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missadangel · 2 months ago

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The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

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XIII. The Missing (+18, Smut, MDNI)

I made this picture on psd lol lemme know if you liked it :)

“Amor gignit amorem.”

Love begets love.

Blood. All you could see was blood. It was all over the place. The mountains, the trees, the rocks, even the waterfall cascading ahead – everything was bathed in a crimson hue, covered in blood. The smell of blood filled the air as if it had obliterated all other odors. You tried to run away from this ominous place, but you realized that your feet were stuck in red mud like a swamp. The more you moved, the deeper you sank. You screamed for help, but no one heard, no one came. When you were up to your neck in the mud, you gasped for breath and screamed for the last time before the red mud swallowed you.

“Aurelia?”

The voice you knew so well echoed in your ears and then around you. The voice made mud disperse, allowing you to resume breathing.

"Aurelia?" He called out again, and you opened your eyes.

Marcus's face, beautiful in its own way, was right before you. Once you realized that he was looking at you with his brown eyes, the effect of the nightmare you had seen turned to dust and scattered around and disappeared. Marcus pressed his fingers on your forehead. Were you sweating?

“My love? Are you alright?”

“I am. I think I had a nightmare.”

“I think so too.” He sounded a bit concerned. "Would you like to tell me?"

You shook your head, looking away. Marcus exhaled deeply. "Aurelia, my love, I want you to forget the story I shared about the first man I killed. It's not the same as what you did. You were simply protecting yourself. You didn't have a choice and you did the right thing. However, the man I killed, he was innocent. I was following orders, but that's no excuse. You do understand what I'm saying, do you not?”

He propped himself up on his elbow to get a better look at your face, cupping your chin and turning your face to his. He was dressed in a cream tunic, the moonlight filtering gently through the window behind him and falling on his shoulders and hair.

“I understand and I appreciate that, but it doesn't change the fact that I killed someone."

He took your hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed the top of it. “I'm glad you did it. You saved me and you. Or should I say all three of us?” He put his hand on your belly.

You smiled; it was a relief to hear him saying that.

You were momentarily taken aback to realize you were still in your room in Domus Severiana. When did you arrive? Did you sleep until nightfall? Your memory was hazy. The last thing you remember is killing someone and becoming a murderer.

"What are you thinking about now?" he asked, looking at you. His hair was bathed in the blue moonlight, however you were focused on the cut on his cheek.

“Why are we here?”

"You mean, you don't remember?"

You shook your head.

"Hmm, after... Well, we arrived here. You were a bit tired and looked like you needed a bath, we both were." He smirked.

Right, you both looked pretty clean compared to what you recalled from the last time. That's when you suddenly remembered how he'd undressed you and put you in the bath tube, how he cleaned you up until your body was free of blood and dirt. Then how he carefully dried you, carried you to your room and put you to bed. And how he stayed with you until you fell asleep. But that was it – you didn't remember anything else. So he probably had his own bath afterward. You felt annoyed with yourself for not being able to help him with his bathing and dressing.

“I remember now,” you murmured.

“Are you sure you are alright?” His hand stroked your belly. He was asking about both of you.

You put your hand on his and smiled. “Your son must be as much of a fighter as you are. He's still holding on tight.”

He smiled and kissed you on the belly. “For a moment, I thought I'd lost you two. It was far worse than any kind of torture.”

You put your arms around his neck. "You saved me, you came back to me, and I'm truly grateful for that."

"You saved me too, don't forget that princess. I'm proud of you for using your knife effectually."

You tensed up a little as you remembered that moment. Marcus noticed it straight away and kissed your temple. "There's no need to feel guilty about that. I know it won't be easy, but I'm confident you'll get through this. Do you wish me to tell you how I know?"

You nodded.

"Because you're my Aurelia. You're strong enough to overcome anything, yet you're tender enough to think of everyone you care about."

He pressed his lips to yours. You realised how much you missed his kiss, his voice, his smell, his touch, his sweet words, everything. When he pulled back, you felt your heart ached.

"Why don't you try to get some more sleep? You must be feeling tired." He covered you with the sheet, turned towards you and cuddled up to you, putting his arm around you. You turned your head and noticed that his eyes were closed. You pursed your lips. You weren't tired, you just needed him. However, he must have been quite tired, so you closed your eyes and tried to sleep. But it didn't work. Your body was already burning up. The sweet masculine smell of his skin made things even more difficult. You felt your throat go dry. So you turned towards him. But this caused your breasts to brush against his arm. He opened his eyes and pulled his arm back. You felt your face flush, and you turned the other way. You smiled to yourself, pleased that you'd managed to seduce him without meaning to.

“Aurelia, that's worse.” He whispered.

You soon figured out what he was talking about. You could feel him growing just behind your hips.

"Apologies." You murmured. You moved yourself on the bed a little, trying to break the physical connection between you. But his strong arm grabbed you and pulled you towards him almost roughly. Your back hits his chest. You could hear him breathing heavily, his hot breath hitting your cheek. You giggled mischievously.

"You only had to ask," he said huskily. You gasped as you felt his lips on your neck.

"I thought you wouldn't want to, seeing as you're tired.”

He turned you towards him, in a fairly forceful manner, “Do you really think that's possible my lady?” He shook his head slightly. “I don't think so.” His lips almost touching yours, you've been craving a kiss from him. “Not when I've been thinking about you all the time, not when I've been looking forward to this moment badly.” And then finally he kissed you passionately. Gods! You’d really missed his kiss. It wasn't just him who'd been looking forward to this moment.

His hands, eager as usual, grabbed the end of your tunic and slid it up your legs, helping you out of it. You smiled when you felt his hands on your exposed skin. You bit your lower lip as his lips replaced his hands. You were getting impatient; your body was burning, as if on fire, and your breathing had turned into hot steam. As he planted kisses on your knees before spreading them, you resisted him, trying to make it fun.

He snickered. "Why are you hiding from me what is already mine? Wish to play?" He lifted your legs against your stomach with his strong hands. You were taken by surprise and felt out of breath. He ran his fingers and then his lips over it, from heel to thigh, as if memorizing it, first one leg and then the other. He was careful not to leave any part of your skin untouched, but he did it so slowly that you were sure you were dripping wet by now. It might have been romantic or seductive at first, but it was getting to be too much and your patience was running out. It was good when he was gentle, but it was better when he was rough. He must have heard your inner voice, grabbed you by the legs, pulling you hard against him. You held your breath as he lifted your legs, placed them on his shoulders, and buried his head between them. Fortunately, he was no longer gentle when he used his tongue to enter you and give you unbelievable pleasure. You clenched the sheet as he licked and sucked your most sensitive spot mercilessly like a starving man. He continued his pattern, teased you until you thought you might go mad, breaking it occasionally to suck at your sweet spot or nibble at the folds of you. Meanwhile, he ventured his tongue within you, each time probing a little deeper, until finally he slid as much of it into you as he could and you could not help but cry out at the feeling of it swirling inside of you. Soon, the moans he’s coaxing out of you are only got louder and louder and you lifted your hips up to meet his mouth, your toes curling. Marcus squeezed your hips and increased the pressure of his mouth, tongue, and lips, taking you to the very top of the sky as your loud moans filled every cavity of the large room. Your vision was blurred, your heart racing.

It’s at this moment that he pulled back completely, leaving only the warm air touching you, and you let out a mortifying groan which turned into mewling. Marcus laughed at you and you opened your eyes to see his mouth and chin are covered with your wetness. He kissed you deeply, pushing what he could of it between your lips with his tongue. "You're the most delicious thing I've ever tasted," he whispered into your mouth. "A splendid dessert just for me to taste." You licked his bottom lip, tasting yourself, realizing that he was right. He kissed you again and this time with more passion quickly turning into a feverish lust.

You reached out to touch his tunic, but his consuming kiss was so intense that you failed. He smiled, his warm breath touching your cheek. Then he smirked, spread his arms wide and told you to undress him without speaking. Giggling, you got up on your knees and did as he said, running your hands over his shoulders after throwing his tunic gods-know-where. You frowned as you noticed the new scars on his body, he watched you patiently as your fingers travelled over each one. He put a finger in your temple, then over your eyebrows as if to smooth out your frown and slid it through your hair, running it through it as if combing it.

"You're the only one who can heal,” he murmured. Then he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you towards him. He held you tight, making sure there was no gap between you. You smiled as you realised he was getting impatient between your inner thighs. His glorious length was caressing your entrance and your body already squirming to be his. Thinking he was going to lay you back down, instead, he grabbed your hips and fell backward, pulling you on top of him. Now you were sitting on him, you looked down at him in surprise, and he grinned.

He licked his lips. “Ride me.”

Biting your lower lip with excitement, you placed your hands on his chest, rotated your hips and settled on top of him, slowly taking his length into you. He gripped your hips and guided you into the right position. When you felt him deep inside you let out a moan of pleasure and leaned into him. Your hair was falling in his face, and you teased him with it by shaking your head covering his face completely with your hair. He smirked and gathered your hair and put it over one shoulder as you rode him in slow movements. Then he started to speed up his thrusts by moving his groin. You were completely like impaled on him and it felt like absolute bliss and you never wanted this feeling to end. You leaned in to kiss him feeling the overwhelming pleasure was pushing you dangerously close to the edge. He was grasping and kneading your breasts in a strong and possessive way with both of his big hands as he kissed you passionately and rubbed his thumbs over your nipples. He grabbed your hips in a bruising grip and squeezes as he thrusts into you so hard and powerfully that you scream out loud in shock, like he's some kind of beast and he's almost making you beg desperately for more. He moaned and growled through clenched teeth as he marked you and claimed you and made you his. Your heart was beating so fast that you felt like it was going to burst. You pressed your lips together to suppress your upcoming scream but failed. Everyone in the palace would hear your moans and know what you were doing, but it didn't matter right now.

Marcus hit your sweet spot with each glorious thrust and soon you began to feel your soul leaving your body and your surroundings became hazy and blurry and white lights began to appear, you cried out as the most intense emotion erupted from every nerve in your body and you felt you were flying, weightless and free, the feeling of pure pleasure racing through every part of you. His moans and grunts became muffled as the pleasure overtook you. He pulled you hard against his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around you and you felt him fill you up with his hot liquid, his thrusts stuttering. You were resting your head on his chest while he buried his face in your hair. You stayed like that for a while until your breathing calmed down. Marcus loosened his grip around your body and you felt his lips on the top of your head as his hands travelled slowly down your back. You could hear the sound of his heart thudding against his chest, it soon settled and you felt him soften inside you. He grabbed you round the waist and slid you onto the bed and you snuggled into him. He lifted the sheet and covered both of you, wrapping one arm around you and thus ensuring your usual ritual of falling asleep peacefully.

The morning sun was filtering through your eyelashes, casting a yellow light over your face as you blinked sleepily. Opening your eyes, the first thing you saw was Marcus' beard, his chin, and his lips. Those wonderful lips you couldn't get enough of kissing. His eyes were still closed, his sweet breath caressing your forehead as you watched him sleeping. He was so incredible, so beautiful. You felt a little upset when you saw the new scar on his cheek though, but it wouldn't prevent the perfection of his face. It made you love him even more. It was impossible to describe how much you love him, but "eternity" was probably the closest description.

Just yesterday you hated this big room, but now that he was lying next to you, in your bed, the room didn't seem so bad to you anymore. With his presence, the room had become a safer, more beautiful, and more significant place. After a few moments, you found yourself drawn to his face once more and felt the urge to kiss him. You softly pressed your lips to his. You then pulled back and saw his lips curled into a smile, opening his eyes. His brown eyes were as dark and expressive at night as they were buttery and warm in the morning. They were enough to blow your mind every time.

"Morning," you said softly.

"What a lovely morning this is," he said with a smile, running his hand through your hair.

"It certainly is," you smiled back.

He leaned over and kissed you. His kiss was gentle and passionate. But you were ready for him to kiss you deeper. He slowed his kiss but you tightened your arm around his neck. He laughed between his lips and pulled back, you frowned. He laughed even more at your reaction.

“My lady, I love it when you're eager, but don't you think you should get a little more rest?”

You blushed, batting your eyelashes. "I've really missed you."

“Same here,” he said, placing his hand on your belly and stroking it softly. "Is it alright for the child if we make love this often?"

"He's fine, I'd know if there was anything wrong." You replied. You then grasped his hand, placing it on your thigh. "I need you, Marcus, please."

He smirked. "I think I've raised my wife to be as lustful as I am." He chuckled.

You giggled naughtily. He kissed you roughly this time. Your heart began to beat with excitement. He squeezed your thighs and pulled you closer to him. Since you were already naked, the process didn't take long and he quickly lifted the sheet covering your body and settled on top of you. You had already spread your legs for him. His lips moved to your neck, collarbone and sternum, sucking and licking as he made his way down your body. As you ran your fingers through his hair, you felt him get harder at your entrance. He grabbed your hips again with one hand and entered you easily giving you incredible pleasure. His other hand travelled over every possible part of your flesh. You held your breath as he ran his hot tongue over your breasts. You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him deeper into you, and he let out a loud moan.

"So needy," he said, his voice low and husky, his breath hot on your nipples. He kept nibbling on your breasts, sucking them with a growing appetite. As you began to feel like you were almost losing your mind, his lips met yours again and turned into a hungry, thirsty kiss. His thrusts fastened and you let out little moans of sweet pleasure as you dug your fingers into his flesh. He broke the kiss to push a few strands of hair away from your face. His intense gaze held yours captive while making you his. Soon he wrapped his hands around you and buried his head into your collarbone. His thrusts deepened, and he increased the pace at an incredible speed. Your back instinctively arched, but his grip was so tight that it was impossible to move. Your loud moans filled the room, and the satisfying sound of your bodies slapping together echoed in.

You screamed his name over and over, he let out a great roar and reached his climax at the same time as you. His lips sucked and nibbled your chin as he slowing his thrusts. You closed your eyes tight, bit your lip hard, curled your toes as you savoured the last moments of the amazing pleasure you were feeling. He released his grip on you and kissed the areas of your skin that had become reddened with great tenderness. You were still breathing heavily and had your eyes closed. Marcus placed his hand between your breasts and was surprised to feel your heart beating fast under his palm.

“My love, are you alright?”

You inhaled slowly and deeply through your nose and then exhaled. “My breathing... has become... much quicker now... It takes me a bit longer to settle.” You panted.

He gave you a kiss on the forehead and pulled out of you, wrapping his arms around you to embrace you close to his chest.

"I should have been more gentle with you," he said, running his fingers through your hair. "I couldn't control myself. Forgive me."

Your throat felt a little dry, so you took a moment to wet it and swallow. "There's nothing to forgive, my love, you are wonderful."

A faint smile appeared on his face.

Suddenly there was the sound of drums, which startled you. Marcus sighed. It would seem that this was an announcement of Caracalla's passing and details of the funeral arrangements.

“I am the one who killed him,” Marcus said, looking you in the eye.

You nodded. "You did the right thing. I was almost losing you because of him. He tried to take everything from us."

"In a way, he kind of succeeded."

"How do you mean?"

"Villa," he muttered. You felt your chest tighten. Marcus stroked your cheek. "Cato said it was plundered and the slaves were taken which means they must be detained."

"Where could they be?"

"I have a few guesses. We'll find them, but first I must find Geta. Before the funeral-"

"How do you mean you have to find him? Is he missing?" Your voice was louder than you wanted it to be.

"Yesterday, I had entrusted three of my men to protect him. They arrived in the evening. They were certain it was Macrinus. They said: His men intercepted Geta's carriage and attempted to kill him. There was a skirmish between them and one of my men took him into the alleys to protect him, and probably died while doing it so. However, nobody saw Geta die. He is nowhere to be seen though.”

"Gods! Where could he be?”

"That's what I need to find out," he said, kissing the top of your head and getting out of bed. He then put on his tunic. "There may be some concern if the people don't see him at Caracalla's funeral, and if Macrinus is able to convince the senate, which is a possibility. He would then proclaim himself emperor." He turned to look at your concerned face. He sat on the bed, stroking your cheek. You let out a soft moan when you felt pain where he pressed his thumb. Your face was probably bruised where Flavius had hit you before. His eyes were filled with anger. "I should have chopped that bastard's hands and body into pieces." He hissed.

“I'll be alright. You simply find my brother, please."

“I will, I have to.” He was stroking your bruise carefully. “I know you care about him.”

You measured his gaze, “He's my brother, and it seems he's the only one left.”

“I’m aware, but the thing is, I’m not sure if he sees you as his sister.” His gaze had changed. Could it be jealousy?

“Marcus," you objected.

“It's tough for me, sharing you with someone else, even if he's your brother. As if that wasn't enough, there's a man's look in the way he looks at you, which is really frustrating for me.” His voice was sharp.

You took his hand and looked him in the eye. "Marcus, I love you and I am yours. Nothing or no one could ever change that, never."

"I know that my love. If he is still breathing, that is the reason.”

You exhaled, and he gave a faint smile in return. "Anyway, my lady. I must take my leave now." He kissed your cheek and stood up.

"Where's your armour?" you asked, standing up after him.

"It needed to be clean, the slaves were looking after it." He said, holding the door handle, he then eyed you up and down. "What are you doing?"

You looked at your stola in your hand, trying to understand his question. "I am getting dressed to come with you." You replied.

"No, Aurelia, you are not coming with me. I want you to stay in the room and rest," he said in a commanding tone.

You put on your tunic in a somewhat stubborn manner. "Please don't ask me to stay in the room. I was locked in here for days, as I'm sure you're aware."

"If you're going to be safe, it's better that way," he said firmly.

You laughed hysterically while you were wearing your stola. "Forgive me, General, but there is no way I am staying in this room in your absence."

Marcus sighed deeply. "Why are you so stubborn?”

"Please, at least let me go downstairs. The slave girl saved my life yesterday, I really must go and see her."

While you were putting on one of your sandals, you noticed he had fallen silent. He then stepped towards you and bent down in front of you. He was tying the laces of your sandal. "I am truly sorry, my lady," he murmured. You touched his shoulder to stop him.

"Or the girl..." The words got stuck in your throat.

Marcus paused then quickly tied the other sandal laces and sat down beside you, wrapping his arms around you. You couldn't stop the tears, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Many lost their lives, including my soldiers. They were like brothers to me and I lost them. All because of Flavius and Caracalla. I take some solace in the fact that they are no longer alive. Macrinus is next," he said in a stern tone.

"Marcus, what about our family? I can't lose them too."

"We won't. I'll look for them once I find Geta. I'll find them, I promise."

"Let me come with you, please."

He frowned. "Aurelia." His tone indicated that the matter was not up for discussion.

You twisted your lips. "Then don't prevent me from leaving this room." You touched his arm. "Besides, this wound doesn't look good, I should make a herbal mixture. It could get infected.”

"Alright then, but I'm leaving Cato here to look after you. I don't trust anyone else. Not with Macrinus still out there."

You smiled. “Understood, General.”

He smirked, kissed your cheek, and held out his hand to you. "My lady.”

As you walked into the courtyard, you saw Octavius and two other soldiers. They noticed you and nodded.

"Tell me where Cato is at once." Marcus said to Octavius.

"He's resting, sir. His wound seems deep."

You touched Marcus' arm. "Let me examine his wound," you demanded.

"I believe the palace medicus would have attended to his wound, wouldn't he, Octavius?" Marcus asked, turning to him, awaiting an answer.

"I have learned that Emperor Caracalla had the medicus killed, sir.”

You and Marcus exchanged glances. Even though Caracalla was now dead, he had left behind some unfortunate memories, some of which were irredeemably awful.

"Octavius, I need you to stay here and ensure the safety of Lady Aurelia," Marcus said.

"As you say, sir." Octavius nodded.

Then he turned to the others. "Aris, Felix, you two come with me. We need to find Emperor Geta at once."

"Yes, sir." They both said.

"So you two are here!"

You all turned your heads towards her.

"Can you tell me where my son is, General Acacius? What are you doing here instead of finding him?" Julia asked in a defiant tone.

Right. Now his mad son had finally died, she was free too. You refused to meet her gaze. Marcus too, ignored her and turned to you. "My lady, I need to leave now. Octavius will stay here with you. Please be safe.”

"Do not worry about me, you just find him. I will be waiting for your return." You said with a smile.

"Can't you hear me? I asked you a question!”

Marcus turned to her. ‘'Lady Domna, if you don't mind, I was just about to take my leave," he said in a kind but firm tone. He than gestured for his men to step forward. He looked at you one last time before leaving the courtyard, then looked meaningfully at Octavius, who nodded. Octavius then approached you. From the way he moved and his protective demeanour, you came to know why he and Marcus had exchanged glances.

You ignored Julia's angry glare. "Octavius, take me to Cato, please."

"This way, my lady," he said, pointing ahead.

"Aurelia, where are you going? There will be members of the Senate and their wives coming to pay their respects today. Shouldn't you stay with me?"

You paused, taking a deep breath before speaking. "You're speaking as if you're my mother, Lady Domna."

"I may not be your mother but Caracalla was your brother."

"If you hadn't asked me to kill him weeks ago, I'd thought that you were in mourning right now."

"How dare you? Of course I am!" Julia's voice was loud, but when she realised Octavius was tense, she decided to lower it. "No one loved my son more than me. Whatever I have done was for him. You'll understand when you have a child of your own.”

You sighed. "I don't need your advice nor your lies. You can save them for your guests. Now, if you will excuse me, I have someone to heal." You said in a warning tone. Then you turned on your heel and left the courtyard with Octavius following you behind.

Upon Marcus's arrival with Felix and Aris at the location where Geta was last known to be, it was the hour when the streets of Rome would typically be at their most active. However, a period of mourning had been declared until the funeral, resulting in a notable absence of activity on the streets. Marcus dismounted and conducted a detailed examination of the tracks on the ground, checking every corner and stone in the hope of discovering even the slightest trace.

When he was unable to find any, he ordered his men to spread out and survey the area. He was himself engaged in searching the surrounding area. After walking for a few streets, he had the feeling that he was being watched. He soon found the person who was watching him. However, he did not reveal this to the man. The man was dressed in ordinary attire, wearing a black cloak over it. Marcus entered the courtyard of a house and waited nearby, near the wall near the entrance. As soon as the man stepped through there, as he had planned, he grabbed him and put his pugio to his throat.

“Who the hell are you? Speak!” he barked.

However, the man did not speak, he struggled, but Marcus was stronger and would not let him go. Before long, though, he pulled out a dagger with his free hand and lunged at him. Marcus saw this and grabbed his hand and pushed him hard. The man stumbled and before he could recover, Marcus had already drawn his sword. Since he didn't have a sword, the man was clearly frightened and took a few steps back before running out of the courtyard. Marcus smiled and then gave chase. He followed at a relaxed pace, curious about where he was going. But soon man started to run faster so did Marcus. After chasing him for a few streets, Felix saw them from a distance and ran over to the man and jumped on him. By the time Marcus got there, the man was already on the ground.

"Well catch, brother," Marcus said with a grin. Felix grabbed the man's hands and held them behind his back. The man tried to break free but couldn’t.

"Sir, I also had someone following me, but I couldn't catch him."

Marcus frowned. Were there more men? He looked at the man with a stern gaze.

"Whose man are you? Speak or I'll make sure you never can," Marcus said in a sharp tone, pointing his sword at the man.

The man refused to speak. He was certain that he must be Macrinus' man. A short while later, someone called out to Marcus, addressing him by his title. It was Aris, running towards them, followed by several men, all dressed similarly to the man they had captured. A few more men came from up and down the street, and they formed a circle around them. Marcus put his sharp sword to the throat of the man they had caught. They were outnumbered by eight. One of them who Marcus figured must be their leader, took a few steps forward.

"Release my man now, General Acacius!"

"Tell us who you are and why you were following us, first.”

The man raised his arms in a friendly manner. "We're on the same side, General. There's no need for all this."

Marcus raised his eyebrows in surprise. "On the same side, you say? Which side is that I wonder? Speak at once!"

"We are also searching for Emperor Geta, as you are. However, Macrinus' men are present in many places."

"So you're saying you're not one of them?"

The man laughed. "No, of course not. I am Lexus, from Leptis Magna, and so are my brothers here. We heard that our elders, our relatives, had been murdered by Caracalla. So we came to Rome on a letter from Lady Domna. We have been keeping an eye on things for some time now."

Marcus narrowed his eyes. "So you're the one who provided her with the poison that drove Caracalla mad, were you?”

