#late born sun au

[justdrawlynn11]

Have some drawings of little Drop from my Late Born Sun au!

Buddy can barely remember hyper specifics from his old life before being reborn, but whenever he does he gets extra sad. Also first appearance of Moon by the time Drop arrived!

[lunar-solarsystem]

runrunrunrunrunruNRUNRUNRUNRUNRU-

I JUST WANTED THE BAB—

(somewhat post for @justdrawlynn11’s Late Born Sun AU :D (i stole Sun-))

[seosracha]

⸻ SAINT MATTHEW'S ACADEMY II

SYNOPSIS ⸻ heeseung feels helpless as you continue to deny him love, and give it to the one person he can't come to accept- park sunghoon.

PAIRING ⸻ sunghoon x fem!reader x heeseung

GENRE ⸻ rich kids au, smut, fluff, angst

TAGS ⸻ love triangle, cursing, foul language, underage drinking, degrading names, smoking, mentions of doing c0ke, partying, gaslighting, religious themes, obsessive behavior/thoughts, unrequited love, fighting (verbally), mention of physical abuse and blood, desperate sunghoon :D, making out, penetration, unprotected sex,

WORDCOUNT ⸻ 15.2k

PART ONE

MDNI. This is a work is meant for entertainment purposes only. References to products and brands are imaginary and not meant to deprecate their image.

You close your eyes, repeating the words, painting the scene and your back in that room. Those words spoken with so much collapsed indifference by a person that didn’t care to see or talk to you again. There was no point in burdening your memory with the idea of him, the idea of a Lee Heeseung that in this universe, didn’t quite exist. 

Yes- he carried his father’s surname, his name Heeseung- meaning bright and successful. Those were the things that would never change, the things he could never replace or hide. He would always and forever be remembered as Lee Heeseung, son of the hotel giants, and brother of Lee Haejun, the family heir. 

For all his miserable and lonely life he struggled to create a name for himself. For all the 19 years he managed to wrestle with life, the fate stayed the same. He wanted his parents to think of him in any way, even if it was bad, even if it meant he’d be a failure in their eyes. He craved to be something more, something beyond the body he was born in. 

Winter wasn’t his favourite season. He hated wearing a puffer jacket, long socks and heavy boots. He hated the additional weight of all these things with the already pre existing heaviness of his being itself.  

You liked winter- he knew that. He knew how happy it made you to catch a snowflake that’d melt away within seconds of meeting your warm hand. Heeseung also knew he probably ruined it for you on that night- 22 of December, the day that welcomed winter. 

He hasn’t really spoken to his friends since that night- his phone’s been on silent mode and his house, abandoned by him for now. Usually he’d enjoy this, maybe even have a friend join him, but this winter break, the vacation felt insufferable. 

Warm Sydney, Australia, the colour of the inside of his hand almost as light and soft as the skin of his neck and the underside of his forearms, which were rarely exposed to the sun. He remembers how 2 years ago, just a month or two later he was here with Sunghoon, lounging around and sleeping off the scorching heat until one of them finally suggested they should go to the rocks to swim. 

Well this year, he couldn’t quite find himself leaving the white sheets. Heeseung had left so many things unsolved back home, and he feared that by the time he’s back- it’d be too late. He’d leave the air conditioner blasting all day and night, his thoughts running off to all the things he did wrong. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have told you, maybe he shouldn’t have asked his friend for help, maybe he should’ve just left you alone. But how could he- it was stronger than him. 

While the summer in Australia left an unquenchable thirst for more, winter in his hometown was as quiet as ever. 

The inexplicable  animosity hung heavy in the air as you, and everyone else went about their life, trying to forget yesterday, and live with the thought of tomorrow. 

You spent most of your days alone. Sometimes, Jake would drop by. Or Jay. It depended on who made an excuse that day. 

In the midst of a fiery conflict, you found comfort in them. The same people who encouraged behaviour that led you here. It was all broken anyway, so was there really a point in finding the lesser evil? 

Neither of them have spoken to the two boys. Maybe they didn’t want to take sides or maybe, just maybe all of them were waiting for the right moment to end this. This wasn’t friendship, not in the slightest. It was jealousy and competition. 

Trying not to think about it came out to be much easier. Only the countless texts reminded you. The unanswered calls, disconnected lines and unspoken words. 

No more words, you said no more words after his confession. You stayed silent, and that pain flooded you today. The silence stayed with you. Every night you’d spend on a phone call with him, laughing because no matter how hard you begged him, he wouldn’t hang up first, was now filled with heavy breaths and drowning darkness. 

Sunghoon hadn’t gone anywhere this winter. He was supposed to- the first class tickets to Sri Lanka already booked by his mother. When she knocked on his door, 12 hours before they were supposed to leave, he told her he'd fallen ill. Very ill. 

Before Heeseung blocked his number, he sent him a short message. Sunghoon sat in a cold corner on the white bathroom tiles, reading the message. It was enough to let him know that it was over. And even though the unyielding pain in his stomach grew stronger, a small smile twitched at the corner of his bloody lips. He tried to reply, but the text went green. 

When Heeseung first asked him for that favour, he assumed it was just another sick way for him to assert his dominance over you. Another way to make sure you knew Heeseung created what you are today, and no matter what, you’ll always have a piece of him. Sunghoon never thought the boy would tell you the truth in the end. 

Two days before New Years Eve, Jake texted you. 

“Is your brother home?” 

He also attached a photo, indicating that he was already in the area. 

“No” 

The simple reply quickly sent through, and without even checking for another response you flip the phone over. 

Each sound, each notification, you hoped it was from one of them. Heeseung never turned off his location sharing, so you already knew he wasn't around. Sunghoon, well, you had no idea. 

You didn't really know anything about him. How he went about his day, before and after school or on vacation or just on a simple Saturday. You didn't know his favorite color, his favorite food or his favorite song. 

It was never easy to talk to him- he didn't share much or make space for new people in his life. You rarely saw him enjoy things or even crack a smile at the jokes his friends made. That’s exactly what made it hard to figure out if he really meant the things he said and did. 

Your doorbell rings. You turn your phone and see another message from Jake, indicating he��s here. It didn't take him longer than 5 minutes to get here. 

“Hey” you scratch the back of your head, welcoming him in. He’s not awkward in the slightest, kissing your cheek as he enters. 

Jake hasn't been the same since. You can’t quite remember if he’s always been like this or did his friendship with the boys actually influence him that badly. 

Something you always noticed about Jake is how easily influenced he really was. It took one word, one word and he’d be at Heeseung’s feet just waiting to do whatever the boy wanted. He tried so hard to impress them, he fell through with everything in his life- his grades faltered, his relationship with his parents started to rot, and his self respect declined with every passing day. He ruined himself for them. 

Jay wasn’t like that. He never really listened to Heeseung in the first place. And Heeseung realized that pretty quickly. They weren’t particularly close either. Jay had legions of friends outside of school. He didn’t need Heeseung, Sunghoon or Jake but in a way, they needed him. He stuck around because loneliness wasn’t a good look on him, and his peers at school, well, they weren’t quite fond of him. 

“I brought wine” he announces and hands you the bottle of red wine that’s gotten quite cold by now. 

“You know I don’t drink” you look away from the label, now focusing on the boy who’s fixing his hair in the mirror. He doesn’t seem to register what you said as a piece of his brown hair keeps falling onto his forehead. 

He wiggles out of his leather jacket, hanging it on the clothing rack before taking the wine back into his hands “It’s only 12%. You won’t feel it” he ultimately replies. 

He wanders off into the kitchen while you sit down on the grey couch. Jake doesn’t really ask, he never does. It doesn’t bother you, not as much as it used to at least. He searches your cabinets looking for wine glasses which after a short moment, can’t be found in any of them. He settles down for something less extravagant. 

You wouldn’t even dare inviting any of them just a couple months back. You were embarrassed, their houses the size of your whole street. A lot of things have changed since then. 

"Jungwon is hosting for New Years” he started, handing the glass to you. He sat down, his body facing you “Do you want to come?” 

Yang Jungwon was in your grade. His father was a software engineer who developed his own app but also helped countless companies start theirs. Jungwon was the one who helped Jay start his long abandoned website. He always watched his father doing big things, he wanted that too. His mother was a divorce attorney, specializing in family law, charging around $500  per hour. She was the go-to of every miserable wife and all the tired husbands. Jungwon was a pretty normal boy- he grew up with two loving parents that got lucky enough in life to spoil him from the moment he was born. 

“Who else is coming?” you ask, and he shrugs, gulping down almost half  of his glass. 

You look down at yours, uninterested. But before he manages to reply, you copy his action. It doesn't taste good. 

“Probably the same people as always” he leans his head on his hand looking over at you “But from the people you’ll know, uh, Niki and Wonyoung are going to be there for sure. Sunoo probably has nothing better to do and Jay already told me he’s coming” Jake added after a moment and you nodded understandingly. 

“Niki and Wonyoung, huh?” you laugh mockingly, downing the other half of your drink. You wonder how in the world this could be a pleasure to middle aged women “Sunoo told me she went over to Sunghoon’s house two days ago” 

“Jealous?” Jake laughs and you raise your eyebrows. 

“No” he repeats your action and you can tell that he doesn't really buy it. Neither do you. “I’m not jealous, Jake. They can do whatever they want” 

His lips turn into a downwards smile “Sure, sure” he nods, and you playfully kick his leg. He winces at the action in a joking manner, before continuing “Heeseung and Sunghoon might be there too. So if you don't feel comfortable with that, you don't have to go. But me and Jay want you to be there” his tone softens. 

How would it end up this time? Which one of them would say something this time? Do something this time? Or would they ignore you, just like they are now. 

All you wanted was an answer. Nothing more, nothing less. You could even go by without a ‘sorry’. 

“I don’t care. I’d have to face them at school anyways” you answer with a straight smile. 

“Didn’t you hear?” he asks, painting your face with confusion at the statement. You shake your head, and he sits up straight “Karina’s parents are close with Heeseung’s, and she’s been saying some about him changing school’s mid February” 

You are even more confused now. It didn’t make sense. Where would he go? It’s probably just a rumor. 

“But you guys are graduating this year. That can’t be right” he shrugs, just as curious and confused as you. 

“Yeah, I doubt it” you nod with a small sigh, looking outside the window. 

The sun set so much quicker in winter. You barely got to enjoy the day before darkness settled. It  was setting pink today. 

“I’ll go with you guys. On New Years. Just, pick me up if you can” you say and he nods with a small smile. 

______

On that same day, Heeseung landed back in town. His father  asked him to come back in time for the New Years event he was hosting, once again. 

“What a fabulous suit, truly!” a middle aged woman comments, amused. She has a wide, bright smile on her face as she eyes Haejun “Let me guess, Canali?” she coos, a smirk creeping at the corner of her lips. 

Heeseung’s brother chuckles, the forced elegance lacing his  fake smile “Both the suit and overcoat. It’s nothing special though” he smiles, and soothes down the cashmere mantle. 

Lee Haejun runs a hand through his dark, silky hair, his posture relaxed in a ‘cool’ way.

Heeseung thinks it’s pretty humorous, the way Haejun is flirting with a 40 year old woman, whose hair is visibly turning gray. Her husband is probably somewhere in this crowd, trying to get closer to his father, just like all the other men who were lucky enough to even be invited. 

The lady has been ogling his brother for the past 5 minutes, not even noticing Heeseung who stood right next to him. 

He scoffs. 

“Oh, Heeseung. I didn’t notice you” she smiles faintly, but her eyes don’t even linger on him for a second longer, already back in conversation with Haejun “Oh and this scarf! Haejun, you have such phenomenal taste!” she celebrates him again, and he just chuckles at her excitement. 

Heeseung doesn't feel like standing there, looking like a fucking idiot that’s just waiting to get complimented on his Saint Laurent overcoat that quite frankly, was more expensive than Haejun’s. 

He doesn’t feel like being here at all. 

He thinks about everything; how these annual New Year’s dinners have ruined the holiday for him all together, how the man at the table in front of him has a giant bald spot on his head, how the hardbody on his right has pretty fuckable tits even though she’s probably in her mid 40s, how his mother is obviously having an affair with the hotels revenue manager, and most importantly, about you. 

He hasn’t felt anything since that unlucky Sunday night. It was suffocating, to be so conscious of his own decisions. But just like he’d been a coward that time, he still was too afraid to reach out and apologize. 

Maybe soon enough he’d find himself at your front porch, knocking on the door softly, a nice gift in hand, the smile you adore plastered all over his condescending face. 

That’s how it usually worked in his life; even the worst of heartbreaks and fights could be resolved with a pretty bag, new sports car or nice jewelry. That’d work on you too, wouldn’t it? He’d ask one of the maids that looked after his home to pick out something she’d like to recieve, and you’d probably be satisfied with that, maybe even suck him off later. 

Seeing you with Sunghoon enlightened something deep in his soul, something he’d never admit to himself. Heeseung didn't know if it was Sunghoon he was jealous of or you. 

Sunghoon had experienced love in many forms throughout his life. A gentle  and mannerly boy cherished by the women in his life. His kind, youthful energy seemed effortless—something completely out of reach for someone as weathered and unsteady as Lee Heeseung.

You loved him, he already knew that much. So why was it so hard for him to give that back to you, show you that he feels the same? 

He was such a selfish person-he didn't want to see you surviving on your own, or not needing him just as much as he needs you.  

Heeseung understood he could never give you the love you deserved. Yet, the idea of being replaced by Sunghoon was something he refused to accept. 

His eyes wander across the dimly lit space, desperately looking for someone who could give him a reason to leave his table. But he couldn’t stand any of them. He hated their fake pleasantries, their overblown gestures, and the emptiness behind their eyes.

They weren’t here to celebrate the passing year, spread joy and excitement for the coming days. 

All these lost, desperate people were here, hoping, praying to God that maybe this is the day his father notices them, gives them a chance to become as wealthy and glorious as him. 

“I was thinking about Oxford, possibly this upcoming September” he picks up on Haejun’s words and if not for the people and photographers that seemed to be on every possible side, he would’ve punched the shit out of his brother. 

Oxford, Harvard, Princeton, who gave a fuck? 

He sighs again but this time neither Haejun or the lady in front of him pick up on his mannerisms. 

He feels a sudden tap on his shoulder, the feeling making him jump back a bit.He groans under his breath, the sound inaudible for the one behind him, and turns around slowly. 

He didn't expect to see Park Sunghoon here. 

… 

“They don’t have a nice bathroom to do coke in” Heeseung shrugs, nibbling at his bottom lip as Sunghoon breathes out a laugh at his inquiry. 

He looks around the tiled, black bathroom, which is surprisingly empty. The light above the sink flickers in a weird way, and Heeseung wonders if it’s supposed to be like that. 

“We don’t do that anymore” Sunghoon mutters, leaning against the cold, slippery surface of the wall, his head slightly slumped. 

He looks up at Heeseung, his reflection much more familiar in the mirror. They are much closer than he thinks, the same worn out expression all over their faces.  

“Yeah… Guess those days are over” he smiles weakly, although the growing pit in his stomach makes him feel uneasy. 

He’s avoiding the topic, throwing random words in the air as his heart speeds up. Sunghoon’s avoiding it too. The words linger on their tongues but it feels like they're stuck. He can’t stomach starting a serious topic with his friend who's never been there for him in an emotional way. 

“I remember that party so vividly” Heeseung chuckles lightly, watching Sunghoon intently through the mirror. The boy is avoiding eye contact. 

“When Jay took a line and we thought we’d lost him, huh? I remember, yeah” he forces a smile although the memory is definitely not a sweet one.

Heeseung chuckles softly, his thoughts drifting to when they were actually good friends to each other. It wasn’t even that long ago, but so much has happened since that Heeseung almost forgot those times.  

He felt it with you again. In a way you brought that comfort back to him with your soft spoken voice and tender smile. But with you, he was on the brink of inescapable change. Heeseung knew that everyday he was teetering closer to the end. 

He looks back up at Sunghoon, and although his vision is slightly blurred, he notices that the wounds are completely healed now. The only tangible evidence of that night is now gone. 

“Did it leave a scar?” he asks, his voice cracking. He clears his throat, turning to face Sunghoon, who touches the corner of his lip softly. 

He shakes his head “No”. His tone is stony. He suddenly reminds himself to garbage the white button up in his wardrobe. 

“That’s good” Heeseung hums and the silence overcomes them again. It’s uncomfortable and the awkwardness between them bears so much unfamiliarity. It’s such a foreign experience. 

The tension grows thicker as Sunghoon speaks up “You know we can’t avoid it, right?” 

Heeseung feels a bead of sweat trickle down his spine as he ponders the suggestion. What could he possibly say to make it better, to make it disappear? He nods and meets Sunghoon’s unrelenting expression. 

“I don’t really think we could ever be friends again” Sunghoon says, his lip twitching slightly as the words finally roll off his tongue, the admission much more painful than he thought it’d be “Not when we both want the same thing” 

“What?” The words sink into his bones, his flesh shivering as he searches for at least an ounce of discomfort on Sunghoon’s face. 

“No matter what you told me that night, no matter how much you begged me to tell her because you didn't want to know how she’ll react, I know you feel it too. You said you didn't care, but you do, Heeseung. I care too” he explains, his voice stable. It’s almost as if he’s rehearsed this. 

It came to him during that long awaited shower. As the water came over him, so did the realization. 

“If you like it or not, I will keep on trying even if it doesn't work out. But either way, I think this is where it ends between us. I don’t want to be stuck on the idea that it could ever be the same” the air felt heavier with the tension that separated them. 

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. Heeseung never thought it’d come to this. 

“You like her, right? It wasn't something to make her feel better..?” he asked, glossing over the fact that this exact spot set the end of their friendship. 

Glossing over the fact that the relationship between you and him complicated his whole life. Yet a part of him still yearned for you. 

“I’m not like you, Heeseung. I don’t tell girls I like them to make them feel better” he chuckled lowly as Heeseung's expression darkened, taking offense to his words. 

Heeseung scoffed, not quite enjoying the cutting reminder of his bad habits. 

“Do as you please, I don’t give a fuck. But I also don’t plan on making it easy for you. I don't give up what’s mine just like that” Heeseung’s words carry a playful edge, but there’s an undercurrent of expectation, a reminder of the shared history and intimacy. 

Sunghoon turns his head to the side, a stubby chuckle slipping past his parted lips. His gaze falls onto Heeseung after a moment, the boy leaning against the counter with an indifferent expression. 

“What, do you think she forgot? You think a couple racks can erase what you did? Bet you're not the one she calls everyday” a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, as he looks at Heeseung’s changing face. 

“You think that just because I wasn't here I don’t know what goes on? She couldn't give two fucks about you. You don’t intimidate me, Sunghoon” he retorts, his eyes dark as he pushes himself off the sink and shortens the distance between him and Sunghoon “Couldn’t even get past her underwear, fucking pussy” he whispers. 

He nudges Sunghoon’s shoulder during his exit, scoffing angrily as he slams the door shut, leaving his once best-friend alone with the afterthought of his words. 

Sunghoon doesn't regret it. He feels good. He feels the weight drop from his heart, his blood flowing calmly as his eyebrows don’t furrow in annoyance anymore. 

He watches the door for a moment before turning to the mirror, adjusting his jacket and hair, smiling as he takes in his reflection. 

_____ 

On New Year's Eve a car parks in your driveway. Your brother wasn’t home, and by the looks of it, he wasn't going to be any time soon. 

You don’t really remember the last time you sat down for a meal with Eunseok. You couldn't blame him though. Your parents always repeated that saving another human's life will always be more important than spending time with family. Your brother would always stay your brother even if you started to forget the sound of his voice. 

Jay enters your house first. You can notice Jake sinking his head into the trunk, looking for something. 

The last time Jay was here his hair was still blond. He seems to have gotten a new haircut and dyed it back to black. He looked much softer now. 

“Back to black?” you smile and reach out to grab his coat. It feels illegal to hold and hang his black Prada corduroy jacket. It looked so out of place next to your own coats that were all bought at basic chain stores at the mall. 

“You like it?” he asks, quickly turning his head to check on Jake. Jay’s gaze falls back onto you, a soft glimmer in his eyes. 

He changed. He wasn't the same misogynistic narcissist that you were initially introduced to. He became much kinder- a person you actually found yourself getting along with. 

Jay came home extremely drunk on the 22nd of December. Screw walking a straight line when the boy couldn't even walk at all. Just like it had been unlucky for his friends, he too was met with his demise as his father sat in the living room with a girl Jay didn't recognize. 

Probably his new girlfriend. 

He was furious. He went through Jay’s phone that night- every photo of his son with girls in more or less intimate situations, every message between Jay and his dealers, every single bank transaction at the liquor store. He saw it all that night. 

One word too much on Jay’s behalf, and suddenly, there’s a stinging pain on his left cheek. And before he can react, his father slaps him again. And again, harder than the last. 

He saw himself in his son for the first time. He realized what he had done to his own, precious child. The look in his eyes, pure fear and disgust. They weren't much different after all. 

“Yeah, it’s nice. You look good” you nod with a straight smile, and he looks a bit embarrassed at the compliment. 

Jake finally runs into the home, a smile on his face. Without saying a word, you nod your head towards the now closed trunk. 

“We thought the bottles shattered” he explained and you looked over at Jay, confused. 

“I thought you were done with drinking” you asked, and he grinned sheepishly. 

“Today is the last time, I promise. New year, new me, let’s say” 

They walked around your home, visiting every room, every bathroom, checking every picture. You couldn't care less, focusing on getting yourself ready. 

“You used to be emo?” Jake laughs, walking back to your room. You roll your eyes at him, knowing exactly what picture he was talking about. 

“Your brother is really hot,” Jay says, leaning his hands against the backrest of your chair. He looks at himself and you through the mirror “You look hot too” he adds with a sly smirk. 

Your only reply is a smile, not being the best at receiving compliments. His eyes stay on you for a little longer than they should. 

“Jungwon just texted me,” Jake announces, his body turning in your fresh sheets. His dirty shoes have left marks on the white fabric, but he doesn't seem to notice. “Heeseung just arrived. He’s with fuckass Seora” he laughs along with Jay, while you try to process his statement.

It didn’t take him long to find your replacement. You remember the girl, having been paired up with her for a science project at the beginning of the semester. She was so beautiful. 

“That fucking nerd? What’s wrong with him” Jay comments, and you realize how you too were once like Seora. Heeseung hasn't changed, not at all. 

Jake’s phone rings, his eyes darting to the screen. He excuses himself, the call seemingly important as he leaves the room swiftly. 

You are left alone with Jay who mindlessly scrolls through his Instagram homepage, liking and commenting on his friends posts. 

“Can you help me?” you ask, and his reaction to your voice is almost immediate. He sets his phone aside, his full attention once again falling onto you. A hint of concern flashes over his eyes as your expression seems troubled. 

“Mhm?” he hums, walking over to your figure. 

“Can you zip this up for me?” you ask, turning around. 

He stays silent for a moment, before brushing his fingers against the bare skin of your back, grasping at the slippery zipper. He carefully brings the fabric together, taking care not to pull too tight or snag the delicate material. 

He steps back, looking at you, smiling warmly “There” 

Whenever his sister would ask him, he’d flip her off and tell her to leave his room. 

Jay’s eyes take in your figure, the way he’s never really gotten to see your nice body under all the baggy clothes you’d wear. It feels wrong to think about you like this, but it’s not like this is the first time either. 

He may have changed, even in the slightest, but there was always that one person who was too late. 

…

Shot after shot of vodka find themselves appearing in your hand as you down each one with a twisted expression. The people around you seem much more cheerful than you, and you wonder how long it’ll take for this alcohol to finally start doing its thing. 

You turn to Jake, who’s been gripping your hand tightly, at least that’s what you thought. Instead of a smiley Jake, it’s Kim Sunoo who has been apparently keeping you safe. That would be all for ‘we want you to be there’. 

“Going already?” Sunoo perks up, loosening his grip on you as he sees you trying to squeeze through the crowd. 

“I just need some fresh air” you offer him a small smile “I’ll be back” 

It’s 10:37. Only an hour and 23 minutes until midnight. By that time, half the guests won’t even be awake to witness it. You wonder what fireworks look like on this side of town. 

Jungwon’s house isn’t that hard to navigate. It was big, but you imagined bigger. It’s mid-sized, maybe. You note how his parents have good taste- the mediterranean estate very much to your liking. 

You find yourself on one of his acacia armchairs in the backyard terrace. Most people are inside. It  wasn’t the warmest day.   

There’s no wind today, not even snow. The temperature hasn't dropped below zero celsius this season. You really wanted the snow to fall soon. 

You can tell from the corner of your eye that someone has accompanied you on the chair next to yours. You assume it’s someone just as tired as you, someone who's just counting down the minutes  until midnight so they can get out of here. 

Maybe it’s Jake. But you swore you saw him hitting up some girls on your way out. 

“Want one?” you almost don’t recognize the voice. It’s been so long. 

The person extends a pack of cigarettes in your direction, and that’s when you decide to face them. 

You haven't spoken to Nishimura Riki in a long time. He doesn't even look the same. But it’s only been 4 months? 

“I don’t smoke” you reply, and he nods, lighting the stick in his mouth, protecting the flame with the palm of his hand. 

He hisses, exhaling the smoke. It blows in your direction, and you scrunch your nose at the smell. 

“Where’s your sweet boy, Heeseung?” he asks, his tone mocking. You roll your eyes, exhaling deeply. 

He laughs at your silence, but still waits for you to respond, taking another puff. 

“We don’t talk anymore” you could lie but honestly, it seemed meaningless now. It didn't matter what you’d say, things wouldn't change. 

“Lasted the longest. Can’t say I’m not impressed” he replied with a chuckle. Only God knew how much you wanted to slap the boy next to you right now. 

“Fuck off, Niki” you groan, and he puts up his hands, laughing. He’s slightly taken aback by your candidness- he didn't meet this version of you. 

Niki remembers you as the sweet, innocent and most certainly lost girl that had no idea what she was getting herself into. Now it seemed as if Heeseung had drained all that life out of you. 

“I’m not here to make fun of you” there’s a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he still gauge's your reaction to his jab. 

You hum, unamused “Sure” 

He sighs, trying to hide the annoyance caused by your stubbornness. Niki throws what's left of his cigarette on the ground, crushing it with his shoe. Rick Owens, you note. 

“I know you and Wony aren’t on the best terms but she cares about you. I do to” his tone softens “I just want you to live on your own now. Don’t let him take over your life again” 

Niki follows all the patterns the stars are forming with his eyes, while you notice the sincerity in his face. Today the moon is barely visible. There was a New Moon yesterday, so tonight, not  even 3% of the orb is visible. 

“Why are you telling me this?” you ask, and he shrugs. 

The air seems to vibrate with unspoken tension. Niki stays silent for a moment, because he doesn't really know if he has an answer. 

He shouldn't care. He doesn't know you, and you don't know anything about him either. Jesus, if Wonyoung saw him here, he’d be on probation until February. But he saw this happen countless times and every single one stung just as bad. 

“I don’t know. I guess I wanted you to know” he finally answers, a genuine glimmer in his eyes as they fall on yours for just a second. 

You can’t muster up a smile. It’d be too forced anyway. You hope that the nod is enough for him to understand that you do in fact appreciate his words. 

He doesn't say anything and neither do you. It’s mostly noiseless, apart from the faintest melody that flows through the cracks in the window. The only people out here with you are either smoking themselves or talking to someone on the phone. 

You hadn't really told anyone what happened. Of course, you could probably tell Niki, he wouldn't forward it to Wonyoung or anyone else. You could call the boy many names, some better than others, but you knew you couldn't call him untrustworthy. He always kept his word, no matter what. 

But you bite back your tongue. 

“Nice chat, huh? Can I steal her for a moment?” 

Lee Heeseung. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn't want to see him tonight. You weren't wondering if you’d see him, rather when and how. He couldn't run away from talking to you, and well, it appears that he didn't want to anyway.  

With what feeling would you look back on this moment? With sadness? With shame? Indifference, you hoped. 

Would you regret it? Because maybe some things are better left unsolved, right? Sometimes it’s okay to not have an answer. You’ve already learned that firsthand. 

It was too late, Niki already letting the older boy replace him on the armchair, his face filled with remorse, maybe even guilt as he walked back into the house. He only hoped that you were smarter this time. 

You turned your gaze away, because he was looking at you, and it obviously flustered you. He saw your expression, and even though your face twisted in annoyance, you still wanted him to look at you. 

It wasn’t him you hated, but what the two of you did. 

The secret was forever meant to stay between the two of you. And as long as that’s true, it's always casting a shadow over everything good in you. 

“How was Australia? Did you have fun?” you sounded unimpressed, and he noticed. 

Heeseung felt oddly embarrassed to be here with you. He left you with no explanation, and yet you're still asking how his vacation was. Honest or not, he feels like half the man he was before. 

“How did you know?” he asks, a glint of playfulness in his voice. 

“You still share your location with me” you stated, and he nodded. He knew. You were the only person he shared it with in the first place. 

“You check my location?” he chuckles, trying to alleviate the charged atmosphere. His attempts brought no fruit as your expression stayed the same- cold and uninterested. 

“No” he can’t figure out what to say next. It used to be so easy to talk to you. 

But you were the same when he first met you- stand-offish and unwilling. It won’t take him long to figure the right words out, he’s sure of it. 

Heeseung doesn't know why he’s trying this hard. Maybe it’s because now he knows his friend wants it just as much. In what universe did Park Sunghoon have something Heeseung didn’t? Not in this one, and the latter was continuously making sure of it. 

“Can we talk about us?” he finally speaks up after the prolonged moment of uncomfortable silence. He doesn't really know what ‘us’ was. Definitely not a relationship. He doesn't do that, never has. He just prays that you actually had something smart to say. 

“Us?” you bark back a laugh, and he leans against the beige pillow with a sigh. 

Heeseung had been willingly ignoring the messages he saw you sending. He could always disguise that as not wanting to talk about it over text. But in reality, he didn't want to talk about it at all. He just hoped that a ‘sorry’ would be enough. 

“You know what I mean. Don’t be stupid” his voice is laced with a twinge of irritation. He didn't expect it to take this long for you to break. 

“What the fuck are you even talking about, Heeseung?” you turn to face him fully now. 

His hair is no longer dark red. It’s brown, almost black. And he has a completely different haircut. It compliments his tan skin. He’s also dressed differently. You can’t quite recall seeing him like this. 

“Seriously, what do you want to talk about? It wasn’t real, not to you at least. So please, tell me what exactly it is that you want to talk about” his expression is a mix of annoyance and anger now. His jaw clenches as his eyes narrow. You surely allowed yourself to say too much, didn’t you? 

“Careful, Y/n. Watch your tone” he laughs menacingly, standing up from his seat. His hands grip the sides of your chair, as he stares down at you, his face too close for comfort. 

“Downplay what we had, and what’s still between us all you want. But you know it’s real. You might be wiser now, but you haven’t really changed. You still want it just as much” his expression darkens, a defensiveness to his voice. 

All he did was see the potential in you, the spark hidden beneath your innocent surface. He fed that fire, helped it grow until it burned through them both. Heeseung taught you to be a woman. He didn't wrong you, he helped you. 

Leaning in, he nuzzles your neck, his breath hot on your skin “So how about you quit acting all tough and just let me have you again, yeah?” 

He no longer knew how to control himself. No one did. 

When he was younger he believed in God. Even when he started at Saint Matthew’s, he considered himself religious. Maybe he liked it because it made his nights just a little less lonely, or maybe because it filled him with a sense of identity. He knew that no matter what, there’s always that one person, an otherworldly figure that will love him endlessly, have control over him. 

And when he felt himself drift away from his faith, it became a saga of bad decisions after bad decisions. Not because he stopped believing, but because there was no longer anyone to control him. 

“You must be out of your fucking mind if you think I’d do that” your lips are parted as he continues to brush his past your neck, jawline and mouth. 

“Keep talking to me like that and you’ll regret it” he whispers with a sinful grin, his fingers reaching up to caress your cheek “Let’s just forget about what happened. You know I meant what I said” 

“That you love me?” you laugh, and you can notice him bite down on the inside of his cheek. “Just leave me alone, Heeseung. Go find someone else and I’ll do the same” you try to be as calm as possible. He can’t know it’s affecting you. 

Someone else? No, that can’t be possible. You are the only one who listens to him, you are the only one that’s there for every one of his requests. He can’t just let you go like that. It wouldn't be that easy to replace you. 

“Sunghoon, right? That fucking prick, seriously?” he straightens his figure, letting out a frustrated sigh. 

“I never brought him up” you mutter, and he scoffs. 

Heeseung’s  eyes slightly narrow, while his lips press into a thin line. 

The silence that follows is heavy, filled only by the quiet chatter of other people that were out here with you. 

“Please, Y/n. You can’t do this” his tone becomes softer as a pleading look decorates his features. 

You don’t really know what else there is to say. 

His words- louder and longer, were given a physical form and longevity as if they had a life of their own now. 

It almost made you think you forgive him. 

____ 

During morning prayer you saw him again. 

He still had that lifeless look on his face, as if nothing had really changed at all. As if nothing ever happened in the first place. He was two rows in front of you, next to Niki and Sunoo. 

You wanted to catch him looking at you, to have his eyes on you. 

