing over words that never felt quite right, the adrenaline rush, the unapologetic chaos, and the heart-pounding passion for racing stayed with her like a phantom ache. Despite the miles she'd put between herself and that world, there was no denying that it still called to her in whispers, tempting her to return.

However, for now, she’d chosen a different kind of chaos — one involving family, celebration, and a sprawling villa tucked deep within the Spanish hills. Her sister’s wedding awaited, promising laughter, love, and perhaps something she hadn’t realized she was looking for: a chance to remember how joy could feel uncomplicated again.

The vibrant Andalusian countryside sprawled beneath the golden light of a late summer afternoon. Rows of olive trees swayed gently in the warm breeze, their silver-green leaves shimmering under the sun. The grand villa, with its whitewashed walls and terracotta roof, stood proudly atop the hill, surrounded by an explosion of wildflowers in hues of crimson, violet, and gold.

The air was thick with the scent of lavender and fresh earth, mingling with the distant laughter of wedding guests scattered across the family villa grounds. She stood just beyond the arched entrance, fingers lightly brushing the silk and lace of her bridesmaid gown, a soft sage green that fluttered around her ankles.

The day was perfect, but her thoughts were restless.

It had been a long time since Abu Dhabi — the last time she had been near the world she once lived for. Back then, everything had been a blur of celebration and chaos. Lando had won that race, his first victory in far too long, and she had wanted to congratulate him, to share in his triumph and to talk about his early confession. But the paddock had swallowed him whole, pulling him into endless debriefs, media duties, and team festivities. She had waited for a chance, lingering by the garages until the night air grew cold and her resolve wavered.

In the end, she'd walked away without saying a word.

And that was it—no texts, no calls. Just silence.

Her book had filled the void, but even as it topped charts and resonated with countless readers, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that her story with Lando was unfinished.

"(Y/N)," Carlos's voice broke through her reverie, warm and teasing. "Stop daydreaming. Anna will kill you if you're late to the procession."

She turned, forcing a smile. Her brother looked effortlessly handsome in his tailored black tuxedo, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

"I'm not late, and I’m not daydreaming" she protested, smoothing her dress. "Just... thinking."

Carlos's brow furrowed briefly, but before he could press her, the wedding coordinator gestured for the bridesmaids to line up, so she took a steadying breath, falling into place in front of Anna's closest friends. The music swelled, and they began their walk down the flower-strewn aisle.

The ceremony was beautiful—full of laughter, heartfelt vows, and the kind of love that made her chest ache with equal parts joy and longing.

By the time the reception began, the villa was aglow with lanterns strung between olive trees, casting a warm, golden light over the gathering. The scent of grilled seafood and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with bursts of citrus from the signature cocktails being passed around.

She wandered through the crowd, her gaze occasionally flickering toward her sister, who danced joyfully with her newly wed husband near the center of the makeshift dance floor. She smiled softly, grateful for the happiness that radiated from Anna's face.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, lost in thought and hesitant to rejoin the swirling chaos of the reception. The night was a symphony of joy, yet there was a distance between her and everyone else—a veil that even her sister’s happiness couldn’t fully lift.

Then she felt it: the distinct sense of being watched.

"Didn't invite a plus one, huh?"

Carlos's voice came from beside her, playful as ever.

"No," she said simply, sipping her drink. "Figured I'd let you steal the extra seat for one of your friends."

He grinned, his expression suddenly mischievous. "Oh, I think you'll approve of who I brought."

Before she could question him further, Carlos nodded toward the approaching figure—lean, familiar, and dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and lean frame.

Lando Norris.

Her breath caught in her throat.

His tousled hair had been tamed just enough to look polished, but his boyish charm remained intact. There was something different, though—a maturity in the way he carried himself, as though the time since Abu Dhabi had changed him too.

"Hey, Darling," he greeted with his focus now solely on her, voice warm and tinged with that familiar British accent that she loved.

(Y/N) let out a soft laugh despite herself. “Still calling me that, huh?”

“Old habits die hard.” His grin was boyish, but the nerves were evident in the way he shifted slightly on his feet.

"Lando, What... What are you doing here?," she managed, her heart racing.

"Carlos insisted," he said, shooting her brother a look that was half-grateful, half-exasperated. "Apparently, I'm an honorary Sainz now."

Carlos clapped Lando on the back. "Damn right you are. Now, I'll leave you two to catch up."