The man gave a grin. "You're pretty clever for a soldier, General. I'll give you that. Well, Caracalla was already out of control, so we had to find a way to bring him down. You see, we had to do this because if he was declared a tyrant, all his decisions would be invalidated. However, it is you who killed him, so we must say thank you for that." The man bowed his head. Marcus released the man he had captured. The man ran to his friends.

Now everything was clear. Julia had been planning this since her return maybe even before.

"I assure you that no harm will come to you or your wife, Princess Aurelia. Our only desire is to find Emperor Geta at once.”

Marcus looked at him with a sharp gaze when he mentioned your name. You wouldn't dare harm her anyway, he thought. "If you were monitoring the situation from afar, why didn't you find Emperor Geta by now?"

The man let out a deep sigh. "Macrinus and the commander of the guards were making it difficult. We've lost two of our brothers since we arrived, because of them. Anyway, we will kill the commander and then him. We are simply seeking an opportunity."

"The commander is dead, as for Macrinus," Marcus sheathed his sword with a sharp noise. "I will kill him eventually, but now I must find Emperor Geta, so you'd better stay out of my way while I do so.”

Marcus gave the order to his men to follow him, and they did so without question. The others looked at their leader, who gave them a firm nod to let them go. As Marcus strode away from them and down the street, he saw a boy watching them from the corner of a wall. The boy immediately turned and ran away as soon as he realised he had been spotted.

"Aris, catch that child!" Marcus commanded. Aris did not hesitate and ran towards him. Marcus and Felix strode purposefully towards them, their footsteps echoing in the stillness. A shrill scream rang out. And when they turned the corner, they saw Aris had caught the boy. He was holding the child with one hand and a very familiar object with the other.

“Sir, I found this on this little rascal!”

It was the bronze crown that belonged to Geta. Marcus ran towards him and took the crown from his hand.

"I did not steal it sir! He gave it to me, I swear, to all the gods!" the boy cried.

Aris shook him, "Don't lie, you little brat! Tell me, where is the owner of the crown?"

Marcus commanded, "Aris, put the boy down."

"But sir-"

"I told you to put him down." His tone was stern. Aris nodded and obeyed. Marcus approached the boy, crouched down to his level, touching his shoulder. "Who gave you this boy? Tell me. We won't hurt you, I promise."

Soon, they heard footsteps and another boy ran towards them. He was older than the other.

"You stupid! I told you!" He shouted at the little boy. Then he looked at them. His eyes widened as he noticed Marcus. "Or, are you General Acacius, sir?”

Marcus stood and smiled at him. "That's right young man, I am General Acacius. But how did you recognise me?"

"Sir, I recognised you by the armour you are wearing, an armour embroidered in gold with the great Medusa on your chest!" he said excitedly, pointing to his armour. Just like in the murals! But the real one is certainly better! Right?" He asked the little boy with a smile.

He clapped his hands excitedly. “Yes! Yes, indeed!"

Marcus smiled at them. "Well, nice to meet you then. Now, can you tell me where you found this crown? I suppose you know who it belongs to, don't you?"

The children looked at each other and then back at Marcus. "He gave it to us himself, but I warned my brother that we should head together. But he did not listen! He always does it to upset me!”

“Slow down boy, slow down.” Marcus touched his shoulder. “Emperor Geta. Did he really give it to you?”

The boy nodded.

“Then where is he? And where were you heading?”

"The Emperor Geta has entrusted us with his crown in case they don't believe us. We were on our way to the Palatine Hill."

"I see now," Marcus said. "You don't have to do that anymore. You just take us to him now, we need to get him home safely, you know what I mean, don't you?" He rubbed the boy's head.

"Yes sir!" He shouted, standing at attention like a soldier.

Marcus smiled. "Good boy.”

When Marcus arrived at the place where the children had brought them, he was astounded. This was the poorhouse. The place you frequented and told him about. However, the place had clearly been refurbished. It no longer looked as shabby as it used to. The children noticed them and ran towards them. They examined his armour closely, their eyes filled with curiosity. Marcus smiled at them, recalling your words about this place. The children were well-fed and now wore proper clothes. He soon recognised Geta by his blond hair. He was sitting at a table with his back turned, next to him was an old woman. She was handing him a bowl of food.

"I'm not eating this, you old hag! Not in this life or the next! Don't you dare force me, or I'll throw up on you like a fountain!”

The woman noticed Marcus who was approaching them. Geta turned his head and his eyes widened. He leapt to his feet. "Acacius!" He shouted with a big smile spreading across his face. But then his smile faded instantly. "Acacius, why in the name of the Gods are you so late!"

"I apologize for the late arrival, Your Highness. Have you been here the whole time?”

"Yes, unfortunately I spent a night in this filthy place. Can you believe it? It's absolutely horrible!" His eyes met those of the people around him, who had heard him but not seem to care.

"My men informed me that there was a fight and the man who was protecting you was murdered. They looked for you afterwards but couldn't find you anywhere."

“Your man protected me until his last breath. After that, I ran into the alleys, but then I stumbled and fell, hitting my damn head on a stone." He pointed to his head, indicating the small wound in the corner of his forehead. "The children told me they brought me here. I opened my eyes and was in a daze. You can not even imagine the shock I had when I saw these brats around me!"

Marcus smirked. "Those brats saved your life. Good thing you're alive. We've been looking for you."

"This is yours, Your Majesty," Aris said as he handed the crown to Geta.

Geta took it and placed it on his head. “Well, we must leave then, I don't want to stay here any longer.” He came over to Marcus, bouncing a bit, clearly in pain. He then put his hand on his shoulder, Marcus sighed but helped him to walk.

"I shall have a very good bath when I get home.”

In Marcus' absence, you spent the day tending to Cato's and Octavius' wounds and preparing herbal ointment for Marcus too. People, including senators and their wives, kept coming by to offer their condolences until dark. Caracalla's body was laid down in the middle of the great hall, open-faced. A white cloth with a gold pattern embroidered around the edges was covering him up to his neck. The priestesses kept on chanting the liturgy next to him, almost without a break, until evening. As Julia greeted the people who came to pay their respects with an incredibly forced expression, you wondered how she managed it. She must have done it many times before; she was like an expert. It was as if she was not the one who wanted to kill him weeks ago. Everyone who came asked about Geta and where he was, and Julia always had an answer ready. Standing with them in the great hall, you hoped Marcus would return with Geta soon. Near dusk, you almost fainted listening to the endless guests and their long speeches. You excused yourself and left the great hall, walking to the other courtyard. It was quieter here, the nausea seemed to have passed for a few days, but your body was weak from all the tension you had been under lately.

You sat on the lectus in the courtyard and put your feet up to relax. You thought about calling out Decima, but she wasn't there anymore. All of a sudden, you felt a bit down, wondering where they were now and what they were up to. You let out a little sigh and leaned your head back. You soon heard footsteps approaching.

"My Lady." A deep, masculine, velvety voice addressed you.

You immediately opened your eyes and turned your head to look at him.

"You're here," you said, your face brightening with a smile. You were just about to slide your legs down but Marcus walked over, grabbed your legs and sat down next to you, resting your legs on his lap. He had a warm smile on his face.

"Or my lovely princess had a rather tiring day?" His hand gently caressed your legs.

"Just a little." You replied with a smile.

"Nothing to trouble you, I hope?" His gaze turned serious.

"Not really, it's just people coming to pay their respects. Some of them were rather garrulous. If you imagine what I mean." You said with a whispering gesture, putting your hand near your mouth.

Marcus laughed. "I afraid I can imagine, yes. Anyway, I returned with good news.’’

"Or did you find him?"

Marcus nodded and smiled.

“Thank the gods,” you said with relief. Then you put your feet down to embrace him. His large hands gently caressed your back, and you felt his lips brushing against your hair.

He took a deep breath, inhaling your scent. “I've only been away from you for a short time, yet I miss you so much.”

You pulled your head back and looked at him. His eyes took over yours with all their seductiveness. He leaned down to kiss you. But before your lips even met, a familiar voice interrupted you.

“Sister!” Geta's voice rang through the courtyard walls. Julia called after him as he approached you with a big smile on his face, ignoring his mother.

You turned your head towards his voice, tried to pull back to stand up, but Marcus' strong arms wouldn't let you. You looked at him, he seemed a bit unsure, but then his arms loosened their grip. As soon as you stood up, Geta came over and gave you a big hug. "Ugh! I've missed you so much! You wouldn't believe what's happened to me!" Marcus seemed annoyed. Julia crossed her arms.

"I have missed you too brother." You murmured.

Geta stepped back to look at you, then frowned. "Gods! What happened to your face?"

Marcus tensed and stood up when Geta took your face in his hands. You were aware of Marcus's nervousness, of course. You gave Geta's hands a little push away. "It's nothing serious. I've already made some ointment, and if I keep applying it I'm sure it will heal in a few days."

There was a wound on the side of his forehead. You also observed that he was staggering slightly. "What about you?"

Geta just threw himself on the lectus where you were sitting a few moments ago. "I fell. I was very nearly murdered by that cunt Macrinus and his rats.”

"You shouldn't be seen like this," Julia whined, looking at him. "You should bathe and then dress appropriately for the funeral."

Geta sighed. "I agree about the bath, but afterwards I want to sleep with no dress on!"

"There are still guests coming-"

"I do not care! I'm not interested in their fake faces and tears! I need to rest." He then looked at you. "Aurelia, Acacius, join me for dinner, would you?”

“This must be a joke! It is simply not acceptable to enjoy a dinner in the house of mourning! People will gossip until eternity!" Julia yelled.

Marcus took your hand and looked at Geta. "Lady Domna is right, Your Majesty. I will have them bring your dinner to your room after your bath. It would be more appropriate if Lady Aurelia and I retired to our room now. It has been a tiring day for us all."

Geta pursed her lips. "Acacius, I would have chastised you if you hadn't come to rescue me from that awful place. However, you have every right to ask for rest. You may leave now.”

Marcus gave a nod and turned to take his leave, pulling you along with him.

“Good night sister! Rest well!” Geta said loudly after you.

“And you as well!” You waved at him.

As you made your way out of the courtyard and towards the stairs, Marcus let out a quiet sigh. "I am looking forward to returning to our villa," he said. "It might need some repairs first." He stopped at the first step of the stairs and looked at you. "We could stay here for a little longer if you wish, until I find them."

You smiled. "Now that you've found Geta, we will reunite our family."

He moved your hand, which he was holding, to his lips and kissed it. "We will, my love.”

Once you had finished your evening meal, which was brought to your room, you applied the ointment you had prepared for Marcus to his arm. You approached the table to put the bowl down, while Marcus opened the drawer of the other small table.

"My Lady, I believe I have something that belongs to you," he said. He was holding the bracelet you dropped last time when you running away from Flavius.

"Marcus, you found it! But how?" You smiled cheerfully.

He reached for your arm and placed the bracelet on your wrist. "I consider myself fortunate. Thanks to this bracelet, I was able to reach you in time." He sat on the edge of the bed and sat you on his lap. You put your arm around his neck. "Maybe the gods had mercy." His fingers traced the bruise on your face. His eyes were dark. "Maybe they knew what I would do if something happened to you and they intervened to prevent it, for the sake of Rome."

You could imagine what he was talking about since you had witnessed his furious side. He wrapped his other arm around your waist and kissed you on the face again and again. With each kiss, your heart was beating faster and your throat was feeling dry. As his breathing also became more rapid, lust began to take over your entire body. Marcus pushed back the hair covering your neck and kissed the exposed skin. You instinctively arched your neck back and wrapped your other arm around his neck. With your waist supported by his arm, he gently laid you down on the bed. Your feet were still touching the floor. Marcus bent over you and gave you a passionate kiss on the lips. His tongue tasted of the wine he'd just drunk – sweet and fruity. His moustache and beard tickled your cheeks, making you kiss him even more eagerly. As he deepened the kiss, he grabbed the fabric of the stola you'd tucked into your belt and quickly released you from both. Once you were left in just your tunic, he sat you down on the bed and quickly undressed you, making it very clear that he loved this very much. He took hold of your legs and waist and pulled you towards the middle of the bed. Before long, he was on top of you. His hands, his lips, his movements were as gentle and careful as he promised. It was beautiful in its seductiveness, yes, but it made you even more impatient. A few more touches and your body was already writhing to be his. You tangled your fingers in his hair as Marcus' marvellous tongue circled around your nipples. He snickered as your fingers then gripped the hem of his tunic.

“Impatient, my lady?”

“Very much so,” you said with a giggle.

He laughed and got up on his knees to take off his tunic. His bare chest never failed to amaze you. It was perfect in every sense of the word. After eyeing his torso, you reached for him, grabbed his neck, and pulled him to you.

Your lips met and immediately turned into a hungry kiss. Marcus smiled crookedly as you spread your legs for him without a second thought. He was trying to be as gentle as possible, but you were trying his patience too much. Now he was as impatient as you were. He gripped your hips and slowly entered your now helplessly squirming walls. A loud moan of pleasure escaped your mouth, causing you to break the kiss. This gave Marcus the opportunity to lick and suck your chin. But your mouths met again. And it turned into a kiss so deep you forgot how to breathe. Marcus was in no rush to speed up his thrusts, determined to be gentle this time, until you raised your hips a little and wrapped your legs tightly around him. He let out a deep, masculine sound that was similar to a roar. He broke the kiss and placed his hands on the bed, on either side of you. You thought he was angry but he snickered. "You are driving me mad you know that, do you not?"

"I know," you giggled, biting your lip. "Marcus," you ran your hands over his shoulders. "I see you're trying hard to be gentle, but there's really no need. Our child is fine." Then you placed your hands on his waist. "And I am perfectly fine." You said seductively.

He leaned in and kissed you, then grabbed your hips and pulled back to thrust deeper. "I'm glad you said that because I was just about to bite the bed sheet."

You both giggled. As if he was waiting for your approval desperately he thrust deep again. You were overwhelmed with the incredible pleasure he was giving you.

"I love how stubborn you are, even in bed," he whispered in your ear. "It makes me want you even more."

You were almost climaxing from his words, if not from his glorious thrusts deep inside your walls. He responded to your loud moans with a satisfied smile, and soon he was feeling close to the edge too.

“Marcus!” You cried out his name.

“That's right, my love. Say it louder.” He purred.

“Marcus!” You could have sworn your voice echoed across the Roman skies.

As you rose into the sky in an explosion of pleasure, you desperately but mercilessly dug your fingers into his back. And he lost it. His big fingers gripped your thighs and squeezed them so hard as he reaches his climax. He pressed his face between your breasts until he was breathing regular again. You felt wet, but it wasn't just his forehead that was sweating - your whole body was too. Your heart was beating fast, your breathing was almost wheezing, but Marcus' lips, moving slowly over your collarbone, helped you to calm down. And soon you laughed as your breathing became regular. Marcus laughed too and collapsed next to you. "This was magnificent. It deserves to be at the top of the list. What do you think, princess?" he asked, panting.

You rested your chin on his chest, looking at him curiously. "I didn't realise you had a list, General."

He ran his hand down your spine. "Not to make comparisons of course, but to track progress. Anyway, this is a bit pointless since we're getting better every time, aren't we?" He winked at you. You blushed, but it must be invisible since your body is red all over. "Maybe it's because you're so wonderful, so full of surprises, my beautiful wife," he kissed the top of your head. You smiled and involuntarily yawned and he laughed in response. "We should get some rest now tomorrow is going to be a bit of a hard day."

"Indeed, we should," you murmured slowly, your eyelids already closing and you soon fell asleep.

He cupped your head in his palm, then carefully placed it on the pillow, then kissed your temple. "Sleep well, my love.”

As the first rays of the morning heralded a new day in the city, it did not appear to evoke a sense of mourning. As the day began, people appeared to be in good spirits, with some even hoping that the period of mourning would soon come to an end and they could return to their daily lives. Nevertheless, it was an emperor who had passed away, and whatever was required for his funeral would be done, even if he had been a flawed ruler.

As was to be expected, preparations for the funeral began at the Domus Severiana at an early hour.Julia was feeling relieved inside although she looked sad and devastated from the outside. She had been sitting beside her son's cold body in the early morning, waiting in her black stola: For her other son to wake up.

It is not known whether Geta had woken up yet, but you had already opened your eyes. Marcus woke up before you and woke you up in the sweetest way; placing soft kisses on your face. It seems that the room you were in was nothing like a room in a house of mourning.

“I wish we'd never got out of bed.” You mumbled something quietly. “I really miss the early days of our marriage.”

Marcus smirked. "Am I mistaken, my lady, or weren’t you a little bored?”

You looked up at him. “Bored? I don't think so! I don't recall anything like that. Besides, I couldn't be bored with you. That's not possible, General.”

“I feel the same way, my lady. I'd love to stay in bed with you forever. But not in this bed for sure.” He frowned.

You giggled. "In our bed back at the villa?”

“Yes, you might want to make a few changes while the repairs are taking place.”

“What could it be?”

“Anything you wish. After all, it'll be three of us in that room soon, don't you think?” He gave you a wink.

“Oh, that's right.” You said with a grin.

"It might even be four or five. Or perhaps we should tear down the room and make it bigger."

It was appealing to picture yourself with so many children, but also a bit daunting. “How are we going to stay in one room with so many children? Besides, we'll never get any alone time too.”

Marcus leaned towards you. “How about a separate secret room for us to be alone, then? A small room where no one can find us?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Hmm, it sounds very romantic.”

He smirked and kissed you.

And then, you heard footsteps just outside the door.

Geta came bursting in. “Are you two still in bed?”

Marcus quickly pulled the sheet up to your head and buried you in it.

“Gods!” You yelled.

“What do you think you're doing?” Marcus barked.

Geta crossed his arms, looking away. "It's a habit, I suppose. My mind goes back to the old days." He chuckled.

It's really great that you brought up the old days in front of Marcus, brother, you thought. You couldn't see him, but you were certain Marcus was angry.

"I had no idea you two were busy romancing on the day of the funeral," he grumbled, glancing at Marcus’ naked body out of the corner of his eye. But he looked away because he was staring at him menacingly. "Anyway, get dressed at once. The ceremony will start soon."

He left the room quickly but you had no intention of lifting the sheet off your face. You were a little tense about meeting Marcus's angry face. You gripped the sheet tightly.

"The old days?" Marcus asked.

You swallowed.

"He used to barge into your room like this before too?"

You bit your lip.

"Aurelia, I asked you a question." His tone of voice was definitely angry.

You shook your head but you must have looked pretty ridiculous since you were under the sheet. Marcus surpressed his smile and took the sheet to pull it away from your face. You tried to resist, but you were no match for his strength. You looked down, not wanting to look at his face. "I am awaiting for an answer?"

He put his fingers under your chin and made you look up at him.

"It's Geta, he's always like that."

"That's not an excuse!" he yelled, startling you.

He then let out a sigh trying to control his anger. He got out of bed to put on his tunic. "This is too much! I'll make sure the villa is repaired and we return there at once, or we'll be having another emperor's funeral soon!"

"You're right, we can't stay here." You said, mumbling.

He looked at you, then sighed again, He then sat on the edge of the bed, seemed calmer now. He brushed your arm with the back of his hand all the way down to your wrist. "I shouldn't have shouted at you. It wasn't your fault after all. Forgive me."

You got up on your knees and put your arms around his neck. "Marcus, my love, we'll return to our villa eventually. I am sure that we'll be happier there than ever. So could you try to be a little more patient, please? Also, could you try not to get angry with him? Can you do that? For me?" You ran your fingers through his hair. He didn't seem angry anymore.

He nodded. "Very well. I'll try not to get angry, but just for you. However, it'll definitely be hard to do so."

You traced your lips over his cheek. "Then, whenever you feel angry, simply remember this: I love you, I'm yours, my heart is yours, and no one can change that, not in this life or the next," you whispered.

He smiled and then looked at you in the eye. "I do too, Aurelia. I love you with all my heart, my body, my soul, everything that I have." Then he kissed you passionately, soon turned into another lustful kiss and you were surprised when Marcus quickly took off his tunic.

"What are you doing General?" You giggled. "What about the ceremony?"

He grabbed you round the hips and waist and laid you back on the bed roughly, making you gasp.

"Perhaps we can keep them await a little longer," he grinned.

okay guys im seeing movie on thursday im ery excited about it! then I will have to recover in few days... to keep writing my fic, I need your supports to do that, thank you for everything love you all!!

thank you for reading! your reblogs, comments, likes are soo important to me so please if you enjoyed, support me thank you..

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amirasainz · 3 months ago

Note

What about amira was watching a show and it had steamy scenes and Carlos walk in as had a fit, quickly turning it off saying your just a baby, how dare someone make u watch this

Hi my loves. Enjoy reading and send some requests.

-xoxo, Babygirl 💋

P.S.: Shoutout to the person complaining anonymously about how I tag my stories in my requests 😘😘

Just a Baby

Carlos was home for a rare break between races, enjoying some time with his family in Madrid. His sister, Amira, had returned home from university for a few days, and they were both relaxing in the living room. Carlos was in the kitchen, grabbing a snack when he heard the unmistakable sound of a dramatic TV show playing in the background. Amira was deeply immersed in the latest binge-worthy series, curled up on the couch.

The show, however, had taken a rather unexpected turn. A spicy scene appeared on the screen, one that was definitely more "mature" in nature. Just as Amira’s eyes widened, both from surprise and perhaps slight embarrassment, Carlos walked into the room, munching on an apple.

“Amira! What are you watching?!” he exclaimed, nearly choking on his bite.

Amira fumbled with the remote, trying to skip ahead or find the mute button, her face flushing a bit. “It’s just a show, Carlitos. Relax! It’s nothing,” she said, desperately trying to act nonchalant as she struggled to fast forward through the scene.

Carlos marched over and snatched the remote out of her hand. "Nada?! Amira, I saw what was on the screen. You shouldn't be watching things like this! You’re still just a baby!"

Amira rolled her eyes, already anticipating what was about to come. “Carlos, I’m 21. I’m not a baby anymore,” she said, crossing her arms defiantly.

Carlos shook his head, pacing in front of the TV like a concerned father. "21? Oh, please. You still have a teddy bear in your room!" he pointed out, hoping to strengthen his case. "This... this stuff is for adults."

“News flash, genius,” Amira shot back, “I am an adult.”

Carlos’ eyes widened dramatically, as though she’d said something preposterous. “You? An adult?” He let out a chuckle. "Amira, come on. Last week you were asking me to help you change the light bulb in your room because you were scared you’d break it. That doesn’t scream ‘adult’ to me!”

Amira glared at him. “That was because it was really high up and I didn’t have a step stool!” she defended herself, her cheeks turning even pinker. “Besides, what’s the big deal? You’re acting like I haven’t seen—”

“Don’t. Even. Say it,” Carlos interrupted, waving his hands in the air like he was trying to ward off evil spirits. “I don’t want to hear that you’ve seen anything like that. It’s disgusting. Unbelievable. You're practically a baby. You should be watching cartoons or... or... I don't know, baking shows!”

Amira couldn’t help but laugh now, the absurdity of the situation catching up to her. “Baking shows? Are you serious, Carlitos?”

“Or documentaries!” Carlos added, as if he’d had a sudden epiphany. “Something educational, you know. Not… this.”

Amira threw her hands up. “Fine. Next time, I’ll be sure to watch ‘The History of Bread’ just to satisfy you.”

Carlos squinted at her, pointing the remote at the TV and clicking the power button. “You know what, I think I need to start reviewing your shows before you watch them. Like, as a precaution,” he said, sounding very serious.

Amira was now completely exasperated. "What, are you gonna start putting parental controls on the TV?"

"Don't tempt me," he said, raising an eyebrow.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The following weekend, Carlos was back in the paddock for the next Grand Prix, catching up with his fellow drivers. During a quiet moment in the hospitality area, he found himself relaying the entire incident to his teammate and good friend, Lando.

“So I walk in, and she’s watching this... this show,” Carlos explained animatedly, “and there’s this completely inappropriate scene playing. I mean, come on, Amira’s too young for that stuff.”

Lando listened with a grin spreading across his face, clearly enjoying Carlos’ overprotective older brother antics. “Wait,” he interrupted, holding up a hand to stop Carlos mid-rant. “Isn’t Amira 21 now?”

Carlos nodded vehemently. “Sí, but that doesn’t mean anything. She’s still practically a child, Lando.”

“Practically?” Lando’s grin grew wider. “Mate, she’s an adult. You know that, right?”

Carlos folded his arms and huffed. “She’s not mature enough to be watching that kind of content. I need to protect her.”