All the students gathered in the chapel next to the school at 7:30. Punctuality was key. Under no circumstances was tardiness allowed- those who dared to come in a minute late were not allowed to participate and got punished with after-school detention. 

Heeseung knelt down next to you. You hoped Sunghoon wouldn't see it. 

‘In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen’

He signs the cross and so do you. “I missed you” Heeseung whispers, his hand softly brushing against your thigh. 

“Don’t” you mutter back, swatting his hand away. 

One of the students was leading today's Morning Offering. 

You tried to focus on Sunghoon. Maybe his hair changed, or maybe his skin got tanner. He got a little skinnier, you note. Sunoo whispers something to him but he doesn't seem to listen. 

“Stop,” Heeseung whispers into your ear, his breath hot on your skin. You move away from him, watching how amusing this is for him. 

“What?” His presence is strong, the pull almost working involuntarily. 

‘...Or does so much bad feeling accumulate within us that we learn to mold it into a big lump of emotions, with amnesties and pardons? Or does the presence of the other, who yesterday morning was almost like an intruder to us, become more and more necessary, because it protects us from our own hell?’ 

You can’t listen, you can’t comprehend. No matter where, there's something pulling your attention. 

“Don’t look at him” Heeseung’s voice is firm, his eyes on you. He’s always watching. 

After a short reflection is spoken, a brief moment of silence follows. You close your eyes, leaning forward. 

"We pray for our community, that we may learn and grow together in love and wisdom,"  the intention is spoken, and after reciting a prayer together, the students start rising from their spots slowly. 

Sunghoon’s gaze doesn't even wander in your direction. He doesn't look at anyone, speeding out of the chapel as soon as the prayer commences. You want to go after him, but Heeseung stops you before you could even fully decide on it. 

“Don’t go” 

You turn around, watching his eyes that are full of amusement. 

Is he enjoying himself this much? Does this entertain him? 

“Heeseung, stop it. It’s over between us, remember? Leave me alone, seriously” you don’t sound heated or outraged. Not even resentful. Simply tired. 

He doesn't react to your words. He knows you don't mean it. 

You knew he wouldn't stop. You knew that as long as he was here, it’d never stop. He was obsessed and giving up wasn't really an option. 

There were exceptions though. During study break, or lunch you wouldn't see him much. Maybe because the repugnance towards Jay and Jake was stronger than his willingness to see you. It didn't really matter though. 

The part of you that liked the attention made you sick. It was hard to admit, and you most definitely wouldn't tell anyone. After everything, you still couldn't resent him. The hate continued to only bring you closer. 

“When is New York?” Jake asked, his fingers tapping away on his laptop. 

Jake was failing in most of his classes and he was slowly running out of time. What he had already learned stayed with him, but now, he had to catch up on a whole semester worth of material. 

“Next week? I think” you reply and he mutters something under his breath. You don't catch it. 

“Such a boring destination” Jay comments and you breathe out a chuckle in response. What an out of touch thing to say. 

“We know, Jongseong. You’ve been there, have an apartment in SoHo and plan on going to NYU” he knows it’s a joke, he’s learned to not take offense to such silly things by now. But no one really calls him Jongseong. 

Only his mother does. He hates it just as much as he hates her. But this time- he savors the sound, how easily it slips past your lips and how satisfyingly it rings in his ears. 

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. 

“I’ve never been” Jake piques, and you murmur a ‘Me too’ in response. He doesn't lift his eyes from the screen- it’s almost like he’s glued in place. It’s only the occasional loud sound or cramp in his leg that makes him move. 

The trip was only for juniors and seniors. It wasn't the cheapest, but Eunseok didn't comment when you asked him for the money. His worn-out figure just scribbled out a check and handed it to you. 

The main point was supposed to be St. Patrick’s Cathedral. You didn't really care for the building. Jake didn't either. You two had already planned to sneak out for dinner and shopping while the tour went on. 

“I’m rooming with Heeseung” Jake sighed, taking off his glasses to wipe them with his blazer “That fucking dickhead signed us up last week. Didn't even know until Mrs. Kim told me” 

Jay laughed. He passed Jake wet wipes, noticing how the boy can’t get his glasses clean. 

“I’m rooming with Sunghoon. Haven't really talked to him, though” Jay says, and you both nod. 

A small smile creeps onto your lips “I’m alone” 

You didn't mind at all. You could do whatever you wished without an annoying bitch telling you to go to sleep because ‘your phone screen is keeping her awake’. 

“Can I stay with you? Please” Jake pleads and you shake your head almost instantly. The boy frowns upon seeing your reaction. 

______ 

New York felt oddly familiar. 

These faces- they didn't carry that sense of foreignness. Everyone went about their day without interest in what the person next to them is up to. You felt a good kind of loneliness even though you were never truly alone. 

Little Italy and Chinatown were fun.  

You, Jay and Jake managed to slip out for a second, sharing a meal at a Cantonese restaurant. The food was quite enjoyable and the ambience was great. Jay did complain a bit though. 

That same night you went out for drinks. When all the guardians fell asleep, on cue,  everyone sneaked out of their rooms. Heeseung, rooming with Jake, found out about the plans that he wasn't included in. Of course he still tagged along. 

Jay mentioned that Sunghoon has been so quiet, it almost feels like suicide everytime they are in the room together. 

“I ask him if he wants to shower first, right? And you know what this decadent bum does? Nothing. He won’t even reply to me” 

He wanted to complain more, but Heeseung’s angered and ostentatious sigh forced him to stop. He only looked over at Jake confused before switching to a different topic. 

The next day you saw almost all the museums in Manhattan. 

Your feet were in so much pain by the time you reached The Museum of Modern Art. While Jay and Jungwon walked around pretending to care for the artwork, you and Jake sat in a corner talking and recording dumb vlogs. 

“Say hello to Jake’s vlog” he laughed, shoving the camera into your face. Jake’s stupid smile could be heard from behind the screen, his amusement making the video much more adorable. 

With an annoyed grimace, you shoved the camera away from your face. Jake was unrelenting and it made napping nearly impossible. 

“We’re in some shitty museum” he said sadly, the tone complimenting his mock expression of misery “You know what boggles me? That my dear friend Jay is pretending he likes this. No one likes this. It’s all just ugly paintings that have a forced meaning attached to them” 

“Boggles me? What are you, fucking 50?” you laugh, looking over to him. “What else am I supposed to say” his lips twist in a downwards smile.

“Just say ‘Hello’ to my vlog” he pleads again. 

Rubbing your temples, a sigh escapes your lips again. You looked up at Jake before staring right into his phone camera. 

“Hello” your unenthusiastic tone was menacing to Jake. 

He gave you a playful shove “Happier” Jake commanded. 

You look over at  him wide eyed. After a moment of his unchanging stare, you plaster a forced smile on your face that doesn't quite reach your eyes. 

“Hi” you even attempt a wave. 

Jake laughed, and turned the camera to face him again. “That’s my stripper friend Y/n. Call me to book a lap dance. It’s real” he whispered, the camera too close to his face. 

He turned the camera back to you. You shook your head as a  lighthearted laugh slipped past your parted lips “Turn this off, Jake. You’re wasting storage, you fucking idiot” 

Later that day the two of them offered to go out again since Jay had actually brought the keys to his fathers apartment. You declined. 

Maybe you’d try to call your brother, share some photos with him. It surprised you to actually get an answer. It didn't last long though- 5 minutes in he had to hang up because of an emergency surgery. 

You think about Heeseung. You think about everything, really. In the evening waiting for him becomes much more annoying. The thought of him becomes unbearable, because you’re not supposed to think about him. 

Rejecting him was almost an immediate reaction. The idea of him was much nicer than having him there, so raw and real in front of you. 

It was strange to him too- fearing the days where you were away and he had no idea where you’d gone. 

Thinking about Sunghoon was much more grounding. Much more humanly and justified. His blank stare and cold demeanor, unchanging. Nothing brought you the answer you needed. You wished he’d look at you long enough to see that same thirst for life he noticed back in December. 

A knock at the door sounds through your hotel room. It’s soft, barely audible. 

It’s probably Jake, or Jay. You look down at the time and note that it’s a reasonable time for them to be back. They’ve been out for a good 3 hours now. 

You open the door, and it doesn't really hit you at first. Sunghoon must've gotten the wrong room. 

Your attempts to look calm are futile as your voice cracks “What are you doing here..?” he stands there for a moment, his lips parted. It’s almost like he doesn't really know either.

As you step back to let him enter, he hesitates briefly “You’re alone?” His voice is mellow. The dim light in the room casts a shadow on his face making him appear much more gloomy than usual. 

You nod reluctantly. Your gaze is on him, searching, as if asking for permission to speak, continue. 

There's a moment of deep silence. It isn't uncomfortable or awkward. He's in your presence and you're in his. That seems to be enough to console the immediate tranquility. 

“Do you like it here?” he asks and it seems to strike you as unusual. He never really bothered to converse with others unless they initiated it. 

The scene is oddly familiar. He sits next to you on the bed, propping his body up on his hands. Just like you were immensely aware of each other's closeness that night, it's the same today. 

This time though it seems like it's Sunghoon's turn to find excuses to avoid the topic. And you let it happen.

“Yeah. It’s fun” you nod, and so does he. Against your will you ask a question that in different circumstances, wouldn't even make it past your throat- “Are you hiding from me?” 

Sunghoon’s heart skips a beat as he looks down at your hand. It’s dangerously close to his thigh “No, not from you” his answer is hesitant. 

“It feels like it” he bites the inside of his cheek at your words. 

His fingers play with the fabric of your white sheets “Maybe in a way I was” his voice softens, his eyes scared to look at you.  

“In what way?” you mutter. The air feels ominous, as if you're both threatening the unchangeable. 

“You know” he starts, his hand reaching closer “I was afraid to be denied” 

Sunghoon saw you call, his finger hovering over the answer button many times as he wondered what he’d even tell you. There were so many things he wanted to say. So he’d just flip the phone over. 

Today he was braver. Or at least that’s what he thought. Because being eye to eye with you again, stripped him of it all. 

“I thought you knew I wouldn't. I called you. And texted, a lot” you answered, and his lips pressed into a straight line. 

His touch is tentative. Eventually,  he reaches out towards you, his warm hand takes yours, interlacing your fingers “And I should’ve answered. I’m sorry. For not being more” he looks at you again, the warmth in his eyes genuine “Because I know you wanted me to be more” 

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes. You laugh “This is so stupid” 

You halt the tears from spilling down your cheeks. Sunghoon’s lips form into a small smile “It’s not” 

You look down at your fingers intertwined. He’s looking too. 

You can hear some girls stumble their way into the room next to yours. Judging by the voice, you think  it’s Minjeong. She says something about a 45 year old man coming to see her soon. She also seems to be begging her friend for one more drink ‘Last one, promise! I’m not drunk enough, Ning!’ 

Sunghoon doesn't say anything until the commotion dies down. Neither do you. 

“Sloshed at 11. Crazy work” he chuckles, and so do you. You nod, thinking that Jake is probably somewhere in a corner, throwing up. He was definitely not the drinker everyone made him out to be. 

He leans in closer, his eyes just for a moment searching yours for acceptance. His head falls down on your shoulder. 

“Hoon?” your voice is just above a whisper. 

He hears it again. It’s just as nice as it was back then. The sound is almost natural. He thinks you were made to call out to him. In contrast to last time, he’s much more optimistic. 

He hums, ushering you to continue “Did you mean it?” He doesn't need you to explain, because he knows exactly what you're referring to. 

A small laugh slips past his lips “I think me being here right now answers that one for you” he rises from the softness of your shoulder slowly, savoring the intimacy. A small smile forms on your lips at his words. 

Pulling back, your eyes fall onto him again. Being with Sunghoon was so easy. 

He pats his lap gently. His eyes are soft, almost begging “Come here” he whispers. The words are heavy with longing. They mingle in the air for just a second longer.

You nod after a moment of hesitation. As you settle onto him, his arms weave around your waist. He draws you into his warmth with his delicate touch. His face nestles into the hollow of your neck as he breathes softly, melting into the comfort of your presence. 

Something seemed to have removed the distance between you and Sunghoon, and for a moment you had the impression that there was absolutely no difference in wealth, age or anything else between you. It was a wonderfully free and unleashing moment where you weren’t really expected to be anything.   

“I’m sorry” he sounds shy, almost embarrassed. 

Sunghoon was never the type to apologize. He’d rather let the conflict simmer down on its own without any further interference. Yet here he was- being vulnerable and honest. 

“You already apologized” you smile, your fingers tangled in his hair. 

He chuckles lightly “Once is not enough” he mutters into your skin, the sound muffled. You feel his wet lips move against your neck. 

He raises his head, looking down at you again. “Can I kiss you?”

A sense of contentment washes over you. You nod, lips parted, waiting for him.

He gently tilts your chin up, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. A soft breath escapes you before he finally captures your lips in a deep, consuming kiss. It quickly grows messy, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. You grasp the neckline of his shirt as his tongue teases the seam of your mouth—seeking, almost begging for entrance.

Sunghoon pulls back, his breathing heavy, his lovesick eyes locked onto you. His lips glisten, slick with your desire.

He presses a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your neck, working his way down to your chest. You watch him through heavy lids, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. His hands slide beneath your shirt, fingers caressing your smooth skin. “Undress for me, please.” There’s a hint of desperation in his words as he tugs at the fabric.

You smile, cupping his cheek. Your thumb glides over his lips, gently parting them. “I don’t know…”

He whimpers quietly, grinding his clothed erection against you. “Don’t tease me. I need to see you.” His movements grow more frantic, his hands grasping at you like he’s desperate to feel every inch.

His face flushes with excitement as you hook your fingers under the hem of your shirt. “Want me to take this off?”

“Fuck, yes.” He nods eagerly, eyes devouring your every movement. One hand drifts down, palming himself through his pants as he watches, entranced.

With slow, deliberate motions, you peel the fabric from your body and toss it onto a nearby chair. His eyes widen with each inch of skin revealed.

“You’re desperate,” you tease, replacing his hand with your own. A feathery moan slips from his lips.

He throws his head back. “Is it obvious?” he breathes, and you confirm with a hum.

“I don’t care,” he admits, his eyes slipping shut as he pushes into your palm, eager for more.

Sunghoon thought about this all the time. He felt like such a pervert, but God, it was finally happening—and it was so much better than he ever imagined.

Last time, he was so close. Ten more minutes and a locked door, and he would’ve had you. Heeseung might have been the first to have you, but Sunghoon planned to be the one who had you best. He’d make you come over and over again until you forgot all about Lee Heeseung.

And judging by the way you were looking at him, it was already starting to work.

“I really need to fuck you,” he groans, biting his lower lip. His breathing is uneven. “So bad.” His fingers trail up your thigh, his touch light, pleading.

“Yeah?” You let out a small laugh, climbing off his lap. Your hands find the soft material of his pants.

He lifts his hips immediately, watching intently as your fingers slide the fabric down his legs.

Sunghoon can feel his heartbeat quickening, his whole body trembling with anticipation. You didn’t know he could get like this. You also didn’t know you’d like it so much.

His breath hitches when you toy with the waistband of his boxers, his legs spreading involuntarily. “Take them off, pretty,” he rasps, his voice cracking. “See how hard I am for you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, slipping his underwear down. He groans as the fabric slides along his length, his cock springing free.

You prop yourself up on one hand, the other lingering around his thick, leaking length. “Want me to touch you?”

He exhales sharply, his cock twitching against his lower abdomen. “Mhm.” He props himself up on his elbows, eyes dark with need. “Please.”

You press your palm against his tip, moving in slow, circular motions. His breath turns ragged as he throws his head back, surrendering to the feeling.

As your confidence grows, so does your pace. Your hand strokes him, faster, firmer. He pants lightly, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes. “Ride me.”

You smirk and nod, slipping out of your shorts, fingers teasing the waistband of your underwear. He bites his lip, eyes smoldering with lust as his legs spread wider in invitation.

“Take them off me,” you whisper.

He looks up at you, almost as if seeking permission, before ripping the material away.

He’s so desperate to feel you, to touch you, that he wastes no time pulling you back onto his lap.

Sunghoon is mesmerized. He’s been with other girls before, but this is the first time he’s had to work for it. He usually just got what he wanted, no effort required. But now, with you, it feels like a reward. And he plans to cherish every second.

You’ve waited for this moment, savoring every touch, every lingering glance. Each look from him feels like a compliment and promise of something more.

He grips his throbbing length, aligning himself with your entrance. His other hand rests on your hip, steadying you. You can feel his tip pressing against you, and a low moan slips from your lips. He gazes up at you one more time, and you nod.

Slowly, you sink down onto him, your walls stretching to accommodate his thick length. A sharp gasp escapes you as you adjust, his fingers digging into your skin.

“Fuck, Hoon…” He keeps his hold firm, guiding you. “Like this? Is this what you wanted?”

“So fucking good,” he groans. His cock throbs inside you, hitting all the right spots with each downward roll of your hips. “Don’t stop.” His voice is raw with need.

He thrusts up to meet you, his whole body trembling as the wet heat of your cunt envelopes him completely. His self-control is slipping fast. If he had known it would feel this good, he never would have let Heeseung have you first. He would have taken you from the beginning.

You start to move faster, rocking your hips, pleasure building between you both. The sounds of your moans mix with the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

“So perfect,” he mutters through heavy breaths. “You’re so perfect.”

Your head falls back as Sunghoon presses a hand against your stomach, feeling himself inside you. He grits his teeth, trying to hold back, trying to make it last. But he can already feel it—the tightening coil deep in his core.

“I can’t,” you pant, your walls fluttering around him. The need for release is overwhelming.

With those words, he loses it. He pulls you flush against his chest, thrusting up into you at a frantic pace. “Fuck—gonna cum so deep inside you.”

His teeth sink into your shoulder, leaving red marks in their wake.

“So close, Hoon,” you whimper, and it pushes him to the edge.

He buries himself to the hilt, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as he spills inside you, thick and hot, filling you completely. His eyes roll back as he comes, shuddering beneath you.

You’re right behind him, your climax crashing over you in waves. Your body quivers, collapsing onto his sweaty chest. His cum seeps from your still-clenching walls as he slowly slips out, savoring every second of your tight heat around him.

He watches his seed leak from your fucked-out hole, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “So pretty,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

With a sigh, he falls onto his back, pulling you down with him.

Sunghoon feels completely content, his fingers lazily tracing patterns along your spine. He can feel your breath against his neck, warm and steady, making him smile.

Today feels like the first day of his life.

….

The rest of the trip was unparalleled. For you and Sunghoon at least. Others could wish to say the same thing. 

Everyday he'd attempt to sneak into your room at night. He even created a special sequence of knocks just so you'd be sure it's him. Jay didn't seem to suspect anything. 

On Wednesday night while using the bathroom he said he wants to film a Get Ready With Me. Just like the ones he'd seen on social media. You laughed, and agreed. This was so unlike him. In a good way though. 

You think about the unrecorded parts- how he stood in between your legs, his face twisted in discomfort as you clear his skin. 

 “Your lipstick choice is fucking terrible. Coral is not your color, Hoon” you smile widely. 

His lips were terribly overlined. The brown pigment reached high beyond his actual mouth. Sunghoon looked so stupid, but to you, it was adorable. 

“Do it for me next time” a fond smile spreads across his face. He holds your hand, his thumb tenderly rubbing your soft skin. 

You look at him with a raised eyebrow “Next time? Didn’t know my princess liked getting her makeup done” he playfully rolls his eyes at you. 

“Too far” he tries to hold back a smile, but his twitching lip gives it away “Keep going” he looks at the cotton pad in your other hand. 

You nod, scooting just a little closer to him. 

Sunghoon stood there silently, eyes closed. His body twitches involuntarily as your fingers graze against his skin. He feels your soft breathing against his neck. The warmth mixed with the soothing swipe of the cotton pad against his face, sends a shiver down his spine, as his body naturally relaxes against you. 

“Gone” you smile and his eyes flush open. His reflection stares back at him in the mirror. 

His skin is irritated, he can tell. And usually he’d freak out. But now, he doesn't seem to really care. 

The doting look in his eyes searched your expression, his hands sliding up and down your bare thighs. 

“You’re so hot,” he says. A small smirk creeps up on his lips as he keeps inching closer. 

“Sunghoon” you glare at him, attempting to look serious. His soft laughter breaks the facade pretty quickly. 

Without another word he presses his slightly stained lips against yours. He smiles against you, his mouth opening faintly. He reaches up to hold your cheek, chest pressing against yours. A moan escapes your mouth as he deepens the kiss. His tongue swipes your bottom lip before slipping past it. 

During field trips he’d find himself drifting closer to you. And when free time came around, he'd run off with you to different parts of the city he once fell in love with. 

With his arm around your shoulders, he’d point to cafes, restaurants,  street art and even benches. He was truly happy. And even if you weren't paying attention to his stories, the genuine smile on his face was enough. 

“No way” you gasp, the amusement evident on your face as you peel away his sleeve slightly “I swear Jake and Jay have the same one” 

Sunghoon laughs, watching you analyze the ‘4’ tattoo on his wrist. 

“They do,” he smiles weakly. “Heeseung has it too” you never noticed. 

You always knew about Jay’s- it was on his right palm. Just recently you saw Jake had it too, hidden on the back of his neck. 

“He does?” Sunghoon nods and points to his ankle. 

It's almost been a year since they got it, but the ink has already started fading away. In a way, Sunghoon was relieved. 

“We were so fucking out of it that night” he starts, and you turn to face him. “It was in Tokyo, I think? This girl we met, she was a tattoo artist” he looks down at it too and his eyes seem to light up “We thought it'd be funny “ 

You grab onto his wrist as he speaks again “My mom was so mad when she found out. She wanted it removed but I was such a fucking asshole to her back then, so I didn't listen” you don’t let go, moving your fingers upwards to hold onto his hand. He smiles. 

“You look badass. Sort of” he chuckles, shaking his head. 

“It looks bad and ass. And I swear her ink was from Aliexpress” he pulls you into his chest. 

It was getting dark outside, but the city was only becoming livelier. Everyone was in a rush, but their ambition and passion was almost tangible. 

“I’m jealous then. Matching tattoos, that's serious dedication” you smile and he laughs at the comment. 

His chin rests on the top of your head, his breathing slow and steady. He watches the orange haze that falls onto the landscape. 

“I’ll get your name tattooed” you hum and it almost sounds like you're judging him. He chuckles “Swear to God” 

“You’re insane” 

The next day he’d find a new spot to take you to. He was a better tour guide than your English teacher, you’d tell him. 

And Heeseung knew about it all. To say he was angry would be an understatement. 

He passed by St. Marks Place with Karina. The girl told him something about her sister being interested in him. He didn't really listen to her though.

 So many people passed by him- maybe 40 in the span of 5 seconds. A lot of them looked similar. New York fashion is diverse, but it really just comes down to the same thing, he notes. 

Yet he pays attention to them all, especially the two oddly familiar faces that stand in front of him, playing with a passerbys dog. 

Until now, Heeseung was pretty sure he had the situation under control. He was giving you the distance he deemed necessary. Still, his eyes never left you. And when they did, once, but for a period longer than ever, you manage to find yourself in the arms of Park Sunghoon again. 

Karina notices it too. He told her all about it, the whole story. She knew he was short-tempered so she never really told him that this wasn't healthy. It’d be on the tip of her tongue every time, lingering far too long for comfort. By the time she was ready, he’d change the topic. 

“She’s being unreasonable, right? Tell me I’m not insane” he asked. His eyes focused on the last sip of whiskey in his glass. 

You are, she thinks. 

“You can’t just expect her to move on because you said so” she wants to laugh, but judging by his worn-out expression, he’s not in the mood for humor. 

He scoffs. Why not? You never had an issue listening to him.

“I didn’t say so” he replies, and she looks at him with her eyebrow raised “I said sorry, Rina. What the fuck else is there to say?” 

“Nothing” Karina’s reply is almost automatic “That’s really the thing, you know? Sometimes sorry isn’t enough” her attempts at ‘comfort’ are fruitless- his head falls on the table after he finishes whatever was left of his drink. 

“Does this haircut make my face look weird?” 

Karina would laugh it off. She’d just let him go on about his haircut, the shoes he bought today, Jake’s glasses that he accidentally stepped on and the stray cat that almost bit him. 

She knew that it was a matter of time until he’d bring you up again. It was a cycle that never ended. 

While you deny him love, you give it to the same person he’s been trying to erase. And in a way it’s his fault- he left the cage open and you walked out. 

____

“Are you fucking serious right now? Two parents but still can’t slice up a tomato” Jay scolds the younger boy that was forced to help him in the kitchen. 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Jake retorts, his expression tired as he gives up on the job completely. The massacred tomato lies on the cutting board which Jay swiftly takes over. 

“Everything, Jake. Literally everything” he sighs, sending Jake away with his hand. 

Dinners, hangouts, parties and suddenly everything fell into place. There no longer was the inexplicable animosity hanging in the air. It felt strange at first- the conversations and acts of kindness turned into something a lot more authentic and domestic. This is what you missed the most, it seems. 

“You’re not getting into Harvard, fucking dumbass” Sunghoon laughed, digging his fork into the food prepared by Jay (and as he himself argued, Jake, who waited for the water to boil before dumping in the pasta). 

“My grades are better now” Jake asserted “You’ll see, I’ll have the last laugh. Just wait” the threat and seriousness in his expression makes you chuckle. 

“I’m gonna stay here” Sunghoon smiles. You look at him confused. You well remember him mentioning Princeton. 

“What about Princeton?” Jay brings it up before you manage to do so. Sunghoon shakes his head, setting down his utensils. 

“My step-mom is sick,” he reveals. You grab his hand under the table, and he squeezes hard “She’ll be fine, don’t worry. I just want to be with my family for now. Maybe in the future I’ll transfer” he adds with a smile. 

Sunghoon has never been particularly close to his mother or his step-mother. It was a choice for him. 

Jeongja, his mothers girlfriend, came into his life when he was 5 years old. She took care of him like he was her own. “Blood is not a requirement when it comes to family. I’ll always love you like a son, Sunghoon. Will you remember that?” she told him one day. He always thinks about that time. Sunghoon has always been so loved and he wishes he gave it back sooner, not when he was on the brink of losing her. 

Jay feels a pang of guilt in his chest at his words. Maybe one day he could learn to love his mother again. Not today, not tomorrow but one day. He wants that, more than anything. 

The day comes to a close soon enough, leaving you and Sunghoon to bask in each other's embrace. 

His head is on your stomach, as you play with his hair. It’s grown quite long, especially in the back. 

“Two days before New Year's I was at the event hosted by Heeseung’s father” he starts. You don’t say anything, allowing him to continue “I talked to Heeseung then. That was the last time, actually” he chuckles lightly. There’s a hint of sadness in his tone, but he can't quite tell why. 

“You know he actually likes you?” it doesn't shock you like he expected it to. He doesn't comment on it though, letting you find the right words in reply. 

“I know” you say, and he sits up abruptly, looking at you. 

“You do?” He seems puzzled. It has been so long since he’s seen or even talked to Heeseung. He wouldn't know. 

Maybe there is a part of him that misses the boy. He was his first friend at Saint Matthew’s Academy. He welcomed him like they’d been friends since forever. Heeseung put up with his initial shyness even when it seemed like everyone else couldn't anymore. 

Sunghoon always smiles when he thinks about his first day. Lee Heeseung spotted him in the crowd, and without an introduction, swung his arm around his shoulder, talking to him like an old friend. 

He introduced him to Wonyoung, his first actual girlfriend. Even though he wasn't on the best terms with her right now, even though he was with her out of convenience, the memory of their time shared together makes his heart just a little warmer. 

Heeseung was the one who gave him a life. And he loved him, which made leaving 10 times harder. 

Even so, he doesn't regret the decision. He knew it was pointless to live with the idea of his once best friend that wasn't really accurate anymore. They both deserved better than each other. 

“He’s made it pretty clear” your lips form into a downwards smile.

Sunghoon looks away from you for a brief moment as he speaks up “And it doesn't change anything?” 

“What do you mean?” you tilt your head in question. 

Sunghoon exhales sharply. Even though he knows what answer to expect, there’s still that ounce of fear in him. Fear that stems from being second, being the ‘afterparty’. 

“You still choose this? Even if you know it wasn't necessarily fake after all?” he asks even though he knows he shouldn't. 

You smile, and pull him back into your chest “I should've chosen this from the beginning” he feels his heart grow bigger, a heat rising to his face “It doesn't matter what it was, not really. Didn’t you know I’d come back to you?” he chuckles and shakes his head. 

“I’m happy you did” he murmurs, his eyes shutting. Your hand slips under his shirt, caressing the soft skin on his back “You know, if he ever made you feel worse than us, I hope you know it’s not true. You’re a good girl, and I always knew it. You deserve more, and I’ll make sure you get it, okay?” 

You smile lightly, and nod. 

You look over at the dirty dishes in the sink, messy dinner table, and sigh softly as you think about all the work that’ll have to be conquered soon. 

But you let him fall asleep on your chest, and it feels good. Even if there's things left undone. 

____

 It was Jungwon’s birthday dinner today. 

After the school trip you two have grown much closer. He would visit you during breaks or sometimes join you in the study hall. He’d even given up his seat next to Jay (who was surprisingly really good at the subject) in French class to sit with you. 

Jungwon would talk a lot about his girlfriend, Binna. She went to a public school not far from here and met Jungwon during a student exchange program to Sweden. She’d always tell him what people at her school thought about the well renowned, enclosed community of St. Matthew’s. It wasn’t entirely positive, and since Binna was dating one of the ‘stuck-up dickheads that probably wipes his ass with $100 bills’, they wouldn’t really include her in the conversations anymore. 

But you enjoyed hearing about her. Jungwon would ask for advice regarding gifts, places he should take her and things he could do to make her feel loved. And you’d always give it to him. 

He showed you countless pictures of her,  always struggling with choosing one  “She looks pretty in all of these, I swear!” 

Her  brown hair covered her face slightly but you could still see her beautiful face. Big, doe eyes, plump lips that were rosewood pink. She had a scar under her right eye. You thought it made her look so stunning. Jungwon did too. 

During his birthday dinner, you saw them together for the first time. It was almost like he forgot what he was here for in the first place, his attention on her only. 

You sat next to Sunghoon and Jake. Jay sat next to Jake with Niki on his right. Heeseung sat across from you, Karina next to him on the left, Sunoo on his other side. The other people there you didn’t really recognize. 

The relationship between you and Jungwon wasn’t the only thing that changed. A lot of things did. 

“Let’s go back to my house after this” he leaned in closer to you. He didn’t have to even whisper, the conversations that surrounded you ringing in your ears. The music was loud too. You think Sade is playing, but you're not sure. 

Jake, although currently arguing with Jay about baseball clubs, notices. He caught on pretty early. During a walk after school, he brought it up. “Back in the game, huh? How did you even get him to talk?”. He knew you wouldn’t admit to anything, but it was funny to watch you get flustered at his comments. 

“Won’t you be tired?” you ask, and he laughs softly. Tired after eating a free dinner, and cracking a few fake smiles? This was like a day job for him. Countless dinners with his biological father, whom he truly despised, or CEO’s of other successful companies, or with Wonyoung and her parents (he hated those one’s the most). He’s used to it by now. 

He shakes his head ‘no’ which causes you to smile. His hand lingers next to your thigh. He’s tempted to touch you, but Heeseung’s piercing gaze prevents him. He doesn’t know why. It’ll end soon, surely. 

You look over at Jay who's now in conversation with Niki. It’s a little shocking to see them like this. 

Niki never liked Jay, and Jay didn’t like him either. Even if he was meant to marry his sister one day (which he saw maybe four times in his life, but truly wasn’t opposed to- she was so beautiful), Niki just couldn’t care less about Park Jongseong. They seem to be laughing at something now and it doesn't look forced, not at all. It’s a rare view and you almost take a photo. You could tease him with it later. 

Jake turns to you and Sunghoon, noting how the boy is much more talkative when he’s with you. 

“I’ll be back” you say, and Sunghoon nods, watching you stand up. He wants to say ‘I’ll miss you’, but thinks it’s incredibly corny. 

The restaurant is crowded tonight. You seem to be the only big group of people there. You smile while passing an older couple that’s celebrating the wife’s birthday, a small cake  and a big bouquet in a glass vase on the table. 

Warm water slides down your fingers, drips down your wrist as you watch your reflection in the mirror.

January seeped into February while you became better. That's what you want to believe at least. While the hair dye keeps fading away, you think about how Heeseung suggested the color. When you touch what's left of your lip piercing (only a healed  scar), you remember how he picked it out for you. It’s not inherently bad to change yourself for someone, but you wish you hadn't become everything you never wanted to be. 

The door opens, the creak sounding through the bathroom. You don't look up, instead shaking the wetness off your hands. 

“Still scared of the hand-dryer?” he leans against the wall. His tone is almost mocking, and usually you’d laugh with him. But today, just like yesterday and the day before that too, you don't feel like talking to Lee Heeseung. 

“Heeseung, I’m not in the mood” Your tone is flat and his expression- unchanging. “I already told you everything I had to say” 

“Do I make you feel sick? Do you think about what happened between us and feel sick?” You're taken aback by his sudden question. 