As Carlos disappeared into the crowd, an awkward silence settled between them. For a moment, neither of them moved. There was a nervous energy thrumming between them, charged and uncertain.

Lando's lips curved into a tentative smile, but his eyes held something more—a mix of apprehension and determination. Her heart stumbled, the rhythm uneven and unfamiliar.

"You look beautiful," Lando said finally, his gaze lingering on her for a moment too long.

"Thank you," she murmured, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

He chuckled softly, the sound easing some of the tension. "I tried."

A moment of silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant hum of music and laughter.

“I missed you,” Lando confessed, his voice low and raw. “Not just at the races. Just… you.”

Her breath caught, the vulnerability in his words cutting through the defenses she’d spent months carefully building.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to talk to you after Abu Dhabi," she said, "It was... hectic. I didn’t mean to disappear,” she admitted, her voice hesitant, barely above a whisper. “I just… needed time. After everything.”

She remembered the plane ride back from Abu Dhabi. It had been strangely quiet, filled only with the weight of her thoughts. (Y/N) had never imagined walking away from the paddock world that had shaped her for years—but life had a way of demanding pauses when your heart grew too heavy to carry it all.

Lando nodded, his expression softening in understanding. "Yeah, it was. I wanted to find you, but everything was crazy. I thought about calling, but... I didn't know if you'd want to hear from me."

"I would've," she admitted quietly.

His lips curved into a faint smile. "Good to know."

The air between them shifted, charged with unspoken words and lingering questions.

"Do you want to get out of here for a bit?" he asked suddenly. "Take a walk?"

Before she could second-guess herself, she nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that." He started getting closer, both weaving through the throng of guests with an almost magnetic pull.

They made their way through the villa grounds, the sounds of the reception fading behind them. The path was lined with lanterns, casting soft pools of light over the cobblestone. The scent of wildflowers hung heavy in the air, mingling with the distant hum of cicadas.

"So, a book about heartbreak?" Lando asked, his tone teasing but gentle.

She laughed softly. "Yeah. Seemed fitting at the time."

Max had been the kind of love that consumed her, bright and relentless, burning through everything until there was nothing left. He had taken the best parts of her, chipped away at her confidence, and left her with fragments of a girl who used to believe in love without question. Writing about heartbreak had been her way of piecing herself back together.

Her book had become a testament to survival, an anthem for those learning to find joy again after love had gutted them. Heartbreak was universal, but healing was personal, she had written. And yet—now standing under the Andalusian sky—surrounded by laughter and warmth, she couldn’t help but question her own convictions.

Had she truly healed? Or had she just learned to mask the cracks well enough to fool herself?

"Is it any good?"

"Top of the charts," she quipped, grinning.

He chuckled. "Of course it is."

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, the weight of the past three months gradually lifting.

"I meant what I said earlier, I missed seeing you around the paddock," Lando admitted quietly.

She glanced at him, her heart skipping a beat. "I missed being there."

"Think you'll come back?"

"Maybe," she said thoughtfully. "But... it would be different now."

He nodded, understanding without needing an explanation.

As they reached a small overlook, the villa lights twinkling below them, Lando turned to face her.

"I'm glad Carlos dragged me here," he said earnestly. "I didn't realize how much I needed to see you."

Her breath caught at the sincerity in his voice. "I'm glad you're here too."

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The past lingered between them, but so did the possibility of something new—something softer, more grounded.

Lando's hand brushed hers, tentative but hopeful. And in that simple touch, she felt a spark of something she hadn't dared to believe in again.

“I’ve never been great at waiting, you know? So I’m here now.” Lando said with determination and a crooked smile. “Hoping for a second chance.”

(Y/N) felt her resolve waver. Lando had always been bold on the track, unafraid to take risks. But this was different. This was personal.

“You don’t even know what you’re asking for,” she said quietly, though there was no edge to her words.

“I think I do.” His gaze was steady, unwavering. “Look, I’m not saying I’ll fix everything, but I want to be there with you while you figure it out. You’ve written a whole book about heartbreak, but maybe this time, let’s give us a chance to write something different together.”

Her lips parted, but the words caught in her throat. He was giving her a choice, not demanding anything. And that, more than anything, made her chest ache with possibility.

“You know, hope tastes better,” he said suddenly, noticing her uncertainty, afraid he might've pushed too hard.

Her heart skipped a beat, the memory of his cheeky comment back in Abu Dhabi resurfacing. Despite everything, he had always been Lando—optimistic, resilient, and undeniably charming.