Lando chuckled mischievously, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “So… you think she’d do that with me?” he said casually, raising his eyebrows with a cheeky smirk.

Carlos’ reaction was instantaneous. “¿Qué? What did you just say?” His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched.

Lando, who knew exactly what he was doing, leaned back in his chair and stretched nonchalantly. “I mean, if she’s watching stuff like that, maybe she’s… you know… open to trying things. I could—”

Before Lando could finish, Carlos had already lunged across the table, his hands outstretched toward Lando’s neck. “¡Eres un idiota!” Carlos shouted as Lando sprang to his feet, barely avoiding Carlos' grip.

Lando’s laugh echoed down the paddock as he sprinted away, Carlos hot on his heels. “It was just a joke, mate!” Lando called back over his shoulder, dodging past a stack of tires.

“I’m going to kill you, Norris!” Carlos yelled, weaving through a group of engineers who quickly parted, sensing the chaos approaching.

Drivers and team members looked on in bewilderment as the scene unfolded. Lando dashed past Max, who raised an eyebrow. “What did you do this time?” Max asked dryly.

“Nothing!” Lando managed to get out between breaths. “Just complimented Carlos’ sister!”

Max’s face broke into a rare grin. “Good luck with that,” he said, stepping aside to let Carlos barrel past.

The chase continued all the way to the garage area, where Lando finally ducked behind a stack of equipment cases, hoping Carlos would lose sight of him. But Carlos was relentless, storming up and down the aisle.

“Come out and face me, coward!” Carlos called, his voice filled with mock fury. “Or are you afraid of what I’m going to do to you?”

Lando peeked out from behind a tire rack, his face still lit up with that boyish grin. “Okay, okay, I surrender! You win!” he said, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. “Amira’s off-limits, I swear!”

Carlos, still catching his breath, pointed a finger at Lando. “If you so much as look at her, I will personally make sure you have to drive the car with three wheels, understood?”

Lando nodded, unable to keep a straight face. “Got it, boss,” he said, giving Carlos a mock salute. “You’re such a protective big brother, though. It’s actually kind of cute.”

Carlos groaned, rubbing a hand across his face. “Cute? I’ll show you cute,” he muttered, giving Lando one last glare before finally walking off.

As Carlos walked away, Lando whispered under his breath, “Bet Amira would say I’m cute, though…”

Carlos spun around one last time, but Lando had already disappeared, leaving Carlos shaking his head and muttering something about British troublemakers.

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azziesbattybaddie · 5 months ago

Text

You are my survival

Azriel x reader

You and Azriel are mates. Az knows it, you don't, that is until a particularly hard training session when the truth finally come out.

Word count: 5k

Requested: no

Warnings: fem reader, shadow play, smut, swearing, choking kink, praise, Azriel's wingspan, oral F and M receiving, Az is a Dom, PinV, we die like men

🔥 means smut will follow

Authors note: this is the first WIP I've finished in like 2 or 3 years so be gentle on me I also wrote this with one of my friends on discord and she is absolutely amazing, constructive criticism is welcome and plz let me know if I missed any tags. Enjoy!

"Pay attention."

His words weren't harsh by any means. No, Azriel would never raise his voice at you, but he'd be lying if he said training you was easy. He watched as you breathed heavily, body glistening with sweat. You'd been at this for hours. Clearly, you'd underestimated just how difficult swordplay was.

"I'm trying my best"

He let out a small chuckle, watching your brows furrow with frustration as he managed to point his sword at your neck, Again.

"Gotcha."

"dammit!"

You threw your sword down in frustration and slinked over to the corner of the ring. Before hugging your knees to your chest and sulking.

"I'm done, I'm quit!"

Sheathing his sword, Azriel approached you slowly, his footsteps silent on the straw-covered floor. He stopped a few feet away, giving you space but close enough to offer comfort.

"Hey, hey now," he murmured softly.

"Don't give up just yet."

He hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside you, keeping a respectful distance.

"Training is hard, y/n. It's supposed to push you, make you stronger. It's okay to feel frustrated, but don't let it consume you."

He glanced at you, his eyes reflecting genuine concern.

"You're doing better than you think. You've improved so much since we started. It's just... progress takes time. And patience." He offered you a small, encouraging smile.

"And maybe some water? You've been at it all day."

"yeah well maybe I should train with someone else because your a thousand times better than me and you have 400 years of experience on me so even if I am getting better your skill just dwarfs mine..."

Azriel looked at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. He had expected such a reaction from you, and he couldn't say that he blamed you either.

"You underestimate yourself," he told you gently, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"It may take time, but you will get there. Just keep practicing and if you can't believe in yourself, believe in the fact that I'm starting to feel your progress in your punches." As always tried to joke with you slightly but seeing as he got nothing but a half earned smile he let himself fall quiet.

He sighed deeply, his gaze drifting down to his scarred hands fiddling with them idly. There were things he wanted to tell you, things he wanted to share about his past, but he knew you weren't ready for them yet. Maybe one day, when you were strong enough, he could tell you everything.

Following his gaze, you watched as he picked at his nails and cuticles. You had known Az for a few hundred years now and as long as you had known him he had never shared the story of his warped skin and you had never worked up the courage to ask, that was until now.

"can I ask you a question without you getting upset? You can tell me to screw off if you don't want to answer, I won't push." You said in a timid, whispered voice. Azriel turned to look at you, his expression curious.

"Of course, y/n. What is it?"

He kept his tone calm and non-threatening, not wanting to scare you off. Whatever it was, he would do his best to answer honestly.

"what happened to your hands?"

Azriel's expression softened, and he looked down at his hands, his fingers curling slightly as he remembered.

"My hands... They were burned by-" he let out a heavy sigh, flexing his hands under your gaze before continuing.

"they were burned by my brothers, many years ago. I was born a bastard like Cassian so I was treated differently, even by my so-called family. They it left me with these scars."

He lifted his hands, showing you the intricate network of burn scars that covered his palms and fingers. They were a constant reminder of his past, a painful chapter he would rather forget.

"what brings that question to mind?"

you reach to grab his hand but hesitated before touching him.

"I just always wondered if they were painful they still look painful..."He noticed your hesitation and gave you a reassuring nod, encouraging you to continue.

"It doesn't hurt anymore, physically at least. But sometimes, the memories can still be quite painful." He lowered his hands, his gaze returning to yours staying quiet for a beat.

"It's alright, y/n. You won't hurt me by touching them. I won't bite or as Cass would say 'i won't bite unless you want me too'" he says with a half honest grin trying to lift the mood slightly.

He held out his hand, palm facing up, waiting for you to make the first move. He wanted to show you that he trusted you, that he was comfortable with you touching him. "Go ahead, y/n."

you gingerly brushed your fingers over his scarred hand before taking one of his hands in both of your running your thumbs over the back before smile and saying softly

"They always looked soft still..."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he felt his face heat slightly at the praise. He never wanted to feel anything other than your gentle touch on his scarred hand.

"Because of the burns, my skin never calloused so yeah I guess they are."

He turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with yours. The warmth of your touch seeped into his skin, soothing the old wounds in ways he hadn't experienced in centuries.

"I never associated touch with comfort before. It feels like home." ' you feel like home' is what he would have said if he had the nerve but kept that thought to himself, thinking it to cheesey to say out loud.

His thumb stroked the back of your hand, a tender gesture that spoke volumes about the unspoken bond between you two. In that moment, the weight of his secrets and the darkness of his past seemed to fade away, replaced by a simple, pure connection with you.

you lifted your head to look at him only to find him already looking at you, your faces close enough to feel each others baited breaths.

Azriel's gaze locked onto yours, his heart pounding against his ribcage like a wild drum. The intensity of your stare was almost overwhelming, stirring feelings within him that he thought long buried.

He leaned closer, his lips inches away from yours. He could smell your scent, a mix of sweat and something uniquely you. It was intoxicating, making his pulse race and his resolve weaken.

For a moment, he considered closing the gap, pressing his lips against yours and losing himself in the warmth of your embrace. But he pulled back, breaking eye contact, reminding himself of the danger in such actions.

without thinking of the consequences of your actions you shot your hand out to cradle the side of his face turning him back to look at you and meet him with pleading look, begging him not to turn away.

Azriel's breath caught in his throat as he felt your hand cup his cheek, turning his face back towards you. He met your pleading gaze, his own eyes filled with a mix of longing and fear.

He wanted nothing more than to surrender to the desire burning within him, to lose himself in your embrace and forget about his past, his fears, and his responsibilities. But he knew he couldn't. Not yet, at least.

With a heavy sigh, he gently removed your hand from his face, his fingertips trailing along your skin as he did so.

"y/n, we can't," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"I care for you too much to risk putting you in danger. We need to focus on our training, on becoming stronger, you need to be ready for when hyburn attacks."

your pout deepened as you moved back slowly pulling your hand away from his reluctantly as you bit your lip trying to think of something to say to make him change his mind.

"Az we can still train and I've been getting stronger for years, why can't we just," you trail off, not knowing that words for the feeling you felt for him.

Azriel's chest tightened at your pout, a pang of guilt slicing through him as he cut you off. He hated seeing you upset, especially over something he had done.

"It's not because I don't want to," he assured you, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

"It's because I care about you too much. If I give in to these feelings now, it might lead to something neither of us is prepared for, not with so much at stake with war coming."

He paused, his gaze dropping to your lips before lifting back to meet your eyes.

"We're mates. I've known for a while but even though we were designed for each other. And right now with hyburn threatening to breach our borders, our lives and decisions can't be about love or passion-it's about survival"

you pull his face back to you for a last time before running the pads of your thumbs over his cheeks lovingly

"I know that az, but you are my survival. you said it yourself that your my mate, do you really think that I can live without my mate, without you?" You plead tears starting to form in your eyes.

The words hit him like a physical blow, leaving him momentarily speechless. Your admission cut straight to the core of his being, striking a chord within him that resonated with a depth of longing he didn't fully understand.

"You need my love..." he echoed, the words sounding foreign even to his ears. He'd never been loved, let alone needed. The idea was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"I... I don't know if I can give you that. I've never been loved, and I've never loved anyone the way I think I should. you deserve all the love there is in this world, and I don't think I can give you that."

His voice cracked with emotion, betraying the turmoil of feelings welling up inside him.

"you can,"

You step closer still holding his face you pull a hand away to grab his scarred one and place it on your waist and putting your hand on his chest over his heart gingerly.

"You have so much love in your heart that you can't help but let it spill over. You try to act so cold and calloused to everyone but we all feel you how much you love us. "

At your touch, Azriel felt a surge of emotion course through him, his heart pounding wildly against your palm. He stared down at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of deception or manipulation, but found only sincerity and vulnerability.

"You really believe that, don't you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"That I have love to give?"

He hesitated for a moment, then placed his other hand tentatively on your waist. The warmth of your body seeped into his chilled skin, melting some of the ice that had encased his heart for so long.

"I want to believe it," he admitted, his gaze dropping to your lips once more.

"But I'm afraid of putting you in a dangerous situation that you never need to be in. Afraid of losing control and doing something that could harm you. We both know that my work is extremely dangerous and if you got pulled into that I would never fucking forgive myself"

"Azriel... Your the bravest male I've ever met, please don't stop being brave." You take a final step faces inches apart

Azriel's breath hitched as you closed the remaining distance between you, your bodies nearly touching. He could feel the heat radiating off you, drawing him in like a moth to flame.

"Brave doesn't mean fearless, y/n," he said, his voice low and husky.

"Sometimes bravery means facing your deepest fears, even when every instinct tells you to run." You whisper gingerly brushing you fingers over his leathers laying over his heart.

He reached up, his fingers curling around the nape of your neck as he tilted your head back slightly. His thumb brushed against your lower lip, sending shivers down your spine.

"I'm just scared of failing you, of not being able to protect you. But I'm also scared of missing this chance, of letting my fears hold me back from trying to give us the life the cauldron has laid out for us."

"Then don't let your fears hold you back Az, let me hold them instead." You hold his hand over your cheek and guide his thumb over your lip again gently.

Azriel's resistance crumbled under your gentle guidance, his thumb gliding over your soft, plump lips with a tenderness that surprised even him. He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against yours as he savored the scent of your skin, the warmth of your breath.

"cauldron..." he murmured, his voice thick with longing.

he closed the final inch of distance, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was both tentative and desperate, holding your sides as delicately as fine china.

🔥🔥🔥

you surge you hand up to tangle in his hair and let out an audible cry of relief into his mouth.

Azriel groaned softly into the kiss as your hand tangled in his hair, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through him. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his body as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping across your lips to explore the warm cavern of your mouth.

As he kissed you, Azriel felt a weight lift from his shoulders, a burden he hadn't realized he carried until it was gone. In your embrace, he found a sense of peace, of belonging, that he had never known before.

Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, panting lightly as he struggled to catch his breath. "Y/n, I've wanted this for so long," he confessed, his voice rough with emotion.

"Wanted to hold you, touch you, taste you now."

"then don't fucking stop now." You practically begged, chasing his lips.

Your impassioned plea sent a jolt of desire through Azriel, his grip on you tightening as he ground his hips against yours, the hard length of his arousal pressing insistently against your belly.

"Oh, god, baby," he gasped, his breath hot against your skin.

"I won't stop, not now, not ever again." His hands trailing down to your ass, gently kneading the flesh under your fighting leathers.

"You're mine, and I'm going to fuck you so hard, make you scream my name until you forget everyone else exists."With that declaration, Azriel swept you up into his arms and winnowed you back to the house of wind before.

carrying you towards his bedroom as he devoured your mouth in a frenzy of kisses, his hands roaming your curves with a hunger that bordered on desperation. your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you and you press your breasts against his chest, mewl desperately against his lips.

The sound of your moans vibrating against his lips was music to Azriel's ears, fueling his already raging desire. He kicked open the door to his bedroom, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity as he laid you down onto the plush mattress.

"Gods, babygirl," he growled, his hands tracing the outline of your curves as he knelt beside you, his eyes devouring every inch of your exposed flesh. "You're so beautiful, so perfect..."

Without another word, he began to undress you, peeling away each layer of your leathers with a reverence that belied his usual cool demeanor. As he revealed your skin to his hungry gaze, he marveled at the sight, at the swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips, the sweet dip of your navel.

"And you smell divine,"

Azriel couldn't help but lean down, his tongue darting out to trace a path along the delicate line of your collarbone, savoring the taste of your skin. He licked and nibbled his way down your body, pausing to lavish attention on each breast, his tongue swirling around your nipples before taking them into his mouth, sucking gently.

His hands weren't idle either, slipping down to cup your ass, squeezing the firm flesh as he continued his descent. His shadows hooked around the sides of your panties, dragging them down your thighs with a teasing slowness that left you squirming beneath him.

"Tell me what you want, baby," he whispered against your skin, his voice a husky murmur.

"What do you crave? Tell me how to make you come undone?"

you reached down to Palm the tent in his fighting leathers at the words and using your other hand to wrap the scared flesh of his hand around your throat.

"I want you to use me, own me Azriel."

At your command, Azriel's heart pounded with a wild rhythm, his cock throbbing in your grasp. He allowed you to control his movements, his hand tightening around your throat in a gesture that was both possessive and protective while one of his larger shadows gently brushed against the side of your face in stark contrast.

"You're mine now, babygirl," he breathed, his voice laced with raw need.

"And I plan to worship every gods-damned inch of you."

With that promise, he slid down further, his lips trailing kisses along your inner thigh, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. He paused just above where you needed him most, his eyes locking with yours as he teased you mercilessly.

"Do you want more?" he asked, his voice a seductive whisper. "Do you want my mouth on you, tasting you?"

"gods yes please!" You hold his hand tightly around his throat encouraging him to squeeze harder what you arch your back of the bed in hopes of inching your cunt closer to his mouth.

Azriel's grip around your throat tightened slightly at your eager response, his thumb applying just enough pressure to send a thrill of excitement through you. With a low growl, he finally gave in to your pleas, his mouth descending upon your dripping folds.

He lavished your pussy with attention, his tongue delving deep inside you as he fucked you with slow, deliberate strokes while flicks of dark swirl around your clit. He explored every inch of your sex, savoring the taste of your arousal, the feel of your slick walls clenching around his tongue.

As he ate you out, Azriel's free hand roamed your body, palming your breasts, pinching your nipples, leaving trails of fire and cold in its wake. He could feel your climax building, could taste your sweet submission on his tongue, and it only fueled his own desire.

"come on babygirl, ride my face while you come."

He brought one of your hands to tangle in his hair and wrapped his arms around the tops of your thighs encouraging you to buck into his tongue.

Your hips bucked off the bed as you came hard on his tongue, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, your juices flowing freely as you cried out his name, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close.

Azriel drank in your release, his tongue lapping up every drop of your essence as he savored the taste of your pleasure. He held you tight, his mouth never leaving your pussy as you rode out the waves of your orgasm, your cries of ecstasy music to his ears.

Only when you finally went limp did he release you, his face glistening with your arousal. He crawled up your body, his chocolate eyes blazing with a fierce possessiveness as he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss.

"Now it's my turn," he growled against your lips, his hands tearing at his leathers to free his straining cock.

"Get on your knees, baby, I want to fuck that pretty mouth of yours."

You eagerly roll onto your stomach and push yourself off the bed and onto your knees Infront of him batting your lashes and staring up at him with lust filled eyes.

Azriel watched you move, his heart pounding with a mix of desire and admiration. Your eagerness was intoxicating, fueling his own need even further. He discarded his leathers completely, revealing his veined cock, throbbing with need.

Azriel's breath caught in his throat at the sight of you kneeling before him, your eyes filled with hunger and desire. He ran a hand through your disheveled hair, his fingers tangling in your locks as he guided your head towards his aching cock.

"Open wide, love," *he murmured, his voice thick with need.

"Show me how much you need me."

you took him into your mouth, Azriel let out a low groan, his hips bucking involuntarily. Your warm, wet mouth felt like heaven, and he had to fight the urge to thrust too hard, too fast. Instead, he set a steady pace, his hands guiding your head as you sucked the tip every time he pulled out.

"Fuck, good girl," he gasped, his grip tightening in your hair. "You fucking feel incredible..."You moaned softly as you took him deeper into your mouth working your tongue over his cock, your hands reaching up to cup his balls as you continue to suckle on his cock.

The sensation of your tongue working over his length, coupled with the feeling of your hands on his balls, sent jolts of pleasure coursing through Azriel's body. He watched you, entranced by the sight of your lips stretched around his cock, the sound of your soft moans vibrating against him.

"That's right, baby," he purred, his voice heavy with lust.

"Take all of me... Show me how much you want this..."

He began to move faster, his hips rocking into your mouth, setting a rhythm that had him teetering on the brink of release. His fingers threaded through your hair, urging you on, pushing you to take him even deeper.

"fuck yes! Good girl, just like tha- oh such fucking good girl!"

You moan louder now sending subtle vibrations down his shaft, your cheeks hollowing out as you suck harder on his cock, taking him deeper each time until he hits the back of your throat. You gag softly but quickly recover and continue sucking him off as if your life depends on it.

The feeling of your throat constricting around his cock was almost too much for Azriel to bear. He grunted, his hands gripping your hair tighter as he fucked your mouth with abandon, his hips snapping forward with each thrust.

"Oh gods, baby..." he groaned, his voice ragged with need.

"You're going to make me come so fucking hard..."

His cock throbbed in your mouth, signaling his imminent release. With a final, powerful thrust, he spilled his seed into your willing mouth, his cum coating your tongue and spilling down your chin.

"That's it... Swallow it all..."

Swiping your fingers over your chin you collect the molten cream and swallow every last drop of his cum, your throat working to milk him dry, your eyes locked on his as you gaze up at him with a look of complete satisfaction and devotion.

Azriel watched, transfixed, as your throat bobbed swallowing his cum, your tongue working to milk him dry. He let out a satisfied sigh, his fingers gently stroking through your hair as he admired the look of complete satisfaction on your face.

"You're amazing," he murmured, pulling out of your mouth and offering you a hand up.

"I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did."

With a smile, he pulled you into his arms for a deep, passionate kiss, his hands roaming over your body as he savored the taste of you still lingering on his tongue.

You lean into his touch, your body pressed tightly against his as you kiss him back just as passionately, your hands running over his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his skin.

Azriel dominated you mouth with a throaty moan, his hands exploring your curves with a growing urgency. He broke away from the kiss only long enough to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, savoring the taste of your skin.

"I want more," he whispered huskily,

"but I think we should save some energy for later."With that, he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you back to the bed where he laid you down, his eyes darkening with desire as he looked down at you.

You giggle lightly as he lays you back down on the bed, your legs parting slightly as you invite him closer.

Azriel's gaze followed the movement of your legs, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he saw the invitation in your eyes. He climbed onto the bed, settling between your thighs, his weight supported on his elbows as he gazed down at you.

"Impatient little thing, aren't you?" he teased, his voice low and playful.

He leaned down, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened peak before giving it a gentle bite.

"But don't worry, love. I plan to take full advantage of that"

Feeling your hands in his hair, Azriel gave a low chuckle, the vibration of his laughter traveling straight to your breasts. He continued his attentions, alternating between teasing your nipples and tracing patterns across your skin with his tongue.

"Hmm, sounds like someone wants more," he murmured, his voice muffled against your flesh.

Pulling back slightly, he shifted his position, aligning his cock with your slick entrance. Without another word, he pushed inside you, filling you completely with a single, smooth stroke.

You arch your back, pressing your breasts back into his waiting mouth as he teases and bites at your sensitive nipples, a soft moan escaping your lips. Your hands find their way to his hair, tangling in the strands as you pull him closer, desperate for more of his touch.

"Fucking hell, babygirl..." he groaned, his hips beginning to rock slowly as he adjusted to your tight warmth. impatience."

He moved to your other breast, lavishing the same attention upon it, all while grinding his hardening cock against your core. Your back arches off the bed as he fills you, a sharp gasp leaving your lips at the sudden intrusion. But as he begins to move, slow and deliberate, you relax into him, your inner walls clenching around his thickness.

"Ah... yes..." you breathe out, your hands tightening in his hair.

"Just like that... Don't stop..."

Hearing your plea, Azriel picked up the pace, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. Each thrust drove him deeper into your welcoming heat, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

"Gods, you feel incredible," he growled, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue dueling with yours as he fucked you relentlessly.

His hands roamed your body, squeezing your ass cheeks, tracing the curve of your waist, and finally, cupping your breasts once again, thumbing your nipples into stiff peaks.

You meet his kiss with equal fervor, your tongue dancing with his as you lose yourself in the sensation of being filled so completely. Your legs wrap around his ass, pulling him even deeper within you, urging him on.

"Oh god, Azriel!" you cry out, your walls spasming around him, milking him for all he's worth.

Feeling your orgasm ripple through you, Azriel let out a guttural roar, burying himself as deep as he could go as he found his own release. He came hard, pulsing streams of hot cum inside you, his body shuddering with the force of it.

"baby Fuck, y/n-" he gasped, collapsing forward, catching himself on his elbows to keep from crushing you before pulling out and gently resting himself on top of you, his hips still between your legs and his head resting on your breasts.

He stayed there for a moment, panting, his heart pounding against your chest, before slowly rolling to the side, taking you with him so you were draped across his chest.

"That was... intense," he panted, his fingers trailing lazily up and down your spine.

"Are you okay, baby?"

"Yeah... That was amazing." you murmur, snuggling closer to him, enjoying the afterglow of their lovemaking.

As you lay there, spent and satisfied, your the aftershocks of your orgasm. You nod weakly, a contented smile tugging at your lips.

Azriel smiled, his fingers gently stroking through your hair as you nestled against him. He could feel the warmth of your body pressed to his, the steady beat of your heart against his chest.

"I know, baby," he said softly, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your forehead.

"And it's only going to get better from here."

His hand trailed lower, his fingers finding your hip, where he gave a gentle squeeze.

"Now rest, we've got plenty of time to explore more later when you can feel your legs again." He taunted with a tired grin.

You sigh contentedly with a fucked out smile on your face, feeling utterly relaxed and loved. You close your eyes, letting the warmth of his body envelope you, and drift off to sleep in his arms.

Watching you drift off to sleep, Azriel couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the moment. Here, in his embrace, safe and protected, with his beautiful mate, it was everything he could ever want. And now, it seemed, he had it all.

With a final lingering look, he allowed himself to relax fully, his breathing evening out to match yours. As he drifted toward sleep, he knew one thing for certain - this was just the beginning.