There's a moment of painful silence as he gauges your reaction. You look at him with utter confusion, but his expression doesn't seem to falter- he's calm, almost too calm. 

For the weeks after New York, Heeseung went back to ignoring you. You wouldn't see him much either, as he spent most of his time with Karina or a group of guys from your grade. Sometimes, he’d look at you for a moment longer than intended. His lips would part, as if he wanted to say something, but he never did. 

Heeseung started ignoring you, and for the first time since you met him, it was okay. 

“What?” you choke out, and he doesn't repeat. You heard him the first time, didn't you? “N- No. What are you even talking about?” 

He scoffs, his eyes on the floor. Your back is pressed against the sink as you wait for him to continue. 

“Then why him? We were good together” he doesn't sound sad, or resentful. It's almost like the question comes out automatically, like it's standard procedure. 

You want to laugh. He sounds robotic, his ‘apology’ most likely rehearsed. No matter how much time passes, no matter what happens and what doesn't, Heeseung doesn't quite get it. Not at all. 

“I want someone who doesn't see me as a game” you speak and he doesn't fire back- instead he nods. “And honestly, I really don't give a fuck what changed in the middle. You should've told me then, not after we had sex” he cringes at the reminder. 

Was sorry really not enough? He needs a breakthrough, but nothing seems to work. 

The last time he felt like this was when his first real girlfriend broke up with him to be with his brother. They're still together- a stinging reminder of what Heeseung couldn't be. 

He remembers begging her to stay, standing in front of her, a desperate look on his face “I’ll be better” . She just laughed in his face. He felt like such an idiot. 

And it happens yet again- it's just never enough. He's never enough. 

He sighs, his expression changing “Do I have to kill him to get my fucking life back?” 

You look at him confused “I- I don't understand” he shakes his head. His body peels off the wall, as he comes closer to you. 

“That dickhead has it. He stole my life” his voice is just above a whisper, his eyes darkening. You don’t reply, a look of hesitancy on your features. 

His friends, his almost girlfriend, his social status- Sunghoon took it away. He stole his identity, everything he's ever worked for. Heeseung had nothing left. 

His hand lands on your shoulder, his touch tentative at first “I’ll be better” 

He watches you sigh, a twinge of sadness in your eyes that can't look at him. A flash of hope crosses his face, but Heeseung knows it's pointless- he already lost. A long time ago. 

“It doesn't matter anymore, really” you finally speak “And I don't think I’ll ever be over the person you were before, Heeseung” 

Heeseung looked like he knew this was coming. Probably because he did. 

He could say some cliche shit like “You know I’ll always love you?” or “Can you kiss me for the last time?”, but he doesn't. He nods. Maybe because he knew this far longer than he'd like to admit. 

Heeseung recalls the moment he first saw you like it was yesterday. He was being a douche, wasn't he? It always went the same- he showers you with compliments, makes you think he’s emotionally intelligent, and eventually he’d have some fun with you. He never knew it’d go this far, no. 

Now, he hates himself for being so fucking stupid, so reckless. But again, he wouldn't be able to keep it a secret long. They knew, they all did. And time already showed him that they wouldn't wait with the truth. They just would, they all would. 

He’s glad to be leaving soon. Changing schools was never his plan- but it no longer made sense for him to be here. He’s sure there’s nicer things waiting for him in Kyoto. 

He’s sure there’s a better version of him there.

Heeseung wants to tell you that this stupid birthday dinner for silly, little Yang Jungwon is most likely the last time he’ll see you. He wants to tell you that those rumors about him moving are true, but he bites his tongue. You probably knew anyway, and you probably didn't care. 

He hugs you, and you let him. You let him hold you, and you pretend not to hear his quiet sniffles. He wouldn't want you to see him like this. Deep down he hopes that maybe eternal return is real, and he’ll get to have you in the exact same way again at one time. 

Heeseung moves away from you, his glossy eyes glazing over your figure. He moves for the door handle, opening the door. The world becomes much louder again, as the line of tables spreads out in the distance.

“After you” he smiles weakly, his eyes avoiding you. 

You reciprocate the same weak, apologetic smile. Stepping out of the bathroom you don't look back, heading straight for the table you came from. 

You could've kept avoiding it, ignoring the growing pain in your chest whenever he crossed you. But you owed it to him. 

There's a flash of guilt on your features as you approach everyone. But seeing Sunghoon laughing so effortlessly and purely with Jake and Jay again makes your lips curve into a small, genuine smile again. 

“Are you okay?” his wide smile doesn't falter as Sunghoon turns to look at you. There’s a bit of concern in his tone as speaks, though. You nod. 

“Where’s Karina?” you ask, noticing the two empty seats. 

They think it’s weird- you asking about Karina of all people. But no one bothers to really make a comment about it. 

“She left with Heeseung like 10 minutes ago. Didn't you see them leaving?” Jake questions. 

“No” your gaze falls onto Sunghoon again. He looks so happy, and free. It didn't use to be like this. “Let’s get out of here” you lean down, your face at level with his. 

He nods, moving swiftly as he collects his belongings “Yeah. Let’s go. If you’re not tired” he grins. You roll your eyes playfully, shoving him softly. 

He holds your hand, his skin so delicate and smooth against yours. His grip is tight, as if he’s scared something might take you away from him. 

“Let’s go be tired together, yeah?” he nods with a smile, looking down at you. 

And the bittersweetness of February 9th stains you like the blood of a plump cherry on a summer day. But it was always meant to be this way, you think. 

[pucksandpower]

To Hell With Duty

Lewis Hamilton x soulmate!Reader

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

Warnings: abusive family dynamics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But that’s not fair!” You protested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he speaks, his voice low and warm.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look at him, confused. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready,” you say firmly.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She sounds brave,” Lewis comments.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re running towards it.

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that ...”

“It can’t be ...”

“The princess!”

“With Lewis Hamilton?”

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

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

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

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

The questions come rapid-fire after that.

“Why did you leave the UK?”

“Are you and Lewis Hamilton really soulmates?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ve got your back, Y/N!”

“Love wins!”

“You show ‘em, Lewis!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Together.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that ...” he asks quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the only choice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wouldn’t change a thing.

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

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

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

[theodorenmyth]

hi! not sure if soulmates counts as a weird au, but if you’re willing: would you write mattheodore + m!reader where matt and theo are in an established relationship as soulmates then discover you are also their soulmate? maybe people are like how tf do you have two soulmates???

fluff/smut/angst/whatever is good. if not, no problem! thanks

Three Threads of Love

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x m!reader x Theodore Nott

Summary ; You wake up with a dark green streak in your hair—proof that you’re soulmates with Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott. You try hiding, running, and even dyeing your hair, but they figure it out. After a dramatic meltdown (and an attempted escape), Mattheo and Theodore kidnap you with love—because, like it or not, you’re theirs now.

A/n ; this was so funny in my head while I was imagining this, enjoy!!

Warnings ; none

Word count ; 5.8k+

Soulmates.

The word alone was enough to make your stomach churn—not in disgust, but in reluctant acceptance of a fate that had never been yours.

Everyone at Hogwarts had some kind of soulmate mark. It wasn’t always instant, but by the time you reached your fifth year, you were bound to see at least something. A change in eye color, a faint tattoo-like symbol on the wrist, a string that tied you to another person, or the most dramatic of all—your hair turning the same shade as your soulmate’s.

You had seen it happen all around you.

It was beautiful. It was poetic. It was tragic.

And yet, it had never happened to you.

No colors. No scars. No strings. Nothing.

You were simply you, Y/N L/N, the single yet handsome and endearingly adorable Hufflepuff. The boy who didn’t have a soulmate mark.

At first, people assumed it would come later, that maybe you were a late bloomer. But when seventh year rolled around and you were still untouched by fate, the whispers started.

"What if he doesn’t have one?"

"Does the universe even allow that?"

"Oh, Merlin, imagine being born single. That’s actually tragic."

Even your friends—Cedric, Susan, and the rest of the Hufflepuff gang—joked about it. Not cruelly, but in a way that made you feel like some kind of rare specimen.

"Maybe you’re the universe’s loophole," Cedric had said once, slapping your back in amusement. "The one person meant to roam free."

You had laughed it off. Smiled. Accepted it. Because what else were you supposed to do?

There was no mark.

No connection.

No destined love waiting for you at the other end of a thread.

You were simply alone.

And you had made your peace with that.

Until, of course, fate decided to fuck you over.

─────────

You had always been a heavy sleeper.

So, naturally, it took something extraordinary to wake you up before the sun was even fully up.

This morning, that extraordinary thing was your own shriek.

You had barely cracked your eyes open when something felt off. Like, in-your-bones, gut-wrenching off. It wasn’t a feeling you could pinpoint, but there was a strange tingling in your scalp that made you sit up, groggy and disoriented.

And then you saw it.

A single lock of hair—once your usual shade—was now a deep, almost velvety dark green.

You stared.

It stared back.

And that was when the panic hit.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHH!”

Cedric shot up from his own bed like he’d been hexed. “What the fuck?!”

“MY HAIR! MY FUCKING HAIR, CEDRIC!” You grabbed a strand and shoved it in his barely-awake face, eyes wild. “LOOK AT IT!”

Cedric blinked at you, then at your hair, then back at you. “…What am I looking at?”

“It’s green!” You nearly hyperventilated, clutching at your head like you could somehow shake the color out. “It’s not supposed to be green!”

Cedric squinted at the strand, realization dawning on his half-conscious face. “Wait. Wait. Oh, shit.”

You flopped back onto your bed, groaning dramatically. “Oh shit is right! I went my whole life thinking I didn’t have a soulmate, and now I wake up in seventh year with a bloody green streak in my hair?! Who the hell even has green hair?!”

Cedric was still staring at you, now fully awake and fully bewildered. “That—That means something, doesn’t it?”

“No, Cedric, it means nothing—I just suddenly decided to cosplay as a Slytherin overnight.”

“I knew you were hiding a Malfoy obsession.”

“Not the time.”

Cedric bit back a grin before running a hand through his own hair. “Okay. Alright. Breathe. Let’s think about this logically.”

You sat up again, dragging your hands down your face. “Logically? Logically, the only people in this damn school with this specific color of green hair are—”

And then it hit you.

Like an actual bludger to the skull.

Your entire body went stiff. Your brain blanked out.

Because there were only two people you had ever seen with this exact shade of dark green in their hair.

Mattheo Riddle.

Theodore Nott.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Cedric, ever the genius, saw the look on your face and immediately put two and two together. His jaw dropped. “Ohhhhhh.”

Your hands started shaking. “No. No way. That—That can’t be right.”

Cedric was already grinning like a madman. “It is right.”

“I—I don’t have a soulmate!”

“Well, you do now.”

You felt lightheaded. “No. No, this is a mistake. They’re already soulmates. Everyone knows they’re soulmates. You can’t have two. That’s not a thing!”

Cedric raised an eyebrow. “Tell that to your hair.”

You threw a pillow at him.

─────────

Meanwhile…

Across the castle, in the depths of the Slytherin dorms, Mattheo sat up so fast he nearly knocked Theodore off the bed.

“What the fuck—”

Theodore groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Mattheo, if you woke me up to tell me about your dream where you hexed Potter’s eyebrows off again—”

Mattheo wasn’t listening. He was too busy staring at the faint golden shimmer across Theo’s knuckles.

The same shimmer was now visible on his own wrist.

And they both knew what it meant.

Someone else had just been tethered to them.

“…Oh, fuck,” Theodore whispered.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You were not panicking.

You were perfectly calm.

If anyone asked, you were just casually wearing a hoodie with the hood up in the middle of breakfast, in a warm castle, surrounded by friends who knew you never wore a hood indoors.

Absolutely nothing suspicious about that.

…Except, of course, that you were suspicious. Very suspicious.

Which was why, when you slid into your usual spot at the Hufflepuff table, hands tucked into the sleeves of your oversized sweater, you were grinning a little too wide.

"Morning," Cedric greeted, shooting you a knowing glance as he buttered his toast.

"Morning!" you chirped back, voice an octave higher than normal.

Immediately, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott—who had been talking about some Charms essay—turned to look at you.

Both of them frowned.

"You’re being weird," Susan said flatly.

Your grin widened unnaturally, almost manic. "Me? Weird? Noooo."

Hannah squinted at you. "Why are you wearing a hood?"

"Oh! This?" You tugged at the fabric like you had just remembered it was on your head. "Uh—new fashion statement."

Susan exchanged a glance with Hannah before looking back at you. "Fashion statement?"

"Yup!" You nodded way too fast. "I decided to—uh, embrace the mystery, you know? Keep people on their toes! Make ‘em wonder what’s under here. It’s all the rage in—uh, France."

"France," Hannah repeated, deadpan.

"Yup!"

Susan folded her arms. "Y/N."

You laughed. "Yes, dear friend of mine?"

"You hate having anything on your head. You complain about hats. You threw a fit last winter when we made you wear a beanie to Hogsmeade."

"Ah! Yes, well, character development! Growth! The arc of my maturity—"

"Y/N."

You flinched at the tone.

Damn Hufflepuffs and their terrifying ability to detect bullshit.

Hannah narrowed her eyes, tapping her fingers against the table. "Did Peeves glue something to your head again?"

"No!"

"Did you fail a spell and accidentally dye your hair pink?"

"Of course not!"

"Did a bird poop on your head?"

"What? No!"

"Then why are you hiding your hair?"

Your eyes darted across the Great Hall, looking anywhere but at them. "Oh! Look! Porridge!" You grabbed a spoon, stuffing a massive bite into your mouth, barely even tasting it.

Susan and Hannah exchanged another look, suspicion written all over their faces.

Cedric, the only one who actually knew what was going on, simply took a sip of his pumpkin juice, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

"You’re lying," Susan declared.

Your spoon froze halfway to your mouth. "I—"

"You are lying!" Hannah gasped.

"I am NOT—!"

"You are literally grinning like someone who just got caught sneaking into the Restricted Section!"

"That is absurd!" You let out a completely unnatural laugh, shifting in your seat. "I am merely a man who enjoys the simple pleasures of life, such as porridge and— OH LOOK, A WINDOW."

You twisted your body to face the stained glass like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Unfortunately, this only made you look even more suspicious.

"Y/N," Susan started, voice low and accusing. "What did you do?"

"NOTHING!"

"Then why do you look like you’re about to bolt out of the room?"

"I just have a lot of energy this morning!" You were still grinning, voice high and unnatural. "You know, good sleep, nice weather—"

"You slept terribly and it’s raining outside."

"A fine drizzle!"

"You hate the rain!"

"I have learned to love it!"

"Y/N."

You shoved another spoonful of porridge into your mouth, avoiding eye contact.

────────────

At the Slytherin Table

"Alright, spill," Pansy Parkinson demanded the second Mattheo and Theodore sat down.

Astoria Greengrass, seated beside her, gave a more subtle approach, raising a perfectly shaped brow. "Something happened. I can feel it."

Draco Malfoy, sipping his tea, barely looked up. "They probably got into a fight. Again."

Blaise Zabini, on the other hand, leaned in with genuine curiosity. "No, they look… weird. Like, different weird. You two aren’t possessed, are you?"

Lorenzo Berkshire, who had been half-asleep against Draco’s shoulder, finally stirred. "If they are, can we exorcise them after breakfast?"

Mattheo rolled his eyes. "We’re not possessed, Lorenzo."

"Could’ve fooled me."

Theodore, who had been staring at the shimmering mark on his knuckles all morning, finally spoke. "Someone’s been tethered to us."

Silence.

Then—

"I’m sorry, what?" Pansy practically screeched.

Draco choked on his tea.

Blaise blinked in pure disbelief. "How?"

"That’s not possible," Astoria added, looking at them like they had both grown second heads. "You two are already bonded."

Mattheo tapped the golden shimmer across his wrist, the mark still faint but very real. "Yeah, well. Tell that to fate."

"This is insane," Pansy said, eyes wide. "People don’t get two soulmates. That’s—That’s like—"

"Unheard of," Astoria finished, still staring at their marks.

Draco, for once, looked genuinely intrigued. "Have you figured out who it is?"

"Not yet," Theodore muttered, though his gaze flickered across the Great Hall.

"Whoever it is," Mattheo said, smirking slightly, "they’re probably freaking out right now."

Theodore huffed. "You would find this amusing."

"Oh, come on, Theo. Think about it." Mattheo propped his chin on his hand, eyes glinting with amusement. "Some poor bastard woke up this morning with a soulmate mark linking them to us. That’s gotta be terrifying."

"You are terrifying," Blaise agreed.

Mattheo winked. "Why, thank you."

As the conversation continued, Theodore let his gaze wander again, scanning the room.

And then—

There.

At the Hufflepuff table.

A figure slouched in their seat, hood pulled up, looking like they were actively trying to disappear.

Theodore’s lips parted slightly.

Mattheo noticed, following his line of sight—

And promptly grinned.

"Oh. Ohhhhhh."

Draco noticed too, and his brows shot up. "Wait. L/N?"

Pansy nearly dropped her goblet. "You’re joking."

Astoria let out a soft, surprised laugh. "Oh, this is going to be interesting."

Blaise, meanwhile, was just staring at you in utter disbelief. "Him? The guy who’s never had a soulmate mark? The one everyone thought was doomed to be single forever?"

Lorenzo yawned, rubbing his eyes. "I bet he’s panicking."

Mattheo smirked. "Oh, definitely."

Theodore, watching you sink lower into your hoodie, exhaled deeply. "We should talk to him."

Mattheo cracked his knuckles, eyes gleaming. "Absolutely."

────────────

Back at the Hufflepuff Table

You had a bad feeling.

A very bad feeling.

Because the moment you dared to glance up, you found two pairs of eyes locked onto you from across the hall—one dark and intense, the other sharp and calculating.

Mattheo and Theodore.

Staring at you like they had just figured out exactly who their third soulmate was.

You gulped.

Cedric, noticing your expression, leaned in. "They know, don’t they?"

You swallowed thickly. "They definitely know."

Susan, still confused, followed your gaze—only to see two of the most dangerous Slytherins in the school actively plotting your demise with their eyes.

"...Y/N," she said slowly. "What did you do?"

You groaned, shoving your face into your hands. "I think I got soulmated."

Cedric grinned. "Told you fate wasn’t done with you yet."

"Shut up, Diggory."

But deep down, as panic turned into something dangerously close to excitement, you couldn't help but wonder

What the hell were Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott going to do about this?

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Everything was fine.

You were fine.

You were totally fine.

Which was why you were currently walking through the courtyard with your friends, laughing along to one of Cedric’s stories while keeping a firm grip on the hood of your oversized sweater.

Just in case.

Because if anyone so much as glimpsed your hair—if anyone saw that stupidly obvious green streak that had appeared overnight—your life would be over.

Dead. Gone. Vanished.

The headlines would read: Y/N L/N, Hufflepuff Extraordinaire, Found Dead Due to Pure, Unfiltered Embarrassment.

Susan and Hannah still hadn’t stopped being suspicious, but you had managed to redirect most of their attention onto a very detailed discussion about which professor was the scariest.

"McGonagall."

"No way, Snape."

"Flitwick."

"…Flitwick?"

"You’ve never seen him angry. I have. It was horrifying."

You were just starting to think you’d actually get through the day undetected when the absolute worst thing possible happened.

Flint.

Marcus fucking Flint.

One of the dumbest, most obnoxious Slytherins in existence.

You didn’t even see him coming.

One second, you were minding your business, strolling along, successfully avoiding any and all suspicious activity.

The next?

A rough hand yanked the hood off your head.

"Oi, L/N, what are you hiding—"

Silence.

The courtyard froze.

You felt a chill run down your spine.

Oh, no.

Your friends stared.

The Hufflepuffs around you stared.

The entire courtyard stared.

Because right there, in broad daylight, your previously normal hair was now a very, very noticeable shade of blonde—except for the bold dark green streak running through it.

Your soulmark.

That exact shade of dark green.

Slytherin green.

Mattheo-and-Theodore green.

Susan's jaw dropped.

Hannah gasped.

Cedric, to his credit, didn’t look that surprised—just vaguely amused.

But Flint?

Flint howled with laughter. "OH, THIS IS RICH! L/N’S BEEN SOULMATED TO A SLYTHERIN—"

You did not let him finish.

Nope.

Absolutely NOT.

Instead, fueled by pure, raw panic, you pulled out your wand, muttered something under your breath—

And disapparated.

One second, you were in the courtyard, standing in front of way too many people.

The next, you were gone.

Vanished.

Just poof.

─────────

Hufflepuff Dormitory, Five Minutes Later

You were not hyperventilating.

Okay, you were, but no one needed to know that.

You were pacing back and forth in your dorm, hands buried in your traitorous hair, breathing way too fast.

"This is bad. This is so bad. This is—FUCK—this is really bad—"

Cedric walked in, looking entirely unsurprised to find you in full meltdown mode. "You vanished in front of half the school."

"Yes, Cedric, I am aware."

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "So, what’s your plan?"

"My plan?" You let out a deranged laugh, spinning to face him. "My plan is to fake my death, move to a small cottage in the woods, and never be seen again."

"That’s not a plan," he pointed out, far too calmly.

"It is if you commit."

"Y/N."

"What?"

"You could just talk to them."

You stopped pacing to glare at him. "Oh, wow, what an idea, Cedric. Talking. Genius. Brilliant. Too bad I have crippling anxiety and would rather gouge my eyes out."

Cedric sighed. "Okay, so what are you going to do?"

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

And then—

An idea.

A glorious, absolutely stupid idea.

You turned to your trunk, rummaging through it until you found your wand and one of your old spellbooks.

Cedric raised a brow. "Y/N…?"

You flipped through the pages frantically. "There’s a hair-dyeing spell in here somewhere—I know there is—aha!"

Your finger landed on the page.

"Here! This! Temporary. Quick. Lasts about a day. Perfect."

Cedric blinked. "You’re going to—what? Hide it?"

"Yes."

"With a spell that lasts one day?"

"YES."

He stared at you.

Then sighed. "I don’t know why I expected anything else."

─────────

Back in the Great Hall

While you were busy spiraling, the entire school was losing its collective shit.

The moment you vanished, the courtyard had erupted.

The whispers spread fast.

And within minutes, the whole castle knew:

You, the beloved Hufflepuff, notorious single person, widely believed to be soulmate-less—was actually tethered to two of Slytherin’s most infamous students.

"You have got to be joking."

Pansy, still sitting at the Slytherin table, was staring at Mattheo and Theodore.

"He literally teleported away," Draco said, sipping his tea. "That’s how panicked he was."

Lorenzo whistled. "Damn. That’s impressive."

"We need to talk to him," Theodore said, his normally calm demeanor just slightly off-kilter.

Mattheo was already grinning. "Oh, definitely."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Well, I hope you two have a good plan, because Y/N is probably halfway to Albania by now."

Mattheo just cracked his knuckles. "Don’t worry, Pans. We’ll find him."

And when they did?

You were not getting away.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You woke up the next morning with a single, hopeful thought:

Maybe it was all a dream.

Maybe your hair was still normal. Maybe you hadn’t accidentally revealed your soulmark to half the school. Maybe you hadn’t literally disapparated in front of everyone like a fucking lunatic.

Maybe.

You slowly reached for your wand on your nightstand, hesitated, then conjured a mirror in your shaking hand.

Then, you looked.

Your heart sank.

The spell had worn off.

The bright green streak was back, glaringly obvious against your blonde hair.

You let out a slow, defeated sigh.

"Fuck."

"Still there?"

You flinched so hard you nearly fell out of bed. "CEDRIC—"

"Sorry," he said, entirely not sorry as he leaned against the doorway. "But considering you screamed like a banshee yesterday, I figured I should check in before you self-combust."

You groaned, pressing your hands to your face. "This is so bad."

"Oh, definitely."

"Cedric."

"What? You want me to lie to you?"

"Yes."

"Fine," he said, deadpan. "It’s completely fine. No one noticed. The entire school is not talking about it. Also, you definitely didn’t magically vanish in front of fifty people."

You glared at him through your fingers. "You’re the worst."

"I am the best. Now get dressed."

"Why?"

"Because if you hide in here forever, Mattheo and Theodore will find you eventually, and you don’t want to know what their reaction will be if you avoid them all day."

You blanched. "Oh, fuck, you’re right."

"Obviously."

"I need to hide."

"No, you need to face them."

"Or I could hide."

"Y/N."

"Cedric."

"I swear to Merlin, if you don’t—"

But you were already flipping through your spellbook again.

"There! Temporary hair-color alteration! Lasts three hours—"

Cedric sighed so hard it sounded like he aged five years. "You’re stalling."

"I like stalling."

"It’s only going to get worse if you don’t talk to them."

"Maybe I want it to get worse."

"You don’t."

You ignored him, casting the spell and watching with relief as the streak disappeared, replaced with your natural hair color.

Cedric just shook his head. "You’re an idiot."

"And yet, a smart idiot, because no one will know—"

─────────

The Great Hall

You walked into breakfast with false confidence.

You were fine.

Your hair looked normal.

Everything was fine.

You sat down at the Hufflepuff table, flashing an overly large grin at your friends. "Morning, everyone!"

"Morning—"

"Why are you so chipper?" Susan asked immediately.

You blinked. "What? No reason."

Hannah squinted. "You’re acting weird."

"Weird? Me? That’s crazy talk!" You laughed, but it was too high-pitched, too forced. "I’m totally normal! Nothing to see here!"

Cedric, sitting beside you, sighed.

Susan’s eyes narrowed. "And why are you still wearing that huge hoodie?"

"Because I like it."

"It’s eighty degrees outside."

"I really like it."

"Y/N."

"What?"

"What are you hiding?"

"Nothing!" You shot her another wild grin, your eyes darting across the room.

Unfortunately, your eyes immediately locked onto the Slytherin table.

More unfortunately?

Mattheo and Theodore were already staring at you.

Your breath hitched.

They knew.

You didn’t know how they knew, but they definitely knew.

Mattheo was grinning, sharp and predatory, like he was waiting for you to run.

Theodore was watching you with his usual unreadable expression—calm, controlled, but his gaze felt heavy, like he could see right through you.

You snapped your head back around, facing your plate with great intensity.

Don’t panic. Stay calm. They’re just people. They’re just—

"Oh, my Gods, you’re definitely hiding something."

You nearly choked on your pumpkin juice. "NO, I’M NOT."

"You so are," Susan said, pointing an accusatory finger. "Your eyes are darting all over the place and you’re grinning like an absolute maniac—"

"That’s just my face—"

"You’ve got that ‘I just committed arson’ look again."

"I do not—"

"Yes, you do."

"No, I—"

"Oh, for fuck’s sake, just tell us already—"

And then—

A horrible, terrible, awful voice spoke up from behind you.

"What’s wrong, L/N? Something you don’t want people to see?"

Your stomach dropped.

Flint.

Again.

And before you could even react.

He yanked your hood down.

Again.

Your heart stopped.

Because this time?

Your fucking hair wasn’t hidden.

The room fell silent.

And just like yesterday—

Every single person in the Great Hall stared.

Your brain completely short-circuited.

"Oh," Blaise said from the Slytherin table, his eyes widening. "Holy shit."

"Well," Pansy muttered, staring. "That explains a lot."

"Oh, wow," Lorenzo added, blinking. "That’s…kind of hilarious."

Draco just sipped his tea, unbothered. "Knew it."

Your breathing turned shallow.

"Welp," you said, voice higher than normal. "Guess that’s my cue to—"

You didn’t even finish your sentence before casting another disillusionment spell—

And disappearing.

Again.

Leaving the entire Great Hall in absolute chaos.

And at the Slytherin table, Mattheo and Theodore just exchanged a look.

Then, simultaneously, they stood up.

It was time to find you.

And this time?

You weren’t getting away.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ───

You had exactly two thoughts as you sprinted back to your dorm at breakneck speed:

1. Flint is a dead man walking.

2. I am so, so, so utterly, catastrophically fucked.

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you practically threw yourself through the entrance of the Hufflepuff common room, ignoring the confused stares of your housemates. You raced up the dormitory stairs, slammed the door behind you, and immediately started hyperventilating.

Think. Think. THINK.

Your cover was blown. Your very obvious, very incriminating soulmate mark had been exposed to the entire school. And, worst of all—

Mattheo and Theodore had seen it.

And they were going to find you.

"Shit, shit, shit," you muttered, pacing like a panicked rodent caught in a trap. "Okay. Okay, Y/N, you can fix this. You just need to—"

You didn’t even know what you needed to do. Hide? Run? Fake your own death?

"Mate."

You whipped around to see Cedric leaning against the doorframe with the most done expression you’d ever seen on his face.

"You cannot be serious."

"Oh, I am so serious," you hissed, wild-eyed. "This is life and death, Diggory!"

"No," he corrected, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is you being insanely dramatic about the inevitable."

"There is nothing inevitable about this," you shot back. "I still have time to flee the country—"

"You do not have time to flee the country," he groaned. "And even if you did, Mattheo and Theodore would just hunt you down."

You flinched. "That’s exactly what I’m afraid of."

Cedric just sighed and crossed his arms. "You do realize that the whole point of soulmates is that you’re meant to be together, right?"

"Yes, well, maybe fate should have consulted me first, because I was not prepared for this," you muttered, gripping your hair. "I mean—two? Who the fuck gets two soulmates?!"

"Apparently, you."

"That’s not helpful, Diggory."

"It wasn’t meant to be helpful," he deadpanned.

You groaned again, throwing yourself onto your bed and burying your face in a pillow. "This is a nightmare."

"This is hilarious," Cedric corrected. "And I would kill to see Mattheo and Theodore’s reaction right now."

At that exact moment—

Someone knocked on the dormitory door.

Your entire body went rigid.

Cedric’s eyebrows raised. "That was fast."

You slowly lifted your head from your pillow. "No. No, no, no, no. That is not them. That could be anyone."

Another knock.

This time, louder.

Your soul left your body.

Cedric smirked. "You gonna answer that, or should I?"

"Neither," you whispered in abject horror. "We ignore it. We pretend we’re dead."

"Pretty sure they won’t buy that."

"Well, I’m willing to test that theory—"

"Y/N."

You froze.

Because this time, it wasn’t a knock.

It was a voice.

A deep, smooth, terrifyingly familiar voice.

"Open the door."

Mattheo.

You squeaked.

"We know you’re in there," another voice added, calm and even.

Theodore.

Cedric grinned. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

You whipped around, eyes wild. "CEDRIC, DO NOT OPEN THAT—"

But the bastard had already swung the door open.

You felt your soul exit your body.

Because standing in the doorway, looking directly at you, were Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott.

And they looked very, very determined.

"Hi, boys," Cedric greeted cheerfully. "Come to collect your runaway soulmate?"

Mattheo smirked. "Oh, absolutely."

Theodore just tilted his head, eyes locked onto you. "You have nowhere to run now, Y/N."

You laughed nervously, scooting backward on your bed. "Okay, okay, let’s just—relax, yeah? Let’s be rational about this—"

Mattheo took a single step forward.

You yelped and scrambled off the bed. "I’m very flattered—honored, even—but I think there’s been a terrible mistake—"

"Oh, there’s no mistake," Theodore interrupted, his voice soft but firm. "You are ours."

Your breath hitched.

Mattheo grinned, dangerous and amused. "And we’re not letting you run anymore, sweetheart."

You felt your entire nervous system short-circuit.

And Cedric?

He just sat back, crossed his arms, and grinned like the smug asshole he was.

"Oh, this is so much better than I imagined."

You were pretty sure your entire nervous system had just crashed and rebooted.

Because Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott were standing right there—inside your dormitory—blocking the only exit—and looking at you like you were a cornered rabbit.

Which, to be fair, you were.

You were already mentally preparing your last words, calculating how long it would take to jump out the window and debating whether or not you could survive the fall.

"Y/N," Theodore said calmly, taking a slow step forward. "We just want to talk."

"Do you?" you squeaked, pressing yourself against the nearest desk as if it would swallow you whole and save you from this nightmare. "Because I feel like this is less of a talking situation and more of a trapping me in my own dormitory situation."

Mattheo grinned, dark eyes glittering with amusement. "You say ‘trapping’ like we’re holding you at wandpoint, sweetheart."

"Emotionally, you are!"

Theodore sighed. "Why are you running from us?"

"Uh—self-preservation?"

Mattheo snorted. "Dramatic much?"

"YOU SAY THAT LIKE THIS ISN’T A VERY SERIOUS SITUATION!" You flailed your arms wildly, your breathing coming out erratic as your brain scrambled for an escape plan. "I WOKE UP WITH A SOULMATE MARK! NOT ONE! BUT TWO! THAT’S NOT NORMAL! I’M NOT NORMAL! MY LIFE IS OVER!"

"You’re being a little theatrical," Theodore muttered.

"THEATRICAL?" you shrieked, gesturing at your hair like it had personally betrayed you. "I—LOOK AT THIS! I LOOK LIKE A REJECTED HOUSE ELF!"

Mattheo cackled. "Merlin, I love this guy."

"NO YOU DON’T!" You spun on your heel, calculating your chances of breaking through the door and making a run for it. Spoiler alert: Not good.

Theodore sighed, rubbing his temples. "Y/N, we are literally standing here trying to talk to you. You are making this way harder than it needs to be."