“And what exactly are you hoping for?” she asked, her voice teasing but tinged with vulnerability.

“You,” he said simply. “Just you, Darling.”

The sincerity in his words broke something open inside her. There was fear, yes. But beneath it, there was hope too—sweet and daring.

Watching her sister Anna walk down the aisle earlier that day had brought forth a wave of bittersweet emotions. The kind of love her sister shared with her husband radiated ease and joy—a stark contrast to the battlefield her past love had been.

Max had taught her the danger of giving too much without being given enough in return. But hadn’t she learned? Her book had said as much, urging readers to love boldly, to not let fear dictate their hearts.

So why did she hesitate now?

Her gaze drifted across the illuminated courtyard, where soft lanterns swayed gently in the warm night breeze. Couples swayed on the dance floor, lost in their private worlds of joy.

And then there was Lando.

His blue eyes glinted under the golden light. There was an ease to him, a brightness that made her chest ache with something she didn’t quite know how to name.

Max had been a taker. But Lando? Lando looked like all he ever wanted to do was give.

“Okay,” she whispered, the word trembling on her lips.

His grin softened into something tender, and he reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together.

“I’m not letting go this time,” Lando promised.

The night seemed to hold its breath as they stood there, the world fading into the background. And she remembered her mom’s words, maybe love didn’t have to be a battlefield. Maybe it could be simple and kind—a steady presence rather than a storm.

The realization settled over her like a weight—unexpected but not unwelcome. Her heart, though still wary, beat with a rhythm that whispered maybe. She just wasn’t sure if she was brave enough to listen.

The days that followed Anna's wedding were a strange, beautiful blur for (Y/N). It started innocently enough—an unexpected text late one night after Lando had flown back to whatever race he had.

Still thinking about you, Darling.

She stared at the glowing screen notification in her darkened bedroom, her heart skipping a beat.

Didn’t pictured you as the clingy type, Norris.

Only for you ;)

Their conversations were effortless, filled with teasing banter and moments of quiet vulnerability. It was a gradual unfolding, filled with stolen moments, hesitant steps, and the quiet realization that love could be rebuilt from the rubble of heartbreak.

From that moment on, communication between them flowed easily, naturally. Text messages turned into voice notes, filled with his laughter and stories about chaotic team meetings at McLaren. Then came the video calls, where he lounged in hotel rooms with messy hair and sleepy eyes, talking about everything from his races to the best places to have churros in Madrid, voices dipping into vulnerable confessions during the quiet hours of the night. But there were moments when the distance gnawed at her—a hollow ache that lingered long after their calls ended.

On one rainy evening, she curled up under a warm blanket on her bed, wine glass in hand, her laptop propped up on the coffee table as Lando’s pixelated face filled the screen. He was shirtless, fresh from the shower, damp curls clinging to his forehead, lounging on the couch at his flat in Monaco, propping his phone on his knee, grinning lazily at her face through the screen.

“So, what’s the verdict?” he asked, grinning. “Is my commentary on tire degradation better than Crofty’s?”

She snorted. “Not even close.”

He feigned offense. “Rude.”

“Honest,” she shot back, sipping her wine.

Their laughter echoed through the speakers, warming the space between them despite the distance.

“So, what are you writing today?” he’d ask, his tone gentle but curious.

“Trying to write,” she’d admit, tapping a pen against her notebook. “It’s hard to focus.”

“Maybe you need a change of scenery,” he suggested, eyes gleaming mischievously.

The suggestion turned into reality when she found herself boarding a flight to Monaco, heart racing at the prospect of seeing him again. The weekend was spent in quiet bliss—sun-soaked walks along the harbor and late-night talks on his balcony overlooking the shimmering coastline.

In April, he flew to Madrid for a rare weekend off. They wandered through the narrow streets of Salamanca, hands brushing but never quite holding. She and Lando had snuck off to a charming cafe tucked away from prying eyes, the one she talked so much about. They sat side by side, her hand resting comfortably on his thigh as they shared a plate of churros. He stole bites of her spanish pastries and she made him laugh so hard he nearly choked on his coffee.

“You’ve got sugar on your face,” Lando teased, leaning in to brush his thumb across the corner of her mouth.

“You’re such a dork,” she laughed, her eyes sparkling.

That evening, as they sat on the cafe balcony watching the city lights flicker, he leaned closer, his voice soft.

“I like this,” he admitted.

“What?” she asked, glancing at him.