#acotar men x reader #azriel x plus size reader #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel smut #acotar smut #acomaf #rhysand #rhysand x reader #cassian x reader #lucien x reader

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simplygojo · 3 months ago

Text

I Like Your Tie...

author's note ⸺ OMG ONE OF MY FAVS REQUESTED! I loved this request; thats why it took SO LONG I’m sorry my friend I hope you enjoyyyy!! <3 I needed another Nanami request so bad so you did me a favour with this one, LOLLL. request ⸺ “Your last Toji fic got me frothing like a rabid dog. Lol. in all ways it was very uniquely him indeed !Could I shy request a fic with the song 'Talk' by Hozier paired up with Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader ? Something sensual steamy but ever so romantic for the blonde? Anyway, thank you for your stories ! Thank you so much. ♡” - @erebus-et-eigengrau (lurvv uu) pairing ⸺ Kento Nanami x reader word count ⸺ 3.8K content ⸺ 18+ Content, SMUT!, p in v intercourse, reader has a vagina, reader uses female pronouns, choking, control kink(ish), pet names, friends to fucking i guess, aggressive sex, fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, I dont think this characterization of Nanami is very accurate but IT WORKED FOR THE STORY e

The late-night quiet of Jujutsu High was comforting in a way—no students rushing through the halls, no teachers around to monitor. You had been grateful for the peace, retreating to your room after a long day.

But as you reached your door, you stopped in your tracks.

There he was. Kento Nanami stood in front of your door, leaning ever so casually against the wall.

—

You and Nanami had been friends for what felt like a lifetime, though it all began back in high school. Back then, you had a bit of a crush on him—not that you’d ever admit it. He wasn’t the type to flirt or give much attention to relationships, but there was something about him that always caught your eye.

You had your moments, too—shared laughter, and private conversations late into the night, when the walls between friends almost seemed to blur.

But Nanami never made a move, and neither did you. You knew how seriously he took his role as a sorcerer, and you didn’t want to complicate your friendship with feelings that you weren’t sure were mutual.

As you both graduated and eventually became high-level sorcerers, those moments of potential intimacy became even more distant. You grew into your own roles, taking on increasingly dangerous missions and fighting curses that most could barely comprehend. Nanami was often assigned to the same missions as you, his calm, steady presence a source of reassurance when things got chaotic.

There were times when his professionalism would slip, just for a moment. A fleeting look, a brush of his fingers against yours, his voice dropping an octave when he spoke your name. You always wondered if he felt it too—that same tension you tried so hard to ignore. But you never dared to ask, afraid of what it might mean if the answer was yes.

And now, standing in front of him in the quiet after everything that had just happened, you realized just how deeply those old feelings still ran.

There were times, though, when your old crush resurfaced.

Sometimes, it was the way he’d look at you across the battlefield, silently checking to see if you were okay, his eyes filled with a concern that was more than just professional. Other times, it was the rare, gentle touch when he’d help you after a fight—his hand brushing your arm or waist as he steadied you after a particularly tough encounter.

But you always pushed those feelings down, refusing to acknowledge them for the sake of professionalism.

The sorcery world didn’t leave much room for distractions, and you knew that Nanami was as dedicated as ever. He was the picture of control, never letting emotions dictate his actions, always focused on the mission at hand.

You convinced yourself that whatever crush you had on him was just remnants of your high school days, a fleeting fantasy that had no place in your current life.

—

His arms were crossed, his tie long loosened, and the top buttons of his shirt undone. The dim lighting of the hallway cast a shadow over his sharp features, making the intensity in his eyes even more pronounced.

He looked every bit the composed man he always was, but something about the way his gaze followed your every movement made your heart stutter.

“Nanami…” His name left your lips in a quiet murmur, not expecting to see him there, not like this.

“You’re out late,” he observed, his voice steady but lower than usual, as if the stillness of the night demanded it.

You nodded, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. “Well, one of the first-years wanted some late-night training…What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer right away, eyes flicking down to your lips before settling back on yours.

You could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable, making it hard to think clearly. His usual restraint seemed to falter, just slightly, but enough to make your pulse race.

“I was waiting for you.” His voice was steady, but the words made your breath hitch.

Your heart pounded in your chest.

“Waiting for me?” You said quietly, a heat beginning to pool between your thighs.

Nanami pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer to you, his movements deliberate. The space between you closed as his tall figure made its way toward you—the tension that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks finally came to a boil.

“Why were you waiting for me..?” You questioned, “I need to talk,” He responded, his voice barely above a whisper.

He was close enough now that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, the faint scent of his cologne filling your senses.

“I used to try to talk so refined, in fear of you finding out…” He admitted, his voice lower now, almost rough around the edges. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak.

“Finding out what, Nanami.” You breathed, watching how his lips parted just slightly while he paused. “How I’ve been imagining you."

The air between you was thick with tension, so heavy you could almost taste it.

Nanami stood inches away, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. His normally professional demeanour had cracked, revealing something raw, something primal. The careful distance you both had maintained was no longer there.

"Imagining me…?" You repeated, your voice barely more than a whisper. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you were certain he could hear it.

Nanami’s eyes darkened, and his gaze roamed over you in a way that left your body practically squirming under his scrutiny. His jaw clenched for a moment as though fighting some internal battle, but when he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse, filled with a desire he was no longer trying to hide.

“Every time I look at you,” he confessed, his hands flexing at his sides, like he was resisting the urge to touch you, “I think about how you’d feel under my touch… under me.”

Your breath caught, your throat suddenly dry as his words sank in. The image of his hands on your skin, the weight of him pressing against you, the feeling of him between your legs—it sent a wave of heat through your body, leaving you borderline trembling with anticipation.

“Nanami…” you whispered his name, your voice trembling with the same desire that was now coursing through you. The distance between you felt unbearable.

The professionalism you both held onto so tightly was crumbling, and the temptation to give in was overwhelming.

The hallway was too quiet, too intimate, and it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away. It was just the two of you, standing there on the precipice of something dangerous and irresistible.

“I won’t deny I’ve got in my mind now all the things we’d do,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper as his thumb traced your jawline, gently tilting your head with two fingers. His eyes darkened with want, and the weight of his words hung heavily in the air.

That was all it took.

The pull between you snapped, and before you could think, your hands were fisting in his dark blue shirt, pulling him down to meet your lips in a kiss that was heated, desperate—inevitable.

His hand swiftly opened your door before pushing you into it, causing both of you to stumble into the dimly lit room.

With a loud thud, Nanami kicked the door shut before pushing you back up against your entryway wall.

Nanami groaned softly into your mouth—your pussy practically throbbing at the sound—and his hands immediately wrapped around your waist, tugging you closer as if he couldn’t stand the idea of any space between you.

His lips moved against yours with a hunger that you hadn’t expected, and it left you breathless.

You gasped when his hands gripped your hips firmly, pushing more firmly against the wall. The cool surface against your back was a stark contrast to the heat that radiated from him as he pressed himself closer, his lips never leaving yours.

His kisses were deliberate, slow—but rough—as if he wanted to savour every moment of this.

"Mmf…Nanami," you breathed, pulling back just enough to look at him, your lips swollen from the kiss, breathless. "What are we doing?"

His forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged as he looked down at you. There was something raw, unguarded in his expression. “What I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and before you could say anything else, he was kissing you again, deeper this time. “Now be a good girl for me, y/n.” He practically purred against your lips, as he lifted you so your legs wrapped around his waist.

His hands moved with more confidence now, sliding up your sides while you were pinned against the wall, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You tugged at his hair, your fingers desperate to feel more of him.

His hands, rough from battle and years of work, were surprisingly gentle as they slid beneath your shirt, fingers brushing over your painfully hard nipples, teasing you. You arched into him, your body responding to every touch.

He made quick work of your jacket—and that tiny tank top you wore underneath it, his hands roughly reaching for every bit of exposed skin.

Nanami growled softly with your legs wrapped around his waist, his lips trailed down the column of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that had you moaning his name.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asked, his breath hot against your neck, but the fire in his eyes told you stopping was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Don’t," you whispered—pleading with him for more, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. "Don’t stop."

Nanami’s eyes darkened further at your words, and a slow, subtle smirk spread across his lips. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice rough with desire.

His hand moved up to the tie hanging loosely around his neck, fingers working quickly to loosen it even further.

Before you could register what he was doing, he slid the tie off entirely, his movements deliberate and slow as he looped the fabric around your neck.

The silk felt cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your body. His eyes never left yours as he gently tugged at the tie, pulling you closer, the pressure on your throat light but enough to send a thrill through you that went straight to your now-soaked pussy.

“There,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over the side of your neck as he admired how the tie looked wrapped around you, it falling on your bare chest.

In a moment, his lips were back on your skin, trailing lower this time as his free hand continued to explore your body. He kissed a path down to your chest, the tie around your neck tightening just slightly as he pulled you even closer.

He brought you to the couch in your small room with one hand while the other held the back of your head as his tongue explored your mouth.

“You look so beautiful like this, do you know that? With my tie around your pretty little neck…” He murmured against your skin, his voice laced with raw, unfiltered need.

Hoisting you up onto the back of the couch, his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your skirt, fingers brushing against the wetness between your thighs, and the contact made you gasp.

With one swift but gentle movement, Nanami slid your skirt and tights down your legs, and now you sat in front of him—completely vulnerable.

“Nanami—” Your words were cut off by a moan as his fingers returned, pressing more firmly, the slow, torturous circles he drew making your entire body tremble.

The tie tightened just a fraction more as he leaned back to look at you, his thumb brushing against your clit in a way that had your heart racing even faster.

“You’re so responsive for me,” he growled softly, his fingers entering your dripping cunt slowly, making sure to feel every inch of your interior. “It’s driving me insane.”

You could barely breathe, the combination of his fingers between your legs and the light pressure of the tie around your neck leaving you a trembling mess in his arms.

You clung to him, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as you fought to hold on, your body betraying you with every ragged breath and every desperate moan.

"Nanami, please..." You barely recognized your own voice, hoarse and breathless as you begged for him.

He smirked against your skin, clearly pleased by your reaction. “You want more, don’t you?” He asked, his voice thick with amusement, but the tension in his body told you he was just as desperate as you were.

You nodded, your head falling back as your body arched into his touch. “Please…”

The sound of your begging seemed to snap something in him. With one swift motion, he lifted you up with one arm and spun you around before setting you on your feet in front of him, your bare ass pressing up against his bulge as the cool leather from the couch pressed against your lower abdomen.

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as his fingers slipped inside you again, making you gasp loudly at the sudden but welcomed intrusion.

“I want to hear you beg for me again,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin as his fingers moved with agonizing slowness, teasing you, driving you to the brink of insanity.

His other hand subtly undid his belt, lowering his pants just enough to expose his desperate cock.

You moaned, arching into his hand, your body betraying you as it responded to every touch, every whisper of his breath on your skin. “Nanami...'hmf…please...I-I need you in me.” You managed to get out between broken whines.

“That’s it,” he growled, his fingers exiting you, but they were quickly replaced by his dick as he inserted himself into you—feeling you stretch around him caused him to throw his head back in pleasure, and he gave a little yank on the tie, your head jerking backwards as your stomach pressed harder into the couch, provoking a pornographic moan to exit your lips.

“Fuck,” he growled, his breath hot against your skin as he buried himself inside you, again and again, each stroke thrusting deeper into your gummy walls, sending waves of pleasure through your body. “You feel so good.”

His pace quickened, and the slow, deliberate rhythm gave way to something more primal and desperate.

His control was slipping, and you could feel it in every rough thrust, every growl that rumbled from his chest as he claimed you completely.

The tie tightened again, the silk digging into your skin just enough to heighten the pleasure, and the sensation sent you spiralling toward the edge.

Your body trembled beneath him, your nails digging into the cold couch material as you gasped for breath, the intensity of it all overwhelming.

He leaned forward, the new angle allowing him to go even deeper into you.

He gently moved your hair off of your shoulder as his delicate fingers traced the border of his tie and your skin. “You really are such a good girl.”

His thumb pushed into clit as he thrusted into you at a dominating pace—the sensation was nearly enough to push you over the edge—but you held on a little longer.

You cried out his name, your entire body shaking as his pace quickened, he tightened the feeling around your throat with the tie around your neck pulling you closer to him.

Nanami’s body moved behind you, the warmth of him pressing against your back as his hands gripped your hips.

Bent over the back of your couch, with the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your flushed skin. “Mmhf–Nanami…Oh please.” You moaned out, practically begging him for more as he fucked you with a controlling pace

His breath was heavy, ragged, as he leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, making you feel the sheer size and strength of him as he dominated you completely.

Nanami’s fingers wrapped around his tie nicely wrapped around your neck, pulling it taut.

The sensation made you gasp, your head tilting back slightly as the silk tightened around your throat just enough to send a jolt of pleasure through your already overstimulated body.

Suddenly he took his soaked dick out of you letting it land on your ass, rubbing his hand over the smooth skin.

“You look just perfect like this,” he growled low in your ear, his voice thick with lust as he tugged the tie just a bit tighter, your chin tilting up as he whispered in your ear. “Bent over—begging for me.”

Your legs trembled beneath you, your body quivering with anticipation, but before you could respond, he was inside you again.

The stretch was immediate, deep, and overwhelming as he thrust into you from behind, filling you completely with a single stroke.

You cried out, your fingers gripping the edge of the couch as he pulled you back against him, the tie keeping you tethered, under his controlled.

“Nanami…” You moaned his name, your voice barely more than a breathless whisper as he began to move, his hips snapping against you in a relentless rhythm.

Every thrust was harder than the last, his grip on the tie tightening with every movement, pulling you back into him, forcing you to feel every inch of him.

His pace was brutal, his control slipping entirely as he watched the way your body reacted to him, the way you moaned his name with every stroke.

His free hand found your hip, gripping you so tightly that you were sure there’d be marks tomorrow, but the thought only sent another wave of arousal through you.

“You feel so good,” he growled, his voice rough as he leaned over you, his lips brushing against the back of your neck. “My good girl...”

His words are what sent you over the edge, the stimulation of your orgasm turning your vision white.

Your body was on fire, every nerve alive with pleasure as he drove into you again and again.

The tie around your neck tightened even more, the pressure just enough to leave you lightheaded, completely at his mercy. You felt every inch of him inside you, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, along with your breathless moans as pleasure washed over you.

Nanami's body pressed closer as you shuddered beneath him, the waves of your orgasm still coursing through you.

But he didn’t stop.

Even as your body trembled, oversensitive and breathless, he kept thrusting into you with the same relentless intensity.

His pace didn’t falter, and each stroke seemed deeper, more demanding, as if he couldn't get enough of the way you clenched around him.

Your moans turned to gasps as pleasure mixed with the overwhelming sensation of him continuing to push you past your limit. Your fingers clutched at his back, nails digging into his skin with a painful force, but he didn't slow down. He leaned over you, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

“Look at you, taking it so well," he groaned, his voice dark and full of praise. "You feel so good, I don’t want to stop.”

Your legs shook around him, your body still pulsating from your release, and the overstimulation had you crying out, your nails leaving red marks along his back.

"Nanami... please..." you gasped, unsure if you were begging him to stop or to keep going. You felt like you were being consumed, every nerve on fire, and yet your body responded to his touch, desperate for more.

He shifted slightly, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, his hand still pressed firmly against your clit drawing rough circles. The tie around your neck tightened just a bit more, enough to remind you of the control he had, the control you were willingly giving him.

“I’m not done with you yet," he growled, his thrusts growing rougher, faster, his body taking full control over yours. "You can come again for me, can’t you?"

You didn’t know how it was possible, but the overwhelming pleasure began to build again inside you.

His touch on your clit was insistent, his hips snapping against yours in a rhythm that left you breathless, teetering on the edge of something even more intense than before.

Your body trembled beneath him, the overstimulation and pleasure merging into something maddening.

Every nerve was alight, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control. You were already too sensitive, your mind spinning as he pushed you closer and closer to the brink once again.

Nanami could feel it—he knew exactly how close you were, how your body tensed around him.

His lips brushed your ear as he spoke, his voice low and commanding. “Come for me again, y/n. I want to feel you fall apart around me baby.”

With that, his fingers pressed harder against your clit, and his hips slammed into you at a brutal pace, each thrust sending you spiraling further out of control.

The pressure inside you coiled impossibly tight, and with a cry of his name, you shattered once more, the intensity of your second orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Your body shook uncontrollably, your moans turning to sobs of pleasure as you convulsed around him.

The sensation was too much, too overwhelming, and yet you never wanted it to end. Nanami’s name fell from your lips like a prayer as he continued thrusting into you, his own breathing growing more ragged, more desperate.

"That's it," he growled, his voice thick with pleasure as he watched you unravel beneath him, his pace rapidly increasing. "So fucking beautiful."

He wasn’t far behind. The way your walls clenched around him, the way you shook with each thrust, sent him over the edge.

His pace grew erratic, his grip on your waist tightening as he buried himself deep inside you one last time. You felt his hips shudder, groaning your name as he came.

He tugged at the tie harshly, yanking you up form your bent over position so your back was against his sweaty chest, his hand gently holding your chin up.

“You were so good for me,” he breathed, his voice hoarse, igniting a spark in you again. You remained silent for a few moments, breath staggered as you tried to catch it, still shaking with pleasure as he held you upright in front of him.

Finally, you opened your mouth to speak, a cheeky smile playing on your lips, “I like your tie…”

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you-have-a-metal-arm · 5 months ago

Text

‘Til The End of The Line

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Mentions of blood, shooting and getting hurt

Summary: You get injured in a mission, and Bucky cannot bear to see you in such state.

Author's Note: Please do not copy or translate my work. English is not my first language, so please understand grammar or spelling mistakes.

I am so sorry for being gone (school’s been killing me)

I appreciate every feedback! Thank you for reading, enjoy!

“Ready to kick some ass, kiddo?” Steve’s voice was calm, almost soothing, but you could hear the adrenaline beneath his words as the two of you adjusted your parachutes. The jet engines hummed around you, a subtle reminder of the mission ahead.

You grinned, giving your suit one last check and tightening your grip on the gun in your hand. “Yeah, I’m gonna beat the shit out of them.”

Steve smiled, not bothering to correct your language. With him, you were always an exception.

Moments later, the wind was whipping against your face as you both jumped from the jet, splitting off into the night sky. Steve took the left wing—the more dangerous side—leaving you the right. Tony had assured you it was safer, but as you slid through the narrow gap in the door, the freezing cold hit you like a wall. The air inside was frigid, bitterly reminding you of Bucky’s stories about the winters he hated so much.

“As far as I can see, it’s clear here. How’s the situation there?” Steve’s voice crackled through the comms, full of concern. You knew he cared for you deeply, saw you as the daughter he never had, and would have taken a bullet to ensure your safety.

“It’s clear here too, Cap,” you replied, trying to ease his worry.

“Let’s stick to the plan: I’ll draw out the agents while you head straight to the operations room and grab their file IV data.”

“Copy that. Be safe, Cap—and I mean it. If you need help, just call me.”

“I will, kiddo. Be safe yourself. And promise to call me if you need anything.”

“I promise. Let’s fucking go.”

You raced through the deserted corridors of the right wing, a dagger in one hand and a fully loaded gun tucked into your suit for emergencies. The cold air bit at your skin, the silence amplifying every footstep. Suddenly, a loud, thunderous noise echoed behind you. Instinctively, you thought it was Steve, but it wasn’t. The sound was coming from your side of the building.

Before you could react, you were ambushed by over twenty armed agents.

On the other side of the wing, Steve was facing his own battle. He tossed a grenade down a hallway, expecting a swarm of enemies, but only three agents rushed at him. Something was wrong. There should have been more.

“Shit,” you hissed into the comms, struggling against the overwhelming odds. Steve heard the panic in your voice, but he couldn’t respond—one of the agents had him in a chokehold. His grip tightened on the comms as he heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire, followed by a loud thud that made his blood run cold.

“Kiddo, you okay?” Steve managed to gasp out, but all he got in return was a pained groan.

“I’ll get to you in less than a minute, I promise,” he said, desperation creeping into his voice. He could hear your labored breathing through the comms, and it was tearing him apart.

“Steve…” Your voice was faint, each word a struggle.

“Hmm?” he replied, trying to sound reassuring despite the dread clawing at his chest.

“Are the comms… still being recorded?”

Steve’s heart sank. He knew what you were doing, and he hated it. “Yes, kiddo, if there weren’t any changes to the plans, it’s on record.”

You exhaled shakily, the breath catching in your throat. There was only one person you needed to reach out to. “Buck…”

As soon as Steve heard the name, he knew the weight of what you were about to say. Even after four years of being together, Bucky’s name still brought shivers to your spine, thick with emotion.

“If by any chance you get to listen to this, Buck—”

“Y/N, kiddo, no, you’re not dying. I won’t let that happen.”

“You don’t know that…” Your voice was helpless, a reflection of your dwindling strength.

“Just stay there. I’m on my way. Please, don’t give up on us.”

But a part of Steve knew this might be your last moment. It was an instinct, a gut-wrenching feeling that he couldn’t shake. So he didn’t stop you from saying what you needed to.

“If you get a chance to listen to this…” You fought to keep your eyes open, tears mingling with the blood on the cold metal floor. Your mind flashed with the future you had imagined—a life with Bucky, growing old together, watching your children grow up. “In another life, we might—maybe we could have grown old together.”

Steve’s heart clenched as your voice wavered. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, but he knew there was nothing he could do except listen.

“I wish I could have given you babies,” you continued, your voice cracking with emotion. “Watched them grow in our backyard… I’m sorry that I can’t be the one to give you that life.”

Your vision blurred as sleepiness started to consume you. You fought against it with everything you had, but the darkness was closing in. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry that this is how it ends for us… I’m really sorry.”

“And if this is how it really ends… Promise me you’ll find someone else to love, to open up to. Find someone else… Call someone else ‘doll.’ And don’t grieve too much.”

The darkness was overwhelming now. You felt it pulling you under, felt the life draining from your body as blood poured from your wounds. “You deserve to be happy… And the past doesn’t—doesn’t define you.”

Your last words were barely a whisper. “I… Love you, Buck. And I’m sorry I couldn’t say that more often.”

And then… silence. The darkness consumed you, and Steve heard nothing but the empty static of the comms. He refused to believe it, refused to accept that you were gone. He sprinted through the hallways, throwing open every door until he found you, lying motionless on the floor, your suit stained crimson with blood.

He scooped you up as if you weighed nothing, his legs pumping with every ounce of energy he had left. The jet’s engines hummed steadily, but inside the cabin, chaos reigned. Steve knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he assessed your injuries. The bullets had done their damage—one near your heart, another through your stomach, and the last through your left arm. Blood pooled beneath you, soaking through your suit.

“Kiddo, hang in there, please,” Steve murmured, his voice tight with fear. He grabbed the medical kit from the overhead compartment, spilling its contents across the floor. His hands worked quickly, tearing open a pack of gauze and pressing it firmly against the wounds. The bleeding was relentless, and he knew he needed to act fast to save your life.

You were pale, your breathing shallow and irregular. It was a miracle you were still breathing at all. Steve knew he had to stabilize you before they landed, or you wouldn’t make it. His mind raced through the limited medical training he had received—enough to get through emergencies, but nothing like this.

He fumbled with an IV kit, his hands shaking as he tried to insert the needle into your arm. Your veins were fragile, but after what felt like an eternity, he got it in. He attached a bag of saline solution, knowing it was only a temporary measure.

“Stay with me, kiddo. Buck won’t be so happy about this,” Steve whispered, his voice trembling. Your pulse was faint, but still there. He applied more pressure to the wound, checking if you were breathing again. It was labored, but there were no signs of a collapsed lung, thank God.

He grabbed the portable oxygen mask and gently placed it over your mouth and nose, adjusting the flow to give you the support you desperately needed. Your chest rose and fell slightly more steadily—a small victory amid the chaos.

With one hand still applying pressure to the wound, Steve fumbled with the jet’s communications system. “Friday, please check if the team is ready for immediate surgery.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Stark has everything prepared, and Dr. Cho is on standby.”

“Can you connect me directly to Tony?”

“Connecting now, sir.”

“Cap, how is she?” Tony’s voice crackled through, tense with concern.

“I think I stabilized her. We’re landing in three minutes, max. Thank God this jet has autopilot, or else… she wouldn’t have made it.”