"I’M MAKING IT HARDER?" You gasped, putting a hand to your chest like you were about to have a Victorian-era fainting spell. "Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize waking up with my entire destiny rewritten required a casual conversation over tea and biscuits!"

Mattheo smirked. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

"It is a terrifying thing!" you corrected. "You two have been together for years! And now—now I just suddenly appear in the equation?!"

"You didn’t just appear," Theodore said, calm and steady as ever. "You were always meant to be a part of this, Y/N."

"THAT SOUNDS LIKE A LOAD OF COSMIC BULLSHIT!"

You twisted your body, suddenly darting to the left—

—only for strong arms to wrap around your waist and yank you backwards before you even got the chance to move three feet.

"Oh you little shit—" Mattheo laughed, tightening his grip as you kicked and flailed like a deranged cat. "Did you just try to run?"

"CEDRIC DIGGORY, YOU HELP ME RIGHT THIS INSTANT!" you bellowed, desperately reaching out toward your dormmate, who was watching the entire scene unfold from his bed with an expression of sheer amusement.

Cedric raised an eyebrow, unbothered. "Nah, I think I’ll sit this one out."

"TRAITOR!"

"Oh, calm down, sweetheart," Mattheo grinned, leaning down to murmur in your ear. "You act like we’re about to kidnap you."

"YOU MIGHT AS WELL BE!"

"You are so dramatic," Theodore muttered.

"THIS IS A JUSTIFIED REACTION!"

"You’re flailing like a fish," Mattheo added. "It’s kinda adorable."

"STOP CALLING ME ADORABLE, I AM STRUGGLING FOR MY LIFE!"

"Oh my god," Theodore sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Y/N, just breathe. You’re not dying. You’re not being held hostage. You’re just ours now. That’s all."

"THAT’S ALL?!" You gaped, struggling even harder. "‘That’s all’?! You’re acting like you just told me my schedule has changed, not that my entire FATE HAS BEEN TIED TO TWO OF THE MOST TERRIFYING SLYTHERINS IN EXISTENCE!"

Mattheo smirked. "Terrifying, huh? I like that."

"SHUT UP, RIDDLE!"

"You know," Cedric interrupted, tilting his head thoughtfully, "for someone who’s been single his whole life, you’re really bad at handling affection."

"I HAVE NEVER EXPERIENCED AFFECTION BEFORE, CEDRIC! THIS IS UNPRECEDENTED TERRITORY!"

"So what I’m hearing is," Mattheo grinned, "we just need to get you used to it."

"NO—"

Before you could scream in protest, Mattheo spun you around, forcing you to face them as Theodore took a step closer, his gaze softer now.

"Y/N," he said, firm yet gentle, "you are ours. Whether you accept it now or later, that fact won’t change. You belong with us."

"That sounds dangerously like a threat," you muttered.

Mattheo chuckled, tilting his head. "More like a promise."

Your stupid, traitorous heart stuttered at the way they were both looking at you.

You took a deep breath.

Then promptly threw yourself onto the floor.

Mattheo blinked. "Did he just—?"

Theodore sighed deeply. "Yes. He did."

Cedric snorted. "Oh, this is gold."

"I’M DEAD!" you announced from the floor, sprawled out dramatically. "You cannot claim me if I'm dead!"

Mattheo just laughed. "Oh, darling, you have no idea what you’ve just gotten yourself into."

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You were still on the floor, arms spread out like a tragic hero, contemplating your life choices as Mattheo and Theodore stared down at you.

Mattheo was smirking, his arms crossed, while Theodore looked half-amused, half-exhausted, like he had already aged ten years dealing with your antics.

"Y/N," Theodore sighed. "You cannot just lay there and pretend you’re dead."

"Watch me," you muttered.

"You are so painfully dramatic," Mattheo cackled, nudging your leg with his foot. "C’mon, sweetheart. Get up before someone steps on you."

"I am the floor now. The floor and I are one. I have embraced my fate."

Cedric, still sitting comfortably on his bed, chuckled. "So, is this just how you’re planning to handle your entire soulmate situation? Just...playing dead?"

"YES!"

"That’s not a bad plan," Mattheo mused, stroking his chin. "Bit flawed though. ‘Cause y’know, we’re not leaving you alone, sweetheart."

"You say that like it’s a good thing!"

"It is," Theodore said, deadpan. "And you’re going to have to accept it eventually."

You made a pained noise, covering your face with your hands. "I don’t know how to be a soulmate! I’ve been single my whole life! I was mentally prepared to be a lone wolf forever! The universe did not prepare me for two soulmates, let alone you two!"

"So what you’re saying is," Mattheo grinned, "you were ready to be miserable forever, but now that you actually have soulmates, you’re just freaking out instead."

"YES!"

Theodore let out a long, suffering sigh, like he was praying for patience. "Y/N, you’re acting like we’re asking you to perform some kind of ancient ritual. You’re our soulmate. That’s it. You don’t have to ‘be’ anything except yourself."

You peeked at him between your fingers. "But you two already have each other. What if I just—mess everything up?"

At that, Mattheo’s smirk softened, and Theodore’s eyes turned gentler.

"You won’t," Theodore said, calm and steady, like he was stating a fact rather than a hope.

"We wouldn’t be bonded to you if you weren’t meant to be ours," Mattheo added. "The universe is a bitch, but it’s not wrong."

You groaned, kicking your legs against the floor like a toddler. "You guys are making this too real! Let me have my panic, dammit!"

Mattheo laughed, and before you could protest, he scooped you up off the ground, hauling you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

"WHAT THE HELL, RIDDLE? PUT ME DOWN!"

"Nah," Mattheo grinned. "You had your fun. Now it’s our turn."

"THIS IS LITERAL KIDNAPPING!"

"Nope, just soulmate bonding," Theodore said smoothly, walking beside Mattheo as if this was completely normal. "And considering how much you’ve avoided us, we have a lot to catch up on."

"CEDRIC, CALL THE MINISTRY! I’M BEING TAKEN!"

Cedric just grinned, waving lazily. "Have fun, Y/N."

"YOU’RE THE WORST, DIGGORY!"

"Love you too, mate!"

You screamed dramatically, kicking your feet, but Mattheo just laughed, tightening his hold on you like he was never letting go.

And the worst part?

Despite all your protests—despite your chaotic, overdramatic panic—

There was a small, traitorous part of you that didn’t want him to.

[miwachan2]

hear me out VampiricEquinox-BAND AU

LISTEN 3 days ago i was listening to "The Law" by Reach and I was like, "This is definitely a vampire eclipse song, it fits him so well and i listened to it on repeat and then thought what if Eclipse sang it? .... What If Eclipse Sang It omg what if he sang it on a stage- BAND AU! and now this band au exists OwO I already got a little lore~ HEHEHEHE but i'll put that under the cut because its gonna be long and vague and messily written

So its a twist of the original Vampiric Equinox au lore with ALOT of changes and changing the whole vibe just for it to make sense (to me atleast) SO Eclipse, Sun, n' Moon were in a band, a VAMPIRE themed band Aka: "Eclipse & the Bats" (idk about the name but bear with me) (also may or may not be real vampires, im debating if I wanna keep that or not), Eclipse was the main singer and leader, did the writing, choreography, everything was under his control and decision. Sun was the guitarist and Moon was the drummer and they both followed Eclipses plans I even got concept ideas of that sun n moons outfits looked like when they were in a band with eclipse (not solified but ill fix it later)

something something The band breaks up! and that pissed off Eclipse but TOO LATE! band broke up, he lost his brothers, now he mad lol and then kinda drops off the face of the earth, doens't release anymore music because hes a sour puss Sun n Moon are stuck. they want to keep making music but they have no idea what to do, they were never allowed to be anything but a guitarist and a drummer, and they don't have a singer anymore Plus their fame was all because of Eclipse, so they're kinda back at square one BUT THEN! they come across Y/N and Bee! a small duo trying to make their music, which isn't bad, but it lacks some needed sounds to really get their foot in the door. Sun n Moon team up with Y/N and Bee and THUS! "The Hunters" is born! more something something, their band starts to gain popularity! But just as they start to be getting better gigs and onto an actual stadium

ECLIPSE RETURNS TO TAKE THE SPOT LIGHT! He got a new band and back up replacements, popping out songs, new band name: "Total Eclipse" AND his first song, a diss track against "The Hunters" GASP! and THEN!! They become rival bands!

HUueHuehueHUEHUEh uHEhuH EUHeu hEHEHEHEHHE

aight thats all I got OwO Look- I know its cringe, its so cringe, but I like it uwu Might do a few more doodles of this Au of my AU 'cause the brainrot is rotting

[sirenedeslily]

ALWAYS, FOREVER :: JACKIE TAYLOR

⏝ི ✿ 𝓢𝗬𝗡. a tender chronicle of two souls intertwined through secret languages and stolen kisses, as they shatter beneath society's frost only to thaw into truth under courage's warm light.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

[cw.] — a narrative shaped by Spring Into Summer by lizzy mcalpine; an au where the crash never occurred. jackie, constrained by compulsory heteronormativity, navigates the complexities of longing and self-discovery in 1996’s quiet ache.

jackie taylor was born in december, a winter child with snowflakes in her hair and frost on her eyelashes. you could see it in her eyes—hazelnut blonde, wide and unblinking, framed with lashes so thick they cast shadows on her cheeks—the innate understanding that beauty was both weapon and armor. she resembled a wide-eyed doll come to life, porcelain-perfect and untouchable, a girl who learned early how to smile just right, how to laugh at jokes that weren't funny, how to hold herself with the straight-backed posture of someone who knew she was being watched.

you were born in april, a spring child with pollen dusting your shoulders and petals unfurling in your lungs. your curls were the color of soil after rain, rich and earthy, framing a face that was all soft planes and curious eyes. you had lips that naturally pouted, as if perpetually on the verge of asking another question. while jackie stood straight, you moved like water finding its way downhill, following currents invisible to others, bending but never breaking.

the first time you met, you were both four years old, playing in a sandbox that was really just a glorified cat litter box behind wiskayok elementary's pre-k building. jackie had a plastic shovel and a determination to build the perfect castle. you had nothing but your hands and an imagination that transformed each grain of sand into universes.

"you're doing it wrong," jackie said, watching you pat formless mounds with your palms.

you looked up, squinting against the late summer sun, and replied, "there's no wrong way to play."

jackie considered this with the serious expression of a child contemplating philosophy for the first time. then she handed you her extra bucket.

"here. now you can make towers."

instead, you filled the bucket with dandelions and placed it atop her meticulous castle like a crown.

that was how it began—the bunny and the doe, an unlikely pair bound by the mysterious gravity that draws children together before they learn to question why they like who they like.

⚘

in the arithmetic of childhood friendships, you and jackie defied every equation. she was all clean lines and planned adventures; you were smudged margins and spontaneous detours. she collected friends like trading cards, carefully arranged and displayed; you collected stories and kept them pressed between the pages of your mind like wildflowers.

jackie's house was a showcase of suburban aspiration—gleaming hardwood floors that her mother polished every sunday, furniture arranged at perfect right angles, family photos in matched frames documenting their collective perfection. the refrigerator door was a museum of accomplishments; jackie's straight-A report cards, certificates of achievement, newspaper clippings of her youth soccer victories.

your house was a labyrinth of books—stacked on stairs, teetering on tables, forming makeshift furniture of their own. your father, an english professor, believed in the sanctity of the written word; your mother, a nurse with the soul of a poet, believed in the healing power of stories. they gave you a childhood scripted by dickens and alcott and austen, letting you run wild through fictional worlds when the real one seemed too constrained.

in jackie's bedroom, everything had its place. trophies on shelves, stuffed animals arranged by size, clothes sorted by color and season. you spent countless afternoons lying on her pink carpet, watching her organize her life into perfect compartments while you read aloud from whatever book had captured your imagination that week.

"don't you ever get bored?" jackie asked once, sitting at her vanity, practicing french braids on her own hair. "reading about other people's lives instead of living your own?"

you looked up from your dog-eared copy of "anne of green gables" and said, "i'm not reading about other people's lives. i'm living a thousand lives in addition to my own."

jackie's expression flickered between confusion and fascination. "i don't think i could ever be like you," she said finally.

"why would you want to be?" you asked. "i already have me. the world needs you to be jackie."

she smiled at that, a rare genuine smile that reached her bunny eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. "you're so weird," she said, but she said it like it was a compliment.

in your room, books formed a fortress around your bed. posters of the cranberries and your favorite french movies covered the walls. your dresser was a archaeological dig of half-finished stories written in notebooks, fragments of poems on loose paper, quotes copied from favorite books onto index cards.

"how do you find anything in here?" jackie would ask, perched primly on the edge of your unmade bed, afraid to disturb the creative chaos.

"i don't find things," you'd reply. "things find me when i need them."

she'd roll her eyes but submit to the ritual of lying beside you on the floor, heads close together, while you pointed out shapes in the textured ceiling and spun stories about cloud kingdoms and star wars, years before either of you had heard of george lucas.

between your houses lay wiskayok itself—a town too small to hide in but too big to truly know everyone. you navigated its streets like parallel rivers, sometimes converging, sometimes diverging, but always flowing toward some shared, unnamed sea.

the summer before sixth grade was the summer of secret languages. twelve years old, teetering on the precipice between childhood and something more complex, you and jackie created ways to communicate that no one else could understand.

it began with a simple code—replacing letters with numbers, leaving notes in each other's lockers, giggling when others couldn't decipher them. then came the elaborate hand signals, each flick of a wrist or tap of fingers conveying entire sentences. by july, you had developed an entire vocabulary of facial expressions, able to conduct silent conversations across crowded rooms.

it was also the summer jackie's body began its betrayal, developing before yours in ways that drew new kinds of attention. boys who had pulled her hair in fourth grade now found reasons to stand close to her, to brush against her in hallways. girls who had been friendly rivals now measured themselves against her, finding themselves wanting.

you watched this metamorphosis with a scientist's curiosity and a poet's heart, cataloging the changes in your best friend like phases of the moon. the way she started wearing her hair down instead of in the practical ponytail of her soccer-playing days. the careful application of lip gloss where once she'd just slathered on cherry chapstick. the measured pace of her walk, slowed from its former eager bounce to something more deliberate, more aware.

"do you think i'm pretty?" she asked one night, both of you lying on the trampoline in her backyard, the august sky a tapestry of stars above you.

"you know you are," you answered, turning to study her profile in the dim glow of distant porch lights.

"no, but do you think i'm pretty?" her voice had an urgency to it, a need that transcended the typical reassurance-seeking of preteen girls.

you propped yourself up on one elbow, looking down at her face—those wide eyes reflecting pinpricks of starlight, that perfect nose, those lips now slightly parted in anticipation of your answer.

"i think you're the most beautiful thing i've ever seen," you said, the truth spilling out before you could filter it through the appropriate lens of girlhood friendship.

her face changed then, softened and opened like a night-blooming flower. "show me," she whispered.

and there, beneath the indifferent gaze of distant galaxies, you leaned down and pressed your lips to hers in a kiss that lasted three heartbeats—one for courage, one for discovery, one for a revelation neither of you was ready to name.

when you pulled away, jackie's eyes remained closed for a moment longer, her lashes dark crescents against her cheeks. when she opened them, there was a new language being born between you, one with no words or gestures, one written in quickened pulses and hitched breaths.

"we should practice," she said finally, pragmatic even in this uncharted territory. "for when we kiss boys."

"for boys," you agreed, though even then, you knew no boy's lips would ever fit against yours the way jackie's did.

that became another secret language—kisses stolen in the shadows of her basement during movie nights, in the back corner of the library behind the reference section, in the equipment shed after soccer practice when everyone else had gone home. always under the guise of "practice," always followed by giggles and performance reviews, as if you were merely rehearsing for some future that required this skill.

by the time school started again, you had become fluent in each other, able to translate the slightest change in breathing, the smallest shift in posture. it was a dictionary written in skin and breath, a grammar of touch and taste.

a language destined to become a dead one far sooner than either of you could have imagined.

⚘

eighth grade arrived with the subtle seismic shifts of tectonic plates—imperceptible to most, but you felt the tremors beneath your feet. jackie joined the advanced soccer team, began spending weekends at tournaments in neighboring towns. you joined the literary magazine, disappearing into the cocoon of the newspaper office during lunch periods.

the kisses became less frequent, though more intense when they happened. there was a desperation to them now, as if jackie was trying to memorize the feel of you before something took you away from her.

"jeff sadecki asked me to the harvest dance," she told you one october afternoon. you were lying on your stomachs in her bedroom, algebra homework spread before you, though neither of you had written anything for twenty minutes.

"are you going to go?" you asked, carefully keeping your voice neutral, tracing the edge of your textbook with one finger.

"i think so," she said, watching your finger move. "my mom would literally explode with joy. she's been hinting about me and jeff since his mom and her started that book club."

you nodded, understanding the invisible architecture of expectations that had been built around jackie since birth. good grades. soccer excellence. student council. and now, the perfect boyfriend—handsome enough, smart enough, from the right kind of family. jeff sadecki with his easy smile and varsity jacket already as an eighth grader, being groomed for high school glory just as jackie was.

"he's nice," you offered, because it was true, and because you knew that was what jackie needed to hear.

"yeah," she agreed, not meeting your eyes. "he's nice."

that night, when she kissed you goodbye at your front door—a risky move given the well-lit porch and curtainless windows—there was a finality to it that made your chest ache.

"just because i'm going to the dance with him doesn't mean anything changes with us," she whispered against your lips.

but you were the reader of stories, the one who could see foreshadowing in everyday moments, who understood the inevitable trajectory of narrative arcs. you knew an ending when you tasted one.

"nothing ever stays the same, jackie," you said, pulling back to look into those bunny eyes, now shining with unshed tears. "that's okay. that's how life works."

she shook her head, suddenly fierce. "not us. we're different."

you wanted to believe her. for a moment, standing there with her cold hands framing your face, you almost did.

the fault lines continued to spread throughout that year. jeff became jackie's boyfriend in the official, going-steady sense. you started spending lunches with lottie, who shared your interest in astrology and tarot, and laura lee, whose fervent christianity somehow complemented your more pagan sensibilities rather than clashing with it. different lunch tables became different social circles became different weekend activities.

the last time you and jackie kissed was the night before high school started. she had come to your house, unexpected, climbing the tree outside your window like she used to do in elementary school when her parents were fighting and she needed escape.

"i'm scared," she admitted, sitting cross-legged on your bed, looking smaller than she had in months.

"of high school?" you asked, closing the book you'd been reading.

she shook her head. "of everything. of not being good enough. of being exactly what everyone expects and nothing more. of—" she paused, looking down at her hands. "of how i feel when I'm with you."

the confession hung between you, heavier than any silence you'd shared.

"how do you feel when you're with me?" you asked, though you knew. of course you knew. you felt it too—the rightness, the completion, the sense of coming home that no other friendship or relationship had ever given you.

"like i'm real," she whispered. "like i don't have to pretend."

you moved then, crossing the small distance between you, taking her face in your hands as she had held yours so many times. "you never have to pretend with me."

the kiss that followed was different from all the others—not practice, not play, but promise. a vow written in the press of lips and the tangle of tongues, in the way her hands fisted in your shirt and yours threaded through her hair. you tasted salt and realized she was crying, or maybe you both were, tears mingling in the seam where your mouths met.

when you finally broke apart, breathing hard, foreheads still touching, jackie spoke words that would echo through the empty corridors of your future;

"i can't be this. i'm sorry, but i can't."

"this?" you gestured between you. "you mean being friends?"

"you know that's not what i mean." her voice dropped to a whisper. "the other stuff. it has to stop. it's—it's not right."

the words landed like a slap. "not right?"

"it's disgusting," she said, but her voice wavered on the word, betraying the lie. "i'm with jeff now. i think i love him."

you stepped back as if burned. "you don't mean that."

"i do," she insisted. "we're not kids anymore. it's time to grow up."

high school dawned crisp and clear, a perfect september morning that felt like a mockery of your shattered heart. the hallways of wiskayok high were wider than those of the middle school, the ceilings higher, the social hierarchies more rigidly enforced. by lunchtime on the first day, everyone knew their place—or at least, knew where they were supposed to aspire to sit.

jackie slid effortlessly into her predetermined role; freshman soccer star, girlfriend of sophomore football player jeff sadecki, potential homecoming court material despite her young age. she walked the halls with a confidence that looked genuine to everyone who hadn't spent a decade learning her tells—the slight tension in her shoulders, the too-wide smile, the way she checked her reflection in every available surface.

you found your niche in the spaces between expectations. too smart to be dismissed, too pretty in your unconventional way to be entirely outcast, too unapologetically yourself to be fully embraced by any single clique. you spent your lunch periods in the library or the courtyard with lottie and laura lee, an unlikely trio bound by your shared appreciation for the mysteries that existed just beyond the veil of everyday life.

lottie, with her dark eyes that seemed to see straight through pretense, never asked why you flinched when Jackie and her soccer teammates passed your table. laura lee, whose faith gave her a compassion rare in the gladiatorial arena of high school, simply passed you extra cookies from her immaculately packed lunch on the days when jackie and jeff were particularly demonstrative in the hallways.

you watched from a distance as jackie became more polished, more perfect, more packaged for public consumption. her natural grace on the soccer field translated to a carefully choreographed performance of ideal teenage girlhood off it. by sophomore year, she was captain of the jv team, dating the varsity quarterback, maintaining a gpa that kept her solidly in the top ten percent without threatening the true academic overachievers.

you bloomed differently—unfurling rather than constructing, growing toward whatever light called to you rather than the one you were expected to seek. your essays won state competitions. your poems were published in literary journals that usually only accepted college students' work. a short story you wrote about two childhood friends who communicated through a secret language earned you a summer workshop at the state university, where professors spoke of your voice as "astonishingly mature" and "hauntingly authentic."

for two years, you and jackie enacted an elaborate performance of polite distance. you acknowledged each other with nods in hallways, exchanged bland pleasantries when mutual activities forced interaction. to outsiders, you were former friends who had drifted apart as childhood companions often do. only you knew the truth of what had been lost.

until junior year, when the fault lines that had been dormant suddenly ruptured.

⚘

it happened at shauna shipman's halloween party, one of those high school gatherings that seemed destined for disaster from its conception. parents out of town, a house too nice to risk trashing but too tempting not to use, alcohol flowing freely despite most attendees being years from legal drinking age.

you hadn't planned to go. parties were jackie's domain, not yours. but lottie had insisted, claiming the veil between worlds was thinnest on halloween, and what better place to observe the unmasking of true selves than at a costume party?

so there you were, dressed as ophelia in the depths of her madness—flower crown askew on your curls, vintage nightgown artfully torn and stained with watercolors to suggest river water, eyes dramatically lined to hint at beautiful despair.

"bit on the nose, isn't it?" lottie commented when she picked you up, herself resplendent as some pagan goddess with antlers woven into her dark hair.

"literature is always on the nose," you replied. "that's why it hurts so much."

you didn't plan to stay long—just enough to appease lottie, maybe talk to a few people from your ap literature class who might appreciate your costume's details. what you didn't plan for was jackie, three drinks past her usual limit, dressed as a playboy bunny—an outfit that played up both her soccer-toned body and the nickname you had given her so many years ago.

she saw you from across the room, those wide eyes growing impossibly wider. for a moment, the carefully constructed mask slipped, and you saw your jackie—the girl who had handed you a sand bucket, who had let you read aloud for hours, who had kissed you beneath a canopy of stars.

then jeff's arm slid around her waist, and the mask snapped back into place.

you retreated to the relative quiet of the kitchen, hoping to find water or perhaps even a quieter exit. instead, you found yourself cornered by travis, a quiet boy from your calculus class who had been working up the courage to talk to you for weeks.

"your costume is amazing," he said, sincerity evident in his voice. "you actually look like you stepped out of a pre-raphaelite painting."

you smiled, genuinely surprised by his art history reference. "thank you. i wasn't sure anyone would get it."

"i did a project on millais last year," he explained, then launched into an enthusiastic if slightly nervous discussion of victorian art that was actually interesting enough to distract you from your desire to leave.

you didn't notice jackie watching from the doorway, her bunny ears askew, her eyes narrowed with an emotion too complex to name.

later, you would piece together what happened from fragmented accounts and your own blurred memories; jackie, drunk and emotional, confronting jeff about some perceived slight. jeff, equally intoxicated, saying something careless. jackie, storming off to the bathroom. you, excusing yourself from travis to get some air on the back porch. the paths crossing in the hallway.

"having fun with travis?" jackie's voice had an edge you'd never heard before.

"he's nice," you said, echoing her words about jeff from so long ago.

"nice," she repeated, almost sneering. "is that what you want? nice?"

"what do you think i want, jackie?" the question came out tired rather than confrontational.

she stepped closer, close enough that you could smell the vodka cranberries on her breath, could see the smudge in her otherwise perfect eyeliner. "i think you want what you can't have."

"that's rich, coming from you."

"what is that supposed to mean?"

"it means you're the one who walked away, not me." the words came out sharper than you intended, years of carefully contained hurt suddenly finding release.

jackie's face contorted, a kaleidoscope of emotions shifting too quickly to track. "you think i wanted to? you think i had a choice?"

"we all have choices, jackie. every day."

"easy for you to say." her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "you get to be you. free and artistic and not caring what anyone thinks. i don't have that luxury."

"it's not a luxury. it's courage."

she recoiled as if slapped. "so i'm a coward now?"

"i didn't say that."

"you didn't have to." jackie's eyes filled with tears that she angrily blinked away. "you've always been so fucking superior, haven't you? so sure you know everything about everyone's heart."

"i never claimed to know everything," you said quietly. "just yours."

something broke in her expression then—the final wall crumbling. "you don't, though. you don't know what it's like to feel like you're rotting from the inside out. to know that everything you're supposed to want, everything you've been raised to chase, feels like ash in your mouth compared to—" she stopped abruptly.

"compared to what, jackie?"

"compared to one minute with you," she whispered, defeat and revelation mingling in her voice.

what happened next was inevitable as gravity—her hands finding your face, your bodies colliding against the hallway wall, mouths meeting with the desperate hunger of the long-starved. it was nothing like your childhood kisses, nothing like your tentative teenage explorations. this was excavation, archaeology, mining for something precious thought lost forever.

and like all such desperate digs, it caused a collapse.

"what the fuck?"

jeff's voice shattered the moment. you broke apart to find him standing at the end of the hallway, face twisted in confusion and dawning anger. behind him, a small crowd had gathered, drawn by the promise of drama.

jackie froze, her face draining of color. you watched as her eyes darted from jeff to the onlookers, saw the exact moment when panic overtook every other emotion.

"it's not—she just—i was trying to get her off me," jackie stammered, stepping away from you as if burned.

the words hit like physical blows. you stared at her, unable to process this ultimate betrayal.

"jesus, i always knew there was something weird about her," someone in the crowd murmured.

"fucking dyke," someone else said, not bothering to lower their voice.

jackie looked at you, naked terror in her eyes. "i'm sorry," she mouthed silently.

but you were already moving, pushing through the crowd, ignoring the taunts and whispers, running from the house with flower petals from your crown scattering behind you like ophelia's sanity breaking apart on the current.

the aftermath was as brutal as high school could make it. for you, at least. somehow, jackie emerged relatively unscathed—the popular girl who had been accosted by her strange former friend, the victim rather than the participant. jeff, after initial anger, took her back. her soccer teammates closed ranks around her. the story morphed in the retelling until you were the predator, she the innocent prey.

lottie and laura lee stood by you, fierce in their loyalty. travis, surprisingly, became another ally, walking you to classes when the whispers grew too loud, sharing his notes on days when you couldn't face the hallways. but high school was still high school, and the weight of being suddenly, unwillingly visible was suffocating.

winter came early that year, november bringing snow that usually waited until december. you watched it fall from the window of your bedroom, wondering if the universe was mocking you with its metaphors—jackie's season descending before its time, burying the world in cold silence.

you didn't see her outside of classes you couldn't avoid. she kept her eyes down when forced into proximity, her face a mask of practiced indifference. only once did you catch her mask slip—in the girls' bathroom during fifth period, when she thought herself alone. you entered silently, saw her gripping the sink, staring at her reflection with such naked self-loathing that you almost went to her, almost reached out.

then she noticed you in the mirror and the mask slammed back into place. she left without washing her hands or saying a word.

december brought holiday preparations and the temporary reprieve of everyone being too busy with exams and family obligations to maintain active torment. you threw yourself into writing, producing a series of poems that your english teacher described as "disturbingly beautiful" and urged you to submit to collegiate competitions.

january crawled by, february a blur of gray skies and slush-covered sidewalks. you survived by disappearing into books, into words, into the worlds you created where endings could be rewritten and love didn't collapse under the weight of expectation.

and then came march, with its false promises of thaw, its teasing glimpses of sun between snow flurries. you were sitting in the library during lunch, lost in sylvia plath's "ariel," when a shadow fell across your page.

"can we talk?"

jackie's voice, so familiar yet strange after months of silence. you looked up to find her standing awkwardly before you, clutching the strap of her backpack like a lifeline.

"i don't think we have anything to say to each other." your voice came out steadier than you felt.

"please." one word, but it contained oceans.

you gathered your books slowly, giving yourself time to rebuild the walls her presence immediately threatened to crumble. "fine. where?"

"the old equipment shed? after school?"

the location choice wasn't lost on you—the site of so many of your secret meetings in earlier days, now abandoned as the school had built newer facilities closer to the main fields.

"i'll be there at 3:30," you said, not looking at her. "i won't wait long."

she nodded and left quickly, as if afraid you might change your mind.

you told yourself you wouldn't go. told yourself it was masochism, not closure. told yourself there was nothing she could say that would matter now.

but at 3:25, you found yourself walking across the still-frozen field toward the shed, your breath clouding before you in the march chill.

jackie was already there, pacing the small interior, her varsity jacket pulled tight against the cold. she stopped when you entered, her eyes wide and uncertain.

"you came," she said, as if she couldn't quite believe it.

"i said i would." you remained near the door, unwilling to step fully into this space so laden with memory.

jackie took a deep breath. "i need to apologize. what i did at the party—throwing you under the bus like that—it was unforgivable."

"yes," you agreed. "it was."

she flinched but continued. "i was scared and drunk and stupid, but that's not an excuse. i've been a coward for years, and that night was just the worst example."

you said nothing, waiting.

"the thing is," she continued when you didn't speak, "i've been thinking a lot about what you said. about choices. about courage." she paced again, unable to stay still under the weight of what she was trying to say. "i don't want to be a coward anymore."

"what does that mean, jackie?" you were tired, suddenly, of riddles and half-truths.

she stopped pacing and looked directly at you for what felt like the first time in years. "it means i'm in love with you. i think i have been since we were kids. and i've been running from it because i thought there was something wrong with me for feeling that way."

the words hung in the cold air between you, crystallizing like frost.

"you hurt me," you said finally. "not just at the party. every day since eighth grade when you decided i was too dangerous to your perfect life."

"i know." her eyes filled with tears. "and i will regret that for the rest of my life. but i'm here now, telling you the truth, finally. for whatever that's worth."

"and jeff? the soccer team? the perfect jackie taylor life?"

she swallowed hard. "jeff and i broke up last week. the rest... i don't know. i just know i can't keep pretending. it's killing me." she took a tentative step toward you. "i don't expect you to forgive me. i don't expect anything. i just needed you to know that you were right—about me being a coward, about me making choices. i'm trying to make better ones now."

you studied her face, looking for signs of the old jackie—the girl who would say whatever was necessary to maintain appearances, to keep her world spinning on its prescribed axis. but all you saw was raw honesty and fear.

"i don't know what to say," you admitted.

"you don't have to say anything. i just..." she wrapped her arms around herself. "i miss my best friend. i miss the person who knew me better than i knew myself. i miss you."

the simple truth of it cracked something in your carefully maintained armor.

"i've missed you too," you whispered.

jackie's eyes lit with cautious hope. "really?"

"every day."

she took another step toward you, then another, until she was close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes, could smell the familiar scent of her shampoo.

"i can't promise i won't mess up again," she said softly. "i can't promise i'll be brave all the time. but i want to try. with you, if you'll let me."

you reached out slowly, touched her cheek with fingertips that remembered the feel of her skin from years of memorizing it in secret moments.

"i don't need you to be brave all the time," you said. "i just need you to be honest. with yourself, most of all."

she turned her face into your touch, eyes closing briefly. "i can do that."

outside, a tentative sun broke through the clouds, sending shafts of light through the shed's dusty windows. somewhere in the distance, a bird began to sing—the first herald of spring's approach.

"it won't be easy," you warned, thinking of the world waiting beyond this momentary shelter.

jackie opened her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "nothing worth having ever is."

she leaned forward then, hesitant, giving you every chance to pull away. you didn't. when her lips met yours, it felt like recognition, like remembering something essential you had tried to forget.

it felt like spring melting winter, like currents too strong to fight.

it felt, at last, like truth.