“Being here with you. Feels... right.”

Her chest tightened. “Yeah. It does.”

In May, she surprised him by flying to Monaco again after a particularly grueling race in Imola. They spent lazy mornings tangled in his sheets, afternoons exploring the city, and evenings cooking more disastrous meals in his sleek kitchen.

One night, as they sat on the floor eating takeout straight from the containers, he looked at her with a seriousness that made her heart skip.

“I’m not good at this,” he confessed. “The whole relationship thing.”

She set down her chopsticks. “Neither am I.”

He reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “But I like that I’m trying. With you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Me too.”

As the night deepened, Monaco's city lights flickered through the window, casting a soft glow across the room. Empty takeout containers lay forgotten on the floor, the remnants of laughter and conversations lingering in the air. Lando's thumb brushed over the back of (Y/N)'s hand, their fingers still entwined as if letting go was simply not an option.

For a moment, the world stood still just them and the charged energy thrumming between their bodies. Then, like a match igniting, something shifted.

He leaned forward, tentative yet resolute, capturing her lips with his. It was soft at first, testing the waters, but when she responded, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, the tenderness gave way to something more desperate, raw, and consuming. Years of unspoken emotions unraveled between them, a tapestry of longing and newfound love.

She straddled his lap, her hands sliding into his hair as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. His lips trailed down her jaw, pressing fevered kisses to her neck, leaving a path of heat in their wake. Her pulse quickened, matching the erratic rhythm of her heart.

"(Y/N)..." he whispered against her skin, the sound of her name on his lips sending shivers down her spine.

Her hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward. He helped her discard it, their breaths mingling in the charged air. She traced the lines of his chest, marveling at the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips. In response, his hands roamed her back, reverent and wanting all at once.

Clothes were shed piece by piece, a trail of fabric left forgotten in their wake as Lando stood, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. Her legs wrapped around his waist feeling his arousal against her heat, their mouths never parting as he carried them toward his bedroom. The journey was clumsy, filled with laughter between breathless kisses as they stumbled through the doorway.

He laid her down on the cool sheets, hovering above her, his gaze filled with equal parts reverence and desire. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Her fingers caressed his cheek. "So are you."

What followed was a dance — a blend of passion and tenderness, messy and rough in the way only young love could be. Their bodies moved in sync, guided by instinct and the desire to be closer than ever before. It was a claiming, a letting go of past uncertainties, and an embrace of the present.

Whispers of each other's names mingled with soft gasps and quiet whimpers. Their touches were tentative at first, growing bolder as they explored one another without reservation. Time seemed to blur, the world fading away until nothing existed beyond this sacred space they created together.

And when they reached the crescendo of their passion, it was like stars exploding behind closed eyes — a moment that spoke of promises and possibilities.

As their breathing slowed, they collapsed into each other, limbs tangled and hearts beating in unison. Lando pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, his hand tracing lazy patterns on her back.

(Y/N) nestled closer, her cheek pressed against his chest. "This... this feels right," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

He tightened his hold on her. "It does."

Hope bloomed in her chest, radiant and unstoppable. This was the future Lando always spoke about — unpredictable, maybe even messy, but filled with love and light.

As sleep claimed them, they clung to each other, wishing this was how they would spend the rest of their lives — tangled up bodies, unburdened by the past, and ready to face whatever came next.

Their connection deepened with every text, call, and stolen weekend. But it wasn’t without its challenges. The distance, his demanding schedule, and her lingering fears sometimes crept in, threatening to unravel the fragile thing they were building. Yet Lando had a way of grounding her, reminding her that love didn’t have to be complicated or painful—it could be simple and joyful.

They were so caught up in their little world, there was no denying that something beautiful was growing between them. She found herself counting down the days until his breaks between races, hoping he’d find time to visit.

And he always did.

The sun dipped lazily over the Madrid skyline during one of Lando's Secret visits, spilling golden light over (Y/N)’s kitchen. The chill in the air that came through the window was softened by Lando's shirtless frame, arm wrapped securely around her waist, his chin resting atop her head as they stood in peaceful silence.

She sighed, leaning into him. It was surprising how easily she'd fallen into this rhythm with Lando—mornings filled with laughter over burnt toast, afternoons spent strolling through quiet neighborhoods, evenings tangled up in each other as the world faded away. It was a quiet, growing intimacy that both thrilled and terrified her.

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “You good, muppet?”