Tony was silent for a moment. It wasn’t the time for pride or self-congratulation. He was kicking himself for not being more cautious, for not having medics onboard, for underestimating the mission. You were the youngest, the brightest member of the Avengers, and he couldn’t bear to lose you.

Steve checked the wound again. The bleeding had slowed, but it hadn’t stopped. He packed the wound with more gauze, securing it tightly. You needed a blood transfusion, surgery—everything he couldn’t provide here. All he could do was keep you stable until they landed.

“Tony, do me one favor,” Steve said, his voice thick as he wiped the blood from your cheeks. “Please… Don’t let Bucky see her like this. He won’t be able to handle it.”

But Tony’s response was firm. “Sorry, Cap. James already knows. He’s waiting at the airbase. And he has the right to see her.”

Steve nodded, though his heart ached at the thought. “Okay, Tony, thanks… We’re almost there.”

The jet descended, the lights of the airbase coming into view. Steve cradled you close, whispering words of comfort that he wasn’t sure you could hear. “We’re going to make it, kiddo. Just hold on a little longer.”

As the jet landed, the hatch opened to reveal Tony, Dr. Cho, and Bucky. Bucky’s face was ashen, his eyes wide with fear as he took in the sight of you. Steve gently handed you over to Dr. Cho and her team, who rushed you to the medical bay. Bucky stood frozen, staring at the blood that covered Steve’s hands and suit.

“She’s alive, Buck,” Steve said softly, his voice raw with exhaustion. “But she needs you now more than ever. Don’t lose hope.”

Bucky nodded, swallowing hard. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think beyond the sight of you lying there so still. He followed the team as they wheeled you into surgery, praying with everything he had left that you would survive this.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

THERE’S GOING TO BE A PART 2 by Sunday

Part 2 is up y’all

733 notes · View notes

communistkenobi · 2 years ago

Text

I’ve been thinking a lot about fandom recently, both as someone who has engaged with it regularly for over a decade on various platforms and also as someone who has increasingly become disenchanted with those spaces. Not only because of pervasive issues of (especially anti-Black) racism, misogyny, transphobia/homophobia, and the like, but the particular way those things take shape within fandom.

At the most basic level I think fandom has a fundamental methodological problem with the way it approaches texts, be they shows, books, movies, etc. What I mean is that people almost invariably approach fandom at the level of character, often at the level of ship - your primary way of viewing a text is filtered through favourite characters and favourite relationships, as opposed to, say, favourite scenes, favourite themes, favourite conflicts.

This is reinforced through the architecture of dominant platforms that host fan content, particularly AO3 - there are separate categories for fandom, character and ship, and everything else is lumped together in “Additional Tags.” You cannot, for example, filter for fics on AO3 by the category of “critical perspective” or “thematic exploration”. There is no dedicated space for fan authors to declare their analytical perspective on the text they are writing about. If an author declares these things, they do so individually, they must go out of their way to do so, because there are no dedicated or universally agreed-upon tags to indicate those things, and if your fanfiction has a lot of tags, that announcement of criticality gets mushed together in a sea of other tags, sharing the same space with tags like “fluff and angst” or “porn without plot.” Perhaps one of the few tags closest to approaching this is the tag “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat,” which doesn’t indicate perspective or theme but rather that there is, broadly, some kind of “problematic content” contained therein - often of a sexual nature, frequently as a warning about “bad” ships.

Now this is not an inherent problem, as in, it is not inherently incorrect to approach a text and primarily derive pleasure from it by focusing on a given character or relationship. And I think a lot of mainstream media encourages (even requires) audiences to engage with their stories at these character- and ship-levels. The political economy of the production of art (one which is capitalistic, one that seeks to generate comfort, titillation, controversy, nostalgia, or shock for the purposes of drawing in viewership, one that increasingly pursues social media metrics of “engagement” and “impressions”, one that allows for the Netflix model of making two-season shows before cancelling them, as well as a whole host of other things) enforces a particular narrative orthodoxy, one that heavily focuses on the individual interiority of specific characters, one that is deeply concerned with the maintenance of white bourgeois middle class values of property ownership, the nuclear family, normative heterosexual sexuality and gender, settler-colonial ideas about community and environment, etc. If you do not care about the familial drama surrounding Shauna cheating on her husband in Yellowjackets, for example, because you think the institution of monogamous marriage and the nuclear family is stupid and violent and heternormative, then you will have a difficult time engaging with the show in general. We exist within a deeply normative (and frequently reactionary) media environment that encourages us to approach art in a particular way, one that privileges the individual over other narrative components (settings, themes, conflicts, ideas, political and moral perspectives, structure, tone, etc).

All of which culminates in priming fans to engage with art at these levels and these levels alone, even when that scope is deeply inappropriate. A standout example I recently encountered was browsing the fandom tags on tumblr for the movie Prey - a movie that recontextualises the original Predator film by setting it in colonial America to make the argument that the horrific violence of white colonists and imperial soldiers is identical to the violence we see the Predator do to human beings. It is a movie that makes the argument that, despite this alien monster running around killing people, the villains of the franchise are these occupying soldiers and settlers, an alien force who themselves have just as little regard for (indigenous) human life.

And when browsing the tags on tumblr, what I found was dozens upon dozens of horny posts about how hot the predator monster was. Certainly there were discussion of the film’s narrative, and these posts got a good amount of notes, but the tags were heavily dominated with a focus on the Predator itself. People were engaging with this film not as a solid action movie with interesting and compelling anti-colonial themes, but as a way to be horny about a creature that is, ironically, a stand-in for white settler indifference to (and perpetuation of) indigenous suffering. And if this is your takeaway from an extremely straightforward film with a very clear message, this is not merely a failure to comprehend the content of a text, this is something beyond it - a problem that I think is due in part to the methodological problem of approaching all texts as vessels for bourgeois interiority, individual but ultimately interchangeable expressions of sexuality, perhaps best-expressed by the term “roving slash fandom,” a phenomenon wherein fans will move from one fandom to the next in search of two (usually white, usually skinny) guys to draw and write porn of, uncaring of any of the surrounding context of the stories they are embedded in, and consequently dominating a large sector of fandom discussion.

This even gets expressed in the primary ideological battleground of fandom itself, the ridiculous partitioning of all fan conflict into “pro-“ and “anti-“ shipping compartments. Your stance on engagement with fandom itself historically was (and still is) always first filtered through one of these two labels, describing your fundamental perspective on all texts you engage with. And both of these two labels are only concerned with shipping, as if all disagreements about art can only be interpreted through the lens of what characters you think are acceptable to draw or write having sex. Nowhere in this binary is space to describe any other perspective you might take, what approaches you think are valuable when interacting with art, what themes or stories you think are worth exploring. It’s not just that the pro/anti divide is juvenile and overly-simplistic, it is a declaration that all fan conflict must be read through the lens of shipping and shipping only - the implication being that any objections raised, and criticisms offered, is ultimately just bitching about ships you don’t like.

Which, again, I think is a fundamental error of methodology. It leaves no space for people to discuss the political and moral content of a work, the themes of a piece of art, the thorny issues of representation not just as expressed through individual characters but entire worlds, narratives, settings, and themes. You are always hopelessly stuck in the quagmire of “shipping discourse,” and even rejecting that framework will inevitably get you labelled as either pro- or anti-ship anyway - and you will almost invariably be labelled an “anti” if you express any kind of distaste for the bigoted behaviour of fans or the content of the text itself, again reinforcing the idea that this is all just pointless whining online about icky ships you personally hate.

And this issue is best perhaps epitomised by reader insert fanfiction, circumventing any need for you to project onto a character by literally inserting yourself into fiction, primarily in order to write/read about a character you want to fuck. This then intersects in particularly disgusting ways with real world politics, such as reader insert fics about Pedro Pascal going with you to BLM protests. Even if this is (incredibly over-generously) interpreted as a very poor attempt at being “progressive,” it still demonstrates that many (white) fans are often incapable of thinking about anything outside of a character-centric perspective, quite literally centring themselves in the process, and consequently they think it’s totally appropriate to do things like that. The fact that this is also frequently a racist lens is not coincidental, because again, a chronic focus on (fictional) individuality prohibits any structural perspective from entering the discussion, which necessarily excludes a coherent or useful perspective on systemic issues, where people come to the conclusion that the topic of police brutality is little more than a fun stage to enact whatever romantic shenanigans you want to get up to with a hot guy.

I will stress, again, that it is not a moral sin to have a favourite character, nor is it bad to enjoy reading about two guys having sex in fanfiction. I enjoy and do those things, I engage with fandom often through a character-centric lens (see my url) - because it’s fun! But I think that this being the dominant mode of engagement inherently excludes and marginalises all other approaches, and creates a fandom space where the most valuable way to talk about media is to discuss which two characters you most enjoy imagining fucking each other

#media #effortpost #fandom discussion

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puppym3 · 5 months ago

Note

I’m kinda new to tumblr tbh but I need someone to write this so here goes lol

I love your writing and I was wondering if you could write a smut story where Chan is feeling kind of insecure about himself and the reader ends up jerking him off while like cooing to him how pretty he is

basically a fic where the reader praises the fuck out of Chan cause he deserves it 🥰

.·:*¨ insecure!bangchan x reader ¨*:·.

wc: 1.3k (the shortest i've written)

warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, kinda subby chan?, established relationship, insecurities, comfort, praise, body worship, sweet, fluffy, slight oral (m. rec), handjob, (lmk if i missed any)

a/n: omg. i just finished writing and i was about to go to bed and then i read this and immediately needed to write it. tysm @hyunjinx42 for this suggestion <3 i hope it lived up to what u wanted

i love getting suggestions so if anyone has anything they'd like me to write, pls lmk!!! i also have a taglist if anyone is interested!

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

You and your boyfriend were nestled comfortably on the plush, oversized couch, the soft glow of the table lamp casting a warm, inviting hue across the cozy living room. The air was filled with a serene ambiance, created by the gentle hum of the TV, which played a movie neither of you were particularly invested in. The flickering light from the screen danced across the room.

Your head rested gently on Chan’s broad shoulder, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest providing a comforting background to your quiet evening together. His arm, strong and reassuring, enveloped you in a protective embrace, pulling you close to him. The plush blanket draped over both of you felt like a cocoon, wrapping you in warmth.

Chan’s fingers traced idle patterns on your arm, his touch light and soothing. Yet, there was something different about his demeanor tonight. His usual warmth was overshadowed by a distant look in his eyes, as though his thoughts were caught in a whirlwind of uncertainties and insecurities that clouded his mind.

Sensing the shift in his mood, you shifted slightly, your instincts telling you that something was amiss. “Hey, Chan,” you said softly, your voice tender and concerned. “You okay?”

He sighed deeply, a sound laden with unspoken worries. His gaze flickered briefly to the TV screen, but it was clear his thoughts were elsewhere. The movie played on, a mere backdrop to the inner turmoil that occupied his mind. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, but his voice lacked its usual warmth, replaced by an undertone of hesitation.

With a gentle movement, you propped yourself up on one elbow, your eyes locked on his troubled expression. Your heart ached at the sight of him so distant, and you knew he was carrying a burden he wasn’t ready to share. “You don’t seem fine,” you said, your voice carrying a quiet intensity. “You’ve been distant for a while now. Talk to me, what’s on your mind?”

He hesitated, a fleeting moment of vulnerability crossing his features. He nervously bit his lower lip, a gesture that spoke volumes about the feelings he was experiencing. “It’s just… stupid thoughts,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your frown deepened, your concern growing. “Chan, you know you can talk to me about anything, right? No matter how silly it seems, I want to know what’s bothering you.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of apprehension and sadness. “It’s just… sometimes I can’t help but think you could be with someone more attractive. Someone who’s… I don’t know, more everything than me.”

The words struck you like a cold wave, leaving you momentarily speechless. It had never occurred to you that he, the sexiest man alive, might harbor such insecurities about his appearance.

Before you could gather your thoughts, Chan continued, his voice trembling with a mix of vulnerability and self-doubt. “Like, I see the way other guys look at you, and they all seem to be models or something. And then there’s me. I mean, I know I can be sexy when I try, but it takes a lot of effort and makeup. Sometimes I just feel like you could do better, you know?”

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, and you shook your head vehemently, your heart aching for him. “Chan, that’s not true,” you said firmly, your hands gently cupping his face. “You know that’s not true. You’re right about one thing—you look nothing like those other guys.”

You trailed your fingers down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate care. As you slowly opened the shirt, revealing his well-defined muscles, you couldn’t help but admire the smoothness of his skin. Your touch was tender, each movement imbued with love and reverence.

“They could never look like you,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his neck. “They could never have this sexy body, and your sexy voice, and your adorable dimple.”

As you kissed a trail down his chest, your lips lingering on his skin, you felt the tension in his body begin to dissolve. Your hands roamed over his muscles, appreciating the hard-earned contours of his physique. You adjusted your position, gracefully moving off the couch and onto your knees in front of him.

Your hands traced the lines of his toned abs, your fingers gently caressing the faint lines and bumps that spoke of countless hours in the gym. “Too sexy,” you whispered, looking up at him with a playful yet adoring smile.

His face flushed a deep crimson, and he looked down at you, his breath hitching in his throat. The vulnerability in his eyes was palpable, but there was also a flicker of desire that ignited as he watched you.

Your hands moved lower, reaching the waistband of his jeans. With a slow, deliberate motion, you unbuttoned and unzipped them, pulling them down along with his boxers. The anticipation in the air was electric as you exposed him to your view.

His half-hard cock was freed, and you wrapped your hand around it, gently stroking it.

"Nobody can have a prettier cock than you," you murmured, admiring its size and shape. "Not even a porn star."

Your hand ran slowly up and down his length, looking up at him.

He groaned, his cock twitching in your hand.

You smiled, moving closer. You pressed a kiss to the tip of his cock, then licked the slit, tasting the bead of precum that had formed.

"Did I mention the sexy voice?" you asked, looking up at him again. "And the pretty face? And the way your dimple looks when you smile?"

You gave the head a kitten lick, your hand moving faster.

"So beautiful," you whispered.

He moaned, his cock throbbing in your hand.

You smirked, pressing a wet kiss to the head. "Too bad nobody else can have you, you're all for me," you murmured, your other hand giving attention to his abs.

His face was flushed as he watched you touch him.

You stroked him faster, kissing his cock again. "I bet none of those guys could make me cum like you can," you whispered, licking up the side of his cock. "No one makes me feel as good as you."

His cock twitched in your hand, and he bit his lip, stifling another moan.

"Nobody stands a chance against your hot body, your cute face, and your amazing cock," you whispered, pumping him faster. "You're so sexy, you're too much."

He gasped, his cock pulsing in your hand. He was close.

"You're mine," you whispered, stroking him faster.

"Yours," he groaned, his cock throbbing in your hand.

"So pretty honey, nobody else compares," you mumbled, stroking him harder.

You pumped him faster, eager to feel him cum.

"Come for me baby," you whispered, licking the tip of his cock.

His body tensed, his hips jerking as he came. His cock throbbed, shooting hot cum over your face and hand.

"Even pretty when you cum," you murmured, stroking him through his orgasm.

His body shuddered as he finished, his cock twitching a few more times before he relaxed, breathing heavily.

You released his cock, smiling up at him. You looked up at him through heavy eyelids. "So sexy, and all mine."

He smiled, reaching for your face, and pulling you up for a kiss.

You smiled, breaking the kiss. "Is that enough proof?" you asked, wiping his cum off of your face.

He nodded, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you back onto the couch.

"Thank you for that, I love you," he murmured, holding you close.

"I love you, too," you said, nuzzling against him.

The two of you lay there in each other's arms, the TV still humming in the background.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

taglist for my beauties: @loverbangchan, @reignessance

#stray kids x reader #skz #stray kids #skz smut #skz imagines #skz fic #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #straykids #stray kids bang chan #skz bang chan #bang chan smut #bang chan #bangchan smut #chan smut #chan fluff #skz chan #christopher bang #bangchan fluff

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superbreadsoul · 1 month ago

Text

LEAVE ME BEHIND

Rafe Cameron x Reader

MDNI!!!

DISCLAIMER!: The following story is purely fictional and is made for entertainment purposes. I do not own any of the characters/show/movie mentioned in this story.

Warning: EXTREMELY TOXIC exes, heartbreak, open ended/bittersweet ending, Rafe is a bad boyfriend, Reader is DRUNK as fuck, Reader has a POTTY-MOUTH, Reader is a crybaby/ abusive (for that ONE time) , mentions alcohol abuse/murder, Reader might get on your nerves–i sincerely apologise for that–, cheating (i hate this, dont do this) , Porn with plot.

Read if you like to see Rafe beg. Read at your own risk. Seriously. This is real bad.

WORD COUNT: 22503 WORDS

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

Y/N had always been aware that she wasn’t Rafe’s first love. That truth weighed heavily on her, a constant reminder that while he was her everything, she was merely a chapter in his story. It hurt like hell when the memories of their past would slip from his lips, eliciting laughter and a light in his blue eyes that hadn’t touched her in far too long. She cried herself to sleep in the quiet moments, yet she held strong, hiding her pain behind a brave façade. She didn’t want him to know how deeply the shadows of his past affected her.

One fateful evening at Rafe's party, her strength threatened to crumble completely. They had retreated to the terrace, surrounded by laughter and music, but that warmth was abruptly shattered. In the blink of an eye, Rafe stood up from the sofa, leaving her behind as he disappeared downstairs, swallowed by the chaotic crowd of people lost in drink and clouded senses.

And then her heart froze. There he was, standing with her.

Sofia.

Rafe’s ex-girlfriend was an ethereal presence, her laughter dancing through the air, her smile radiant and infectious. Y/N stood there, feeling like a ghost in her own life, invisible and aching as she watched Rafe beam at Sofia like she was the only person in the world. The joy in his face was a knife twisting in Y/N’s already breakable heart, and in that moment, reality warped around her—she felt as though the world had collapsed, leaving nothing but a hollow pit where her heart had been.

Gripping her whiskey glass tightly, she downed the contents and inhaled sharply, shaking off the swirling fog of jealousy and sadness that threatened to overtake her. She pushed through the bodies, determination fueling her every step as she made her way toward them, each heartbeat echoing a painful reminder of her insecurity.

“Rafe!” she called out over the booming music, fighting against both the noise and the burgeoning panic within.

Rafe’s head turned, surprise flickering across his features as his eyes landed on her. They swept down to the glass in her hand, and for a moment, she saw something in his gaze—concern. But it was fleeting.

“Yeah? You alright?” he asked casually, his body still angled towards Sofia.

Y/N’s resolve quaked as she glanced at Sofia, the thin woman with an effortless grace. Feeling fat and out of place, Y/N swallowed hard. “I wanna go,” she said, her voice strained.

The moment the words left her lips, Rafe's demeanour shifted. He crossed his arms, annoyance blooming like a dark cloud. “What? You want to go home already?”

Sofia remained silent, her expression unreadable, as if this petty feud was merely an amusing spectacle to her.

“Yes. I wanna go home. Let’s go,” Y/N insisted, desperation creeping into her tone.

Rafe studied her for a heartbeat, tension brewing in the air before he turned to Sofia with a tight smile. “I’ll text you later,” he said, the words bitter on Y/N's tongue.

As Sofia departed, Rafe leaned in, placing a hand on her arm, a gesture meant to be comforting. “Let’s go home,” he murmured softly.

But all Y/N could think about were the words he had carelessly cast aside. “The fuck does that mean? You’ll text her later?” The frustration flowed out, raw and unfiltered.

Rafe flinched at her tone, brows knitting together in disbelief. “Goddamn… why can’t you just chill for once? There’s nothing going on between me and her.”

“Okay? Then why do you need to text her back?” The whiskey emboldened her, turning frustration into sharp urgency.

“Why do I need to text her back…” he echoed, annoyance edging his voice. He twisted the keys into the engine with a loud huff. “It’s none of your business. We’re friends. I should be able to have a normal conversation with her without being questioned!”

“What the fuck? How is that none of my business? You’re my fucking boyfriend, Rafe!” She pressed, incredulity mingling with her alcohol courage; she jabbed a finger into her chest, needing to reinforce her claim.

He took a deep breath, shaking his head as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Goddammit, how drunk are you?”

Her voice turned fervent—slurred—, as she clung to her thoughts. “This is about you and who—what even is she? Sofia? Whatever—You can’t keep leaving me to talk with your ex. You can’t!”

Rafe looked like he might erupt from frustration as her words tumbled out, jumbled and frantic. “First of all, you’re being paranoid. I didn’t leave you to talk with her; you didn’t even let me explain. She is my friend. Just a friend.”

“Don’t you dare tell me she’s just a friend!” Y/N shot back, her hands tangling in her hair. “She’s your ex-girlfriend!”

“EX-girlfriend, Y/N. EX!” he repeated, exasperated. “Why can’t you understand this doesn’t matter anymore?”

He slowed the car slightly, the distance between them growing palpable. “I’m with you... not with her,” he said, frustration dripping from every word. “Why are you even concerned about this?”

Tears pooled in Y/N’s eyes, and the air shifted into something brittle and raw. “Because I—” She let go of her hair, mascara imbuing her cheeks with dark streaks. “I love you. And sometimes—sometimes I feel like you don’t love me anymore.”

Rafe's heart stumbled in his chest as he absorbed Y/N's words, a stark revelation crackling in the air between them like a lightning bolt. The weight of her pain crashed over him, suffocating and starkly real. He despised the sight of her like this, broken and vulnerable, the glistening tears brimming in her eyes a torture he had never wished to witness.

Desperate to escape the rising tension, Rafe swallowed hard and pulled the car to a stop on the side of the dimly lit road. The engine ticked softly in the heavy silence, each second stretching unbearably as the truth hung unspoken. Finally, he turned to her, his voice barely rising above a whisper. “Why would you think that…?”

Y/N let out a quiet sniffle, her head leaning back against the seat, the gentle thud a counterpoint to the turmoil swirling within her. “You don’t bring me flowers anymore,” she said, each word a painful reminder. “You used to do it every morning at the beginning, just to see me smile. You never used to touch your phone when we were together. You always told me I had your ‘undivided attention.’ And now, when I call you, you don’t even look up. You’re always texting and calling—but it’s not me.” Her voice broke, the final words slipping out with a vulnerability that tore at Rafe's heart.

Each of her statements pierced through him like shards of glass, a painful truth echoing in the silence. Guilt washed over him, seeping into every crevice of his being. She was right. Everything had shifted after a few months together. He had taken her presence for granted, convinced she would always be there. In his mind, their love didn't need nurturing; it was solid, a constant.

He shook his head slowly, searching for something—anything—worthy to say, but the words eluded him. “I’m—I’m so…” The admission caught in his throat, his chest tightening around the confession. “I’m so sorry, N/N…” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you?” she replied, her voice fragile, almost breaking. In that moment, she began to peel at the skin around her nails, a habit borne of anxiety, fresh red lines marking her fingers as blood seeped through the fissures.

“Of course I am…” Rafe responded quietly, instinctively reaching for her hand to stop her frantic movements. With tenderness, he brushed his thumb across the inflamed skin, feeling the warmth and pain radiating from her. “You’re right. I was an idiot. I got used to you just being there, and I thought that was enough. I stopped trying to show you how important you are to me, and that was a horrible thing to do.”

His heart thundered in his chest as he pressed on, “But believe me, I still love you—just like I used to, if not more.”

Her gaze held his, but pain still clouded her verdant eyes. “Yeah, but it doesn’t feel that way, Rafe…” she whispered, tears shimmering on her lashes like tiny crystals.

The sight of her despair knotted in his gut. He hated that she was hurting—hated that it was because of him. His heart ached, every beat a reminder of his shortcomings.

With a deep, shaky breath, Rafe leaned closer, his fingers tenderly grasping her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. The depth of guilt reflected in his gaze was palpable, a shared sorrow bleeding into the space between them. “What can I do to make you believe me?” he murmured, vulnerability seeping into his tone.

After a long, drawn-out silence, Y/N nuzzled into his palm, her voice hoarse but unwavering. “Block her.”

The words landed heavily, a command disguised as a plea, echoing in the stillness of the car. Rafe felt an internal battle surge within him. Blocking Sofia felt like a severing of old ties, a rejection of a past that still clung to him like a shadow. But then he looked at Y/N, saw the raw hope flickering behind her pain-stricken eyes, and the decision crystallised.

Y/N’s expression softened, a glimmer of light breaking through the storm clouds of their turmoil. “I just need to know you’re choosing me,” she whispered, her hand resting against his, the warmth bridging the distance their struggles had created.