⚘

spring came late that year, but when it arrived, it came with a vengeance—green exploding across the landscape, flowers erupting from soil that had seemed dead only weeks before, the world renewing itself with reckless abandon.

you and jackie moved cautiously at first, relearning each other in stolen moments between classes, in weekend hours spent in the sanctuary of your book-filled bedroom, in long walks through forests just beginning to wake from winter's dormancy.

the rest of junior year unfolded in unexpected ways. jackie quit the soccer team, causing a minor scandal that was soon overshadowed by prom drama and graduation preparations for the seniors. she joined the literary magazine staff, revealing a talent for photography that complemented your words in ways that surprised you both. together, you created a series of photo essays that won the publication its first national recognition.

lottie and laura lee welcomed jackie into your lunch table circle with minimal skepticism, though lottie made it clear in her eerily perceptive way that second betrayals would not be tolerated. travis became a friend to you both, his quiet intellect and complete lack of interest in high school politics making him a safe harbor in still-turbulent waters.

there were still whispers, still sidelong glances in hallways. but as spring progressed into summer, as junior year gave way to the promise of senior year and beyond, those voices seemed to matter less and less.

on the last day of school, you and jackie returned to the equipment shed—not out of secrecy now, but out of sentiment. you brought a blanket to spread over the dusty floor, a small basket of strawberries and chocolate, a bottle of sparkling cider smuggled from your parents' fridge.

"do you remember the first time we came here?" jackie asked, lying beside you on the blanket, her fingers intertwined with yours.

"seventh grade," you said. "after you scored the winning goal against westfield. you were so pumped up on adrenaline you practically dragged me in here."

she laughed. "i told you i wanted to show you something important."

"and then you kissed me."

"and then i kissed you," she agreed. "best impulse i ever had."

you turned to look at her, at the face you had loved in so many different ways throughout your shared life. "we took the long way around, didn't we?"

jackie's expression softened. "maybe we needed to. maybe i needed to understand what i'd be missing if i kept making the wrong choices."

"and now?"

"now i know." she shifted onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at you. "i know that nothing—not popularity or parental approval or some cookie-cutter future—is worth giving up what i feel when I'm with you."

you reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face. "and what do you feel when you're with me?"

"real," she said simply, echoing words from a night years ago. "like i don't have to pretend."

you pulled her down to you then, a kiss that tasted of strawberries and possibility, of winters survived and springs renewed.

outside, summer was asserting itself—the sun high and hot, the world lush with life. inside the small shed, time seemed suspended, the past and future collapsing into a perfect present.

later, walking home with your hands swinging between you, unafraid now of who might see, jackie stopped suddenly.

"what is it?" you asked.

she was looking at you with an expression of wonder, as if seeing you for the first time. "i just realized something."

"what?"

"im happy," she said, sounding surprised. "actually, genuinely happy."

you smiled, feeling the truth of it in your own chest—a lightness that had been absent for too long. "me too."

as you continued walking, you thought about the cycles of seasons, how winter always gives way to spring, how spring inevitably yields to summer. how nothing is permanent except change itself.

𝒢𝜚 💭 ࣪ ✸ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ∿ yuri is life :3 who missed me?

TAGLIST :: @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @waitforyrlove @ncm9696 @marrykisskilled @m4gz-png @ifwdominicfike @honeymoonchem @ch6rm @freshloveee @theapollochronicles @mattsdolll @jetaimevous @secretlocket @saturniolo

[taelortot]

Lemonade

Choso Kamo x y/n au

Synopsis: Y/n gets a new neighbor and he's really cute. Contents: Smooching, sad Choso past, cursing, flirty banter, not smut at all really just like leading up to it, cute ending,and fluff

Honestly it's like 12-13k words I think

July is probably one of the best months out of the year.

The summer heat, pool parties, long days, fireflies, icey pops, fireworks, late night concerts, and ice-cold lemonade. There are lots of things to love about July, so many things to enjoy about the summer month.

July has always been Y/ns favorite month, since she was a little kid. It seemed like everything great happened in the month of July for y/n. She met her best friend in July of '09. She had her first kiss with her best friend in July of 2013. Three years later almost to the date, she lost her virginity to him. The next, he asked her to be his girlfriend and told her he loved her.

But the year after, the fun of July stopped, a break screeching halt.

Turns out her best friend of 8 years, boyfriend of 1 broke up with her. In y/ns 18 year old mind. her life was over. she would never ever find love again. July fucking sucks.

and it did. for the next 4 years it sucked.

That was until y/n finally moved out of her bumfuck small southern town. Y/n finally got away, when it seemed everyone in that shitty town lived there until they died.

Y/n was finally doing it, making her own way of life. Sure, it wasn't a great living, but it was an honest living. Y/n worked her ass off to make the little income she did, spending it frugally. Y/n now lives about 3 states away from where she was born... In another small town. But this one is up north, where the residents know everyone and all the gossip. Y/n got most of her gossip from her clients at the hair salon, and man... those older women know EVERYTHING about everyone.

"You didn't hear it from me, but Janice is having an affair. I saw her at the motel off 15 with a man way too young for her. She was dressed like some sort of hooker in clothes way too small for her body."

Old women are brutal.

The community seemed to welcome y/n with open arms when she moved in earlier last year. Y/n has always had a charm about her, enchanting others with her smile and of course that cute southern accent she has. Adjusting to this new way of life was hard, but so freeing. Y/n had it mostly figured out by this point.

A pink little camper trailer sits on a small lot in the trailer park on the outskirts of town. It's quiet there, mostly older people who go to bed at 7pm. Y/n likes it here, no one knows her backstory, or really anything about her. They just know she's a 21 year old girl trying to make her way through life. They didn't need to know anything else, other than she makes the best lemonade in the whole world, taking it to every single cook out they have.

You know what y/n liked the most about living in the back of the trailer park? There was an empty lot next to hers, one that had the perfect amount of sun and shade. Y/n found herself taking a pool lounge chair (one she stole from the towns community pool) and spending most of her time sunbathing.

That was until someone purchased the lot July 1st.

Imagine the look on y/ns face when she walked out in her pretty blue bikini, sunnies perched on the bridge of her nose, and saw a single wide grey and white mobile home sitting smack dab in the middle of the lot. Yeah, it wasn't a pretty look. Walking across her small lawn, bare feet sinking into the overgrown grass, she opened the chain link gate that connected the two properties.

A curious little thing she is, good thing this isn't a horror movie.

Pushing her black sunglasses to the top of her head, she knocked on the door. What was the plan? To tell them to move? To ask them if she could still use their lawn to suntan? Y/n didn't know. Especially when the front door swung open.

"Hi there" oh fuck me.

Taking up most of the doorway, stood a man.

No.

Not just a man, a god of some sort.

He lifts his arms up, grabbing the top of the door frame, flexing his triceps as he leans down a little. His black tee raises a little, exposing delicious pale skin with a trail of dark hair leading down the center of his stomach. His hair dark brown, styled in loose spiky topknots with strands perfectly framing his chiseled face. His dark eyes look serious in their slightly narrowed manner.

"Uhm hi" y/n takes a step back, her voice uneven and slightly squeaky. Tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear, she speaks again, more clearly this time. "i-im y/n. your neighbor" Turning slightly to point towards her lot. "I just wanted to say hi"

"You always say hi to your neighbors in tiny bikinis?" his brow raises and a sly smirk pulls at his lips.

"No, I was actually coming over to tan. I bring my own chair and everythin'"

"in my yard?"

"well, you see, I always tan right over there, you see where that tree is? but when I came out today.. you were just here"

"here i am" He says stating the obvious.

"so I guess, I'll just be on my way then" y/n took the steps off his porch and made it about 10 feet away from the new man in the neighborhood before she heard him speak again.

"I never said you couldn't lay in my yard"

Turning around with that charming smile on her face, she jumped up and down. "Really? Thank you thank you!"

"Choso." was all he said with a slight nod.

"Cho-what?"

"Thats my name, darlin" and now he was making fun of her, saying 'darlin' with a twang that's so very exaggerated.

"hah hah very funny"

As a thanks, y/n knew she had to make him some of her famous lemonade. Taking a big pitcher straight to his door. Choso thought it was weird, taking homemade things to your neighbors seemed so 20 years ago. That wasn't something you did in this day of age, especially for people you just met.

And how good could lemonade even get?

Apparently it could get really fucking good. Choso was sure she put drugs in the yellow drink, it had to have gmos in it or something. He didn't know and he didn't care, she sure as hell can make the best lemonade anyone has ever had. Choso drank the whole pitcher in one day, passing the empty (still dirty) glassware back to y/n who was still laying in his yard.

There was something about this Choso guy that intrigued y/n, just from the little conversation they had she could tell he was confident with who he was and could tell he would never be anyone but himself.

And boy was he a looker.

Inky black hair that was pulled into cute little buns on the back of his head, creamy white skin, muscular arms that are thick and biteable. The way he smirks is not for the weak, any girl would fold if he even looked at her. Not y/n though. Sure, at first his striking looks took her by surprise, but after getting to know Choso a little, he was a challenge for her.

And y/n never backs down from a challenge.

It was almost like a ritual at this point. Every day for the past few weeks, y/n gets off of work around 4pm and heads to change into a bikini (today is red, because Choso stares the most when she's in red) and drags her pool chair over to the Kamo lawn. Blasting music from her small little speaker, she waits. Waits for Choso to get out of work and speed his way home, blowing through all the stops signs. Just so he has a few extra seconds to chat with (and stare at) y/n while she's soaking in the sun's rays.

And as if on cue, the sound of gravel crunching under tires and screeching breaks assault y/ns ears. Peaking over her sunnies, she watches with amusement as Choso rushes out of his Hellcat. Fumbling with several things in his hands as he tries to shut the door with his foot.

"Slow down Kamo, youre gonna hurt ya self"

“Hey pretty thing” he says as smoothly as possible, learning up against the side of his coup, crossing his ankles. "me? hurting myself? never" he laughs pushing himself off, taking heavy steps towards y/n.

"why you in a rush to get home? work couldn't have been that bad"

"to see you of course" Choso grins, tossing his keys onto the small patio table next to y/n.

"I'm not going anywhere, coulda took your time"

"Well i gotta get over here before someone sees a doll like you and snatches you up" He winks, crouching down, bouncing on the balls of he feet. Over the past two weeks, the two have been oh so flirty. Never once moving past the invisible line drawn in the sand. But there was a lot of winks, flirty banter, and eyes wondering where they shouldn't. It was just fun for them. Especially for Choso since he has never met anyone who could keep up with his flirting, let alone be a bigger flirt than him... which y/n was.

"Yeah yeah. no one wants little ole me" She shakes her head, closing her eyes to keep the sun from burning them. "Yeah whatever. Listen, imma work on my honey here in a minute, and I was wonderin' if you could hold my flashlight for me"

"It's day time, Choso. You don't need me to hold your flashlight" This guy was always trying to get y/n to hold his flash light. And at this point, y/n was 87percent sure he wasn't talking about an actual flashlight.

"Alright alright, you enjoy the sun" Choso stood up, expecting that to be the end of the conversation.

"Oh wait wait" y/n swung her legs off the chair "Let me get you something to drink for while you work" Y/n loves to watch Choso work on his car. He gets all hot and sweaty, shirt covered in various types of car gunk with his hair held back in those cute little buns. What a sight. She would even set up a lawn chair in his driveway just to watch him, not that Choso minded, the boy loved to show off his vast knowledge to y/n. "Sure thing, sugar. Always looking out for me, huh?" The man smiled wide, showing off his pretty teeth.

Y/n ran inside to grab a glass of ice cold lemonade, with a pretty straw as well. Choso couldnt help but watch as y/n hips moved while she walked. Her ass perfectly plump and round, so pretty he wanted to sink his teeth into it.. or her hips, or tummy,, or literally anywhere he could. Leave teeth marks deep enough to scar, so everyone would know she's spoken for.

"For you, my good sir" Y/ns soft voice rang in his ears, pulling him out of his perverted thoughts. "Thank you, sweets" Choso leaned forward to not only grab the glass but to also press a small kiss on the side of y/ns cheek. "Aye cho! don't want the other neighbors to think I'm taken" y/n joked swatting at his shoulder playfully. "No, I do want them to think you're taken"

Y/n learned a lot about choso in just a few weeks. Of course, the first few times speaking was just small talk or y/n taking cookies and lemonade over. Y/n honestly had no idea he would soon come to beg for them every single day. It's not like y/n minded, this opened up room for them to talk casually about anything and everything. And Choso said a lot of weird things.

The guy was very talkative, telling y/n of his past. How he grew up with like 5 younger brothers, how he always had a passion for music but was always shut down by his dad. He misses his mom a lot, but there was nothing he could do to bring her back. Y/ns heart hurt for him, hearing how his father killed his mom during a drunken fit of rage when he was 12. How there was nothing he could do other than try to protect his brothers.

Choso protected his baby siblings as much as he could, often taking most of the beatings. But within those harsh moments, he became who he is now. Music was all he had to protect himself, seeking clarity and freedom in the form of melodies.

If it weren't or his youngest brother, called Yuji, Choso would have never left. Yuji was all he has left of his family. Drugs and violence are what tore his family apart, taking most of his brothers away from him as well. Yuji only ever spoke highly of his eldest brother, telling him how he has the talent to make it big in this world. How Choso wishes he could have brought his younger brother with him but ultimately opting to leave his brother back home to finish out high school. Yuji swore he would be okay; his teacher and mentor Satoru Gojo would look after him until he graduates.

Now that hoso works at the mechanic shop and somehow landed a gig down at the shitty bar downtown, life was looking up. He found a drummer and a bassist through local ads and now has his very own band. Things were finally falling into place and he's only been in town for a little over a month now. He knew he would be able to bring his brother to town permanently as soon as he graduates.

It was a weird feeling, knowing someone else had just as bad as an upbringing as her. But maybe that's where they found common ground? A space to feel safe opening up about past traumas. Other than that, it was practically oil and water with the two, but those are always the best friendships.

Something about the smell of barbecue cookouts always made the summer heat tolerable. The smoke passed through the air for what seemed like miles, always finding it's way to y/n. It made her miss back home (where the barbeque is actually good) but something about a simple cookout always made y/n wish she had friends to share it with. Sure, she had work friends here and there, but nothing that stuck. Choso would be the closest thing she had to a friend.

"Choso!!" Y/n yelled as her fist pound against the Kamo door. She heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming from the inside as she continued to bang against the wood. "Relax sweets" Choso flung the door open. Today, y/nis wearing a jean mini skirt and a yellow bikini top. Her hips look so perfect as the skirt hung low on her hipbones, creating the most feminine figure.

"You know how to light a grill?" Y/n asked batting her eyelashes. "Only if you feed me too" he leaned against the door frame, his arms long enough to reach the top of the framing while he puffed his chest out slightly. He looked so good in a black wife beater, the color always looked so pretty against his skin. Especially with the way he was holding onto the doorframe, accentuating his muscular arms.

"What kind of person would I be if I didn't feed my favorite neighbor?" Y/n asked already turning around to head back to her home. "I'll be out there in a minute, sugar" Choso chuckled watching as y/n padded bare foot across his lawn.

The two sat outside on the little fold out chairs y/n had purchased from an estate sale months ago, eating almost burnt hotdogs smothered in mustard and sharing a bag of potato chips. Two now almost empty glasses of lemonade occupied the little space left on the small table, the bendy straws were always such a cute touch, something Choso thoroughly enjoyed. Listening to the crickets' chirp and the howling of the wind as it hit the trees, taking in the cool breeze the atmosphere had to offer on such a warm day like today. It was moments like this they both cherished. Something so sweet and thoughtless, always seemed the have the most meaning.

"Stay for a movie?" Y/n spoke after she took a sip of her freshly made lemonade. "Dinner and a show!? You must like me" Choso teased with as smile, then took a sip of his lemonade. "Ehh I guess you could say that"

They never sat too close, but it was hard not sitting right next to each other. Y/n didn't even own a couch.. well she couldn't fit one inside of her tiny camper. It was just her bed, so the two would lay next to each other as they watched the movie. Movie nights were not a common occurrence for the two young adults, but it was something that has now happened a few times in the past 2 months.

When it did happen, they would wake up tangled together in the early morning. Faces burrowed into necks, legs intertwining, arms wrapped snugly around each other, and nothing but a— "good morning, sweetheart" And a — "did I say you could spend the night?"

A coffee and a bagel was the normal send off for Choso during mornings like this. A quick kiss on the cheek before he went to work always left y/n a blushing mess. Whatever the two had was something special, it was rare. How many people can make you feel extraordinary? Y/n knew choso was the only person in the world who could make her feel that way. Something about this type of friendship was hard to come across, but when it did happen, it always grew into something beautiful.

"Teach me how to play" y/n said as choso was walking up the steps of his trailer. His guitar case in one hand and his keys in the other. "Oh shit!" Choso jumped from the sound of y/ns voice, hair flying about in the air as he whipped around to see y/n peaking from around his front porch. It was like she was waiting for the most opportune moment to say something, hiding in the shadows of the bushes and all. "Sorry" a giggle came from y/ns lips as it wasn't her intention to scare the tall man. "God, sweets. Can't be jumping up on me like that" Choso relaxed as he flipped through his key ring to find the one to his front door. "I didn't mean to, just wanted to see you tonight" y/n shrugged as she followed him up his steps. She wore a blue tank top with lace trimmings around the edges paired with some cute care bear pajama shorts, a big cashmere cardigan and fluffy house shoes. "Is that so?" Choso smirked as he pushed the door open, moving to the side so y/n could walk first.

"It is. Since I couldn't make it to your show tonight, but had to see you" slipping in past him, y/n made herself comfortable on the metal heads small sectional couch, kicking off her shoes and sitting criss cross. "You want a drink?" The sweaty man asked as he closed the front door, locking it shut. "Whatcha got?" Y/n perked up, instantly feeling so much better now that she was in Choso's space. "I got coke, beer, and the last bit of your lemonade you brought over the other day" He threw his keys in a large bowl by the door and set his guitar down. The way his muscles moved as he pulled of his leather jacket; wet is what y/n became. His hips in those tight fucking jeans—oh fuck yeah y/n was definitely wet. Something about Choso being all sweaty made y/n go absolutely wild, the way he smelled, the way his skin glistened, the way it made her want to drop her panties and spread her legs.

"Cho! I brought you that lemonade this morning! It was a full pitcher!" Y/n laughed trying to cover up her obvious stares. "What can I say, sweetheart? You make the best lemonade in the state— maybe the world" "Coming from a southern gal like me.. it's not the best. But it makes due up here" "You're from the south? Is that why you talk all funny and say iron and oil all weird?" Choso winked with a teasing smile just before turning to head to the kitchen. "Hey! You said you would stop making fun of me for saying iron and oil all funky" y/n shot up. "Oh I did say that, huh?" choso mocked y/ns voice with a smile on his face. There was nothing he loved more than riling y/n up. "I don't talk like that!" Y/n walked up to him, standing up on her tip toes to seem more intimidating. "You do sweets." —"but it's to die for!" Choso took a fake jab at his chest with his fist and stumbled back dramatically. "Youre annoying" y/n faked a scowl. "Go sit down so I can get you a drink" choso shooed y/n back to the living room.

"You'll teach me to play tonight?" Y/ns voice called from the living room as she plopped herself back on the couch, shuffling through the several magazines Choso had lying about. "Sure thing, sugar" Choso set down two glasses on the coffee table, one with lemonade and one with coke from a two liter. "Take your pick" "Coke, I know you like the lemonade so much" "So considerate of me always, huh?" A wink from him was enough to fluster y/n all over again. One thing Choso enjoyed, was watching y/ns cheeks heat up in the prettiest shade of pink he'd ever seen

Late nights were always so pretty at the trailer park, even more so when Choso had y/n in his lap, showing her different cords on his first true love. It wasn't that y/n really wanted to learn to play the guitar, it was for her to spend time with Choso. Although he would have spent time with her no matter what time of day and without a lousy excuse. But she did look so pretty with her hair over one shoulder while Chosos chin sat gently on the other, looking over to watch as their fingers played together. "M'gonna need a lot more practice if I want to be as good as you" "My door is always open for you" Choso whispered with a soft kiss to her shoulder.

The night continued until about 2:30am, taking breaks from playing the guitar— badly— to sitting and talking about their day, talking about Choso friends back home, how one would effectively rob a bank, and how old they were when they had their first kiss. Y/n being 13 and Choso being 17.

"You were a total slut back then huh?" Choso teased, which earned a shove to his shoulder from the girl sitting across from him on the couch. "Don't be an ass! He wasn't even cute and it was after lunch— his breath totally smelled like cheeseburger and milk" y/n shuddered at the memory of the kiss that haunts her. "he was my best friend at the time" "Go on, tell me his name" "Beau Cooper, he was about two inches shorter than me and was the running back on our schools football team" "That name just screams backwoods hick" Choso laughed taking his final sip of his lemonade. "Hey! That's all I had to work with, and it wasn't worth it" y/n laughed along with Choso. "he totally broke my heart when i was 18, but that was years ago"

"Go on tell me yours now, Kamo" Y/n wiggled her eyebrows, needing to know the details of chosos first kiss.

"Her name was Shelby Chase, she had pretty red hair and played the drums, I met her at this bar back home—She asked me to meet her backstage and I don't know we kind of kissed. It was so lame, y/n. I turned into a mumbling mess and just left" Choso shook his head in embarrassment.

And for some odd reason, y/n felt a surge of jealousy rip through her body. It was silly, of course choso has kissed many girls since then. y/n has kissed many boys since her first kiss, so it didnt make sense why she felt so jealous.

Well, she wasnt jealous that choso has kissed girls that werent y/n. it was the fact that he kissed girls that looked nothing like her.

Of course, Choso would want someone who's like him, not someone who looked like y/n. A girl with piercings and who wore dark clothes and likes the same music as him. not y/n who wears bright clothes and only has one tattoo and who listens to harry styles.

"Thats very embarrassing Cho" y/n forced a laugh that Choso didn't seem to notice was fake. "it was so embarrassing. Just happy i never saw her again after" Choso was still laughing as he relived the memory.

"Do you think you're a good kisser?" Choso asked after their laughter died down.

Again y/n wasn't really laughing. It was more like a fake laugh fueled by the rage of fire igniting in her person from the jealousy. AND what was there to be jealous about to begin with? Absolutely nothing at all! She had kissed plenty of guys and Choso has surely kissed plenty of girls since then, so no reason to be upset over something so little. But maybe all the girls Choso has kissed and liked were metal heads and liked 'The Metallics' or 'Maids of Iron' or whatever they were called.

Oh god! Should y/n put more effort to liking what Choso does? Maybe that will get his attention in a romantic way.

"I mean, I hope I'm good. No one has ever complained. What about you?" y/n finally answered. "I've been told I kiss like a princess— i don't know if that's good or bad" "That probably means you kiss really soft and pretty." Y/n nodded, oh god to kiss those lips and see how pretty he kisses. "So is that good? Or bad?" He was curious, how can a guy kiss like a princess? Did he need to put more pressure? Did he need to use his tongue more? It was killing him and he hasn't kissed anyone in months. What if he got worse in his time lost?

"I don't know, I've never kissed someone that kisses like a pretty pink princess" y/n laughs leaning forward to play with a loose strand of hair next to his face. "No one said pretty pink princess, just princess" "Are you going to show me or what... princess?" Y/n smiled leaning a little closer, enough for Choso to feel her breath on his face.

He almost choked.. a breath caught in the back of his throat, not expecting y/n to ask. Sure he wanted to kiss her, hence why he asked her if she was good at kissing or not. But he didn't think she would actually be okay with it. "I mean, not if it'll change anything between us" Choso answered honestly, he would hate to lose y/n over a stupid kiss. "It's just a kiss Cho, means nothing" a lie. A fucking lie. That kiss was going to mean so much to y/n. "Y-yeah yeah of course. Just a kiss" it kind of stung a little to hear that it wasn't going to mean anything to y/n, because since day one he just wanted to kiss her and take good care of her.. like a good man does. "You have to show me what you got though, not a little peck, I want to feel your princess power" she whispers, eyes dropping down to his lips then back up to those molten chocolate eyes. "Lay back then, sweetheart" he whispered back, voice barely audible.

Dripping.

That's what y/n was.

His voice so soft yet had so much assertiveness to it. It was dark and rich, like molasses, but so smooth like warmed up syrup.

Nodding, y/n moved back, laying on her back. Head laid on the arm rest of the couch, waiting for Choso to climb on top of her. It was agonizing, having him crawl over her body felt like it was taking too long. His arms holding his upper body steady, caging y/ns head between his forearms, one knee resting between her thighs and the other smushed between her and the back of the couch. His breath heavy, matching y/ns, both of their hearts felt like they were going to explode. The anticipation was killing them.

Leaning further down, y/n could smell what was left of his cologne before it was sweated off, still smelling so delicious. Choso could smell y/ns body wash, like sugar cookies.. so fucking sweet. Noses bumping together before their lips could actually touch, making y/n giggle softly.

"Kiss me" y/n whispers, she needed it.

The feeling of Chosos lips was like something else, on her bare skin it made her legs wobbly, but in her lips.. fuck she would have collapsed if she were standing up.

Like a fucking princess is right.

Chosos lips were so soft and slow in movement, taking his time exploring y/n. Their lips slotting together slowly in a mix of changing directions and who's bottom lip was between the others. Soon enough, Chosos tongue was taking languid swipes across y/ns bottom lip, begging for a taste of her own tongue.

His hips resting more weight on y/ns body as he wanted to feel more of her person. It was so soft and pretty, their tongues touching ever so gently together. Sucking on y/ns tongue tenderly before continuing to kiss her lips was making her want to rip his clothes off.

Y/ns hands went from Chosos hips to his neck, holding him as close as possible, slotting her fingers through his hair. Tugging gently on his hair at the nape of his neck was enough to pull a moan out of him, slipping into y/ns partially open mouth.

"Fuck- I'm- I'm sorry" Choso pulled back to look at y/ns eyes. "It's okay. I'm sorry" y/n apologized for taking what was happening too far. "No, don't be" Choso pushed himself back, so he was no longer on top of y/n, holding his hand out to her to help her sit up as well.

"You definitely kiss like a princess" y/n laughed while adjusting her tank top to properly cover her chest. "Yeah?" Choso let out a low chuckle closing his eyes. God what does that even mean? "It's a good thing. Its good— great actually. You're very soft and kind. Like you want to take your time and not rush anything"—"And your tongue too, a lot of guys don't know how to make them not pointy, yours was soft and flat but still knew direction"

"Well, that's a lot more helpful than when I asked the girl who originally said that I kiss like a princess, she just said, 'i don't know you just do' so thank you" Choso blushed softly, now knowing he probably does kiss really well. "Oh and you sucking my tongue, god I've never done that before" y/n blushed, eyes flashing to his lips quickly. "You like that, yeah?" Choso got a boost of confidence.

Sitting before him is the most beautiful, confident, and intimidating girl he has ever met... and he's making her blush. "Yeah, it was new and fun. I liked it a lot actually." "Want to do it again?" Choso teased, an actual question but one he could play off as a joke. "Cho! No— okay yeah, can you just go slow though" putty in his hands. "Anything you want, sweetheart" Choso cupped y/ns face pulling her closer to him.

Fuck.

That second kiss was better than the first. Not fireworks or movie magic or anything like that. But fucking amazing.

Choso took his time once again. The man is slow and methodical in the way he kisses. "Stick your tongue out, sweets— yeah just like that pretty girl.. yeah just like that" his voice rugged in a low calm whisper sent y/n reeling.

"mmm taste so good" Choso mumbled against y/ns tongue before going back in for more.

Fuck you Choso.

Gentle sucks from Chosos lips on y/ns tongue has her clenching her thighs together, trying to suppress the feeling that was happening between her thighs. "Such a pretty tongue" Choso groaned pulling back for just a second, still holding y/ns face between his calloused hands.

"Again" y/n whispered. "Again? You like it that much?" His voice smooth like the coffee y/n gives him in the mornings. "Mmhmm please" She squeaked with her eyes still closed, waiting for Chosos lips to touch hers again.

"Want me to kiss your neck too, sweets?" Choso asked letting his right hand slip from her face down to her neck. His thick fingers tracing over her pulse point while he waited for an answer. "Yes please" y/n let out a shaky breath.

"You'll never be able to mow that lawn with the choke you got on that" Choso called leaning over the fence that separated the two yards. "Hah hah very funny, if you don't think I can do it, how bout you come and do it for me?" Y/n stood up straight, placing her hands on her hips and cocking her head to the side.

That's how she got him every time, pretending she didn't know how to start up the lawn mower. She got him, every single time, wearing those daisy dukes, a bikini top, hair in a messy ponytail, with hands on her hips. the silly boy didnt know any better. that and he couldn't resist her.

"What's in it for me this time, sweetheart?" Choso questioned making his way to the gate that separated the yards. The weeds in the small yard were substantially overgrown, blossoming into an eyesore.

"Lemonade? Maybe a sandwich"

"Oh you know I could never pass up your famous sandwiches and lemonade" Choso chuckled walking into the yard. He had just gotten back from his day shift at the shop. He was already pulling off his work shirt, leaving him in just his dark wash jeans.

How is this man so ripped?

What a sight.

Tattoos littered his arms and chest, something about the contrast of his pale skin and the dark ink was so pretty. Something y/n could never seem to take her eyes off of. Y/n has mentioned time and time again how pretty he'd look with some sort of face tattoo. What y/n didn't know was he had finally made the appointment for this coming Friday.

"Get to work then, handsome" Y/n smiled stepping away from the beat up lawn mower she purchased from a neighbor down the way. "Play some music for me sweets" Choso nodded towards the small radio y/n always had sitting outside the camper.

It was a week after their kiss.. well kisses. Y/n was littered with hickeys from her jawline to her shoulders for days. Even now choso could still see the faint markings on her chest.

Choso was even gentle giving hickeys, again taking his time, making sure they were in the perfect spots. Nothing happened passed that. Other than y/n going home to finish herself off after what Choso had started. When she got home her panties were completely soaked through, wanting—no— needing any sort of relief.

"Wow you really outdid yourself today" y/n smiled at chosos handiwork. While Choso was outside, y/n was cleaning up her home, Sundays were always deep cleaning day. Scrubbing top to bottom, every nook and cranny. She held onto a small laundry basket with one arm, propping it on the side of her hips as she walked down the small steps of the camper. "I washed your shirt. I'm just gonna to hang it up to dry" y/n set the basket down and began to clip up various articles of clothing on the small wire set up she had going for her.

"What did I deserve to have someone as perfect as you?" Chosos sweaty front pressed to the back of y/ns body, arms circling her waist and a wet kiss to the side of her neck. "Gross!"— "now I'm all sweaty, Cho!" "Guess you'll have to shower, maybe we can save some water and do it together" Choso continued to press gentle kisses to the side of y/ns neck.

Y/n felt butterflies fluttering in her tummy as Chosos lips traced a line from her ear to her shoulder, retracing where his hickeys were just a few days ago. "In your dreams Kamo. Go shower and I'll make you that sandwich" y/n pulled his arms from off of her, earning a whine from the boy. "Fine! Continue to play hard to get. But jokes on you baby, the more you push is the harder I try"

Baby

That was new. It was normally 'sweets' 'sweetheart' or 'sugar' that Choso called her.

Y/n called it the three S's, it was the holy trinity of Choso Kamo.

'Baby' definitely had an effect on y/n, one that was subtle, but still noticed. He didn't even mean to call her baby, honest, it just slipped.

Now that Choso was all fresh and clean, he smelt of a dreamy pine tree— if that was even possible— and his hair always smelled of lavender, he was now ready for his late lunch.

"For you, cut just how you like it" y/n smiled as the ceramic plate hit the small wooden table. Choso preferred his sandwiches cut down the middle, not diagonally, very controversial to many who prefer triangles. Before y/n could even finish filling up a fresh glass with his lemonade she heard a deep moan come from the man in her dining area.

"God damn y/n you seriously make the best sandwich in the whole world, what do you do to it?" Choso mumbled with his mouth full of food.

Turning around she set down the lemonade and places a bendy straw inside. Y/n smiled as she reached for a napkin and wiped the edges of his mouth before answering.

"It's a secret." "You can tell me" Choso pushed, he didn't want to really know, he just knew y/n made the best sandwiches.

"No can do. You'll go off and make them yourself and then who would I make my sandwiches for?" Y/n sat down in the seat across from him, reaching over to take the other half of the sandwich.

"I would never do that to you, I know you love to make me food, like a little housewife"

"Watch your mouth Choso, I am nobody's housewife" y/n said before taking a bite of the turkey sandwich. A comfortable silence consumed them as they ate, once finished y/n began to make Choso another sandwich. Only because y/n knew this man can eat. (Once, for scientific purposes, they found out Choso can eat 8 full sandwiches before feeling completely full)

"Sooo... my brother and a few friends are flying in this weekend. They were able to get a week out here. I really want you to meet them. They think I made up that we are friends"—"Actually one of them said there was no way someone so hot would even talk to me" Choso rolled his eyes.

Y/n wondered how they even knew what she looked like. It totally was because Choso sent a picture of y/n sunbathing in his yard to the group chat. (And the smart mouth was Toge.) Pretty mouthy for a guy who didn't actually speak with his words.

"Well now we have to keep them guessing, keep me your little secret" Y/n threw a wink over her shoulder. "Please please please, I'll do anything!" Choso fake whined, standing up. "You want me to get on my knees and beg? I will" Choso began to kneel down.