That nickname. It had started as a joke after she tripped over herself on one of their first dates. But now, when he said it, it was warm and endearing, a reminder that he saw all her clumsy, unpolished edges and adored them anyway. Still, she prefered Darling Better.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m good.”

But was she really? She'd spent so much time mending the cracks Max had left in her heart, convincing herself she was whole again. But with Lando, she felt like a canvas being repainted—brighter, bolder, and more beautiful than before. The question lingered: was she ready to give herself fully to another man again?

As if sensing her thoughts, Lando tilted her chin up so their eyes met. His gaze was steady, sincere. “Hey, what’s going on in that pretty head of yours darling?”

(Y/N) murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just thinking."

Lando’s arms tightened around her waist as if sensing the weight of her thoughts. “Dangerous habit, that,” he teased, his lips brushing lightly against her temple.

She laughed quietly, the sound easing some of her lingering unease. “Someone has to think in this relationship.”

“Ouch.” He feigned offense, grinning down at her. “Guess I’ll stick to driving then.”

The playful banter was effortless, but beneath it was a quiet understanding—the acknowledgment of how far they had come and the unspoken hope of where they were headed.

Their moment of peace, however, was abruptly interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock. The door swung open, and Carlos's familiar voice echoed through the apartment.

"(Y/N)! I brought churros—" Carlos's voice trailed off as he stepped into the kitchen, his eyes narrowing at the sight before him.

Lando, shirtless and still holding (Y/N) against him, froze like a deer caught in headlights.

Carlos's gaze flickered between them, realization dawning with alarming speed. His brows shot up. "No me jodas... Is this what I think it is?"

(Y/N) felt her cheeks burn, but Lando, ever the confident racer, recovered quickly. "Uh, hey, mate. Fancy seeing you here."

Carlos crossed his arms, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. "Fancy? Really? This is my sister's apartment, Norris."

Lando grinned sheepishly. "Fair point."

(Y/N) sighed, stepping out of Lando's embrace. "Carlos, I can explain—"

Carlos held up a hand, cutting her off. "No need. I'm just glad I finally figured it out, and before Anna. She owes me so much money now"

Lando blinked. "Wait, what?"

Carlos smirked. "We've been waiting for this to happen for months. Honestly, I was starting to lose faith in you two."

(Y/N) stared at her brother, stunned. "You... knew?"

"Come on, hermana. I'm not blind," Carlos said, shaking his head. "Just promise me one thing—don't let him cook. I've seen the disasters."

Lando laughed, the tension breaking. "No arguments there."

As Carlos grabbed the churros and headed to the living room, he called over his shoulder, "Just be happy, okay? That's all I care about."

(Y/N) exchanged a glance with Lando, her heart swelling with warmth.

"You heard the man," Lando said, his voice soft. "Be happy."

She smiled, leaning into him once more. " I already am."

They stood there for a moment, the tension melting away. Lando brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch gentle. “You really mean a lot to me, you know that, right?”

Her heart stumbled at the sincerity in his voice. “I know.”

“And I’ll keep waiting, as long as you need,” he added softly. “But just so you know, I’m already all in.”

Her breath caught in her throat. There it was—that terrifying, beautiful thing she’d been afraid to face. Love.

But this wasn’t like before. With Max, love had been a battlefield, a constant fight to be seen and valued. With Lando, it was steady and grounding, like coming home after a long journey.

Love, she realized, didn’t have to be grand gestures and dramatic declarations. Sometimes it was churros in a quiet cafe, soft reassurances, midnight flights and a boyfriend who could face an overprotective older brother. And that was more than enough.

She cupped his face, her thumb tracing the curve of his jaw. “I think I’m falling for you, Norris.”

His grin was slow and devastating. “Good. Because I fell for you a long time ago, Darling.”

As their lips met, she knew one thing for certain—she was finally ready to love again. And with Lando, it wasn’t just safe; it was exhilarating.

The first time (Y/N) returned to the paddock had to be for Lando's home race.

Silverstone roared with life.

The cacophony of engines reverberated through the air, mingling with the excited chatter of fans draped in papaya orange, waving McLaren flags proudly against the overcast sky. (Y/N) stood at the edge of the paddock, the familiar scent of burning rubber and petrol thick in the air. Her heart raced—not from the adrenaline of race day but from the unfamiliar territory she now found herself navigating.

Gone were the navy hues of Red Bull’s garage and the familiar faces she once mingled with. Instead, the papaya-drenched world of McLaren welcomed her, a universe she was still getting used to.