Rafe paused, the weight of Y/N’s words settling heavily in the car’s confined space. He hadn’t expected this at all. The idea of blocking Sofia taunted him, a spectre of his past that seemed impossible to banish, yet he knew deep down that he had to try. He had to understand Y/N's pain, to grasp the depth of her desire. With a slow, hesitant breath, he rubbed his thumb over her cheek, searching for a glimmer of hope in her pleading eyes. “Would this make you happy?” he murmured.

“No,” she whispered, her voice a sweet melody concealing the storm beneath, as she pressed a gentle kiss to his palm. Her eyes locked onto his, holding him captive.

Rafe swallowed hard, a mix of frustration and longing swirling in his chest. Stubbornness tugged at him, tempting him to argue, to dismiss her request as overreacting, yet the power of her gaze stilled him. Those big, expressive eyes had an unusual strength, compelling him to give in time and time again.

He remained silent for a few moments, thoughts racing through his mind until he finally mustered the courage to ask, “And what would make you happy?”

“I want you—to never see her again.” The urgency in her words wrapped around him, her kiss stealing his breath and igniting a flicker of conflict within him.

Rafe's brow furrowed. Why did letting go of his ex-girlfriend gnaw at him so painfully? He was certain he loved Y/N more with every corner of his being, yet the shadows of his past loomed large, whispering doubts that he couldn’t fully shake.

He leaned closer, cupping her delicate face in his hands, their foreheads nearly touching. The warmth radiating from her skin enveloped him, and for a fleeting moment, he imagined a future free from his past. “I’ll block her…” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

But Y/N's reaction was immediate and unsettling. Her eyes darkened, locking onto his with an intensity that chilled him to the core. “That’s not what I asked.”

Rafe’s heart raced in his chest. The sharpness of her tone sent a shiver down his spine, igniting an unfamiliar heat within him. He found himself caught between fear and admiration for this fierce side of her. “What you’re asking me to do is… a lot…” he murmured, fighting against the rasp in his voice.

In an instant, Y/N grasped his jaw, her fingers digging in painfully as she scrutinised his face with a fierce glare. “I fucking gave you everything! You think Sofia can give you what I can? Huh? You think she can handle the truth about you? About the shit you pulled? All that blood on your hands that only I know about?” Her voice was a low, intense growl, each word a knife plunging deeper into the wounds they both carried.

“Dammit, N/N…” Rafe muttered, closing his eyes tightly, feeling the conflicting sensations of pain and thrill wash over him. The grip on his jaw hurt, but it stirred something primal in him, a strange exhilaration that had been absent for so long.

Initially taken aback by her ferocity, he felt anger swell inside him, a potent mix of indignation and adrenaline. He seized her wrist, pulling her hand away from his face with a force that surprised them both. In that moment, the familiar Rafe faded, revealing someone darker, someone more raw and unrefined—a reflection of the storm raging inside him.

“There he is,” Y/N whispered, a sick grin curving her lips, her gaze darting between his eyes. “There’s Rafe Cameron.”

Her words hung in the air, threading through the chaos of their emotions. The familiar comfort of their love was nothing but a fragile illusion; the confrontation had peeled away the layers, exposing the raw edges of their hearts. In this unexpected standoff, he realised they were standing at a crossroads, the familiar path fading behind them while an unknown future beckoned, uncertain and fraught with danger.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Rafe growled, his voice a reverberating thunder in the dimly lit room. He tightened his grip around her wrist, pulling her closer to him to prevent any more intimate gestures, a mix of confusion and fury swirling in his chest. He leaned in, eyes sharp and piercing, locking onto hers as if trying to strip away her bravado. “You can’t be making demands from me, baby,” he muttered lowly, his tone dripping with disdain. His hand slid from her wrist, fingers curling around her chin with a possessive strength that left no doubt about his intentions.

She smirked, unfazed by his aggression, her eyes glinting with a challenge as she replied, “She’s never seen this side of you. And she won’t be able to handle it.”

Rafe narrowed his eyes, feeling the anger simmer just beneath the surface. He tightened his grip, his fingers pressing into her skin with a force that bordered on pain. “And you can?” He shot back, each word steeped in venom.

Silence hung thickly between them, the air charged with tension as he bore down on her, his emotions a chaotic storm. She didn’t flinch; instead, she leaned in, a reckless smile playing on her lips, a wicked glimmer in her gaze.

“Oh baby,” she purred, leaning toward him to trail her tongue across his cheek. The touch sent shockwaves through him, igniting a reckless energy he couldn’t fully suppress. “I’m the one who washed Peterkin’s blood off your hands. Remember?” The words were slurred but heavy, dripping with undeniable intimacy as she nipped at his skin, her breath hot against him.

At the mention of Peterkin, Rafe froze. A scowl twisted his face, the memory crashing over him like a wave; she had stayed by his side that night, battling against the bitter reality of the choices he made. She had been there, without questions, helping him scrub away the remnants of a life steeped in darkness. The fact that she wielded it like a weapon made his blood run cold.

With a sharp tug, he pulled her back, their faces inches apart, the tension crackling with unspoken words. “Don’t bring that up...” The warning came out in a whisper, as his breath ghosted against her lips.

“Or what, baby? You gonna hit me?” Her demeanour shifted, shifting from defiance to mockery, her droopy eyes sparkling with mischief. “Or you gonna fuck me?” The laughter that escaped her lips was both intoxicating and infuriating, a reckless bravado that made his heart race in frustration.

Rafe felt a torrent of emotions boil within him. Sure, she was drunk, her inhibitions lowered, but no one ever dared to speak to him like this. “Or I’m gonna leave,” he growled, forcing his voice to remain steady, even though he felt a tempest brewing inside.

Her smile faltered, eyes narrowing like daggers. “Oh yeah?” she asked, bitterness dripping from each word.

“Yeah...” he replied, refusing to yield, his grip unyielding on her chin as he continued, “I could just leave you here and go back to that fancy party. Have a great time. I could find me some chick to flirt with…” Each word was a calculated blow, designed to pierce through any facade of confidence she wore.

He watched her reaction closely, a mixture of satisfaction and guilt welling up inside him. He knew he was being cruel, pushing her buttons with the precision of a surgeon, but in her inebriated state, it was too easy to pull the strings and watch her unravel.

As anticipated, her expression soured, the alcohol stripping away the bravado as her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You fucking asshole,” she hissed, her voice trembling with a cocktail of anger and hurt.

The words struck him hard, reverberating in the charged silence, and for a fleeting moment, he saw through the haze of his emotions. He was treading on dangerous ground, dancing around a precipice that threatened to swallow them both whole. But in that moment, anger drowned out everything else, and the walls they had built around their complicated relationship began to crumble under the weight of their truth.

Rafe held her gaze, unblinking, feeling the burning intensity of the moment wrap around them like a shroud. It felt like a fight worth having, a dangerous game of chess played with hearts instead of pawns. They were both wounded, entangled in a dance of blood and desire, standing at the edge of something raw and bleak, yet electric with possibility.

Rafe’s heart hardened into a stone as he fixed his gaze on her. She was a storm of tears and rage, and yet all he felt was the cold weight of justification. “You brought Peterkin into this,” he thought bitterly, punishing her with his silence. If she was going to cry, he didn’t care. It was what she deserved for making him listen to her ludicrous demands. For pushing him into a corner where he had to choose sides.

“Are you happy now?” He hoped she was drowning in her anguish. He wanted her to feel as defeated and frustrated as he did, to grasp the gravity of her impact on his life.

But the moment the tears began to slip down her cheeks, all resolve crumbled, replaced by raw fury. She shoved him, the force of her frustration breaking through her disorientation. She slapped him, the sound echoing in the confined space of the car like a gunshot. “Fucking—asshole—you fucking asshole—fucking—prick!” she screamed, each word a jagged knife cutting deeper.

Rafe didn’t flinch as she struck him again and again, each slap marked by her frustration and heartache. Instead, he absorbed the blows, the sharp pain a bittersweet reminder of the emotional turmoil they shared. As he sat there, he could see the tears pooling in her eyes, reflecting the fury within her. Hatred swirled within him, yet it mingled with something far more powerful—love.

“Are you done yet?” he gritted out through clenched teeth, his voice slicing through her sobs.

She responded with a loud sob, pushing him back in his seat one last time, the anger finally bubbling to a climax. “—Fuck you!” Without a second thought, she undid her seatbelt and stumbled out of the car, her heart breaking into jagged pieces as she fell to her knees. Wobbly-legged, she stood up and started walking away, her heels clicking erratically on the pavement.

“Whoa, hold on!” Panic clawed at Rafe's insides as he jumped out of the car, chasing after her. No way was he letting her walk the streets alone like this, not in this state. He caught up to her swiftly, grabbing her hand and wrenching her around to face him. “Where the hell are you going?!” he roared, anger still bubbling under the surface.

“Get away from me!” she shouted back, shoving him weakly as her heel wobbled beneath her. “—you—you go ahead and go fuck someone else, Rafe!” The words cut deep, each one saturated with betrayal as tears streamed irrepressibly down her cheeks.

Stunned, Rafe staggered back, his hand falling away as she continued to express her pain. The darkness in his gaze turned more profound, the finality of her words settling like a dense fog around them.

“Fine,” he retorted sharply, crossing his arms defensively. “Maybe I will.”

Her expression morphed from anger to disbelief, her breath heavy, as if the weight of his words had knocked the wind out of her. She stumbled slightly but regained her balance, and Rafe felt his heart racing, torn between anger and an aching desire to pull her into his arms.

“You don’t mean that,” she said softly, vulnerability creeping into her voice, but Rafe could only watch, hardened by the atmosphere they had created. He could feel everything inside him at war as he wrestled with his desire to comfort her and his instinct to protect himself from further pain.

In his mind, scenarios played out at a thousand miles per hour. He imagined pulling her close, cradling her waist as he helped her step back into the car. He imagined undressing her slowly, taking off her heels so she could feel grounded again. But amidst fantasy thoughts, he held her gaze steady, fierce and unyielding.

Then she rushed forward, fueled by anger and hurt, and shoved him squarely in the chest. “Fuck you!” she sobbed, the sound reverberating through him.

The emotional distance felt insurmountable, yet the impulse to reach for her was almost irresistible. In the space between them, love and hurt collided, creating a crackling tension that threatened to ignite. Rafe felt himself tilting closer to the edge of surrender, where pride met vulnerability, waiting for the moment when the dam would break and everything would spill over.

But for now, they stood locked in place, a standoff between emotions they couldn’t articulate, both unwilling to yield yet desperate for something they didn’t know how to name. The night stretched around them, a tapestry woven from pain, love, and fractured trust, waiting for one brave soul to take the first step toward healing or destruction.

Rafe stood in the fading light of the evening, a silent sentinel caught in the crossfire of their shattered relationship. The air around them was thick with tension as he watched her shove him, each push a desperate, futile attempt to rid herself of the pain that had wedged itself between them. Instinctively, he took a step back, allowing her to vent her frustration, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans, a mask of stoicism over his anguished heart.

Each sob that escaped her felt like a dagger to his chest, each word that tore from her lips a reminder of their crumbling world. He kept his expression blank, a practised indifference, while inside, his heart shattered a little more with every shaky breath she took.

“Fuck—you—” she spat, her weak slaps against his chest more a reflection of her helplessness than any real aggression, until at last she surrendered. She leaned against him, forehead pressed to the softness of his shirt, her breath hitching as she battled the storm within.

For a moment, Rafe was taken aback. She had broken, and now, in the quiet of their chaos, he felt the weight of her despair. As her body grew heavy against him, he exhaled deeply, the tension coiling in his muscles loosening just enough for him to allow a gentle touch. He placed one hand atop her head, not as a conqueror but as a confidant, trying to ease the disappointment that clung to them like a shroud.

“Please don’t leave me.” Her voice was barely a whisper, lodged in the crook of his neck. The sincerity struck him like a bolt of lightning, igniting something deep within him.

Rafe swallowed hard, the weight of her pleading words pulling him under. He fought against the urge to shatter in response. He desperately wanted to be strong, to stand firm against the tempest that threatened to pull them apart, yet it was nearly impossible to withstand the raw pain emanating from her.

His hand moved instinctively to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he lowered his face toward her neck. Lips brushed softly against her skin, the kisses light and featherlike, rich with unspoken assurances and regrets. Each delicate touch was a promise, an apology for the battle raging around and within them.

Her soft cry of relief sent tremors through him. She gasped, fingers entwining in the hair at his nape, pulling him ever closer. “Please, baby,” she murmured, a plea wrapped in vulnerability.

Time seemed suspended as Rafe enveloped her in his arms, holding her close while she wept, his lips tracing the line of her neck until he pulled back. He sought her eyes with his dark pools of frustration and residual love. Here they were, two souls fighting to stay connected in a world that felt determined to tear them apart.

“Let’s get you back to the car, baby.” His voice was quiet, almost regretful, the weight of his words settling heavily between them.

With those words, her expression shifted, and an invisible barrier seemed to form. The spark dimmed in her eyes, swallowed by the shadow of defeat. Rafe felt the weight of guilt choking him as he helped her slide into the truck, watching as she numbly fastened her seatbelt. He turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life, but silence hung in the air, a thick, insurmountable void that neither dared to breach.

As they drove, Rafe’s mind churned with unresolved frustration. He could see how her spirit dimmed, the toll of their fight etching itself deeper into her features. And yet, anger coiled tightly in his chest like a spring, refusing to uncoil. He felt that he had wrecked it all, that she was slipping further away with every mile they travelled.

When the car finally came to a halt outside their shared house, Rafe got out and rounded the vehicle. He opened the passenger door, extending a hand in silence, inviting her to lean on him one last time. Her reluctance sent another stab of worry through him, but she took his hand, a fragile thread connecting them as he helped her out of the truck.

“Come on,” he said softly, but his tone lacked warmth, the chill of his emotions seeping through the cracks of his facade. As she stumbled in her heels, fumbling with the keys, Rafe felt the darkness creeping back into his heart. Each fumble was evidence of her distress, a reminder that they were both drowning beneath their anguish.

Without thinking, he stepped behind her, hands resting on her hips to steady her. A moment stretched into eternity before he quietly took the keys, unlocking the door with the ease of someone who had done it too many times before. He pushed it open and let her pass, watching her retreat into the hallway, her head hung low.

With her back turned, she stumbled into their bedroom, a retreat into a space once filled with love but now haunted by sorrow. Rafe's urge to follow her, to reclaim the passion they had shared, clawed at him. He wanted to pull her back, to envelop her in a wave of unrestrained intimacy to drown out the pain—but he remained rooted to the spot.

He swallowed his emotions and retreated to the living room. There, he sank onto the couch, his face pressing into his palms as if the very act could erase the turmoil in his heart. The silence of the apartment was deafening, a mirror to the chaos within him.

In that moment of solitude surrounded by echoes of their fractured relationship, Rafe was left grappling with the choices they had made and the love that remained tangled in the shadows. And as he sat there, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him, he knew this was only the beginning of the battle they both faced—the battle to reclaim what had once been whole.

The dim light of the room flickered softly, capturing the tension suspended in the air like a taut string ready to snap. She had shed her dress, her silhouette partially obscured by an open robe that cascaded around her figure like a gentle waterfall. The vulnerability of her state struck Rafe hard as he stood there, an unwilling spectator wrestling with his unruly emotions.

When the soft padding of her bare feet reached him, his heart thrummed an erratic beat. He looked up, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the sight of her—every curve, every lingering shadow framed by the gentle glow of the room. His gaze lingered, heavy and carnal, awakening something deep within him that had lain dormant, buried beneath layers of anger and hurt.

She moved closer, her fingertips brushing through his buzzed hair, sending jolts through his body with each tentative scratch against his scalp. “Are you still mad at me?” she asked, her voice a whisper, soft and inviting, laced with an undercurrent of anxiety.

Jesus Christ, he thought, exhaustion and desire battling within him. He swallowed hard, struggling to filter out his lust from the simmering annoyance that had threatened to consume him moments ago. She knew exactly how to distract him, how to drive him wild, even in the face of their heated words.

He opened his eyes and allowed his gaze to travel up her body, finally locking onto hers. “What do you think?” he murmured, his voice low and laced with unintentional desire.

Her lips twisted into a soft smile, almost playful. “You know I’m pretty mad at you too, ya know?” She scratched at his head again, her touch a familiar blend of warmth and teasing, making his resolve falter.

“Yeah?” he muttered, giving in to her gentle caress as he leaned into it, his eyes fluttering shut once more. His fingers sought her hip, fingertips curling around the edge of her robe, a silent plea to pull her closer. “Why’s that, sweetheart?”

As if taking charge of the moment, she leaned forward, her stomach pressing against his face. “You really hurt me when you said those things, baby,” she admitted, her eyes shimmering with vulnerability as she watched him, parting her lips slightly, inviting.

Rafe could barely contain the groan that escaped him as her warmth enveloped him. The ache in his chest softened for a moment, and he surrendered to her, letting himself be consumed by her presence. “You hurt me too, sweetheart.” The words came out against the softness of her skin, a whispered confession that laid bare their raw connection.

“Yeah? I hurt you?” she coaxed, her voice gentle, teasing. The heat rising between them was electric.

Instead of answering, he bent to kiss her stomach—a slow, deliberate exploration of the warmth that radiated from her skin. His lips travelled from her belly button down to the edge of her panties, tasting her desire as humiliation and longing swirled together in the air between them.

“You have no idea how bad it hurt, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice thick with longing, dragging his lips against the delicate fabric that separated them.

“I’m sorry, baby. You know I’m sorry. Don’t you?” Her voice was soothing, yet charged with an underlying tension that made his heart race. The pleasure of her whispers urged him on, fueled his insatiable hunger.

Rafe’s resolve wavered as he mumbled, “I don’t know if I do, sweetheart. You never said it.” His lips danced along her waistband, hovering at the precipice of temptation.

Her whimper was like a siren's call. “Fuck—Rafe…” she breathed, fingers curling into his shoulders, desperate for his touch. It was a sound that ignited the fire within him, driving him to the edge of control.

He couldn’t resist her any longer. His kisses transformed from gentle brushes to hungry demands, his tongue savouring the taste of her through the fabric of her panties. He gripped her hips, pulling her closer, drowning in the intoxicating rhythm of her pleasure.

As she threw her head back with a moan that rocked him to his core, Rafe felt her desperation seep into him, fueling his own need. “Rafe!” she cried, urging him onward as she rolled her hips against him.

Her moans echoed like music, songs of desire woven into the very fabric of the moment. Each sound twisted in his chest, fueling his own hunger as he lost himself in her rhythm.

“Fuck!” she moaned, her body arching further into him as she lifted a leg onto the couch, granting him deeper access to her heat.

“Stop moving, sweetheart…” he murmured, his voice strained, a raw edge betraying his attempts at restraint. But it was a losing battle.

“Please, baby…” The desperation in her whisper sent shockwaves through him, each plea unravelling his resolve thread by thread.

And then all at once, he surrendered. Frayed edges of anger burned away, replaced by a sheer lust that consumed him whole. He tugged her panties down with a swift, possessive motion, his mouth crashing against her skin, tasting her essence and relishing the soft shudder she gave in return.

But then suddenly, she pulled back, abandoning him, and Rafe's heart raced in confusion as he searched her eyes for an explanation. “Why’d you pull away?” he murmured, the huskiness of his voice reflecting his bewilderment, dark eyes wild with desire.

With a sultry grin, she sank to her knees, her hands scooting up the length of his thighs, sending an electrifying jolt through him. “Just trying to show you how sorry I am,” she purred, a playful glimmer in her gaze.

“Ah, Jesus Christ…” The words escaped Rafe in a low, ragged breath, a mix of anticipation and disbelief hanging in the air as he watched her—a vision of temptation—sink slowly to her knees. Time seemed to stretch as his eyes traced the curve of her body, lingering on the soft silhouette of her breasts spilling seductively from the open night robe. She was an intoxicating sight, her intent clear in the way she fixed her gaze upon him.

A deep, primal groan rumbled within him as her hands crept up his thighs, delicate yet possessive, each touch sending electric jolts through his body. Rafe’s muscles tensed beneath her fingertips, a cocktail of desire and restraint coursing through his veins, urging him to surrender to the mounting heat between them.

She kissed a path up his thighs, a teasing warmth that turned his breath into shallow gasps. The world outside faded into a distant memory; all that mattered was the two of them caught in this moment of unspoken need.

His belt felt like a weighty barrier to what they both craved—the need to close the distance that separated them. Rafe swallowed hard, his determination faltering as he felt her fingers deftly working the leather free. He lifted his hips instinctively, granting her permission, a silent plea for more. Each moment stretched out, a tantalising promise of what was to come, yet he fought to maintain control, feeling it slip away from him as he watched her.

Then, in a daring move that ignited the wildest part of him, she mouthed at the outline of him, tracing his arousal with the promise of pleasure, before finally releasing him from the confines of his pants. The sensation of her warm mouth enveloping him sent shockwaves through his body, each pulse of ecstasy igniting a raw hunger deep within.

His grip tightened in her hair, fingers curling into strands as he fought the urge to lose himself completely. The primal feeling of ownership surged through him, overwhelming and intoxicating. “Fuck, you’re so good,” he murmured, the admission torn from his lips as if it were a primal chant.

With a surge of lustful dominance, he found his other hand threading back into her hair, guiding her movements, forcing her to take him deeper. The sensation sent his senses reeling, his hips instinctively jerking forward as he pushed himself further into her warmth, wanting to claim every inch of her. The muffled sounds of her moans reverberated against his skin, a siren call that stoked the flames of his desire.

Rafe lost himself in the rhythm, each thrust a testament to his frustration and lust—a fervent need to conquer her stubbornness, to turn their simmering tensions into this burning connection. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum,” he growled, locking his eyes onto the tear-streaked canvas of her face.

The sight only fueled his desire further, each drop of vulnerability and submission reflected back at him a thrilling confirmation of their raw connection. It was a potent mixture of power and tenderness, and he craved it with every fibre of his being.

But just as the crescendo of pleasure threatened to burst from him, he couldn’t stop the urge to pull her away, needing to see her fully—a wild and untamed beauty caught in the storm of their desires. He kissed her roughly, tasting both her essence and the remnants of her submission, savouring the sweet agony that hung between them.

In that moment, boundaries dissolved, and all that remained was the intoxicating connection they shared—the thrilling dance on the precipice of overwhelming desire. Together, they were everything and nothing, lost in a world where only they existed, where the lines between pleasure and pain blurred, leading them to the brink of ecstasy.

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Rafe had no idea how they had wound up in this entangled embrace, lost in the shadows of the late evening. It felt surreal, almost as if he had stepped into a fantasy woven from the fabric of his deepest desires. Yet in this electrifying moment, he couldn’t afford to drift away into that dreamlike state; his attention was locked entirely on her.

He was on top of her, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces, one of his legs nestled between her thighs while the other dangled precariously over the edge of the couch. The very air around them buzzed with an intensity that made the room seem smaller, the world outside a distant memory. His fingers dug into her hip as he held her right leg over his shoulder, grounding them both in their shared pleasure.

A soft, breathy moan escaped her lips, reverberating through him like a siren’s call. As he thrust into her roughly, her nails raked down his back, leaving fiery trails of sensation that sent a jolt of desire coursing through his veins. Rafe was becoming increasingly lost in the pleasure building within him, a potent force that threatened to consume him, making coherent thought nearly impossible.

Her nails dug deeper into his skin, coaxing out a low, primal growl against the curve of her neck, the sound resonating like a raw confession. “Keep doing that, sweetheart…” he murmured, his voice thick with need, the air around them charged and electric.

“Fuck—don’t stop—” she whimpered, her plea spilling into his ear, her eyes gleaming with a mix of desperation and longing that sent shivers down his spine.

“Don’t stop, what?” Rafe whispered in return, a teasing edge to his tone as his hips slowed, savouring the moment, every heartbeat stretching the intensity. It was a familiar game for them—one he relished, one that drove him wild with both power and attraction.

He knew he was being mean, pushing her just enough to make the tension thrum in the air between them. Each moment spent watching her struggle with the overwhelming desire to have him fully, to feel complete release—it drove him to the brink of madness. He wanted to see her at her most vulnerable, to hear her voice crack as she surrendered completely.

“Please! Please don’t stop!” she cried out, her wide eyes locked onto his, a shimmering mixture of desperation and dauntlessness as the band of tension within her continued to stretch taut, ready to snap.