"Choso no" yn giggled grabbing his wrists and pulling him back up. "you know I'd love to meet your brother, but whats in it for me if i also meet those losers you call friends?"

"I will do anything you want! Whenever you want!" Again, the large man began to lower himself to his knees, and a part of y/n wanted to watch him beg pathetically.

"You have to be more specific than that, Cho" Y/n shook her head, pushing him to sit at the small dining table.

"I'll buy you those pretty sunglasses you told me about" Choso was hoping that would be enough, he once listened to y/n rant about some sunnies she saw in a magazine, telling him how badly she needed them in her life.

"And a new bikini, your pick" y/n continued to bargain.

"Deal, oh and can you bring some lemonade, they also say that lemonade can't be that good"

"I'm gonna have to throw in a new lipstick to the deal if you want lemonade"

"Whatever you want, baby"

Baby.

There it was again.

That one little word that had y/ns insides a scrambled mess. Sure, she had her fair share of flings throughout her life, but not once had a man made her weak in the knees the way Choso does. This sort of feeling has never happened to her before. She was one to walk with a purpose, plump lips, hips swinging, perfectly shaved long legs, the embodiment of divine femininity, a goddess in Chosos eyes. But with the way Choso is making her feel, she no longer felt like the girl she used to be.

"Okay, I'll meet your friends when they come down"

They fall back into a comfortable silence, enjoying the sandwich they shared, taking turns sipping that perfectly flavored lemonade, playing footsie under the table.

Don't get Choso wrong, he loved to try to make y/n crumble, but her rubbing her pretty foot along his shin, working her way up to his thighs— fuck it made him so weak. Her perfectly manicured toes with those silver toe rings and anklet made him almost lose his mind. And on top of that, she was able to have a perfectly normal conversation as if she wasn't just grazing his inner thigh with her foot.

Y/n had many questions on how Yuji and the others were able to come down to visit while school was still in session. And for the most part Choso answered.

"I just don't understand how the absences will be excused?"

"Gojo will take care of that, so there's no need to worry"

"yeah, but like.. won't they be missing out on some of their education?"

"it's just a week, plus they will probably have a trip right when they get back"

"what kind of trip?"

"I don't think I can disclose that information"

"and one of the little ones can talk but chooses not to?"

"he says things like 'salmon tuna' and 'mustard leaf'"

"is he autistic?"

"no"

"i don't understand any of this"

"it's better if you just don't ask questions"

"are they like secret agents?"

"sorta but not really"

"so they are your brothers' friends, not yours?"

"My brothers friends are my friends, plus their teacher will come with them"

"do you know this teacher?"

"he's a good friend of mine"

"This is really weird. How many of them are coming?"

"Just 4, they can't bring the panda"

"there's a guy named panda?"

"no, he's an actual panda"

"an actual panda? And the teacher guy had a son that's not really his son?"

"yeah Gojo kinda like adopted him after his real dad abandoned him. Then the dad tried to kill Gojo"

"thats insane"

"yeah Gojos rich, like filthy rich."

"and he's just happy being a teacher?"

"yeah the dudes like super happy and energetic all the time"

"I'm gonna go to bed. This is exhausting"

The week flew by, and y/n was getting nervous about meeting Chosos brother. This was a big step in their relationship... well it wasn't even a relationship. The two shared several more kisses throughout the week.. again, nothing went past sloppy kisses and some heavy dry humping.

Friday came around and Choso didn't come home when he normally does. Y/n figured he was out drinking, or he had a gig she didn't know about. So, she chose to lounge around watching whatever movies she had on DVD.

Until she heard a knock at her door. Grinning, y/n stood up and softly padded her way to the camper door.

"it's about time you- CHOSO!!!" Y/n screamed seeing the fresh markings on Chosos perfectly smooth skin. "Oh my god oh my god" She immediately pulled him in her camper, not caring if the door was shut or not. The whole structure shaking and rocking from her frantically shoving the bulky man down on her bed.

Nothing but giggles came from Chosos lips as y/n inspected his face. Holding his cheeks in her hands, she turned his head from side to side, eyes scanning the tattoo.

"Do you like it? It's a little splotchy since it's got the wrap on it and all my plasma is leaking out of my body"

"Did the parts on your eyes hurt?" Y/n wanted to touch it, to trace the line across his nose and the ones falling down his cheeks that resembled tear marks.

"Yeah a little. But I'm a big boy"

"Jesus Christ you look so fucking hot"

That night ended in a pretty hot and heavy make out session.. just letting you guys know that now.

and choso may or may not have came in his pants from y/n grinding on him.

It was kind of cute. Seeing this big man all tatted up becoming a whimpering mess under y/ns touch. Him begging for more. The way he panted into y/ns open mouth. His little "please pl-please please" And the guttural moan that escaped his throat as he bit down on y/ns shoulder as he came.

"Hey Cho!" Y/n walked into Chosos home, now filled with his friends sprawled all out in the living room.

"Hey sweetheart, I'm glad you could make it" Choso sprung up from the couch, walking over to y/n and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Everyone this is y/n, y/n this is everyone" Choso turned around to see everyone with wide eyes, surprised that y/n actually showed up and to see that she allowed him to kiss her.

"Hi, nice to meet y'all" y/n waved with a pretty smile, goddamn that smile made every person in the room feel some sort of way.

Something about y/n was that she was the most confident person in the room, she radiates it. She knows she is that girl, the one that gets the guy, the one who could steal anyones man, the one who got asked to prom by many potential suitors, the one who was captain of the cheer team, the one who had it all.

"I'm Gojo!" The boy with a white hair blurted out unprompted.

"That was so cool of you" another one said holding a thumbs up to the guy. This one was lanky and had black hair that looked like he just ran his fingers through it in the morning and called it a day. Y/n could tell from the banter that he was Megumi, Gojos kinda son.

Y/n couldn't help but think they all had weird names.

"Come on sweets, I saved you a spot next to me" Choso held his hand out for y/n to take, walking her to the couch. "Here put the lemonade down first" y/n held out the pitcher full of—"the best drink in the whole world"— as Choso would put it. "Sure thing" He smiled taking the pitcher, pouring himself a glass in the process.

"You smell so pretty" one of the smaller ones said as y/n sat down on the couch. He has pink hair and y/n instantly recognized him as Yuji.

"Yuji, shut it" Choso snapped as he stepped back into the living room.

"Thank you cutie" y/n smiled down at the boy who sat on the floor with his back resting on the couch.

"You do" Choso whispered in y/ns ear as he sat down. "It's the perfume you like" y/n smiled while crossing her legs. She smelt of marshmallows and warm white chocolate, so sweet, just how Choso likes it.

Everyone wanted to know more about y/n, where she came from, why she's friends with Choso, literally everything. She them how she grew up, information Choso already knew, how she used to get into fights all the time, how she has learned to make a living for her own.

"Did Choso pay you to come over?" The one called Gojo asked cocking his head to the side. "What? No of course he didn't, Cho is a dear friend of mine" Choso silently thanked God for y/n not mentioning that he did have to beg her to come as well as the new things he had to buy for her.

"Are you his girlfriend?"

"No, Choso is just a friend, although he is such a flirt" "Hey! You are the flirt not me" Choso defended himself. "Yeah yeah Kamo, didn't you ask me to shower with you last night?" y/n smirked making everyone's eyes go to Choso. "Hey! Is nothing sacred between us?"

"Choso you can't just ask hot girls to shower with you" Gojo said with a head shake. "Gojo you can't just call hot girls hot!" Megumi added in along with a "tuna tuna" From the quiet one. "Stop calling her hot!" Choso yelled with his hands in fists, glaring at all the friends with a look of warning. "And you might not be able to say shit, but you too Inumaki"

He didn't think this get together would be a bad idea at first, but now seeing as they were all basically star struck with y/n, he wished he could have just kept her his little secret. But now they know about her lemonade, and how amazing it tastes, now they won't be able to resist her.

"Real quick, Choso said it would be better if I didn't ask questions... but like, why are you wearing a blindfold, and why do you keep saying fish things?" Y/n had been dying to say something since she first laid eyes on the weird bunch. "oh and what about this panda guy? Choso said he's an actual panda? Like a stuffed animal or what?

"You didn't tell her?" Gojo laughed loudly, bellied over trying to catch his breath. Honestly no one else laughed, for some reason the eldest of the group found things funny when they shouldn't have been.

"Tell me what?" y/n looked over to Choso with puppy dog eyes.

"Don't look at me with those eyes baby. You know what they do to me" Choso said in a low voice.

"You really didn't tell her?" Yuji cut in.

"someone better tell me or im gonna kick someones ass"

"like you'd be able to fight us off" Megumi scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Okay Edward shut up" Yuji laughed (his girlfriend made him watch twilight a few days ago and has been waiting to bring it up nonchalantly) which earned a glare from Megumi, that had Yuji cowering.

"Oh I love twilight" y/n high fived Yuji "but really what hasn't Choso told me?"

"Other than that dude is like a master sorcerer, which is a life he's choosing to leave behind to become some sort of rocker guy, I'm sure he's told you everything"

Now it was y/ns turn to laugh.. alone. Because for whatever reason no one else found what Gojo just said funny. There was a long string of silence that followed. No one said anything, just staring at y/n and then back at Choso.

"oh shit you really didn't tell her"

"I've known her for like 4 months, how do I just bring up the fact that I'm not completely normal and have a super sick blood manipulation technique?!"

The conversation that followed took a few hours. Y/n had so many questions, so many fucking questions. By the end of it her head hurt and she felt sick. But at the same time, she understood a little bit why chosos was a little off from the start.

It was also super cool going outside and watching all the boys show off. Especially the little bunnies Megumi has shoved up his sleeves, like some sort of magician.

Choso walked y/n back to her camper once she said her goodbyes, stepping in for a minute while y/n got her pajamas ready.

"That was a lot" y/n let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding in.

"you dont think of me any differently do you?" Choso frowned, expecting the worst.

"No you're still Choso" y/n shook her head with a smile, trying to reassure him. He let out a sigh of relief as he sat down on y/ns bed, rubbing his fingers against his temples.

"you okay?" y/n asked softly standing infront of him between his spread thighs.

"yeah just a little embarrassing, I guess. I dunno, I just thought I could keep that part of me a secret"

"Don't embarrassed" y/n whispered slowly making her way into Chosos lap, straddling him. Her shorts riding up even more, exposing more of her deliciously soft thighs, if that was even possible. "It's pretty cool" "Sugar— what are you doing?" Choso craned his neck back to look at y/n, his hands gripping her hips, ignoring the last part of what she said, only because he wanted to forget that part of his life. "Just sitting, you seem frustrated" y/n batted her eyelashes in the most innocent manner. "I mean I guess, just wish I could have told you on my own terms and they all just wanted to talk to you and Gojo had no shame trying to flirt with you" Choso whispers as he looks over y/ns body, not being secretive at all with the way he stares at her chest and her thick thighs.

"So you were jealous?" y/n giggled wiggling her eyebrows at him in a teasing way.

"Maybe... just want you to myself" Choso whispered, making sure not to look y/n in the eye, quite literally looking at anything but her face.

"You can have me all to yourself" y/ns voice low and gentle taking her hand to cup the bottom of chosos chiseled jaw, raising his head to look in his pretty brown eyes. "I can?" Choses voice hoarse with the anticipation of whatever was happening between them in this moment. "All you had to do was ask, Cho" "Can I take you on a date?" A burst of confidence surged through Chosos body, tightening his gripping y/ns hips, making sure her bum was grounded to his crotch. "No"

thud

thud

thud

Choso could hear his blood rushing to his ears, he could barely hear y/n turning into a giggling mess. That was until y/n pepper kisses all over his face and cheeks, avoiding the parts that have been freshly inked.

"You are the meanest person I've ever met" Choso broke the kiss, pushing y/n off his lap, tossing her on the bed, making her bounce on the mattress. "It was just a joke Cho, of course we can go on a date" "Well you just teased me and got me all going and then told me no to the date" Choso groaned throwing his whole body weight on top of y/n, nuzzling his face in y/ns neck. "Don't be such a cry baby. I had to tease you just a little. So we going next weekend after your friends leave? "Course baby"

The drive in was the best option for Choso, it's cheap and intimate. The two talked for most of the movie facing each other, with y/ns legs across the middle console and in Choso's lap. His warm hands rubbed her thighs, pushing his limit to see how far she would let him touch.

"Keep those grubby little paws to yourself, Kamo" y/n swatted at his ring clad fingers as they pushed a little under the hem of her shorts. "Can't resist, your skin is so soft" Choso almost moaned, rubbing his thumbs into the fat of her upper thighs. "You wanna touch something else?" Y/n raised her eyebrows at her best friend who looked stunned. It was her turn to now tease him. Normally.. as showed before, they take turns teasing each other, pushing each other to their absolute limits.

Y/ns fingers danced on her collarbones, reaching for the straps of her tank top tugging them softly down her shoulders. The look on her face was so innocent, teasing Choso's dick driven emotions.

"Y-yeah yeah" he nearly drooled nodding his head rapidly.

"Maybe you can start with just a look, yeah?" Y/n nodded softly, encouraging him that a look was all he needed for right now.

"Sweetheart, anything you wanna give me I'll take with pleasure"

"Real quick, yeah baby?" The way this man was drooling over y/ns words, over her soft lotioned skin, he was putty in her hand. Choso gulped as y/n pulled her top down a little, teasing him with her cleavage. Palms sweaty with excitement, his fingers digging into her thighs, waiting to see the most perfect set of tits he was ever going to see. "You liked Pierced nipples Cho?" Y/n asked with the top of her shirt barely covering her nipples. A verbal response from him wasn't needed, his head nodding with his heart shaped pupils was enough. "I just got them done yesterday actually, on my lunch break, so they are still tender" y/n said in a low voice, almost like she was trying to hide how nervous she was.

What if he didn't like them?

It was like slow motion for Choso, taking in every inch of skin y/n showed him, her pretty nipples pierced with a silver bar, on the end were little hearts that just matched her personality so much. Her skin looked so soft from where Choso was sitting, wanting nothing more than to reach out and massage her breast in the most intimate way. It was only a few moments of y/n exposing herself to him before she pulled her tank top back up.

"So what do you think?"

"They- yeah- so pretty" Chosos face full of flush and almost embarrassment from how flustered he got. Sure the guy had seen many tits in his life, but none so perfect.

"You think?" Y/n smiled at his words.

"Yeah baby, so fuckin pretty" Choso had to adjust the way he was sitting to hide the evident hard on he was rocking.

"Now you have to show me yours" y/n smirked, nudging her foot against the zipper of his jeans. "What?" "I showed you mine, now you're gonna show me yours" "My nipples?" Choso almost choked on his spit. "No your cock Cho, I can feel it. Come on now"

Now Choso has the prettiest cock y/n has ever seen.

But we already knew that.

Thick and just the perfect size, it curved to the left just a little with a silver piercing at the tip. Choso fucking Kamo has a dick piercing. The tip of his angry head dribbling out precum just from y/n looking at it.

"You like it?" Choso dragged his thick fingers along the vein on the underside with a cocky grin. "I do, he's so pretty. God I want my mouth on it" she was actually drooling! A pool of saliva in y/ns mouth took over, as if her body knew she needed it to suck him off. "Yeah?" "Yeah." y/n nodded her head, trying to move in a better position to wrap her lips around him. "I want that so bad.. but I think we shouldn't just yet"

Choso cock blocked himself. Not wanting to ruin what they had, he stopped them from doing anything else that night. Sure y/n was a little disappointed, but she understood why he did it. But damn that night was filled with moans and sticky fingers from both of them. Just it was done separately, in their own rooms.. all alone. Both of them moaning out each other's names into the empty air, wishing they were with each other.

They felt like teenagers for the next following weeks. Late night runs to the liquor store and gas stations, kissing at stop light, and sharing cigarettes. Sharing secrets and past memories with one another, sharing very intimate details of their lives. The beginning of a blossoming relationship.

"You're so fucking perfect" Choso told her after almost every kiss they shared.

And she felt like it too with Choso constantly telling her and praising her every move.

The first time they had sex was so special, it was slow and passionate. Choso still whispering into y/ns ear- "you are fucking perfect baby"

the very next time they had sex was a little different... okay very different. sweet and soft choso was long gone the second y/n asked him to choke her.

"ha-harder" y/n barely got out. there was something so pretty about the way her face got all purple and the way her eyes rolled into the back of her head, how could he say no? Especially with the way she was so pliant when she was knocked out for a few seconds every time.

"Such a fucking good little slut" Choso growled removing both his hands from around y/ns neck.

Life was fucking good.

Sex literally every single day (sometimes multiple times)

Chosos band was finally getting somewhere!

Y/n went to every single one of his shows and watch ow the crowd grew and grew every single time. Everything was finally falling into place for these two young adults.

It wasn't until July the following year that Chosos band got picked up by a record label.

The next year they went on tour, and everyone knew Choso Kamos name.

July of 2025 Choso proposed to y/n.

The next year they became Mr. and Mrs. Kamo on July 15th.

And on July 28th, 2027, y/n gave birth to two healthy baby girls.

July had always been the best moth out of the year, y/n already knew this, and now Choso understood y/ns love for July.

Thank God for July.

I think I'm bad at ending stories. sorry.

Pls tell me if this was good?

Thank you for reading!!!

Taglist: @vellichor01 @loveyislost @koreluvsspring @gradmacoco @ersharyzst @emlient @orikixx @namjooningera

[eroselless]

───────── wait for me // down to the riptide

summary: even divine favor can't save him from the price of doubt. [5.9k]

[charles leclerc x reader]

Greek!AU, orpheus and eurydice

dttr masterlist

warnings: smut, cumplay, cowgirl, death, description of death, religious/theological references (its a greek mythology story)

note: *throws fic, runs away* hehe, see you guys laterrr, bai :)

Charles had always been told he had been touched by the gods. The first time he’d sat down and brushed his fingers delicately a lyre, the melody flowed so effortlessly that even Apollo’s priests began to whisper among each other, wondering how a mortal could possess such a diving talent, one that could even challenge their god. 

Whenever he played, the air around him would still. Animals gathered and the restlessness of his fellow men would quiet. Kings sought him out for their courts, poets would beg to set their words to his melodies and aristocrats would pay millions for even a minute to hear him.

But he never cared for that, not really. Not until he laid his eyes on you. 

You were beautiful in the way soft things were beautiful: delicate but with a strength that made Charles ache just to look at you. It was as if you carried Aphrodite’s beauty in your smile, the way you seemed to light every room with your presence.You were the kind of woman that was written about, craved and yearned for. 

You were the daughter born of a high-born family, promised to Lord Damian an older man your parents had meticulously chosen for you. Wealthy and proud, his status was rivalled only by his towering ego. Your status paired with your beauty made you untouchable, promised to a man of power and ambition Though you were worlds apart, at every banquet, every court gathering you’d find your eyes lingering on Charles for just a moment too long. He would meet your eyes as he would expertly pluck at the strings of his instrument. Your eyes would be half-lidded, chin resting on your hand as if you were hypothesized. And Charles? He could feel your eyes like the warmth of the sun. It wasn’t something he could ignore, even if he wanted to. 

Your first meeting was almost accidental. You’d find him on a marble bench in the gardens late at night, taking refuge from the ongoing party, playing softly to himself under the light of the moon. Most of the guests were still enjoying the lavish reunion, conjuring the spirit of Dionysus in their wines and dancing.

You watched him momentarily from the shadows, admiring how the light flowed around him, as if the gods were watching him at that very moment. Your silk down brushed the hedge, catching on the little branches as you hesitated. 

“You play beautifully,” you call out, stepping into the moonlight. 

Charles looked up, startled momentarily, fingers faltering on the strings. For a moment, all he could do was stare. Having you so close and all to himself, he gave into the temptation. You were luminous, hair catching the silver glow of the moon only made the red carnation tucked behind your ear stand out more.  For the first time, he truly understood why the poets spoke of mortals shining brighter than stars. 

“Thank you,” he replied, his voice quiet but steady. “I didn’t realize I had an audience.”

“Would you mind if I stayed?” you asked, your voice coming out in a shy whisper. “Just for a little while.”

Charles should’ve said no. He should have packed up his lyre and left, putting distance between himself and the tragedy that was only waiting to happen. But he didn’t. He nodded, returning to a melody he’d never played before, inspired by the way you watched and the way you seemed to glow as he played on. 

Over time, you inched closer, asking him questions about himself long into the night. You sat among the stars, giggling together. He’d even placed his lyre into your hands, instructing you how to play as gently as he could. 

“I don’t think I should be here anymore,” you whisper suddenly. Your voice is low, something he can’t quite recognize dripping from it. He could see your eyes drooping, just as they did whenever he played his lyre. It was a look you saved just for him—a gaze that sent shivers down his spine and, now that you were so close, stirred a deep, undeniable heat within him. You were sitting face to face, now seated in the grass instead of the bench you’d been on at the beginning of the night. 

“Then why are you still?” he murmured back, his voice low, his lips close were enough to brush against your temple. 

“I don’t know,” you say, feeling yourself lean closer to him. 

He meets you half-way, his lips pressing against yours hesitantly. He thinks he can feel your mirrored hesitance, almost waiting for him to pull away. There’s a flutter in his belly that erupts in waves as you tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him ever closer. You’ve risen up on your knees, moving into the space between his outstretched legs. His hands caress your back, bringing your chest to his, your breast firmly pressed up against him. He licks into your mouth to glide his tongue over yours, a silent confession of how long he’s been fantasizing about this moment—since the very first time he laid eyes on you. You carried the subtle sweetness of the wine you’d been sipping all evening, while he tasted of something richer, almost intoxicating—a flavor you knew you could never tire of. His hand slips up your torso, sliding over the hills of your breast before finding home at the base of your neck. It stays there, not squeezing but almost as if to memorize the feeling of your skin under his fingers. 

You settle into his lap now, hips gently beginning to rock against his. As your hands fall down to his chest, you can almost hear Eros whispering in your ear, enticing you to give into the feeling that was burning between the two of you, to slip your hand under his tunic or to bring his hand under yours. 

It’s distant, but you hear your name called from beyond the hedge, the voice oblivious to the predicament you’re in. You agonizingly pull away from Charles, staying silent, hoping they’ll move on, but instead, they call out for you again, louder this time.

You sigh, pressing a light kiss to Charles’s lips again before telling him to meet you after the next banquet. Charles nods, blinking as if he’d been pulled out of a dream. He watches as you flatten your gown before giving him a shy wave and disappearing behind the hedges. 

It wasn’t long before you’d see him again, the excuses flowing like water. You would meet with Charles again under the protection of the night, Nyx watching overhead. You’d sneak away from the feasts just as you did that first night, everyone at court whispering how you’d simply tired of Damian’s company. No one suspected where you went instead—slipping through the darkened halls and shadowed gardens to wherever Charles was.

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆・゚

“Oh how the gods have smiled upon us,” he says one night. He has you in his arms, your gown pooled in your lap. It doesn’t stay there, his hands impatiently pulling the scrunched piece of fabric from your frame. He drags his lips down your neck while his hands are anchored on your hips, shifting them gently on his cock. 

You can only muster a weak hum, quietly agreeing with him. You’re shaking a little, your legs exhausted from the effort you’ve been putting in all night. It is almost overwhelming how deliciously he’s pressed to your walls. His moves have been small and gentle tonight, yet he could feel as your walls would tremble with every little push. Your head lulls back, hands anchored to his shoulders, opening up your chest and he can’t help but smile as he sees your chest heaving. 

He kisses at the flesh of your exposed skin, tongue licking long stripes down to your breasts, eventually pulling a pebbled nipple into his mouth. He relishes at the sound of your voice and how it whines at the feeling of his tongue swirling over the sensitive bud. It makes you arch your back slightly, shifting him inside you. 

“Please,” you implore, eyes squeezing shut, begging him to do something, anything to ease the delectable ache he was causing between your legs. Charles sweetly presses his lips against the column of your neck, tilting your face back towards him. “T'es tellement belle comme ça, mon coeur,” he says warmly. No matter how many times he saw you like this, completely bare, he always had a way of turning you into a giggling mess whenever he spoke to you in French. There’s a flutter in your chest that pulls a laugh from your lips that slowly turns into a moan as he pushes you upward before dragging you back down.

He pushes his nose against yours, chasing your lips as he leans back in the bed and pushes up into your. His arm wraps around your waist to hold you steady as he pounds into you. Yesyesyes. You can feel your release nearing. There’s a flash of heat throughout your body as you feel it, a loud groan falling from your lips. Charles keeps pushing his hips, trembling as he pulls out, reaching for his cock. With one stroke, he spills onto you, painting your navel and chest in white. You’re heaving, the sounds of his moans making your center warm up again. 

You slump down to the bed together as he drags his finger through his spend that is pooled on your skin. You eye him, tongue poking out to lick your lips before taking the finger into your mouth as you giggle. He gives you a smirk before reaching for something to clean you up.

Once you’re relatively clean, he joins you back in bed, pulling your body on top of his. Your head rested in his chest, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over his skin. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders, his own fingers smoothing over your bare shoulder as he stared up at the ceiling. The high is dissipating, the silence makes you feel safe, cocooned in each other. You stay quiet for a while, not sure how much time passes before he speaks. 

“What’re you thinking about?” He murmurs, voice heavy with the oncoming wave of tiredness. His other hand comes up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. You tilt your head slowly to look up at him, lips curving into a soft smile. “You were right, it is as if the gods have smiled on us and allowed us this night.” Your voice is soft, as if you didn’t want the gods to hear. 

Charles chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Yet I’m worried that it's a dream that could fade with the rise of the sun,”

“If it is a dream, then let me never wake.” He says, burrowing into the bed. You reach up at his response to trace the lines of his face—his strong jaw, the lips that you were so addicted to. 

“I could spend an eternity like this,” your voice cracks a little as the voice falls from your lips. “I can’t bear the thought of a life apart.” 

He blinks slowly, eyes filling with tears as he looks at you. “There’s no distance I would not travel, no risk I would not take if it meant keeping you.” 

Your throat feels tight as he says this, tears threatening to fall from your eyes now, hot and unbidden. He presses his nose to your cheek, pressing his lips there as his thumb brushes away a stray tear that has slipped down. “I love you,” he says, voice low with his confession.

Your chest feels tight as you shudder, tears cascading down your cheeks. “I have loved you since the very first moment you looked at me and saw not just a lowly musician but a man.” You smile as you let his words sink in. You kiss him, slowly and deeply, almost cradling his face in your hand. It was as if you were trying to imbue in your kiss what words could not. “And I love you,”

Your fingers gripped onto his as you pressed your forehead to his. “What if we left this place?” You ask. “We can run away to somewhere that no one will find us and live out the rest of our days the way we want to.”

Charles stills, his brow furrowing as he searched your face. “Damian will not let you go,” he puzzles, his voice heavy with foreboding. “He won’t accept this rejection, he won't let you slip away.” 

“He doesn’t need to know,” you reply swiftly, your eyes burning with determination. “We can vanish without a trace. He will wake to an empty house, and by the time he realizes we’re gone, we’ll be halfway to the ends of the earth.”

Charles closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. “It’s not that simple. He is a man who sees defiance as an insult, and insults must be repaid. Even if he doesn’t find us, he’ll punish others in your place—think of yours. He’ll ruin them to make an example.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. “And if I stay, what then?” you ask, your voice sharp with desperation. “What becomes of me? A prisoner in a marriage I did not choose, chained to a life I cannot bear? I will wither, Charles. I will fade until there is nothing left.”

“Please don’t ask me to stay,” you beg, your hand gripping his. “Don’t ask me to trade my soul for his pride. We can escape him, Charles. We can outrun the chains he would place around us.”

“And if he catches us?” Charles asks, his voice trembling with the weight of the question. “What then? What price would you pay for this freedom?”

“I would pay any price,” you whisper. “Because freedom with you, even for a day, would be worth a lifetime in his shadow.”

He stared at you, torn between hope and fear. Slowly, he pulled you close once again, pressing his forehead to yours. “You are braver than I will ever be,” he murmured. “And more reckless.”

“Then be brave with me,” you whisper, a shake in your voice. “Be reckless with me, Charles. I love you. And I will not let him take that from me.”

His breath caught, and for a moment, he simply looked at you, his hand brushing your cheek as though committing your face to memory. “I love you,” he says at last, his voice breaking. “I love you more than I ever thought I could love anything.”

“Then let’s leave,” you declare, your  eyes burning with more unshed tears. “Together.”

Charles Presses himself to you once again, arms pulling you as close as he could. When he pulls apart, his hands linger on your face, his touch soft but steady. “The next full moon,” he said finally. “We’ll go. No one will stop us.”

“No one will find us,” you correct him, a small smile breaking through your tears. “And if they do, it will already be too late.”

“Together,” he said, his voice resolute.

“Together,” you echoed, your hand curling against his chest.

The weeks go by quickly. You disappear into the night, leaving Damian to ruminate in his study. He could see you weren’t tired, something in your eyes giving it away. “She’s hiding something,” He says one day, tone as cold as the marble floors beneath his feet. Lysander stands at the foot of his desk, the servant waiting for his master to give him the orders. 

“My fiancé disappears far too often to my liking. Follow her. Watch her. And when you’ve discovered what she’s been up to, you report back to me.”

Lysander bows. “Yes, my Lord.”

It only takes a few days for Lysander to catch you. He watches you from a distance, careful not to draw attention to himself. Your movements start mostly harmless—spending hours in the gardens, wandering through the halls and finally, like clockwork every night returning to your chambers early. 

It's not until one evening that he catches you leaving your room, through the abandoned guest wing of the manor. He follows you as quietly as he can, heart thumping wildly in his chest every time he follows too closely. You arrive at a secluded area in the woods, a small cabin nestled among the trees. 

It's there when he sees him. He can see through the window as you meet Charles in a kiss, hands tangling in his hair. He can see how you hold each other as if you’re each other’s lifelines, desperate to keep afloat. He watches as you writhe under Charles’s touch, a passion igniting between you two that he hasn’t even glimpsed at between you and his Lord. It makes Lysander avert his eyes, feeling disgust as he waits in his spot. 

He doesn’t leave. Lord Damian’s orders were clear and Lysander’s curiosity was stronger than his discomfort. He lingered in the shadows, watching as Charles loses himself between your thighs and how you toss your head back with a lust filled look on your face. He can hear as you call out for Charles, and how easily the iloveyous are exchanged between you.His stomach churns with unease, he wants to leave. But he could not come back empty handed, Damian would not tolerate it. 

Soon the space quiets and he dares look in through the window. You're draped over Charles’s chest, Hypnos’s touch making you hazy. Your voices are soft as you speak and Lysander can hear every word.  

“Just a few more days,” you whisper into Charles’s skin. “The moon is just about full and we leave all of this behind.”

Charles’s fingers cart through your hair, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “Are you still sure?” he asks, his voice low. “Once we leave, there’s no going back.”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything,” you reply, voice steady. ““He can have the titles, the wealth, all of it. I want none of it. I only want you.”

Lysander’s breath catches in his throat, his fingers twisting the fabric of his tunic. This was much more than just an affair—it was treason. He backed away slowly, careful not to make a sound as he retreated from the light of the cabin. 

His hands shake as he stands before Damian, recounting everything he’d seen. Damian’s eyes darken at every word, lip stiffening and knuckled whitening as he grips the edge of his desk. “The little bird thinks she can fly away.” he muses, his eyes drifting toward the open window overlooking the woods. A sly sneer curls his lips.“But I don’t think so.”

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆・

You’re breathless as you arrive at the clearing, cloak pulled tightly around you. You carry a satchel over your shoulder, some supplies from the garden and little things you could take from home that wouldn’t be missed. Charles is waiting for you at the edge of the forest, an almost identical satchel around hung on his shoulder. 

“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice laced with urgency. His hand holds the back of your neck, tilting your face to look up at him. 

You nod. “I don’t care where we go, as long as I’m with you.”

There’s a silent adrenaline in Charles’s chest just waiting to ignite as you begin making your journey through the woods. A feeling he can’t quite shake pools in his gut, but he doesn’t know what it is. The sun has long been gone and you’re guided by the light of the moon. It’s quiet as you walk, both of you too nervous to say anything quite yet, as if any word could break you from this dream that was slowly becoming reality. 

The pit in his stomach only grows the further you walk. He doesn’t regret this, neither do you. But it is as if Fortuna has turned her back on you tonight. 

It happens in seconds, the sound of horses and shouts coming from behind you. Lord Damian. 

“RUN.” Charles urges you, tugging you deep into the forest. Caution is thrown into the wind as you run. That adrenaline is now raging in your chests. You turn into a field, the grass shrubbery as high as your knees as you run to reach the other side where you could lose Damian in the trees. You’re exposed to the air, a clear view of you from where Damian calls for you. You can hear him as he shouts. 

“My little bird, you’ve disgraced our union with your actions. It’s time to return—we’ll marry at first light, before your reputation is further stained. In time, I may find it in my heart to forgive you.”

The words send shivers down your spine. What would he do to you if he caught you? What would he do to Charles?

You’re almost to the trees when you feel your gown catch on a shrubbery, halting your run completely. You pull it away and take a few steps, only to be yanked back, caught on the branches of a fallen tree. There’s panic in your voices as you call for Charles, tugging at it desperately. You can’t think straight. Charles pulls at your gown, trying to set it free. Damian’s creeping up slowly on his house, watching you as you struggle. He’s taunting you. 