“First time in papaya?” Lily, Oscar Piastri’s girlfriend, teased as she linked arms with her.

“Is it that obvious?” she laughed nervously, brushing a hand down the McLaren leather jacket Lando had insisted she wear.

“Just a bit,” Lily grinned. “But you’ll love it here. Zack’s basically everyone’s favorite uncle, and the crew is great. Plus, you’re here with Lando. He’s a national treasure around here.”

(Y/N)’s gaze drifted toward Lando, who was deep in conversation with his race engineers. The sight of him, confident and animated, filled her with a warmth she hadn’t expected.

Being here for him felt right, even if it was new and a little intimidating.

As the pre-race chaos buzzed around them, Zack Brown approached with his signature jovial smile. “(Y/N)! Welcome to the papaya family.”

“Thanks, Mr. Brown,” she said, returning his handshake.

“Call me Zack. We’re glad to have you. Lando’s been walking on air since you agreed to come.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I’m glad to be here.”

Zack winked. “He’s a good lad. You picked a winner—on and off the track.”

As Zack moved on, her gaze settled back on Lando. Their eyes met across the bustling garage, and his face lit up with that boyish grin she adored. He jogged over, a bounce in his step.

“Nervous?” he asked, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“A little,” she admitted. “It’s different being here for you.”

“You’ll get used to it,” he promised, pressing a kiss to her temple. “And if not, I’ll just have to distract you.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” she teased.

“Both.”

Lando’s touch was grounding, steadying the nerves that threatened to creep in.

As the race countdown began, she found herself in the heart of the McLaren garage, surrounded by the hum of technology and the focused intensity of the crew. Lily stood beside her, providing a comforting presence.

The race itself was a blur of speed and strategy. Lando battled fiercely on the track, his determination palpable even from the screens in front of her. Her heart raced with every overtaking maneuver and pit stop, her hands clenched in anticipation.

But amidst the adrenaline, her thoughts drifted unexpectedly to the navy dark car of Max Verstappen. She watched as he fought his own battle on the track, his smooth driving style a testament to his skill.

Memories of the past tugged at her—moments spent cheering for him from the Red Bull garage, believing they had a future together. But that future had crumbled, leaving her with lessons she hadn’t realized she needed.

Max had been a storm, intense and consuming, leaving her breathless and battered. Lando was different—steady, grounding, and warm. Love with him wasn’t a battlefield; it was a refuge.

When the checkered flag waved, signaling the end of the race, a collective roar erupted from the McLaren garage as Lando crossed the finish line in first place. The realization hit (Y/N) a heartbeat later, her breath catching in disbelief before pure joy swept through her like wildfire. He had done it — won his home race at Silverstone. The engineers and crew leapt from their seats, jubilant and triumphant, their cheers blending with the deafening crowd outside. Without thinking, she pushed past the bustling bodies, her heart pounding as she raced toward the barricades by the podium.

Her feet barely touched the ground as she weaved through the sea of papaya-clad team members, her senses overwhelmed by the chaos of victory. The air smelled of burnt rubber and triumph, thick with the thrum of celebration. Lando's wide grin was infectious as he parked the car near parc fermé, the helmet tilting slightly as he looked toward the crew — toward her. She knew that look, filled with an almost boyish disbelief and pride. She sprinted faster, joining the team pressed against the barricade, her voice lost in the chorus of chants for Lando Norris.

When he finally emerged on the podium, champagne dripping from his suit, the crowd roared anew. (Y/N) watched, her heart swelling with pride, as he hoisted the trophy high above his head. Then, just as he had at Abu Dhabi, he shifted his gaze down to her, standing amidst the jubilant team. With deliberate precision, he pointed to the gleaming trophy in his hand and then to her. Tears prickled her eyes as she beamed up at him, their connection undeniable and profound. This time, they were no longer hesitant strangers dancing around the idea of what could be — they were partners, sharing in each other’s victories, in love and in life.

As the team celebrated their efforts, (Y/N)’s gaze drifted once more, this time landing on a familiar figure in the distance. Charles stood beside his new girlfriend, Alexandra, his expression calm despite Ferrari’s continued struggles.

Their eyes met briefly, a silent acknowledgment. Charles offered a polite nod, and she returned it with a small smile.

The hum of Silverstone's paddock buzzed behind her with post-race interviews and celebrations, she wandered toward the hospitality area, craving a moment away from the noise, needing a moment to gather her thoughts. The sky had softened into a muted gray, casting a serene hue over the chaos. The crisp scent of rubber and engine fumes lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting from the nearby lounge.