That earnest plea ignited something deep within him—it was both a challenge and an invitation. Her vulnerability was a tapestry woven with threads of longing that pulled at every longing instinct in him. He could feel the urgency in the way her body twitched beneath him, her need palpable and irresistible.

Rafe’s breath quickened as he paused for just an instant, relishing her desperation, before diving back into the depths of their connection. There was no holding back now; the tension that had been building couldn’t be contained any longer. He thrust into her with renewed vigour, each movement a primal dance of shared need, a rhythm that echoed with the promise of release.

Their world shrank to just the two of them, an intoxicating moment where nothing else mattered—no pasts intertwined or futures were uncertain, just the fierce heat they created together. The boundaries of their beings melded into each other, collapsing under the force of their passion.

In that engulfing haze, as she gasped and moaned beneath him, he pushed them both closer to the edge, where pleasure and surrender waited. He could feel her nearing her peak, the once-stretched band about to snap—a glorious release that promised to shatter them both and send them soaring into oblivion. Rafe wasn’t sure what would come next, but the journey to that ultimate climax was a ride he never wanted to end.

In that moment, Rafe felt the last threads of restraint snap. He was too far gone to care about the world outside, too consumed by her need and the intoxicating energy that enveloped them. His muscles tensed like a bowstring, taut and ready to release. Without breaking his rhythm, he lifted her leg from his shoulder, and with a firm grip, he repositioned it around his waist, feeling her skin beneath his fingers—a reminder of the closeness they shared.

As her legs tightened around him, she began to rock back and forth, surrendering completely to the rhythm between them. Each movement sent shockwaves through her body, and she cried out breathlessly, “Oh—oh! Shit! RAFE!” The sound of her voice, filled with unbridled lust, spiralled into the air, uncaring of neighbours or the world outside.

Rafe gritted his teeth, a growl rumbling deep within his chest as he pressed his face against her neck. The way she called his name—a raw, unfiltered plea—sent his self-control spiralling into oblivion. The weight of passion bore down on him until he could barely breathe. He pulled away slightly, locking his gaze onto hers, the intensity palpable between them. “Do that again, I’m so close.” he murmured, watching the way her pupils danced, dilated with want.

“Rafe!” She whispered hoarsely, her breath fanning across his face, a potent mix of desperation and affection evident in every quaver of her voice.

At that moment, something primal snapped inside him. It was as if the world beyond their cocoon faded entirely, leaving only his aching desire for her. All of his frustrations, his hurt, evaporated as he focused solely on the beautiful woman in his arms. Igniting with a fierce need, he leaned down, capturing her lips with a rough, deep kiss that robbed them both of air. He poured everything into that moment, a wildness he could no longer contain, driving his hips into her with a relentless tempo.

Her cry against his lips was music to his ears, the brutal force of his desire pulling her deeper into the swell of pleasure. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!” she gasped, a symphony of ecstasy that swallowed them both in its intensity.

He lost himself in her response, swallowing her cry with a deep, hungry moan as their mouths moved against one another, urgent and needy. His hands cradled her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he kissed her with fervour, desperately trying to gather all the pieces of her within him.

But in that moment, still hunger gnawed at him, an insatiable craving that urged him to go deeper, to explore further. He pulled back slightly, depriving them both of just a breath, before capturing her lower lip between his teeth and biting it gently, a possessive yet tender gesture filled with the promise of more.

Every ounce of his being was consumed by her, the air thick with desire and longing. This wasn’t just a union of bodies; it was a raw exchange of souls, a moment that would bind them forever in the relentless tide of passion that swept through them. As he surrendered to that need, Rafe knew there was no going back, no restraint left between them—only the exhilarating plunge into a world that belonged to them alone.

“Rafe—I can’t—I can’t take it—” Her voice trembled, nuanced with both pleasure and desperation, as tears welled in her eyes. She shook her head and sobbed softly, her nails digging into his shoulders, anchoring herself as if that small contact could ground her.

“You can,” Rafe murmured against her lips, his breath hot with unyielding conviction. His arms wrapped around her body, holding her in place, his strength a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling within her. He knew better than anyone: she could handle more than she thought possible. Even if every nerve in her body screamed to stop, he would be there to push her further.

“Fuck—Rafe—I—I can’t—” she cried out again, words barely escaping her lips as her eyes rolled back, overwhelmed by the sensations threatening to consume her. The muscles in her thighs shook around his hips, a frantic testament to the struggle within.

“Sweetheart…” His voice was a whisper against her neck as he leaned in closer. “You can. Remember that time you took me all night when you were high? You can’t tell me you can’t take me like this when you’re sober.”

A teasing edge coloured his words, a playful challenge that shattered the last remnants of her resistance.

She sobbed at his insistence, each word reverberating through her, amplifying the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her body. Even in her nearly paralyzed state of ecstasy, her hips bucked instinctively, fueled by the memory of their past.

“Rafe…” Her voice was a breathy whisper, caught between surrender and confusion.

“There we go…” he murmured, a sly grin creeping onto his lips, sensing that she was teetering on a precipice of both despair and desire.

With a deliberate control that both excited and scared her, Rafe began to pick up his pace again. He knew she was reaching her limits, but it was a limit he was determined to push further. His fingers dug deeper into her skin, holding her in place, a steady presence grounding her amidst the tempest of sensations.

“Don’t tell me you can’t take it now,” he whispered against her ear, his breath warm and inviting. “Don't you want to be a good girl for me, baby?”

In a haze of longing and exhaustion, she nodded desperately, her legs dangling in the air as she gazed up at him with eyes clouded by lust.

“Good girl.” His voice was laced with approval, a honeyed edge enveloping each word. He captured her lips once more, kissing her roughly and hungrily as his pace quickened, igniting a deeper passion that coursed through them both. Rafe’s body felt molten, every muscle straining at the edges of his control, a taut wire ready to snap.

As the heat of their shared intimacy enveloped them, she reached down, fingers grasping his ass, coaxing a shudder from him that sent ripples of pleasure up her spine. Rafe stilled for a moment, groaning loudly into her ear, surrendering to the high of their connection, his body shaking with intensity.

“Tell me you won’t leave me,” she whispered against his lips as he felt himself teetering on the edge of his own release, the world narrowing to just the two of them.

Shit… He hadn’t expected the vulnerability behind her words. Especially not now. Not while he was still coming down from that intoxicating high, his entire body sensitive and alive.

Rafe buried his face in the crook of her neck, each deep breath filled with warmth as he groaned, “...never leaving you…” His voice was strained, almost hoarse, the promise lingering heavily in the air, pumping into her to the brim.

“What was that?” Her grip tightened around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, insistent.

Damnit… The way she tightened her hold reminded him of the depth of their bond, making him tremble with an intensity that had nothing to do with their physical connection. He pulled his head away, lifting it to meet her gaze, his heavy-lidded eyes searching her face, mere inches apart now.

“I’m not leaving you. Ever,” he breathed, the words spoken softly yet firmly against her lips, a vow built on the foundations of intimacy they had forged together.

She smiled, a grin bursting forth with satisfaction. “Good. 'Cause you’re mine.”

The room was thick with the heavy silence of lingering tension. Rafe lay sprawled on her breasts, his body utterly spent from their recent exertions. He glanced at her, frustration flaring in his chest, but all he could muster was a weary sigh that echoed like a sigh of defeat. God, you insufferable woman…, he thought, staring down at her, feeling the weight of his exhaustion pressing down on him like a solid wall.

He could feel her gaze piercing through the dim light, unrelenting, demanding a response that he simply didn’t have the energy to give. The corners of his lips twitched into a faint, disbelieving grimace.

“What?” She asked in confusion, wondering how she managed to ruin his mood this time.

His deadpan expression seemed to suck the life out of her playful banter. Her smile, once bright and teasing, faltered under the weight of his indifference.

“You’re still talking,” he mumbled with a fatigue-laden tone, rolling away from her—finally breaking free from the intimate confines of their close quarters.

His body protested at the slightest movement, each joint aching as he shifted, a reminder of how tightly he had held himself through it all. Sweat clung to him like a second skin, and his breath was still ragged in his chest, refusing to be tamed. Was it the heat of the moment or just sheer tension? Either way, it rent his thoughts asunder like a fraying rope.

With another deep sigh, he collapsed onto his back beside her, flinging an arm over his eyes, desperate to escape the world for just a five-minute reprieve.

“And?” she teased, her voice infusing the air with a playful challenge. “I thought you liked hearing my voice.”

He felt her presence beside him, the warmth radiating from her body still fresh in his memory. “I’m starting to question that right now,” He said bitterly, the exhaustion stinging his every nerve. “Can’t you shut up for five minutes? I’m tired.” His voice came out muffled and strained, the groan escaping his lips a testament to his weariness.

A scoff escaped her, rich with indignation. He could imagine the way she tossed her hair over her shoulder, an act habitual in moments like these. He felt her rise, the rustle of fabric breaking the spell of silence as she reached for her robe to drape over her sweat-slicked skin.

“Why do you talk to me like that, Rafe?” Her words slipped out softly, tinged with something deeper, something vulnerable that cut through the air like a shard of glass.

He turned slightly, catching the edge of her expression; the way her eyes searched his, desperate for a glimpse beneath the surface. In that moment, he understood that it was never just playful banter or teasing. She sought something more—answers, connection, clarity in a world shrouded in ambiguity.

The tension in his chest tightened, a mix of exasperation and an undeniable appreciation for the depth of her soul. But he didn’t have the strength to unravel that knot, not now. Instead, he let silence take the lead, hoping that it would bridge the gap between their tangled hearts, even if just for a moment.

Ah, great. She’s being sensitive again, he thought, a bitterness tugging at the corners of his mind. With a resigned sigh, Rafe opened his eyes, forced to confront the fallout he desperately wanted to avoid. He didn’t want to engage in this conversation—not now, not when sleep was so painfully close yet so overwhelmingly out of reach.

“Like what?” he asked, the fatigue evident in his voice, watching her movements as she gracefully slipped on her robe. It was a sight that usually filled him with warmth, but now it felt like a dismissal, a retreat.

“Like you—like I’m nothing. No one to you.” Her words poured out, unguarded and quivering, as though she was straining against the weight of unarticulated emotions.

The growing darkness in Rafe’s gaze mirrored the frustration brewing within him, a tempest of emotions he was not well-equipped to navigate. His exhaustion morphed into annoyance as he realised that he couldn’t simply close his eyes and escape. No, now he had to confront this.

“How am I talking to you like you’re nothing? How?” he repeated, his voice edged with irritation, the tiredness making his tone more cutting than he intended.

“You just fucked me and then asked me to shut up and leave you alone. How the hell am I supposed to feel about that, Rafe?” Her disbelief radiated from her, leaving him momentarily stunned.

“I’m not one of your little whores, Rafe. I’m your girlfriend!” The weight of her words hung heavily in the charged air, each syllable a jagged blade that carved deeper into his heart.

Rafe stared back at her, but instead of the warmth he often felt upon seeing her, he was met with a rising pool of frustration. How could she always manage to pull him into these emotional whirlwinds? How could she navigate him into corners he desperately wished to avoid? It was infuriating yet somehow disarmingly effective.

He ran a hand through his tousled hair, letting out a deep sigh, grappling with his thoughts. “I told you to shut up and leave me alone because I’m tired,” he replied, forcing himself to keep his voice steady, to remain patient, but the undertone of his annoyance seeped through. “I just want five minutes of silence so I can rest.”

The disbelief in her eyes cut deeper than any insult he could have hurled. Upset flickered across her features as she processed the disconnect between their realities, her heart sinking under the weight of unacknowledged feelings. He could see the hurt reflected back at him, a stark reminder that he was failing to grasp the depth of her vulnerability.

The room was heavy with unspoken words, the shadows of earlier emotions lurking in every corner. Rafe sat on the couch, wrestling with the growing tension that seemed to envelop the space. He watched as she stood before him, her expression a bittersweet mixture of disbelief and hurt. It was a look that twisted something deep within him, an echo of the connection they once shared, now frayed and worn from misunderstanding.

“Yeah. Okay,” she murmured, her voice barely loud enough to shatter the silence, but its resonance lingered, wrapping around her heart like a vice. She turned away, exhaustion pooling in her chest, and made her way back into their room, each step heavy with dejection.

Rafe cursed silently, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. Reluctantly, he pushed himself off the couch, every bit of him resisting the urge to simply retreat into solitude. He didn’t want to delve into feelings or sift through the rubble of emotions tonight. All he desired was the comforting embrace of sleep, but now he had to follow her—of all things, fantastic.

He stepped into the bedroom, where she lay on her side of the bed, lost in her thoughts, the space between them thick with unspoken words. Rafe’s heart sank as he observed her, a mix of dejection and annoyance swirling within him. Why was it so hard to communicate? Why did every encounter feel like a minefield?

Moments passed in silence, the tension palpable, until he finally broke it. “Are you seriously upset right now?” His voice was weary, tinged with annoyance as he sought to bridge the chasm of misunderstanding.

“I’m not upset,” she whispered softly, the words a fragile shield against his scrutiny.

He stared at her for a few seconds, feeling frustration creep up his spine like icy fingers. Leaning back, he ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “Bullshit. That’s your upset, moping tone.” He pushed himself off the edge of the bed, striding closer.

“I’m not moping,” she replied quietly, keeping her back turned, a wall of defensiveness built between them.

Rafe let out an exasperated grunt, settling himself on the edge of the bed next to her while deliberately maintaining a space between them. “Then what are you doing?” he asked, tiredness clouding his voice. He felt powerless to penetrate the veil of her silence.

“I’m sleeping,” she muttered, her voice barely a whisper, an attempt to ignore the turbulence between them.

Rafe rolled his eyes, a deep sigh escaping his lips. Frustrating. It felt as if she wanted to ignite a conflict, to keep the fire of their argument stoked instead of allowing it to die.

“Cut the crap, sweetheart. You’re not asleep,” he retorted. “You’re upset because I told you to shut up for five minutes.”

“Oh? So you do know,” she shot back, her eyes fixed ahead as if refusing to acknowledge the storm raging within her.

“I’m not an idiot, okay? I can tell when you’re being moody and mopey and stuff.” His voice was sharper than he intended, but the truth left him raw. “I just don’t understand why you got so upset about it. I was tired, and I wanted to rest. Is it that big of a deal?”

Finally, her resolve slipped away as she turned to look at him, her gaze probing and unwavering. For a moment, their connection crackled with an intensity that bordered on something sacred yet shattered. He had to contain the urge to roll his eyes again; frustration twisted in his gut as he tried to make sense of everything unfolding.

His body longed for sleep, but his heart refused to surrender to oblivion while she lay there—a tangle of sadness, anger, and confusion. “Can’t you just get over it?” he asked tiredly, searching her eyes for a flicker of understanding.

A softness enveloped her expression as she smiled gently, a serene resolution washing over her. Reaching up, she caressed his cheek, her eyes trying desperately to memorise the contours of his face, the warmth radiating from her touch piercing through his armour. “Okay, baby,” she whispered softly, and in that moment, the air shifted, the tension momentarily dissipating.

Rafe felt his heart race, a pulse of warmth igniting within him at her gentle gesture. The subtle shift in her expression caught him off guard, and the tender timbre of her voice almost managed to chase away the shadows of exhaustion that had loomed over him.

“Are you being sarcastic?” he asked quietly, leaning into her touch, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

“No,” she replied softly, shaking her head, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. She sat up, propping herself against the headboard, her eyes a steady gaze that seemed to trace every contour of his face. “I mean it. You won’t have to deal with that anymore.”

As Rafe watched her move, confusion mingled with a flicker of hope in his eyes. What exactly was she trying to convey? The persistent doubts in his mind battled with the warmth he felt in her presence. He licked his dry lips, feeling a tightening in his chest as she stared at him with an intensity that dug deep into his very being.

“So we’re good?” he managed to ask, his voice rasping like gravel, desperation tinged with a fragile hope.

“Yeah, baby. We’re good,” she affirmed, a gentle nod accompanying her words. She kept her gaze trained on him, almost as if she were trying to imprint every detail into her memory, her thumb brushing delicately against his cheek.

Christ, She’s acting weird, Rafe thought to himself, unable to shake off the sense of urgency that accompanied her additional attention. It was as if she were both a comfort and an enigma, and that reality weighed heavy on him. He leaned against her hand again, lost in the depths of her gaze, wondering why she was looking at him as if he were a fragile treasure, one she feared might slip away.

“Stop saying it like that,” he whispered, a pleading tone breaking through as he struggled to articulate the subtleties of the moment.

“Like what?” she asked softly, curiosity mingling with concern, her brows furrowing slightly.

He found it difficult to frame his thoughts into words. It went beyond mere expression; it was a feeling that coursed through him. “I don't know. Like… like you’re never gonna see me again,” he replied, his voice nearly inaudible, each word laced with unguarded vulnerability as his eyes bore into hers.

She smiled softly in response, her eyes shimmering with mixed emotions that spanned from tenderness to a hint of melancholy. “Go to sleep, Rafe.”

He let out a weary sigh, the weight of exhaustion crashing over him like waves against a jagged shore. Why did it have to feel like this? He did not relish the thought of confronting these emotions while she continued to look at him with such intensity. Too damn tired—his mind a jumble of emotions that felt foreign to him.

With a slight grimace, he leaned in to press a gentle yet firm kiss against her cheek. It was an instinctive gesture, but as he rolled onto his side, turning his back to her, he felt the sting of vulnerability burn through him. “Goodnight,” he muttered, the words trailing off as if they carried the weight of all that remained unsaid between them.

As she lay there, a pained smile tugging at her lips, she watched him—a solid back turned against her, the sound of his steady breathing marking the passage of time. She could almost hear the unvoiced thoughts swirling in his mind, and it twisted her heart. She waited for him to drift into sleep, wrestling with the silent ache that ached in the distance created by their unbridgeable emotional chasm. It was a bittersweet moment, one that would linger long after the lights went out, forever imprinted in her memory.

The night draped its heavy cloak over Rafe as sleep swept him away, exhaustion wrapping around him like a familiar blanket. Every muscle in his body, still sore from the intimacy they shared, felt heavy, and within moments, he was deep in slumber, breathing steadily as the world faded away.

Meanwhile, in the silence of the house, she moved like a ghost. Each action was deliberate and hushed as she packed her belongings, the soft sound of zippers and fabric whispering against the stillness. The bittersweet ache in her heart conflicted with the urgency of her decision. She slipped into her car, the engine’s low growl breaking the quiet, and drove away from the house that held both precious and painful memories.

Back inside, Rafe remained blissfully unaware of her departure, cocooned in the warmth of sleep until an hour had passed. Slowly, clarity seeped into his consciousness, dispelling the grogginess. He turned, instinctively reaching for her, craving her warmth beside him, only to find the sheets cold and empty. Confusion pierced through the drowsiness, and he blinked against the shadows of the room, the absence of her presence sending an icy shiver down his spine.

“Sweetheart?” he called out, his voice hoarse and thick with sleep. Silence echoed in response, deepening the pit of unease forming in his stomach. Throwing the covers aside, he climbed out of bed, frustration bubbling under the surface. With heavy steps, he opened the bedroom door and ventured into the darkness of the house.

“Baby?” he tried again, his voice rising in volume, infused with desperation. Each empty room he entered increased his confusion, every corner he peered into yielding only shadows. Jesus Christ… where was she?

Rafe's heart raced as he searched every nook, each room offering no trace of her. Panic began to weave its way through his mind, tightening its grip as he ran a frustrated hand through his tousled hair. The house felt emptier with each passing moment, the silence wrapping around him like a suffocating shroud.

Back at the entrance, he paused, scanning the area for any clue, any sign that she had been there. No. No, this couldn’t be happening. You’re not leaving me. You wouldn’t. But the truth weighed heavily on his chest; he felt it suffocating him, each second that passed churned his stomach around a pit of anxiety.

With renewed vigour, he ricocheted back through the house, tearing through spaces that had once felt like home. He looked under beds, behind chairs, everywhere his mind could conjure up—but the search was met with stark rejection. Just as hopelessness began to take root, something caught his eye on the kitchen counter.

A piece of paper. The familiarity of her handwriting ushered in a wave of dread as he approached it, heart pounding in his ears. The words were like daggers, piercing through the fog of confusion and anger:

Goodbye, Rafe. I’ll keep your secrets.

He blinked in disbelief, reading it again, his mind struggling to process the reality of it. The world around him blurred as he clenched the paper, white-knuckled with rage and hurt.

With a sudden, primal need to act, he crushed the note in his fist and hurled it to the floor, a torrent of curses spilling from his lips, silence mocked him in return. The ache in his chest twisted tightly under his rib cage; he wanted to run after you, but where? How could he start seeking someone he didn’t even know where to find?

In desperation, he searched for his phone, turning the living room upside down in his frantic quest, but it eluded him. His gaze caught a clock on the wall—its steady ticking serving as a cruel reminder of time slipping away. It was a little past eight in the evening, and the impending darkness loomed ominously.

His heart sank further as the implications settled in. He felt like a man drowning, alone in the vast expanse of uncertainty, and the realisation struck him like a blow:

You had chosen to leave.

He ran a hand down his face, the weight of his worry settling deep into his chest. His thoughts raced as he paced the room, desperate to figure out the best place to begin. He didn’t need a text. He didn’t need a voicemail. He needed her. He needed to hear her voice, to know she was safe.

Rafe’s mind churned with every worst-case scenario imaginable. She was out there, somewhere, and she was alone. That thought clawed at him, driving him nearly mad.

The phone rang once.

Then twice.

Three times.

Four.

No answer.

His heart sank further with each unanswered ring, frustration bubbling to the surface. He tossed the phone onto the couch, raking his hands through his hair. Where was she? Why wasn’t she picking up?

Meanwhile, she sat in her car, parked at the edge of the OBX bridge. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, indecision weighing heavily on her shoulders. She had been ready to leave, to cross that invisible line and never look back. But then, his face had crept into her thoughts. The memory of his voice, the way he looked at her—it was enough to give her pause.

Rafe sat down heavily on the couch, his foot tapping nervously against the floor. He picked up his phone and dialled her number again, his pulse pounding in his ears. This time, the line connected.

“Hello?” His voice came out rushed, uneven.

On the other end, she sighed softly. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him close his eyes in relief. She had answered. She was there.

“…Hey,” he said, his voice gentler now, though still laced with a quiet desperation. “Where are you?”

Her silence on the other end was deafening. He leaned forward, gripping the phone as though sheer force could drag the words out of her.

“Are you safe?” he asked, quieter this time.

“Yes.” The word was barely a whisper, reluctant but real.

Rafe exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. She was safe. That was something. But not enough.

“Can you tell me where you’re safe, sweetheart?” His tone was soft but edged with the frustration he couldn’t quite hide.

She hesitated before answering, her voice carrying the weight of her conflict. “At the edge of OBX’s border.”

His eyes flew open, his chest tightening again. The border? Why the hell is she at the border?

“You haven’t crossed it, have you?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly under the strain of his emotions.

Her response was soft, hesitant. “I’m trying to.”

Rafe clenched his jaw, his grip on the phone tightening. She was so close to slipping away, and the thought made his stomach churn.

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and steady, though desperation lingered beneath it. “Don’t. Please, don’t.”

Her head rested against the seat as she closed her eyes, torn between the road ahead and the voice on the line. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence heavy with everything they couldn’t bring themselves to say.

Rafe’s entire body went rigid at her words. The silence that followed was deafening, stretching between them like a chasm. He took a deep breath, trying to force down the emotions threatening to explode. His heart was a relentless drumbeat in his chest, each thud more painful than the last.

He swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the phone as he took another breath, trying to rein himself in. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady but laced with barely restrained intensity.

“Turn around,” he said, his tone firm, commanding.

Her response was a broken whisper, the kind of sound that could bring a man to his knees. “I can’t.”

Tears streamed down her face as she spoke, the pain in her voice cutting through him like a blade. His frustration melted away in an instant, replaced by an ache so deep it left him breathless.

Her sobs made his chest tighten. His fist clenched around the phone, the urge to pull her into his arms overwhelming him. But she wasn’t here—she was out there, slipping further away.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice softening, desperation seeping into every word. “Please. Just turn around. Come back to me.”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, her words shattering him. “I can’t come back. I can’t do it anymore—I can’t do this anymore.”

Rafe shot to his feet, emotions surging through him like a tidal wave—frustration, desperation, anger, and despair all colliding at once.