You almost don’t feel it—the sudden, sharp sting on your ankle, like a thorn pricking your skin. But then comes the second bite, a searing pain that shoots up your leg. You gasp, Charles finally pulling your gown for the branch. You watch as a viper slithers away, hissing as it disappears from your sight. 

Charles urges you again to keep running, not yet noticing the limp in your step or the blood that's begun seeping from your leg. “Charles,” you whimper as you feel your vision begin to blur. “We’re almost there,” Charles promised, his voice low but urgent. 

You’re so close to the tree line but the world spins around you as you meet his eyes. “A snake, Cha,” you gasp, your chest feeling tight. He drops to his knees next to you, hands cradling your face. His eyes wander down, finally catching the wound. There’s a terror in his eyes, an expression you’ve never seen before. You try to pull yourself up, to stand, to run with him into the trees. If you could only just make it to the trees. But you can’t. There’s a fire burning through your limps, a newfound heaviness. The trees in front of you blur into one as your vision slipped away. 

You can hear Charles pleading with you as your vision goes out. You can feel him crying over you begging you to stay. Don’t go where I can’t follow.

You try to speak, to tell him you were still there but your throat wouldn’t form the words. Gods, no. I love him. But you can’t, Thanatos is already pulling you away. 

Charles feels his heart rip from his chest as he sees the light in your eyes go out. How cruel the gods were to grant you this one chance, only to take it from you in the blink of an eye. He can feel your warmth begin to fade as his shaking hands brush your hair from your face. You’re gone but he can’t help but plead with you over and over again. 

He can almost see the shadows that grow longer over him, Damian and his men drawing close. He had to move—had to escape. But how could he leave you here, alone in the dark?

He lowers you to the ground, closing your eyes as he settles you there. You looked peaceful, so heartbreakingly beautiful. He lingered for a second, fingers reaching into his satchel to pull out a single red carnation. He’d planned to ask you to marry him that day. Now he can only give it to you here as you lie. 

He presses the flower to his lips, tears falling onto the petals before tucking it behind your ear. 

“I’ll come back for you,” he whispers, his voice raw. “I swear it. This isn’t the end.”

The sound of Damian’s men grew louder, their shouts drawing nearer. Charles stood, his fists clenched, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He kisses your forehead one last time, turning and disappearing into the forest.

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆・

Charles wanders the woods aimlessly for days, his guilt weighing heavy on his chest as runs. He’s not sure where his feet are taking him—the only thing he knew was there he couldn’t let Damian’s men find him. There’s a faint pounding in his head as his breath comes in ragged gasps, legs burning as he pushes himself forward. He heaves as he ducks into an empty cavern, almost collapsing onto the ground. Tears begin to fill his eyes as catches his breath, mind filling with thoughts of you. Your face is burned into his mind, your smile, your laugh, the way you had once looked at him. And now, you are gone. 

He pulls out his lyre, wincing as he stretches to pull it from its spot slung on his shoulder. His fingers tremble as they find their home on the strings.

The first few notes are soft, trembling like the tears that streak his face. He plays, the gentle melody rising into the air like a prayer. It’s raw, unfiltered, a song born of grief, desperation and loss. The air around him seems to stop, the wind stilling, trees freezing in place. Even the stars he sits under seem to listen to him, weeping with him. 

He’s bathed in silver light that falls from the skies, slowly coalescing into two figures. One is dark and towering, his shadow stretching over the ground like an imposing shroud. The other is radiant, her eyes filling with immense kindness and sorrow. 

The woman calls his name, halting his playing. He’s never seen her before but he knows her name, Persephone, queen of the underworld. His voice is soft as her words gently echo through the air. “Your song has reached even the depths of my realm.”

“You mourn deeply,” observes Hades, his voice a deep, resonant growl. “Few mortals would dare to love so fiercely.”

Charles drops to his knees, clutching his lyre tightly as he does. “Please,” he begs, his voice broken and weak. “If my music has touched even the gods, I only ask one thing. Let me bring her back, I’ll do anything.”

Persephone tilts her head, studying him with endless, violet eyes. “You would risk everything for her?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation, his voice now steady despite the tears in his eyes. “I would give my life if it meant hers could be returned.

Hades steps forward, his presence looming. “We are not so generous as to grant such a request freely,” he begins. “But your devotion… it is rare. We will grant you a chance.”

Charles’s breath catches, hope flickering to life in his chest. “What must I do?”

“You will descend to the underworld,” Persephone instructs. “There, you may plead your case for her soul. But beware, mortal. The path is perilous, and the rules are absolute.”

“If she is to follow you back,” Hades continues, his tone dark and heavy, “you must not look back at her until you both have reached the surface. Should you falter—should you give in to doubt—she will be lost to you forever.”

For you, Charles would face anything. 

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆

The path is dark, just as the goddess had promised. Charles stumbles as he enters the cavernous opening in the earth, like the mouth of a beast preparing to devour him. The air seeped out, heavy and damp, cold as it carried disembodied voices. 

The descent was steep, the darkness growing around him, growing thicker with every step. His feet carry him over a winding path of jagged stone but soon there is nothing but smooth obsidian beneath him, slick and unforgiving. His shoes slip on the stone, sliding further into the darkness. He loses himself, focusing only on the path in front of him. He can only think of you, the only thing that pushes him forward. 

His first arrives at the River Styx, the waters swirling endlessly before him. Charon, the ferryman, waits there for him. His hollow eyes watch Charles with disdain, disgusted as he sees the very alive man pleading with him. 

“I have nothing to offer you,” Charles admits, his voice hoarse. He’s thirsty but his fingers dance softly on the chords of his lyre. The notes are rich, weaving a melody of loss and longing. Charon pauses, his skeletal fingers curling back as he listens to the man. 

The ferryman’s expression softens the slightest bit and with a slow nod, he gestures for Charles to board his boat. It rocks under his weight, the journey across the waters eerily quiet, except for the steady splash of Charon’s oar. When they reach the other side, Charles slowly steps out, turning back only to bow deeply to the ferryman in thanks. 

The path takes him to the Fields of Asphodel, where he sees how the dead wander in eternal monotony. Their eyes are sunken and blank, their forms just a little more than shadows of what they had been in life. As Charles passed, many began to stir, drawing to the scuffing of his steps. 

“Play for us,” they whisper, their voice dry like the leaves of fall rustling in the wind. “Play for us and you will pass safely.” 

Though it makes Charles’s heart jump in his chest, he stops to bring the lyre up higher to play. He plays the only tune that comes to his head, the one he had played for you the night you had kissed for the first time. It begins soft as it did before, only growing sadder and he remembers why he’s playing it in the first place. The souls gather around him, their movements slow as they listen. Many weep at the song, their shadows trembling as the last note fades into the dark air. Slowly they part, allowing him to continue. 

It is not long after that that he reaches the palace of the king under the earth. Hades and Persephone wait for him, their thrones looming above him at the end of the hall. The queen looks down at him with sympathy in her eyes contrasted by her husband’s cold and unreadable gaze. 

“You have come far, mortal,” Persephone tells him, her voice soft. “And your music has touched even the dead.”

Hades leans forward, his tone as sharp as the edge of a blade. “We will grant you what you seek. She may return to the world above. But you must remember the condition: you must not look back at her until you both have reached the light of day. Should you fail, she will suffer in the fields of punishment for both of your treacheries.”

“I understand,” Charles said, his voice steady though his heart raced.

You appear just as he turns back toward the path. He hears you call his name, the warning ringing in his mind, don’t turn back. His eyes fill with tears as he feels you press your head to his face, the fabric of his tattered tunic wetting with your tears. Your fingers wrap around his wrist gently as if to tell him, I’m here. 

“I’ll follow where you lead,” you whisper. “Take me home.”

Your ascend begins, each step growing heavier than the other. The patter sounds like a faint drumming that pounds as the terrain changes and changes. Their soft scuffle of your sandals is the only sign Charles knows you’re there. But it doesn’t keep the doubts from slipping into his mind. Is this truly there? Have the gods tricked him?

You eventually reach the obsidian path, the final stretch, Charles thinks. You climb, higher and higher, Charles stopping every now and then to listen for you. 

“It’s ok,” you remind him. “I’m coming.” Though it reassures him momentarily, it soon disappears and he has to stop again. The whispers of the underground grew louder as the light at the top of the tunnel grew larger. They swirled around him, each word needling into his mind. She’s not there. You’re wasting your time. You failed her once already, why would they give her back?

His breath quickens as he doesn’t hear your steps, calling out your name. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Wait for me.” you huff and now he can hear you and your slow steps. You trudge on. His heart screamed at him to look back, even just for a moment, just to be sure. But he doesn’t, he knows he mustn't. 

The light is just ahead now, so close Charles can feel the warmth of the sun. But the silence has returned, making his chest tighten in his chest. His breath came in shallow gasps, it was too much. The urge to turn, it consumed him. He finally turns, his body trembling with the effort to resist, as if there was something begging him not to look back. He calls your name as he does, seeing you just a few feet away. 

You were there, alive and just as radiant than the moment he lost you. For a moment your eyes brighten as you meet them, but it doesn’t last long. 

The shadows surround you, wrapping around your legs and torso. 

“Charles, no!” you cry out, your eyes filling with tears. You try to push your legs to walk but with no avail, the shadows holding you in place. Your hand reaches out for his, desperate as they brush the air between you. He takes off in a sprint, lunging towards you. 

He sees the terror in your face as if to say don’t let them take me as the shadows begin to close around your face. It is the expression he saw in the moment just beyond the treeline. And he can’t bear the twisting feeling it creates in his gut. 

The last thing he sees are your eyes, tears steaming and evaporating into the shadows before there's a strong wind, pulling you away and pushing him out into the light. 

Charles awakens to the warmth of the sun as it caresses its cruel hand on his skin. It almost pains him as he opens his eyes and realizes where he’s laying. He sits up, seeing his lyre on the ground before him. Between the strings, there’s a carnation, its stem threaded there. He clutches his chest, gasping as he cries. “Gods, please!” he cries, fingers digging into the dirt beneath him. But there is no one there to hear him. 

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆

From then on, his music changes. People stop asking him to play at their parties, more asking for him to play at wakes or funerals. It still carries magic, and though people still stop and stare,  many say his songs are no longer for this world.  He plays for no one but you now, hoping the gods might take pity on him again. But they never do.

Index:

Apollo - God of the Sun, music, prophecy, healing, and the arts. Eros - Greek god of love, passion, and fertility. Hades - God of the Underworld and the dead, ruler of the realm of the departed. Persephone - Goddess of Spring and Queen of the Underworld. Daughter of Demeter. Dionysus - God of wine, revelry, and ecstasy. Thanatos - Personification of Death. Often depicted as a gentle, peaceful figure who guides souls to the afterlife rather than a force of violence or terror. Nyx- Primordial Goddess of the Night.

a/n: i genuinely have no idea how i got to almost 6k words but if you're here, I wanna say thank you so much for reading. Any feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

[justdrawlynn11]

Have LBS! Moon from different points in his life, featuring Sun!

He’s just a force of chaos when younger, and he adores his baby brother! Just don’t mind the oil stains-

[lunar-solarsystem]

for @justdrawlynn11’s Late Born Sun AU!!

Sunny is very smol, he can fit in a Barbie car :]

zoom in on Sun and his little bear friend below

[hcneymooners]

IDK IF MY OG ASK GOT SENT BUT it my bday today hehe i would rlly love an sfw fic w ambessa.. any trope/storyline would be great cus i love anything u write hehehehehehe

⋆ let me see you and stay.

wife!ambessa x wife!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: it's your birthday, which means it's the most important day of your life—and ambessa's. after all, this is the day that the love of her life was born.

cw: age difference, older woman/younger woman, soft!ambessa, fluff, modern au! this is a drabble. notes: happy (belated) birthday to you, my angel girl. i love capricorns so much, and i adore you in general. this is short, but i didn't want to make you wait any longer! i hope this fills with you all the love and warmth you deserve. giving you a million kisses and a huge hug. i hope your day was perfect, mama.

your birthday had never been something you held many expectations for. you simply woke up, blinked gently into the new day, and found that you were older.  

this meant that, to celebrate you, ambessa had to plan carefully. you were a clever, meticulous thing and would’ve told her that it was all too much. but she also knew you needed it. too often, you were torn away from her and the people you loved, your feet traipsing across the globe with barely a moment to rest.  

it didn’t help that your birthday fell during the busiest season of the year. people became trapped in the suffocating whirlwind of the holidays, and by the time your day arrived, they were tired, forgetful, slow. messages trickled in around noon, long after the morning had already left you sad. you’d learned to cope by sleeping late, letting the hours pass you by until the world remembered.  

but with ambessa, it would be different.

she had decided this from the moment she met you—that evening at an art gallery, when you’d mentioned in passing that you’d tucked another year under your belt and had decided to take yourself out. the way you glanced at her, wide-eyed and melting into your opulent evening gown, had stayed with her ever since. she’d known two things then: that she would only ever love you this deeply for the rest of your life, and that she would do anything to please you.  

the past few weeks had been a headache of coordination, a collaboration with only the best. the grand celebration was set for later that evening, but the morning was hers alone to give you. your phone sat in her office, plugged into its charger and safely away from your anxious hands. she didn’t want you repeating the ritual of tapping the screen awake only to meet the stillness of time and belated notifications.  

the sun crept into the room silently, like a child sneaking into bed with their parents. ambessa hadn’t opened the curtains fully, letting the light filter in gauzily through the fabric. beside her, your body rose and fell in soft rhythm, your hair pillowed around you, errant curls kissing at your cheeks and mouth.  

she turned toward you carefully, her movements measured. leaning in, she began to press soft kisses wherever she could reach—your forehead, the nape of your neck, the delicate line of your spine, the tender curve of your chest. your body stirred beneath her affection, and she watched your eyelashes flutter like birds as you slowly began to wake. 

she didn’t rush you, only gathered you into her lap as she leaned back against the headboard.  

you were beautiful, curled into her, your hands in loose fists near your chest. younger than her by far—a scandal she had endured with unflinching resolve—but now she could see time leaving its marks on you. the faint stretch of skin along your hips, the softening of your nose, the deepening lines near your eyes. she adored all of it.  

you had upended her life, burrowed into her heart so completely that she knew she could never purge you. as if she would ever want to. to kiss your mouth, to feel your skin, to hear your voice—it had renewed her faith in life, in people, in the possibility of a beautiful life.  

a low groan escaped your lips, breaking her reverie. you stretched lazily, kicking out your feet, and she bit back a laugh. the bed was large enough to save the cake on your nightstand from disaster—a towering confection of pink and cream, its two tiers bedecked with the finest details.  

you blinked up at her, your semi-nakedness a casual thing. it wasn’t sexual—just a preference for sleep, one that let your skin breathe and your body rest.  

“good morning, sweet girl,” she murmured.  

you smiled, all teeth, and she felt her resolve crack, the force of your joy like a hammer against stone. she would surrender time and time again, if that meant you would always be happy. 

leaning down, she kissed you softly, as if afraid you might break. you deepened it, pulling her closer, and when you finally parted, she nuzzled your cheek.  

“happy birthday, baby.”  

you bit your lip, bashful but pleased.  

“thank you, bessa.”  

your gaze shifted to the cake and the sea of gifts below it, piled in a messy, extravagant display.  

“ambessa…”  

“quiet,” she interrupted, her voice firm but teasing. “you can’t send anything back. half of these are from mel, and the rest are from me. kino baked the cake.”  

“you are devious,” you teased, pushing gently at her shoulder.  

“yes,” she agreed without hesitation.  

your laugh filled the room, bright and free, and she descended on you with a playful vengeance, her hands finding your stomach and feet. you squealed beneath her tickling, helpless and gleaming with joy. eventually, she relented, shifting you carefully as she moved to retrieve the cake. setting it between you, she watched as you took it in with wide eyes.  

“it’s perfect,” you whispered, the candles casting soft shadows on your face.  “thank you, baby.”

she drew you close, her lips brushing against your hair as you leaned forward to blow them out. the flames wavered and died, leaving only the faint scent of smoke curling into the air.  

“what did you wish for?” she asked, her voice low.  

your gaze found hers, bright and glittering like jewels.  

“what i always do. i only want to always be your girl.”  

silence fell between you. in the distance, your phone began to ring, but ambessa made no move to retrieve it. her eyes shone, suspiciously wet, and her hand tightened on your hip.  

“i don’t know how i lived before you,” she said softly, “or what i would do after—if—”  

you cut her off, dipping a finger into the cake and pressing it to her lips.  

“you know what?” you murmured, your voice like velvet. “i used to be scared too. but not anymore. what’s the point?”  

she offered you a piece in return, and you took it, savoring the sweetness. your eyes fell on the ring on her finger, the one that matched yours in size and shape. 

“you and me?” you said after swallowing. you gazed at her, and the love within it was relentless. “we’re it, honey.”  

© hcneymooners.

[scary-grace]

PARIAH - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Shigaraki Tomura was buried three days ago, struck down at last by the affliction that’s haunted him all his life. Now, with muffled screams emanating from the graveyard and the same affliction striking down villagers left and right, the priest has ordered Shigaraki raised from the grave and put to death properly this time. It falls to Spinner, wracked with guilt over his best friend’s fate, to seek help from a monstrosity equal to the one that haunts Shigaraki — the witch who dwells in the darkest part of the forest. In other words, you.

Nosferatu AU, Spinner POV, 5k+ words. Vampires, wolves, and witches, oh my! If you like Gran Torino this is not the fic for you.

part i part ii part iii

Not far now, Midoriya said the last time they stopped to catch their breath, but the woods seem to go on endlessly, and Spinner feels as though he’s been running for even longer. He’s no stranger to fleeing for his life. In one way and another he’s been doing it since he was born. But he’s never run for someone else’s life before. Never before has someone else’s survival hung in the balance of his heavy footsteps through the snow and the breaths of air so cold it sears his lungs. Spinner is the weakest of them, with the least to offer, closer to dead weight than a valuable ally. But in this moment, he’s the only one who can save Shigaraki’s life.

They came to this village six months ago, and for six months, life was quiet. The villagers were wary of strangers, of course, particularly strangers like Spinner and his friends, but for once, they all managed to keep their heads down. Toga made friends among the maidens in the village, while Twice made himself useful., and Dabi did them the favor of putting out fires rather than starting them. Spinner helped where he could, but mostly he watched Shigaraki. The evil that haunted Shigaraki had done so all his life, but it had only attempted a fatal strike when their backs were turned, and when they fled with the city in flames behind them, Spinner swore he would never allow such a thing to happen again.

Spinner kept a careful watch, but it didn’t matter. The affliction came again, weakening Shigaraki to the point where he could barely rise from his bed, and worse, it began to spread through the village. The villagers blamed Shigaraki and came to punish him, but they were too late. Spinner’s best friend died before his eyes three nights past, and the villagers buried him in an iron coffin before the sun could rise.

Or at least, Spinner had thought Shigaraki was dead. On the first day, he believed the muffled screams issuing from the graveyard were the manifestation of his own guilty conscience. But on the second day, the others heard them, too, and although the villagers believed they had locked away the source of the affliction, it continued to spread. The priest came to the graveyard, heard the screams, and ordered Shigaraki exhumed. Fool that he is, Spinner thought they meant to help him.

Then he and everyone else saw the ash stake in the priest’s hand, sharpened to a deadly point. It was an error to bury him whole, the priest said. This will quiet him forevermore.

They could not reason with him. No logic could overcome the priest’s certainty, nor the absolute faith the villagers had in him. It did not matter that Shigaraki had not left the house since falling ill. It did not matter that the coffin had been locked shut, nor that the surface above the grave was undisturbed. The priest and his followers buried Spinner’s best friend alive, and now they mean to dig him up and stake him through the heart.

Spinner hung back as Dabi and Toga and Twice argued. He’s worthless at arguing, just as he is at everything else, but as he stood at the edges of the conversation, someone caught his hand and drew him away. When Spinner looked down, he found Midoriya Izuku looking up at him. The strangest child in the village, known for daydreaming so vividly and so often that he falls into potholes at least twice a week, wore a determined look that shocked Spinner in its ferocity. You cannot stop the priest, he said. Only the witch can do that.

Every rural village has its superstitions, and this village has the witch – never seen, never spoken to, always blamed for blighted crops, missing livestock, and bouts of ill fortune. It is said that the witch is monstrous, raised by wolves and lies with them, too, an enemy of all that is holy. But when the affliction struck, not a single villager placed the blame on the witch. And when Midoriya Izuku spoke of her, he did so without fear.

He bade Spinner follow him, running across the bridge over the stream and down the sole path into the northern woods, and although Spinner questions the wisdom of challenging a mundane evil with a supernatural one, he has no other choice. He swore to protect Shigaraki, just as the others did, but he’s the one who failed. The witch will drive a hard bargain for her help, and Spinner will take it. What happens to Spinner doesn’t matter. Better by far that Shigaraki survives.

Not far now, Midoriya said, but each twist and turn in the path reveals only further twist and turns ahead. When Midoriya stops again to catch his breath, Spinner’s patience snaps. “There is no time. We must hurry.”

“The ground froze hard these past nights,” Midoriya gasps, “and they buried him deep. We have time. After this I will not need to stop again.”

“You had better not, or I will leave you here and find the witch myself.” Spinner says that, only to feel his nerves turn to water at the thought. “How do you know she will help?”

“I don’t know what she can do,” Midoriya says, and Spinner’s heart sinks further. “But I know that when the priest ordered me to kill a wolf-dog pup from my dog’s last litter, she came down from the woods to take it away.”

He straightens and picks up the pace, and Spinner chases after him, questions upon questions queued up on the tip of his tongue. “You’ve seen her?”

“Not – not really,” Midoriya admits as they careen around a corner. “She wore a veil over her face, and dressed all in white. But her voice sounded ordinary. Not as a monster’s voice should, or I think not. If she is not one, I have never heard a monster speak.”

Spinner has. It’s unmistakable – not just a hearing or a feeling, but a knowing, a terror beyond thought and reason. “I had to cross the bridge to bring her the pup,” Midoriya continues. “She would not cross to me, but when I gave it to her, she promised to raise it well.”

Spinner knew Midoriya was naïve, but this is ridiculous. “Did it not occur to you that she would lie? Monsters know only how to deceive.”

“She didn’t lie,” Midoriya says sharply. “I know when someone lies to me. She wouldn’t have hurt my pup. She –”

He stops talking, and stops running, too. Spinner fails to stop in time and bowls him over from the back, and as he picks himself up, he sees what caused Midoriya to balk. The path continues still further into the woods. But a wolf sits sentinel in the middle of it, blocking the way.

No, not a wolf. Spinner has seen wolves, more than his share of them, far more than he would have wished to. This is – “A wolf-dog?”

“Yes,” Midoriya says, his voice trembling with something like awe. “Mine.”

The wolf-dog’s ears prick upwards, and its tufted tail wags, scattering long-dead leaves away from the path. All at once it rises to its feet, turns, and lopes away, but only as far as the next bend in the path. There it turns and looks at them. Waits for them. “She wants us to follow,” Midoriya says, and he does so. Spinner follows, too, wondering who exactly Midoriya meant by she.

The wolf-dog keeps a brisk pace as the path, lined on either side with thick brambles, narrows such that Spinner and Midoriya must walk single-file. There are strange lights tucked away within them, emitting a pink glow that Spinner can classify neither as unholy nor divine. The wolf-dog rounds one turn in the path after another, and only when Spinner has thoroughly lost his sense of direction does it come to a stop. They’ve stopped at the edge of a large clearing, ringed in yet more of the odd pink lights. Within the clearing, there is a fence, its posts laden with wildflowers — the same flowers that climb the walls of the small cottage in the center.

It looks like something out of a children’s story. Not at all somewhere that a witch with the power to challenge the priest should live. Midoriya starts forward eagerly, and Spinner seizes his arm. “No. Even sweet things can be a trap.”

The wolf-dog noses the iron gate, and it swings open. “You want to save your friend, don’t you?” Midoriya asks. “She’s the only one who can help you. And you were wrong. She didn’t hurt my dog.”

Spinner is not at all convinced that it’s the same dog. It seems more likely the product of Midoriya’s wishful thinking. “I don’t like your friend,” Midoriya continues. “He frightens me, and everyone else. But he shouldn’t die for our fear. If you won’t go in, I will.”

Spinner is a coward. He knows he is. But even in his cowardice, he cannot allow this — a child taking the risk that belongs to him. He lets go of Midoriya’s arm and shoulders past him, past the wolf-dog, through the iron gate and along the path through the witch’s garden to the cottage’s front door. He knocks hard enough to bruise his knuckles. “Witch! I am here on a matter most urgent. Come out, or –”

“There’s no need to shout,” a perfectly ordinary voice says from behind him, and Spinner’s heart nearly stops in his chest. “I’m right here.”

Spinner wheels around, and there you are. There you have been sitting the entire time, concealed from view of the path behind your flower-entangled fence, dressed all in white just as Midoriya described and blending in with the snow. Just as Midoriya described, your face is veiled. All around you in the snow, wolf-dogs sit and sprawl, some ancient and grey-muzzled, others with the gangly clumsiness of pups. White roses are scattered around you, and even as you harken to Spinner, your fingers continue to weave them deftly into a crown.

“I thought I might have visitors today,” you say. “What are your names?”

“I don’t share my name with strangers,” Spinner growls, in the same moment as Midoriya blurts his out. “Shut up, you idiot!”

“The point of sharing names is to remove the designation of strangers,” you say mildly. Your veil is not quite opaque; Spinner sees your lips move beneath it. “I cannot blame you for your caution, but you mentioned an urgent matter. What brings you to my door?”

“The village,” Spinner says, biting down on the desire to curse its name. “It has been struck by –”

He runs out of words. He and the others have been careful in their description of it, for fear of being called insane. Even a village with such superstitions as witches is too skeptical to believe in – “Vampires,” Midoriya announces. He’s apparently abandoned caution; he’s crouched in the snow at the edge of the path, petting the wolf-dog he believes was his. “Each night more wake with bites, and not long after they fall desperately ill.”

“Are they drained of blood?” you ask. “Or is their skin simply rotting?”

“They haven’t been drained,” Midoriya says, frowning. “But the bites –”

“My friend was drained,” Spinner says, and you look to him. “He grew weak. He could not eat or drink, and visions tormented him at the end — or what we thought was the end –”

“They buried him,” you say, and Spinner nods. “But people continue to fall sick, and they believe your friend is the cause, so they intend to exhume him and put an end to him properly this time. Am I incorrect?”

Spinner can barely believe his ears. “How do you know?”

“Fear strips away reason. It comforts them to think that killing your friend will end their misery, and their desire for comfort only serves the greater threat.” Your hands work more quickly, plaiting the crown together. “You’ve come to me for help. What is it you wish me to do?”

“Stop the priest,” Spinner says. You tilt your head, studying him. “Prove my friend’s innocence.”

“That is within my power,” you say. You add a few more flowers to the crown, set it upon your head, and rise to your feet. “Is there time?”

“When we left they had already started digging,” Spinner says uselessly. “What price do you ask for your help?”

“None,” you say. You brush past Spinner, slipping into the house and emerging seconds later with a small satchel slung across your body. White deerskin with silver fastenings — not at all what Spinner would expect a forest-dwelling witch to possess. “We must travel with haste.”

“Yes. Have you horses?”

You shake your head, then raise one hand to your mouth and whistle, high and wavering. Within moments, Spinner hears the sound of heavy footfalls, and the shape that moves within the trees is so monstrously large that even Midoriya is scared up from the ground and closer to Spinner. “What is that thing?”

A wolf. Not a wolf-dog, but a true wolf, hulking and enormous, standing taller than Spinner at the shoulder. It dwarfs you as you approach it, but you approach without fear, and it lowers itself to the ground so you can speak quietly in its ear. You use no language Spinner can understand, but it is not the language of the demon, and in your ordinary voice it does little more than raise the hairs on the back of his neck. “This is a friend of mine, who has agreed to aid us,” you say, straightening up. You throw one leg over the wolf’s back and climb up, seating yourself just behind its head. “If time is as short as you say, it is not wise to hesitate.”

Spinner climbs up first, followed by Midoriya. “Keep low until we leave the trees behind,” you order, “and hang on.”

Midoriya promptly grabs hold of Spinner, but Spinner has no easy recourse. “To you? It’s not proper.”

“Would you rather be proper or survive the journey back to the village?” you ask impatiently, and Spinner secures his arms around your waist, his face miserably red. “Hold on.”

You whisper something else to the wolf, and it lurches into motion with such violence that Spinner tightens his grip in terror. He learns instantly why you ordered them to lower their heads — at the speed at which the wolf moves, a collision of their heads with a branch would result in decapitation. Spinner can’t watch the trees speeding past without feeling ill, so he shuts his eyes only to feel sicker. Opening them, keeping them fixed between your shoulder blades, is the only solution. That, and occupying his mind with something other than how inappropriate it is to hold you this closely.

You feel human. Spinner’s taken women in his arms before, human women of his own will and vampire women against it, and while the unholy attraction of the undead is absent from you, there is something undefinably strange about your presence. Perhaps all witches are thus. You have yet to do anything more witchlike than speak to wolves and live deep in the woods, and once again, Spinner begins to doubt. Who are you to challenge the priest, to counter the village’s faith in him? How could you save Shigaraki, when Dabi and Twice and Toga could not?

The wolf breaks through the tree line, and you sit up quickly. Spinner does the same, although it makes the ride significantly bumpier. Out of the woods, it’s easier to gauge the wolf’s true speed. It barrels down the hillside, as fast as any horse, and ignores the bridge in favor of leaping across the stream in a single bound. At the apex of its flight, Spinner feels you startle, then flinch, a sharp gasp exiting your lips. It’s as if you’ve been shot or stabbed, and for a moment, you go completely limp, your grip on the wolf’s mane relaxing. Only Spinner’s arms around you keep you from slipping sideways into the water – but then the wolf’s paws touch land, and you straighten up again. Spinner would think it his imagination if not for the audible catch in your breathing.

When the wolf reaches the graveyard, Spinner’s own breath catches in horror: Shigaraki’s coffin has been raised up from the earth, its lock shattered and its lid shoved aside. Between the coffin and the priest stand Toga and Dabi and Twice, and before Spinner can call out to tell them help has arrived, villagers seize his friends and drag them out of the way. The priest approaches, stake held high, and a shaking hand rises from the coffin in a weak attempt to forestall him. Shigaraki is alive, and awake – awake just in time for Spinner to watch him die.

“Wait,” he tries to call, but his voice shakes so badly that he can barely raise it above a whisper. “He isn’t –”

“Father Torino!” you call out, your voice strident and strong, and the priest stops in his tracks. He turns towards the sound of your voice and flinches as he beholds the wolf, and you and Spinner and Midoriya on its back. The villagers cower, and Dabi and the others seize the opportunity to get free and return to guard the casket — but they, too look wary. “Is it now the custom of the Church to murder innocent men by hand after burying them alive has failed to do the job?”

“This is no man, but an abomination,” the priest growls. He is a small man, and old, but neither matters when righteous fury animates him. “It is the custom of the Church to carry out God’s will and remove such things from the face of His earth.”

“If this man’s death is God’s will and not your own, then it can wait a few moments more.” You slide down easily from the wolf’s back and start forward across the graveyard, the villagers scattering from your path. “I will examine him, and prove his innocence or his guilt.”

The priest does not challenge your ability to do so, and a small measure of hope is turned loose in Spinner’s mind. He slides down from the wolf’s back as well, much less gracefully than you did, and seizes the back of Midoriya’s coat to prevent him from going face-first into the snow when he does the same. Ahead of him, you confront Dabi. “Stand aside. Let me see him.”

“What, so you can kill him?”

“Do you see a stake in my hands?” You spread them out, revealing them empty. Spinner notices for the first time the silver rings on your middle fingers, and the web of silver chains extending from them to connect to a matching bracelet around your wrist. “I only wish to examine him.”

“She can help,” Midoriya says, and Dabi’s eyes flicker to him. “Let her help.”

Dabi looks to Spinner. Spinner nods, and Dabi stands aside, allowing you to approach the coffin.

Spinner does the same, and what he sees fills him with a guilt so powerful that it nearly strikes him dead on the spot. As terrible as Shigaraki looked when they believed him dead, he looks worse now. Paler, sicker, more haunted than before. Blood stains his fingernails — what’s left of them, at least. Spinner imagines his best friend clawing at the lid of the iron coffin, desperate to get free, and nearly vomits at the thought.

Shigaraki is barely conscious, barely breathing, as you come close. Spinner was unsure of what to expect from you, but your first act strikes him as completely incongruous — you lift the crown of white roses from your head and settle it on Shigaraki’s. Shigaraki doesn’t stir, and on the other side of the coffin, the priest’s shoulders stiffen. “That proves nothing.”

“White roses are anathema to vampires. They teach you that in your book of demons,” you say. You unclasp one bracelet from around your wrist, slide one ring from your finger. “They speak of silver, too.”

You lift Shigaraki’s hand and slide the ring onto his finger. His hands are larger than yours, yet so skeletal that the ring fits easily. As does the bracelet, when you snap it shut. Once again, Shigaraki does not stir. The priest scoffs. “You expect me to believe that’s real silver?”