Her mind was still unraveling the emotions stirred by the race—the steady pride she felt for Lando, the unexpected but gentle closure in seeing Charles with Alexandra, and the quiet contentment that had begun blooming in her chest.

But fate, as always, had a sense of humor.

“Y/N.”

The voice, familiar and edged with a hint of surprise, cut through the tranquility.

She froze, heart skipping a beat before turning slowly.

There he was—Max Verstappen.

Time had carved subtle changes into his face, softening the sharp edges she once knew so intimately. His eyes, still that striking shade of blue, carried a weight she hadn’t seen before. But it wasn’t just Max who caught her attention.

A few steps behind him, Kelly stood beneath the awning, her sleek hair shining under the overcast sky. She cradled their newborn son against her chest, gently swaying to soothe him. Penelope clung to her leg, chattering excitedly about something only a child could find fascinating.

The sight hit (Y/N) harder than she expected—a snapshot of a life she had once envisioned for herself. A life that had slipped through her fingers.

Max shifted awkwardly, his usual confidence faltering. “Long time, huh?”

“Yeah, it has been a while,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

He nodded, glancing briefly toward Kelly and the children before returning his gaze to her. “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” she said, and for the first time, it wasn’t a lie. “Really good.”

“You look it, you seem happy” he admitted, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“I am,” She truly meant it.

Her eyes flickered to the McLaren jacket she wore, the papaya orange bright against the muted backdrop. Max noticed it too, his expression shifting slightly.

“Norris?”

She smiled softly. “Yeah.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, but there was no bitterness there, only quiet acceptance. “He’s... steady.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Steady’s good.”

Max exhaled, a breath laced with something close to regret. “Yeah. It is.”

The weight of unspoken words hung between them—remnants of a love that had burned too fiercely, leaving ashes in its wake.

“I’m happy for you, Max,” she said sincerely, glancing toward Kelly and the baby. “It looks like you’ve found what you were looking for.”

He followed her gaze, his features softening. “Yeah. Took me a while to get my head straight, but... I’m getting there.”

Kelly caught sight of them then, offering her a polite, knowing smile before turning her attention back to the baby. Penelope giggled, tugging at her mother’s dress, oblivious to the gravity of the moment unfolding nearby.

Max’s voice lowered, tinged with something raw. “I was selfish with you. Took too much and gave too little.”

(Y/N)’s throat tightened, but she held his gaze. “We were both trying to be what the other needed, and we couldn’t. But we’re both okay now.”

He looked at her for a long moment, as though searching for something—maybe forgiveness, maybe closure.

“You’re different,” he said finally.

“So are you,” she replied gently.

The sound of Lando’s laughter carried over the noise, pulling Y/N’s attention. He stood near the McLaren hospitality entrance, talking animatedly with Oscar and Zack, his eyes scanning the crowd until they found her.

Her heart swelled at the sight of him—bright, hopeful, and entirely hers.

Max noticed the shift in her expression, following her gaze. A bittersweet smile curved his lips. “He’s good for you. He’s a decent guy.”

“He is,” she agreed, her voice unwavering.

Max extended a hand, a gesture heavy with meaning. “I hope he gives you what I couldn’t.”

She shook his hand, the gesture sealing something between them. “And I hope you find everything you’ve been looking for too, Max.”

As he turned to rejoin Kelly, who now had Penelope balanced on one hip and the baby still nestled against her chest, (Y/N) watched them go, the weight of the past finally lifting from her shoulders.

A long time ago she had imagined a life with Max once—a life filled with wins and championships and many children. But that life wasn’t meant to be, and she was finally okay with that.

Lando’s voice pulled her back to the present. “Hey, Darling,” he called, grinning as he jogged toward her, his eyes lighting up as she approached.

She smiled, her heart light.

“Everything okay?” he asked, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Yeah,” she said, leaning into him. “Better than okay. Just realizing how lucky I am.”

His smile was soft. “I’m the lucky one, darling.”

As they walked back toward the McLaren garage, she knew without a doubt—love was a quiet, steady force that mended what was broken and built something stronger in its place. And with Lando by her side, she was ready for everything the future had to offer.

5 YEARS LATER

The roar of the Dutch Grand Prix crowd reverberated through the air, a symphony of cheers, air horns, and waving orange flags. The atmosphere vibrated with anticipation, charged by the electric energy of a race weekend nearing its climax.

(Y/N) stood by the McLaren garage, her hands gripping whatever was at reach tightly. The humid breeze carried the faint scent of rubber and fuel, mingling with the salty tang of the nearby sea. The rhythmic pounding of her heart mirrored the tension on the track as Lando rounded the final turn, his papaya-colored car streaking toward the finish line.

“Come on, Lando,” she whispered under her breath, barely aware of the words escaping her lips.

The orange-clad McLaren crew erupted into jubilant celebration as he crossed the line first, securing the victory and maintaining his lead in the championship. The sound was deafening—cheers, claps, and the metallic clang of wrenches hastily discarded in triumph.

Her breath caught, emotions tangling in her chest. He’d done it. Again. Her heart swelled with pride, a fierce, overwhelming warmth spreading through her.

As the garage crew surged forward, she found herself pulled along by the momentum, feet moving on instinct toward the barricades where Lando was slowing his car to a triumphant stop. The smell of burnt tires filled the air as smoke curled from his rear tires in celebration.

He climbed out of the car, helmet in hand, eyes scanning the chaotic sea of orange and papaya until they landed on his wife. His grin was blinding, pure exhilaration radiating from every inch of him.

Lando sprinted toward the barricades, leaping over them with the agility of someone who hadn’t just driven at breakneck speeds for two hours. He reached her in moments, wrapping her up in his arms. The scent of sweat and engine fumes clung to him, but she didn’t care.

“You did it!” she laughed breathlessly, her arms circling his neck.

“I did,” he grinned against her temple, voice rough from exertion. “But it’s only worth it because you’re here.”

Before she could respond, he cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek, and kissed her with a ferocity that left her breathless. The world blurred around them—mechanics cheering, photographers snapping pictures, and fans roaring from the grandstands. But in that moment, there was only him.

When they finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers, eyes gleaming with triumph and something softer, deeper.

“You okay?” he asked gently, his hand slipping instinctively to her belly, hidden beneath the loose folds of her red dress.

Her lips curved into a soft smile. “We’re good. Both of us.”

The unspoken secret between them lingered in the air, sacred and precious. They hadn’t told anyone yet, wanting to keep this joy just for themselves a little longer. But she knew Lando already carried the weight of that future, balancing the demands of racing and fatherhood with unwavering devotion.

And he never faltered.

As the team swept him away for interviews and podium duties, (Y/N) lingered near the rest of the team, watching as he climbed onto the podium. The Dutch fans roared for their hometown hero, Max Verstappen, who stood beside Lando with a small smile of begrudging respect.

Max’s gaze shifted briefly to (Y/N), his expression softening when he caught sight of her. From this distance, he couldn’t miss the glint of the massive ring on her finger or the subtle curve of her hidden baby bump.

His lips quirked into something resembling acceptance—a silent acknowledgment of how far they’d both come. Their lives had diverged in ways neither of them could have predicted, but there was peace in that now.

Kelly stood nearby his team, holding their son, a pre-teen Penelope on her other hand. Max’s future was etched in those small faces, just as hers was in the life she carried and the man who now stood triumphant on the top step of the podium.

Lando lifted the winner’s trophy high, champagne spraying in every direction. The glimmering liquid caught the sunlight, shimmering like gold.

(Y/N) clapped, her heart full as she watched him revel in his victory. This was their life now—sometimes chaotic, sometimes overwhelming, but always filled with love and unwavering partnership.

As Lando caught her gaze from the podium, his smile softened into something intimate, meant solely for her. Continuing their cherished tradition, he lifted the trophy high before pointing directly at her—a silent dedication, just as he had done countless times before, each gesture a reminder that every victory, big or small, was as much hers as it was his.

And in that moment, she knew with absolute certainty: first loves weren’t always meant to be forever. But sometimes, the love that came after—the one that was scarier, quieter, but infinitely steadier—was the one that truly lasted.

She placed a hand over her belly, feeling the flutter of new life beneath her palm.

Their story was still being written, and she couldn’t wait to see where it would take them next.

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A/N 2: For those who wanted a more concise endings, here is It how things Will have turned out If (Y/N) choose Lando. I think this two are very cute together. Also I love Carlos as a matchmaker. What ending do you prefer? Hope you enjoyed reading this series as much as I enjoyed writting it.

You can check Charles' ending here.

Love you -Xim

Tagglist:

@cmleitora

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