“I expect you to ask yourself what reason I among all others would have to collude with this affliction,” you say. You of all others? Spinner sees his confusion writ large on Toga’s face, on Dabi’s and on Twice’s. “But if it will satisfy you, I will ask someone else. Who here has something silver?”

It’s silent. Midoriya disappears into the crowd, then comes back pulling his mother. “Mother. Mother, show her — you have some –”

The woman clutches at her necklace, as though she expects you to rip it from her throat. “You will have it back unharmed,” you promise in that ordinary voice. Spinner no longer doubts that you are no monster; rather, you seem so human that he doubts your ability to help at all. “Either you will help to protect your village from a grave threat, or you will save an innocent man’s life. To save one life is to save the world entire.”

“Cease such pagan nonsense in my presence,” the priest snaps. “Even if he is no vampire, he has forfeited his right to life by bringing the affliction upon our village.”

You ignore him, and after a moment, so does Midoriya’s mother. She unclasps her necklace, and Midoriya places it in your hand. You hold it for a moment, then set it down in the hollow of Shigaraki’s throat. He does not move beyond the rise and fall of his chest. “Odd,” you remark. “A vampire should flinch from such things.”

The priest doesn’t answer. You gesture for Spinner to come closer, to stand alongside Dabi and the others. “Bite marks,” you say, and Spinner startles along with the rest of them. “Where were they?”

“He had many,” Toga says. She tended to Shigaraki most closely, and took his apparent death nearly as hard as Spinner did. “On his throat. His chest. Both wrists and ankles.”

“Were there others?” you ask. Toga shakes her head, and you raise your voice, addressing the crowd in the graveyard. “In the legends, a true vampire’s body bears no bite marks. The transformation erases them. Is it not so?”

The crowd mumbles assent, and Spinner wonders if this is why Midoriya insisted on summoning you. The priest’s frothing rage looks particularly mad when contrasted to your calmness. You look to the priest next. “Is it not so, Father Torino?”

“In tales and in history.” The priest speaks through gritted teeth. “Let us examine him. I — what are you doing?”

“My eyes must be clear,” you say, and you lift your veil.

Half the village recoils, but when you fold it back, Spinner sees nothing out of the ordinary about your face. There is no mad light in your eyes, no distorted sneer on your mouth, no dark magic writhing visibly beneath your skin. There is an odd pallor to you, but nothing more. You turn back to face the priest — the priest, who did not flinch. “Let us examine him.”

Shigaraki does not react to your touch, but when the priest reaches in to grasp his arm and haul his wrist into the light, he shrinks back. “You see?” the priest demands. “He recoils from a man of God –”

“A man who was about to drive a stake through his heart. I’d recoil, too.” You have Shigaraki’s other hand, holding it carefully, and you turn it to expose his wrist to the light. “Look, Father. Those resemble bite marks to me. And here –”

You lift the wrist that Shigaraki pulled away from the priest. “More bite marks. Just as the maiden said.”

Shigaraki’s mouth opens, and the voice that issues from it is hoarse from three days of screaming. “Spinner –”

Spinner hurries forward, and without a word, you shift your examinations to Shigaraki’s ankles. “I’m here,” Spinner tells Shigaraki. “I’m sorry.”

Shigaraki shakes his head. “What’s — happening?”

“Midoriya took me to see the witch. She came back with us to help.”

“Witch?” Shigaraki rasps. “Doesn’t sound like a witch.”

“Her voice is wrong,” Toga agrees quietly. “I don’t know what she is.”

“You do not need to know. She is unclean, and those who fear God should stay far from her and her accursed woods,” the priest says. “And you, Shigaraki — you fear death a great deal for a man who does not fear God.”

Shigaraki’s red eyes flutter shut. He seems to have exhausted his strength, and Spinner finds himself watching the rise and fall of Shigaraki’s chest, fixated on the smallest motions. He kept this same vigil before, three nights ago, dreading every new second until the motion stuttered and stopped — or rather continued, so imperceptibly that everyone believed him dead. Whether you’re a witch or not, you are an effective counter to the priest, but what happens after you spare Shigaraki’s life? His affliction will not fade, and the evil that stalks him will not relent. Has Spinner saved Shigaraki’s life only to consign him to a slow, agonizing death?

Spinner’s thoughts are interrupted when your hand appears in his field of vision, parting the buttons on Shigaraki’s shirt to expose the bite marks directly over his heart. The priest grasps Shigaraki’s jaw and turns his head roughly to one side, revealing the bite marks on his throat as well.

Spinner remembers the first time he beheld the evidence of Shigaraki’s affliction. Shigaraki had kept it from them as long as possible, but one by one, they saw things that could not be explained, heard things in the night that could not be dismissed. They knew too much to find safety in ignorance, but they could not protect themselves if they did not know the truth, and so Shigaraki shared what he knew of the evil that had clung to him since childhood. They doubted him at first, but he must have expected it. Spinner will never forget the shiver of disgust that tore through him at the sight of the marks on Shigaraki’s throat – and how it grew ever worse with each set of marks he revealed.

The reminder alone of what Shigaraki suffers fills Spinner with disgust. He cannot imagine experiencing it and surviving with his mind intact, and yet Shigaraki has survived. And he will survive this, too. Faced with all the evidence you have revealed, the priest cannot kill Shigaraki now.

“Are you satisfied?” you ask, when the priest fails to respond. “This man is not the source of the affliction. He is its victim, as much as any of the others who have fallen ill.”

“Perhaps,” the priest says – and he raises his stake. “I’d rather be sure.”

Before he can bring it down, you seize it. Dabi does the same, and so does Spinner, while Toga and Twice throw themselves across the coffin to shield Shigaraki. “Careful,” you say to the priest. Your grip tightens, and Spinner feels the fire-hardened stake buckle slightly. “If you kill this man now, it will be murder, and your list of sins is not so short as to allow for the addition of one more.”

It’s a long moment before the priest releases the stake, and when he does, it splinters to pieces. Perhaps it was Dabi’s grip that shattered it; your hand is too small. “If you wish to save him, begone with him,” the priest says. “He is barred from the village until his affliction is cured. If it can be cured.”

Spinner’s heart sinks, but once again, you remain calm. “I will cure it,” you say. “I will take him with me, if he will go.”

“No,” Twice says at once. “He stays with us.”

“Let her take him,” Midoriya’s mother urges. Spinner thought she would have fled, but then again, her silver necklace still rests against Shigaraki’s throat. “The others will come for him tonight, and kill you to get to him, no matter what the priest says. It is safer to let him go.”

“We should come with him,” Toga says. You shake your head. “Why not?”

“The forest is unkind at night. I cannot shield your minds and heal his at the same time.” You look regretful, and ill at ease. “Stay here for the night, and visit in the morning. My friends will guide you to me.”

The wolves and wolf-dogs. Spinner remembers the rumor that you were raised by them, that you lay with them, and feels a surge of distaste — not for you, but for those who would start such rumors and spread them. “It’s Shigaraki’s choice,” he says. He looks down into the coffin at Shigaraki, at his pale face and bloody hands, swathed in silver with a crown of flowers on his head. “Do you wish to go with her?”

“Spinner.” Shigaraki’s voice is little more than a whisper. Spinner leans close. “Can she do as she promises?”

There seems to be nothing magical about you at all. Spinner doubts you can do anything — but he does not doubt that Shigaraki will be safer in the heart of the forest tonight than anywhere else. He nods. “I can’t face him tonight. Not like this,” Shigaraki says. “I’ll go.”

“Good,” the priest says. His disgust is etched deeply into his wrinkled face, and as he transfers his gaze from Shigaraki to you, it only grows. “As the filthy beast you rode in on has fled, I have no idea how you expect to remove him from my sight. Do you honestly think someone will lend you a horse?”

“I have no need of one.” You nudge Spinner to one side and lift the necklace up from Shigaraki’s throat, handing it back to Midoriya’s mother. Then you lift one of Shigaraki’s arms, looping it around your neck, and he expends what appears to be his last measure of strength to lift up the other. “I can walk.”

You can’t mean to carry him. Even half dead, half-starved, Shigaraki is bigger than you are. But as Spinner watches in horrified fascination, you slide one hand behind his best friend’s head and the other beneath his bent knees, and you lift Shigaraki from the coffin as though he weighs nothing at all.

Shigaraki slumps against your shoulder, barely conscious once more, and the crowd of villagers parts before you again. Your voice, still ordinary, carries not even a hint of strain when you speak to Spinner. “Come visit at first light,” you say. “No harm will come to him while he is with me.”

Dabi’s hand comes down on your shoulder, just as Toga grasps your elbow. “Swear it.”

You incline your head, and Spinner sees a web of faint scars across your brow. “I swear it by my blood.”

You set off walking at an easy pace, as though you aren’t carrying a grown man in your arms the way a lord might carry a maiden. Dabi’s voice is low in Spinner’s ear. “What did you do?”

“What?”

“Her kind don’t do favors,” Twice says. “What did you give her?”

“Nothing,” Spinner says. “She took nothing.”

“Except Tomura,” Toga says grimly. “In the morning we’ll take him back.”

“Damn right,” Twice says, ignoring the look the priest gives him. “We’ve tried everything but witches to heal him. Maybe she will fix him.”

“What’s wrong with him isn’t inside. It’s out there somewhere,” Dabi says. “Whatever she fixes, it won’t last.”

Dabi’s right, as much as it burns Spinner to admit it. All Spinner’s done in retrieving the witch is buy Shigaraki a little more time. One night where the villagers can’t come for him, howling for his blood the same way the evil that stalks him lusts for it. Spinner’s best friend has spent so many nights in misery and pain. If the best Spinner can do is secure for Shigaraki one night of relative peace, he’d have paid all you asked for and more.

But you asked for nothing. Spinner watches you approach the bridge, still walking smoothly with Shigaraki cradled in your arms, and wonders why.

part ii ->

[rottiens]

✮ tags. . canon au, satoru x no sorceress reader, neighbor!satoru, pinning, sfw (except maybe at the end, but it's nothing explicit).

✮ notes. . just a silly lil thing I had on the wips, this was way before the manga ended only now I've been encouraged to finish it, I think, it goes along with how the manga ended (no spoilers!) and is just a glimpse maybe at satoru's canon personality (I miss him painfully). divider creds: cafekitsune.

✮ wc. 1.9K

It has always been written in Satoru's nature that he must protect others. Even before he was born, his destiny was marked by the six-eyed ancestor, and the person before him and then the one before that.

He has taken on the role of caretaker of others long before he could have the choice to decide if he wanted it. In his hands is the power to care for his students, his clan, and every sorcerer he knows and those he doesn't even know. The weight of responsibility this puts on him over time has faded, with years of experience Satoru has learned to take the weight off the stress that comes with his responsibility as the strongest and has decided to accept his fate, without much thought to the title that haunts him wherever he goes, he was not simply Satoru, he was the strongest, always.

When called he goes, when ordered he acts. He attends mission after mission, traveling from one city to another and gets to the apartment he bought near the center of the city to flop down on the softness of the expensive mattress, often too tired to take off his uniform, shoes or blindfold, he lets the darkness of the place, the nearby noise of the air conditioner and the light traffic of the street pamper him.

Now that he thinks about it, he doesn't remember the last time he took a vacation or, he can't be that greedy; he just doesn't remember the last day he had off where he could have gone to the sea, sunbathed and sunk his feet in the sand, unless this wasn't part of a mission one way or the other. And that's fine, although he doesn't like to see himself as it, he's just another tool of the system and the tools....

Bang, bang, bang!

Satoru lifts his head from the boiling coffee pot with the brown puddle inside it looking like a fountain, he leans further over the countertop paying attention to the sound that seems to be coming from his front door. Something hard, solid, seems to hit the wood, not a fist... it must be something else, he deduces at once.

The coffee pot goes silent and the aroma of fresh coffee beans escapes throughout his kitchen. Satoru lifts his back and walks barefoot towards the entrance, whoever was behind he couldn't sense it. It wasn't Shoko, obviously he could smell her cigarette from inside if it was, the person whoever it was... it didn't smell like anything, and Satoru was curious about it.

“Hello?” your voice is soft, sweet as candy, or at least that's how Satoru perceives it. And being a sugar addict, he can't help but take a step forward, deciding to finally open the door before your fist, or whatever else you're using to interrupt his quiet morning, knocks a third time.

“Hey.” Satoru stops a flirtatious smile that he disguises with a polite one. Friendly. Like the good neighbor he is.

Satoru could be living much closer to Jujutsu High, in the modern condo just a block away, ideal for always being on time. But where would be the fun in being early every day? Even though with just a snap of his fingers he could show up in the middle of the classroom whenever he wanted, he likes to use the distance as an excuse whenever someone asks him why he was late.

Actually, Satoru doesn't know anyone in the neighborhood. He always comes late at night and leaves at dawn, sometimes before the sun even rises; so he doesn't remember seeing you before. And if he ever did, as someone with no cursed energy, you would have gone totally unnoticed.

“Can I help you with something?” he asks, trying not to make his confusion sound abrupt, though his brows furrow a bit as he watches you curiously.

You are contemplated like a bug under a microscope, with your neighbor's glowing blue eyes you feel stalked, small even. His eyes catch all the light in the hallway, they seem to glow and his dilated pupils catch your attention causing that no matter how much you avoid him, you always end up returning to his gaze, not to mention how tall he is and how peculiar his white hair is, unlike him, you prefer not to stare.

He finds you interesting, he can't stop looking at you. The only other person he knew incapable of being able to feel was dead now. So you were something unique to him, something that arouses genuine interest in him.

“This.” A box, almost your size in your hands. On top, a yellow envelope. “It's yours, I received these packages a few weeks ago and I meant to return them to you earlier but whenever I stopped by you weren't home...”

His frown deepens for a second before replacing it with a relaxed expression. He finds the situation strange, taking into account that he is never home, he buys everything he needs in person, he rarely shops online so he doubts that someone has sent packages in his name, to his address.

Anyway, he decides to accept it when he sees your trembling fingers clutching the box. He takes it from your arms and you let out a grateful groan, whatever is inside is heavy.

“Thank you,” you say. Satoru catches you looking him up and down, he had barely gotten out of the shower after coming in from running a few miles.

His hair was dry, somewhat fluffy giving him a relaxed look, and dark gray sweatpants are hanging off his hips. He's wearing a white cotton t-shirt that still clings a bit to his skin from the heat of the bathroom.

“Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee?” the question leaves his lips almost automatically, and while his tone is nonchalant, Satoru waits curiously. You've probably already noticed the particular aroma wafting from his apartment, that mix between fresh coffee and something a little more mysterious. There's nothing wrong with the invitation, is there? After all, he's just trying to be a good neighbor, even if, deep down, the truth is that he wants to catch something from you, to find a way to feel your presence, to get to know you a little better as he does with anything that piques his interest.

You smile, with that reserved touch, and bring your hands behind your back, tucking them into the pockets of your shorts as you sway subtly on your heels. And even though he can't sense your energy, he almost seems to predict your response just by watching you.

“Maybe later.” Sure.

He didn't expect you to walk into a stranger's place just for coffee, he had to take a chance anyway.

“Thanks again, neighbor.”

He doesn't try to sound flirtatious but he does. You're cute, you're his type and you're not a sorceress, that just makes you more irresistible to a person who is used to always keeping control of everything that happens around him.

That morning with the box in your hands that, later, he realized was full of books and manuscripts that were sent from his clan to deliver to the school library, was the first time Satoru saw you. From then on he tried to make the encounters between the two of you less and less casual and more planned.

At first it was difficult, arranging his busy schedule in such a way that he would sometimes meet you in the hallways, taking the elevator or opening the door to your place in such a way that it seemed coincidental but Satoru succeeded. Within a few weeks he had learned about your schedule when you were at home, so he was always looking for an excuse for him to be around at the same time.

In between casual conversations, he began to get to know you better, discovering where you came from and how long ago you had moved into the big building. Satoru realized that you weren't just a pretty face; you had a good heart, an apartment decorated with real plants, and a cat that ran to greet you at the door with a meowing song, brushing against Satoru's legs in greeting.

After a couple of months, you had created a routine that he found comforting. He was next to you in this utopian bubble where no one else existed, a place where he didn't have to be alert all the time.

And... where was he? Right. The tools, the system and all that.

Tools like him don't think or make decisions; they're designed only to be used when they're needed. But with you, he felt like a regular man, one who didn't see curses crawling down the hallway trying to pierce your home, or one who wasn't constantly overstimulated by the energy that engulfed the world, one who wasn't aware of the changes in the cursed energy of others. With you, he was, really, just Satoru Gojo; one who didn't know he could be something more, someone more than the title he was given at birth. He was an ordinary high school teacher, and you were just you; you saw him as something more than the strongest and there was something beautiful for the first time in the raw idea of being nothing more than a mere human.

For the first time, he didn't feel his responsibility as a burden, but as a gift. It was the first time he didn't feel overwhelmed or with a bad taste in his mouth for being a tool, because now he could use it to take care of you. It was the first time he felt good about the responsibility of caring for someone like you.

“What do you think?” You're about to fall asleep on his couch, a couch he only uses when you come to visit him, so Satoru thinks he can't waste the opportunity to admire you up close. Watching your moles, how smooth your skin looks, the sweat dampening your collarbone and how much he wishes he could drink it.

When caught staring like a stalker, he doesn't flinch; he simply brings his eyes back to yours. You have one eye squinted watching him, while the other struggles to stay open, the dialogue from the show in the background fading like white noise.

“You're tired.” You snort before closing your eyes completely.

“I'm not. I want to finish this episode with you,” you say, clearly drowsy, snuggling further into the couch and clinging to the cushion between your legs, which Satoru wishes was his head. He sighs, feeling a tug on his ribs.

“Why don't you sleep for a while?” he suggests, playing ping pong between your lips and your face.

You purr something intelligible as the fist holding your chin weakens slowly while the dialogue on the television ends and the white letters begin to slowly scroll across the screen. Satoru consumes you with his gaze, inclined to touch you and settle you better on the softness of his couch. His heart is pounding in his chest and he feels his shorts tighten. The skin of your arm so warm under his knuckles, just as he had thought, and he thinks if he set his mind to it he could watch you sleep all day.

In a moment of hesitation, Satoru moves a little closer, feeling the warmth of your breath brush against his face, your lips pout indicating the level of relaxation you're in. Fuck. Just before he can do something he shouldn't, he jumps up and heads for the kitchen, where he grabs a glass of cold water and rushes to the bathroom, locking the door behind him and yanking down his shorts.

[runninriot]

Disciple (You Need To Be Owned)

written for the @steddiesongfics march prompt and as fill for the @steddiebingo main card prompt: Demon AU

song inspiration: Disciple by IAMX | wc: 2.000 | rated: E | tags: Demon Steve Harrington, Sub Eddie Munson, sexual content, dream sex - or is it?, light bondage, open ending | also on ao3

It’s a recurring dream. A little different each time but at its core, it’s always the same. Always starts with Eddie on his knees and ends in a mess of soaked sheets and sticky pants. Panting and sweaty and with his mind in shambles when he wakes up to the blaring sound of his alarm or the sun creeping in through the drapes on days with no obligations.

Eddie never knows when he will find him. There’s no tell-tale sign beforehand, and nothing he can do consciously to make it happen. He tried, desperately so, to recreate the fantasy intentionally.

Late at night, with his slick palm working himself up the point where he’s aching for relief, his cock hard and throbbing but with his mind refusing to let him sink back into the illusion that grants him bittersweet satisfaction for his fucked-up desires.

Finding relief without is harder now that he’s tasted blood. Kind of literally, but also- not? It’s difficult to explain, hard not to believe that there’s truth in this hyperreal experience of coming undone in the hands of the man-masking demon that haunts him at night.

    Steve.

What a strangely common name for an infernal being like that. A creature bound to the shadows he’s born from, existing only in the realm of night, where his victims are easy targets with their subconscious vulnerably open, susceptive to his mind games and tricks. The beautiful stranger that, not too long ago, made him an offer he couldn’t resist.

Eddie still isn’t sure if he’s making it all up. If Steve truly exists or is just another figment of his imagination. It’s hard to tell, when everything about these dreams feels so incredibly real. When he’s even got marks to prove the inexplicable.

   “I see you have been waiting for me.”

Eddie doesn’t remember falling asleep but he must have, or else he wouldn’t find himself kneeling on the floor. Naked, and with his head bowed down obediently, palms resting flat on his thighs while he waits for his master’s instructions.

   “My perfect boy,” the man praises as he steps closer, “Sorry I’ve kept you waiting. I had... other things to tend to.

Eddie feels a pang of jealousy at those words, doesn’t miss the implication of not being the only one getting to taste what he’s so addicted to.

It’s been three nights since Steve last graced him with his presence. Three restless nights where Eddie tried and failed to reach out for the images locked up in the back of his mind, the faded memories of last time.

   “Did you miss me?”

Guided by the hand grabbing his chin, he lifts his head up, eyes locking with a pair of golden-green speckled ones gleaming in the sourceless light illuminating the room.

   “Yes,” Eddie whispers, “Missed you so much.”

   “I know you did. You need me, don’t you? I’m the only one who knows how to take care of my precious boy.”

Eddie bites back a moan, can’t fight the way his eyelids flutter shut when the hand on his chin slides down to his throat, splayed out fingers tightening their grip enough for his heart rate to pick up at the alluring threat.

   “No one knows how to treat you right. Not even you. You’re lost without me. Can’t even get off without me telling you how to.”

Eddie hates that he’s right. Hates that he holds so much power over him. Hates that he can’t break free from the spell the demon has put him under. Hates that he loves what Steve is doing to him.

   “Wanna be good for you. I’ll do anything you want.”

   “Anything, huh?” Steve asks with a hint of amusement in his voice, followed by low chuckle that sends a thrilling shiver down Eddie’s spine.

   “Anything,” he confirms a little breathless, feels the smooth slide of a leather strap replacing Steve’s hand, a collar fastening tight around his neck.

   “Hmm, interesting,” Steve muses, “You never wore one before. Looks good on you, baby.”

Eddie’s confusion gets drowned out by the praise that goes straight to his dick.

   “You like that, don’t you? When I tell you you’re pretty.”

It’s not a question but Eddie answers it anyway, lets out a soft little whimper in response.

   “Maybe we should give you another accessory. Something sparkly that’ll suit you perfectly.”

Eddie’s body convulses, every part of him tensing up when he feels a sudden pressure inside. Feels something cold and slick materializing where seconds ago, he was still empty.

   “Wanna show me?”

This is different than all the other times. Usually, Steve tells him what he expects. Orders him around and gives him little choice to make adjustments. This time, Eddie seems to be in control. Because he was the one thinking about wearing a collar. He was the one imagining the plug now filling him up.

   “Am I allowed to stand up?” Eddie asks submissively, waiting for Steve’s approving nod before he rises from the floor.

   “Turn around, baby boy. Let me see.”

Eddie does as he’s told, turns and bends at the waist, places both hands on the edge of his bed, and arches his back.

He doesn’t even wonder what’s happening, when the wall he’s facing shifts before his eyes and out of nowhere, a mirror appears.

   “Oh, someone’s curious. Wanted to pry on me while I admire the pretty toy you chose?”

Eddie’s eyes flicker between his own blushing face and the image of Steve placing both hands on either side of his hips. Gliding down over the curve of his ass where he digs his fingers into the meat and spreads it further apart.

   “Gorgeous,” he says to himself and before Eddie can ask for it, he’s already crouching down, dipping his unnaturally long tongue into the cleft between Eddie’s cheeks, licking around the base of the plug, dripping spit down to his free-hanging balls.

The image in the mirror flickers, and it’s like someone has changed the channel on a TV – suddenly he sees himself from behind. Watches Steve on his knees with his face buried between his parted legs, tonguing at his skin.

It’s a filthy view. Filthy and perfect and it’s crazy to feel and to see it all happen at once.

   “Oh my God! Oh fuck, Steve!”

Eddie’s head drops between his trembling upper arms, trying to catch his breath.

   “Liking the show, baby?” He can hear the smirk in Steve’s voice, doesn’t have to look up to see the mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

Steve loves to tease him, and Eddie would be liar if he said he didn’t find pleasure in it, too.

   “That’s why I’m taking my time with you. I know what you want.”

Steve’s mouth is back on him, biting his ass and sucking bruises into the back of his upper thighs, making Eddie squirm, instinctively trying to pull away from the divine torture.

   “I should tie you down. Maybe then you’ll stay still and let me have my fun.”

Without having realised when and how it happened, Eddie suddenly finds himself lying on his bed. His arms are tied to the headboard, each leg held in place by a rope skilfully knotted around his shins and thighs in a way that should be uncomfortable but isn’t at all.

   “Knew you’d like it,” Steve says through a self-satisfied smile as he lets his fingers dance over his artful creation, “All tied up for me, no more getting away.”

Eddie looks up at what should be the plain white ceiling of his bedroom, doesn’t even blink twice when he finds his own reflection staring back down at him.

With curious eyes, he takes in the sight, lets them rake over Steve’s marvellous body where he’s sitting on his heel in front of him.

He follows the movement of Steve’s hand when he hooks two fingers around the base of the plug. Somehow sees it happen before he can feel himself clench around the broad middle, relaxing around nothing when the toy is removed from his body.

It’s obscene to watch Steve play with the skin around his hole, stretching the already loosened muscle with two fingers of each hand. Holding him open before he- spits right at it. Spreads the slickness with his thumb, circling the rim for a few teasing seconds before pushing inside.

His free hand wraps around his own hard cock, giving it a few lazy pumps while his focus stays on the not-full-enough space between Eddie’s legs.

   “Need you to fuck me, Steve. Please!” Eddie begs, wishing he could do something to offer his own weeping cock some relief. But it seems that his control ends there, because his arms stay tied, unable to move and take matters into his own hands.

   “Hah, you’re cute. Did you really think you were in charge? Baby, I’m only giving you what you want because I want it, too. The collar, the plug, the mirrors, the rope? That was all me. Just like this.”

Without a warning, Eddie's body is lifted off the sheets. Suddenly floating, weightlessly hanging from invisible hooks. More ropes sling around his limbs and torso like hungry snakes curling around their prey, biting into his skin where they tighten their grip.

He can hear Steve laugh, a low, rumbling sound like thunder, mean and possessive. Fear mixes with all-consuming desire, his insides screaming with lust for whatever the demon will offer.

   “Oh, I’ll give you everything. Everything for my sweet boy.”

And then he fucks him. Sinks into him with ease, slick and smooth like it’s nothing, like they’ve been at it for hours already. Eddie’s body shows no signs of restriction, welcomes every single one of Steve’s relentless thrusts like it was made for this. Made to take the huge cock that should hurt with every push. Should make him feel like he’s being torn apart but instead, all it does is to make Eddie cry out for more.

He needs it, can’t get enough of the feeling. Hears himself beg, for what he isn’t sure. Maybe for mercy, maybe for him to go harder, maybe all he’s pleading for is Steve’s name because it’s the only thought left on his mind.

Eddie feels light-headed. Feels like he’s slowly sinking into a pitch-black void that swallows him whole. Surrenders himself to the nothingness that takes hold of him, dissolving into the stardust particles he’s made of.

Floating.

Drifting.

Sinking.

And then he wakes up. Feels like he’s being pulled out of the water, gasping hard to fill his lungs with air. He sits up straight in his bed, heart racing and head spinning.

    Fuck.

He’s surrounded by crumpled sheets, feels the uncomfortable itch of dried cum clinging to his skin, made a mess of yet another pair of sleep shorts- but what’s new?

It takes a while for his breathing to calm, for his heart to stop pounding like it’s trying to break through his rib cage.

    Fuck, fuck, FUCK.

Eddie climbs out of bed, legs shaking hard, muscles aching like he’s been running a thousand miles.

He makes his way to the bathroom, discards his stained shorts and steps into the shower, replaying the dream on a loop. When Eddie looks down at himself, he finds his skin covered in red lines, imprints of where the ropes had been wrapped around him.

    What the hell?

There’s no way he could’ve done this to himself.

He scrubs himself down quickly, wastes no time on standing under the warm spray to relax. Couldn’t, even if he wanted to, because there’s something he needs to do.

Still naked and dripping with water, Eddie turns his back to the mirror. And when he looks over his shoulder, he finds what he’s been searching for.

Another rose, sitting there amongst six others between his shoulder blades.

Black ink carved deep into his skin.

Another tattoo he never got done.

Art, he hopes will never be finished.

[livingformintyoongi]

Mine | Kim Taehyung

Author’s note: I was going through my stuff and realized I had this among them (it already has about three parts in draft lol) and I thought, why not post them? So here I am, with this little thing that I think maybe some people could enjoy :) AUs: Divergent Word count: 1k Status: Unedited Permanent Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @tan-veee @angellekookie @meadowsweetskoo Dividers by @cafekitsune

You absentmindedly play with your hair, your eyes fixed on the people you both fear—and, in a way, admire—as they walk toward you with confident, deliberate steps, wearing their jackets and dark tattoos like trophies.

Each one of them draws more attention than the last. Maybe that’s what makes them so... striking—the fact that most of them weren’t even born in Dauntless.

You still don’t understand why anyone would choose to live in such a dangerous place, a place where raising a child literally means throwing them off a moving train. You don’t understand why he chose to live there, either.

And yet, there he is—walking toward you and the other Abnegation members who came to meet with them to discuss something your parents specifically asked you not to get involved in.

Even from where you stand, you can tell he’s changed. He’s grown. His face looks colder, more distant. His body stronger.

He looks good... but he’s not the Taehyung you once knew.

He’s not your Taehyung.

“I see you’ve already arrived. That’ll make things much easier,” murmurs the tall, blonde girl beside him. She’s beautiful—maybe too beautiful—and you can’t help but wonder if there’s something going on between them. You wouldn’t be surprised… but it would hurt.

“We didn’t want to waste your time,” Jaemin says with the kindest voice he can muster. Not that he has to try too hard—kindness comes naturally to him. He’s the perfect image of someone raised in Abnegation.

A perfect image that reminds you you’ll never be quite like him.

Your eyes go back to Taehyung. Your cheeks flush, and you feel the warmth rising to your ears, down your neck.

He’s already looking at you.

Maybe… maybe he remembers you? It’s been seven years since the last time you saw each other. Seven years spent sitting on your plain bed, whispering the same wish every night—to see him one last time. To finally tell him how you felt.

Now that he’s in front of you, you realize that was a foolish hope.

You quickly follow Jaemin once you realize he’s already started walking. You don’t want to be too close to the Dauntless members—not when they look so... dangerous.

You press your lips together. If only you weren’t so weak, so afraid... would you have gone with him? Could you have made him love you? Probably not—not with the women he’s surrounded by now. Women who are fearless. Women who are just as captivating as he is.

You’re just... you. Simple. Too modest to look effortless. Too dull to be interesting. Too young for someone like him to ever look your way.

“Y/N, why don’t you go home? It’s getting pretty late for you.”

You frown slightly, turning to Jaemin in confusion. It’s barely seven—the sun is still shining—and yet he thinks it’s too late? For you? You’re not a child anymore. You can make your own choices. You can handle this.

Even if it’s hard.

Even if this is all you’ve ever known.

“I think Y/N’s old enough to decide when she wants to go to bed,” Taehyung says, raising an eyebrow at Jaemin.

For a moment, you think you see something flicker in Taehyung’s eyes—just for a second—but enough to send a chill through your entire body.

You had forgotten what it felt like to be near him. Forgotten how it felt to feel this again. Forgotten what it was like to love someone who would never see you the same way.

“Her parents don’t like her being out this late.”

The embarrassment hits you like a wave, and your gaze drops quickly to the floor, to the dull gray of your clothes—so plain compared to the vibrant colors of the other factions.

Why did Jaemin have to say that in front of him?

Why did he have to make you feel so small?

“She’s old enough to go wherever the hell she wants, whenever she wants. So stop talking nonsense and ask her what she wants for a change.” His words are like a punch to the chest—sharp, sudden, and unexpected.

You see Taehyung step forward. Not toward Jaemin. Toward you.

You look up and find his back right in front of you.

The scene is so familiar it almost hurts.

How many times had he stood like this before you? How many times had he defended you from your parents’ strict words or from the cruel comments of the other kids?

How many times had you imagined him showing up—just like this—to protect you again?

Strange as it sounds… you missed him.

Missed the only person who ever believed you could be more than just the fragile, forgettable girl everyone else saw.

Your fingers move on their own.

You reach for the back of his shirt, clutching the fabric gently, like you’re afraid he might vanish. Like you’re trying to confirm that he’s really here. That he really came back.

Even if it’s only for a few hours.

You step closer, just enough to let your forehead rest against his back. You close your eyes. His shirt is cool against your skin, and for a moment, you let yourself breathe.

That one small gesture is enough to make you wish you could go home—but this time, not alone.

You bite your lip, feeling that ache rise in your chest again as you realize what you’re thinking.

He probably doesn’t even remember you, and yet… all it takes is a few words.

One familiar look.

One moment like this.

And you’re already wishing he’d stay. With you. Like before.

You know it’s pathetic. But you don’t let that stop you, because what does it matter if you’re never going to see him again?