“Bullshit!” he barked into the phone, his voice raw with emotion. “You cannot leave me, do you understand me?!”

“Rafe, please—” she cried softly, her voice trembling.

“No!” he snapped, his anger flaring. “You listen to me!”

His voice cracked, his emotions taking over. He was done with the running, the silence, the walls she kept putting up. She couldn’t leave—not this time. He wouldn’t let her.

“You do NOT get to run away,” he growled, his tone harsh but desperate. “Not this time. Tell me why, sweetheart. Why do you keep doing this? Can you even give me a valid reason?!”

Her sobs grew louder, her voice breaking as she finally answered. “I can’t do this anymore, Rafe! You’re so mean to me!”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut, his breath catching in his throat.

“Mean?” he repeated, his voice dropping, almost disbelieving. “Mean, sweetheart? Is that what you think I am?”

He gritted his teeth, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the phone like a lifeline. He wished—needed—her to be standing in front of him. This distance, this separation, was unbearable.

“Goddamnit,” he growled. “I’m mean, I’m harsh, I’m an asshole. I’ll admit that. But are those really good enough excuses for you to leave me?”

Her response came through choked sobs, each word tearing at his heart. “You’re like that all the time now, Rafe. It hurts me so much when you treat me like that. The only time I feel like you love me is when you’re fucking me. And after that, it’s like you can’t stand me anymore.”

Her voice broke completely, the anguish pouring out. “I can’t… I can’t do it again.”

Rafe stood frozen, her words sinking in like stones, each one pulling him deeper into the abyss. He didn’t respond—not right away. He couldn’t. He had no idea how to fix this, how to pull her back from the edge when she was already so far gone.

And yet, he couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t give up. Not on her. Not on them.

The words hit him low, a blow that knocked the air out of his lungs. His shoulders tensed, and his entire body seemed to tremble with the force of his suppressed emotions. He gritted his teeth so hard it felt like they might crack, his fist tightening around the phone until his knuckles went white.

He hated it when she said things like that. Hated it even more because, deep down, he knew there was truth in her words. And that only made it hurt worse.

“That’s bullshit,” he muttered hoarsely, his throat raw. “You know I love you.”

Her voice came through the line, broken and fragile, a sharp contrast to his. “No, you don’t—”

“Yes, I DO!” he yelled, his frustration boiling over in a fiery burst.

The room felt too small, the air too thick. He couldn’t believe she thought that. Did he really seem so cold, so distant? He thought he had shown her—time and time again—how much she meant to him. And yet, here she was, doubting it, doubting him.

He dragged a hand down his face, trying to steady his breathing, to regain some semblance of control. He didn’t want to yell. He didn’t want to fight. But the thought of her walking away was unbearable.

“Please don’t yell at me, Rafe,” she said, her voice trembling as soft cries broke through.

Damnit.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of her tears, his chest tightening painfully. He hated himself for letting his anger slip, for making her cry when all he wanted was to hold her, to keep her close.

“God…” His voice cracked as he spoke. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. Please don’t cry, okay? I’m not trying to fight with you.” His tone softened to a whisper, thick with desperation.

“I don’t want to fight with you either,” she said softly, sniffling on the other end.

Her words, though quiet, were a relief. He exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest easing just slightly.

“Then don’t leave me,” he said, his voice quieter now, pleading. “Don’t run away just because we get into stupid fights.”

Her sigh was audible, followed by the sound of another quiet sob. “You know it’s not just that.”

“I know that!” he snapped, frustration sparking again before he forced himself to rein it in.

He knew all the reasons why she was saying this—why she felt the way she did. He knew how cold he could be after their fights, how he sometimes treated her like she was just… there. A fleeting thing, instead of the person who mattered most.

And he hated himself for it.

“I know, sweetheart,” he said, his voice raw and cracking. “I know I’ve been… distant. I know I’ve hurt you. But god, I can’t lose you. Not like this. Please, just—don’t go.”

The line was quiet for a moment, her soft cries the only sound he could hear. It was a sound that tore through him, leaving him feeling more helpless than ever.

“Rafe—”

Her voice was barely a whisper, a fragile plea breaking through the tension.

“No.” He cut her off immediately, his voice sharp and commanding. His jaw tightened as he forced himself to swallow the rising panic threatening to overtake him.

“Please,” he said, softer this time. His tone was strained, nearly cracking under the weight of his desperation. “Just listen to me. You know we can work on the other stuff, right? We can fix this. I know we can.”

She hesitated on the other end, her breath catching in her throat. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice trembling. “It’s not just you. It’s me. I’m—I’m messed up, Rafe. I’m too sensitive. I know I burden you, and I’m sorry. For everything. For hurting you. For hitting you last night. I shouldn’t have—”

Her words dissolved into soft, broken sobs, each one slicing through him like a blade.

“You’re not a burden, sweetheart. You never have been,” he whispered, closing his eyes as if shutting out the world would make this moment easier.

But it didn’t.

The image of her last night, the flash of pain in her eyes before her hand struck him, replayed in his mind. And it hurt—not because she had hit him, but because of the anguish behind it.

“Do you really think I can’t handle you?” he asked, his voice quiet but heavy with emotion.

“It’s not about that,” she whispered after a moment. “You shouldn’t have to. I—I’m sorry, Rafe. I’d rather drive myself off this bridge than ever hurt you like that again.”

Her voice cracked with emotion, and the words hit him like a freight train.

“Stop talking like that!” he shouted, his voice cracking as he lost control. “Stop saying I’d be better off without you! You don’t get to decide that for me!”

There was a silence on the line, broken only by her soft, muffled sobs.

“Yes, I do,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “And I’ve decided to leave. Because we can’t keep doing this. We’re not—we don’t belong together, Rafe.”

His heart felt like it had been ripped from his chest. Her words were a dagger, twisting deeper with every syllable.

“Bullshit,” he muttered, his voice low and raw. His grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles white as his anger and pain swirled together.

“You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to say you love me one minute and then leave the next because things get hard. That’s not how this works!”

“Rafe—” she started, her voice shaking.

“No! Listen to me!” he nearly shouted, his desperation bubbling over.

He could feel himself unravelling, but he didn’t care. She wasn’t going to give up on them, not if he had anything to say about it.

“I love you!” he said, his voice loud and clear, his chest aching with the force of those three words.

The silence on the line stretched for a moment. He could hear her soft breaths, could imagine the way her tears clung to her lashes, her lip trembling.

He took advantage of the pause, his voice dropping to something softer, something raw.

“I love you, sweetheart. I really do. You’re not a burden. You don’t hurt me.” His voice cracked again, but he pressed on. “I don’t want you to leave. I can’t lose you.”

Her silence was deafening, but he could feel her wavering, the barriers she had built around herself beginning to crumble.

“I don’t care if we fight sometimes,” he continued, his voice steady now. “I don’t give a damn about the bad days. I still love you. That doesn’t change.”

Another soft breath escaped her, a sound so quiet he almost missed it. But it was there—an acknowledgment, a crack in her resolve.

“I love you,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t leave, okay?.”

The line was quiet, but he could feel it. She was still there. And for now, that was enough.

The question hung in the air, sharp and piercing, breaking the silence between them.

“If I come back,” she asked, her voice trembling but resolute, “will you never see Sofia again?”

He stiffened, his shoulders going rigid at her words. He had been expecting this—had known it was coming—but that didn’t make it any easier to face.

His jaw tightened as he stared at the wall, biting the inside of his lip hard enough to taste blood. He couldn’t answer right away. The weight of her question pressed down on him, heavy and unrelenting.

He didn’t want to make a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice low and measured.

“I won’t see her again without you knowing about it.”

The words left his mouth carefully, but he already knew they weren’t enough.

On the other end of the line, her heart sank. Her grip on the phone tightened, her knuckles white as the truth settled over her like a cold, suffocating blanket.

“Goodbye, Rafe,” she said, her tone hollow and final.

Before he could say another word, the line went dead.

He stared at the phone in his hand, his chest tightening as the realisation of what just happened hit him.

“Fuck!” he growled, the curse ripping from his throat as he hurled his phone against the wall. The sharp crack of plastic breaking filled the room, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the silence she left behind.

He stood there for a moment, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. His fists clenched at his sides as he tried to compose himself, but the knot in his stomach only tightened.

She was gone.

She had actually done it.

“No,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as if the motion could dispel the truth. “She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t leave me like that.”

But deep down, he knew she would.

She was driving now, crossing the border, her jaw set and her eyes blurred with tears. Her phone lay discarded in the passenger seat, and her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly they ached.

No matter how much he said he loved her, no matter how many times he swore she was the only one, she couldn’t shake the shadow of Sofia.

Sofia—the name that haunted her, the specter that lingered in every kiss, every touch, every whispered promise.

She couldn’t live like this, always wondering, always feeling like the other woman.

And so she drove. Away from him, away from the pain, away from a love that felt more like a battlefield than a safe haven.

Back in the room, he sank to the floor, his back against the wall as the weight of her absence pressed down on him. He told himself she would cool off, that she’d change her mind and come back.

She had to.

But the hollow ache in his chest whispered otherwise.

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

4 YEARS LATER

A few years had passed since she left the Outer Banks, but now, she was back—not to stay, not to reconnect, but to sever one last tie to her past. Selling her family’s estate was a necessary step, one she hoped to take quietly. She had no intention of seeing him again.

Rafe didn’t know she was back. He had stopped searching for her long ago, though the ache of her absence had never fully faded. He told himself he’d moved on, convinced himself that looking for her only prolonged the pain.

Tonight, he was at a gallery opening—nothing more than an excuse to drink expensive champagne and network with a few clients. The crowd was pretentious, the art unremarkable, but it was better than sitting at home drowning in memories.

Across the room, she stood by a painting, her head tilted slightly as she studied the contrasting reds on the canvas. She held a champagne glass in one hand, her posture composed and professional.

Rafe spotted her from the bar, and everything inside him froze.

Even after all this time, even from behind, he knew it was her.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. He stood there, gripping his drink, trying to process the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Anger. Longing. Pain. Relief.

He hadn’t expected to see her, but now that she was here, he couldn’t stay away.

Straightening his coat, Rafe made his way across the gallery, his footsteps steady but his heart racing.

She didn’t notice him at first, lost in thought as she stared at the painting. Her silhouette was still the same, though there was something different about her—an air of detachment, a shield he hadn’t seen before.

“Good color choice,” he said softly, stopping beside her.

Her entire body stiffened at the sound of his voice. Her grip on the champagne glass tightened, but she didn’t turn to look at him.

“I knew I’d run into you eventually,” he added, his tone casual, though his chest felt tight. “You’re back in town, huh?”

Her voice came out steady, though she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. “I’m not staying.”

The words hit him harder than he expected, even though he had braced himself for something like this.

“Why are you here, then?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

She took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm. “I’m here to sell my family’s estate.”

He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. The thought of her leaving again, of her cutting ties to this place, made his stomach churn.

“Didn’t know you were selling,” he said, his tone laced with quiet bitterness.

“Well, I have no use for it anymore,” she replied, her voice devoid of emotion. “It’s just millions of dollars sitting there.”

He wanted to snap back, to say something that would shatter the cold distance between them, but he held himself back. Fighting wouldn’t bring her closer.

They stood in silence for a moment, the sounds of the gallery fading into the background. Finally, he broke the quiet.

“Where are you going after this?”

She hesitated, cursing herself for answering. “I’m staying here for a week. Then I’m leaving after the deal is done.”

The words were like a knife to his chest. She was giving him a time limit, a countdown to when she’d be gone again.

Rafe’s hands clenched at his sides as he stared at the painting in front of them, his mind racing. He couldn’t let her leave without saying what he hadn’t said years ago.

But he also knew she wasn’t ready to hear it—not yet.

Jesus. A week?

His heart twisted painfully at the thought. Just a week. She was only sticking around for a week.

He clenched his jaw, swallowing the lump rising in his throat. He felt an almost desperate need to keep the conversation going, to ask her more questions, as if somehow, the words might tether her to this place, to him.

“Moving where?” he asked quietly, the restraint in his voice barely holding back the storm beneath.

“Back home,” she said curtly, her tone detached and sharp.

The ache in his chest deepened. The word home felt like a knife twist. He longed for her to look at him, to give him some glimpse of the person he had known so well, loved so deeply. But she wouldn’t. She kept her eyes on the glass of champagne in her hand, refusing to meet his gaze.

His hands tensed, the frustration building. His jaw worked as he fought to contain the anger and hurt bubbling inside him.

“What, to your fiancé?” The bitterness in his voice spilled over before he could stop it.

She inhaled deeply, staring down at the shimmering liquid in her glass. She shook her head slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“That’s none of your business, Rafe,” she said, her tone cold, distant.

Rafe’s eyes darkened, the name on her lips like a slap. Not in the way it used to be, with warmth or affection, but clipped, impersonal, like he was a stranger.

“None of my business?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly, the trigger clear in his expression.

She was speaking to him as if the last four years hadn’t happened, as if they’d never meant anything at all.

His body turned fully toward her now, and he leaned in, his frustration evident in the way his shoulders tensed, his presence demanding her attention.

“How about we take this outside?” His voice was low but heated, the edge sharp enough to cut.

She stiffened, her gaze darting away, her shoulders drawing inward. “Absolutely not,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, still refusing to look at him.

Rafe scoffed, his fists clenching by his sides. He muttered under his breath, the word Jesus barely audible but laden with exasperation.

His eyes flicked around the room, noticing how heads were beginning to turn, curious glances cast in their direction.

“Will you keep it down? People are starting to look,” she hissed, her voice sharp but low, her lips curving into a forced smile for the onlookers as she glanced around nervously.

“I don’t care,” he snapped back, his voice taut with irritation.

He straightened up, his hand moving on instinct, reaching out to grab her elbow, to pull her away from the crowd, away from the scrutiny.

But she jerked her arm away before he could touch her. Her sharp motion and the glare she shot him stung more than he cared to admit.

“What are you doing?” she said harshly, her voice tinged with embarrassment, her eyes darting around.

“Just—” Rafe bit out, running a hand through his hair, trying to steady himself, to rein in the fire burning in his chest. He exhaled sharply, lowering his voice.

“Just come with me, okay? We’ve got like five dozen people staring at us right now.”

“And whose fault is that, Mr. Loud-Mouth?” she hissed back, sarcasm dripping from her words.

She downed the rest of her champagne in one fluid motion, grabbed her purse, and stormed out, leaving him standing there.

Rafe’s jaw clenched as he watched her walk away. There it was—that fiery, stubborn, infuriatingly bratty side of her that he hated to admit he loved. He had missed it, damn it.

Without a second thought, he followed her, catching up quickly and grabbing her wrist.

“What the fuck? Let go of me!” she snapped, glaring at the back of his head as he pulled her through the corridor toward a more private space.

He ignored her protests, his grip firm but not harsh. His silence spoke volumes. He was too frustrated, too wound up to argue in the middle of a crowded exhibition.

They stopped in front of an unoccupied office, and Rafe pulled her inside, shutting the door firmly behind them.

“What the fuck, Rafe? I thought we were going outside! Open the door!” Her voice was sharp, her breathing uneven as she backed away from him, her chest heaving.

“Not when we have half the damn room watching us like we’re on some daytime soap opera!” he snapped, his frustration spilling over.

He locked the door behind him with a sharp click, leaning against it for a moment before turning to face her.

Finally. Finally, he allowed himself to look at her—really look at her.

She took a step back, her breathing shaky, her heart pounding. She hadn’t seen those piercing blue eyes in four years, and now they pinned her in place, unrelenting and full of everything she was trying to avoid.

“Open the fucking door, Rafe,” she said, her voice trembling, the words softer, hoarser now.

Her hands clutched her purse tightly, and she felt the walls around her heart beginning to crack.

But Rafe stood firm, his gaze locked on hers. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t move, didn’t falter.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice low, steady.

The air between them was heavy, charged with the weight of years of longing, anger, and the things left unsaid. And for the first time in years, there was no escape.

The room was heavy with silence, yet the air between them buzzed like a live wire.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his pulse erratic as his eyes finally drank her in. She stood a few feet away, her back turned, leaning on the desk with her palms pressed flat against its surface. Her head hung low, the dark waves of her hair cascading down her back.

The years had changed her. Her hair was longer, her frame leaner, her movements more poised. She had grown more refined in the time they had spent apart.

But she was still her.

Still the same fiery, stubborn, maddeningly beautiful woman he had fallen for so completely four years ago. The woman who had consumed him, heart and soul.

He took a tentative step forward, his fists clenching tightly at his sides as if holding himself back. His instinct, the overwhelming need to reach out to her, threatened to overpower him.

Behind her, he could see the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders with each deep breath she took. The black fabric of her dress hugged her in all the ways he remembered, every curve seared into his memory.

His jaw tightened. His chest ached. God, he thought, she’s so close, but it’s not close enough.

She shifted slightly, her hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the desk.

“Fuck,” she whispered under her breath, barely audible.

His heart clenched. He could see it—the way she was struggling to maintain her composure, to keep him at arm’s length. Her walls were high, and he hated them.

He stepped closer, each movement careful and deliberate. He didn’t want to scare her, didn’t want her to bolt. He was right behind her now, the faintest hint of her perfume wrapping around him like a memory he couldn’t shake.

Every fiber of his being screamed for him to close the gap, to touch her, to pull her into his arms. He wanted it all back—the laughter, the fights, the mornings tangled in sheets, the nights spent whispering secrets only they knew.

Her voice broke the silence again, a whispered chant of frustration.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of everything was too much.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The tension, the distance, the ache. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against the back of her arm. The contact sent a jolt through him, the briefest reminder of what it felt like to touch her.

But she flinched as though burned.

“Don’t.”

Her voice was sharp as she pushed his hand away, circling the desk with purpose. Now facing him, her hands settled on her hips, and her eyes locked onto his with a familiar fire.

He let his hand fall to his side, his fingers curling into a fist once more. Her defiance, her resistance, her damn stubbornness—it was maddening. And yet, it was what he had loved most about her.

Her gaze bore into him, unflinching.

“What do you want, Rafe?” she asked, her tone laced with exasperation and exhaustion.

He clenched his jaw, running a hand through his hair as his frustration threatened to spill over. There was so much he wanted to say, to ask.

He wanted to demand answers. Why had she left? Why hadn’t she looked back? Why was she selling the estate?

He wanted to beg her to leave her fiancé, to come back to him, to give them another chance.

But the way she stood there, her voice cold and detached, as if his wants and feelings didn’t matter—as if he didn’t matter—it shattered something inside him.

He met her gaze, his voice hoarse and raw when he finally spoke.

“You.”

Her breath hitched, but her expression didn’t soften. Instead, she groaned, her hand lifting to press against her forehead.

“Jesus,” she muttered, her disbelief thick in the air.

And there it was again—the unbearable tension. Four years of silence, of pain, of everything left unsaid, now crowding the small space between them.

“What’s the matter?” he snapped back, defensiveness rising like a tide around him. “You asked, so I’m giving you an answer! You know what I want, Y/N. I want you to come back home. I want to wake up in my bed again. I want to argue with you, fight with you, drive each other crazy like we always did. I. Want. You.”

Her reaction was immediate, filled with a biting sarcasm that cut through the air. “It’s been four years since I left your ass in the dust, Rafe. Have some fucking dignity.”

He stiffened at her words, the sting of rejection urging him to retaliate. “Don’t you think I haven’t tried?” he shot back, his temper igniting like dry paper in a flame. “Do you know how many other girls I slept with after you left? I lost count.” The raw honesty clawed at him; he hated that he was revealing so much, trying desperately to assert his own importance in her life.

“Oh! Fantastic news! Bravo, Rafe! What a stud!” she clapped mockingly, and her sarcasm was a slap that ignited his fury.

“Jesus—” he growled under his breath, hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms. He hated how she could goad him so easily, how every word from her lips felt like a deliberate jab. And yet, there was an uncomfortable truth rattling in the back of his mind: he deserved it. “You think this is funny?” he spat, his voice escalating with each syllable. “You think I was just fine after you left? You just vanished for four goddamned years!”

“I knew it would hurt,” she replied, an unexpected softness mingling with the anger in his heart. “But it was for the best. I did both of us a favor, Rafe.”

“How the hell did you do us both a favor? By leaving me hanging? Giving me no closure? Not letting me see you for four years?” His voice was nearly hoarse from the strain. The rawness of his emotions pushed him to the edge, a storm of pain swirling in his chest.

Her gaze softened as she studied him, a look of genuine pity etched into her features. “I’m sorry it had to be that way,” she said gently.

He hated that she could speak so tenderly while they stood amidst the wreckage of their past. He didn’t want her pity; he wanted to fight, to argue, to reclaim some piece of what they once had. Yet, seeing her look at him with that mournful expression twisted a knife in his gut. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice steady but strained, eyes piercing into hers.

“Say what?” she asked, confusion flickering across her face.

“That you missed me.” The words tore from him, heavily laden with desperation. Rafe knew he was being unreasonable, even childish, but he couldn’t stem the tide of longing. It felt desperate to ask, but the need swirled around him, suffocating and relentless. All he wanted was to hear her say it, to feel a glimmer of hope that their bond hadn’t faded entirely.

“Rafe—” She sighed deeply, rubbing her temples, as if the very act of addressing him was a burden too great to bear.

The air between them thickened with unspoken words, memories lingering like the scent of rain on dry ground. Here they were, trapped in a room that echoed with the ghosts of love and loss, each yearning for something just beyond reach.

Rafe’s heart ached with the unfulfilled longing, mirroring the look in her eyes—one that promised both a past they had lost and a future uncertain. He stood across her, jaw tight and teeth gritted. He fixed her with a burning gaze, a mix of irritation and desperation swirling within him.

“Don’t try to weasel your way out of this, sweetheart. Say. It.” His voice was low and biting, an attempt to inject intimidation into a situation that already felt unbearably charged.

She regarded him with an unwavering expression that only deepened his frustration. What was she thinking? What lay behind that calm facade? How could she be so composed when he felt like a live wire, ready to snap?

She snapped back, her own irritation bubbling to the surface. "I’m not trying to weasel my way out of anything!"

“Then say it!” he shot back, the heat of his temper flaring once more. This was too much—he was exhausted just standing there, wrestling with an entire world of emotions and memories. He didn’t understand how she could remain so unflappable in the storm swirling around them. Her calmness only fueled his anger, a reminder that she wielded that power over him like a weapon.

“Fine! Fuck! I missed you, okay?” The words burst from her mouth, sharp and raw.

Her outburst hit him like a tidal wave—one of the most gratifying sensations he had ever experienced. It was a crack in her armor, a confirmation that beneath that stoic exterior, she was still human, still affected by him. He took a deep breath, internalizing his triumph, wanting to savor this moment.

“What happened to the ‘I did us both a favor?’” A sly smirk crept onto his lips, complicating the tension in the air.

She gaped at him, disbelief flashing in her eyes. "You can't be serious."

Rafe smirked again, feeling like he was finally making headway after what felt like an eternity of silence between them. Being stubborn was her forte, but he had honed his own sense of persistence through years of their shared history.

He stepped closer, closing the distance between them, wanting to provoke a reaction. “You still owe me one more thing, sweetheart.”

“I don’t owe you shit. An apology for the way I broke up with you? Yes. Other than that? No way.” She snapped back, moving around the room to keep a safe distance.

Watching her pace around the desk, he felt a surge of frustration mixed with longing. Each step she took away felt like a wound. God, he just wanted to hold her, to pull her close, to bury his face in her hair and inhale that sweet scent he had ached for over the years.

“The way you broke up with me?” he echoed, bitterness lacing his words as he took another step forward, closing the heightening gap between them.

She continued to circle the desk, maintaining her distance, the space becoming a barrier that pained him. “I always felt bad about it,” she confessed, her voice softer now. “It was a shitty thing to do. I should’ve done it face to face, but—I was afraid that I would change my mind.”

Rafe swallowed hard against the rush of emotions that surged through him. He could see the sincerity in her eyes, the weight of regret pressing on her shoulders. “Yeah. It was shitty. Shitty is a mild word for what you did.” His tone remained sharp, even as he closed the gap once more, navigating the complex landscape of his feelings.

And then, she whispered the words he had longed to hear, “I’m sorry, Rafe. I really am.”

A softness enveloped the moment, sincerity radiating from her features as she circled the desk. A wave of raw emotion crashed over Rafe, his mind struggling to process the weight of her apology. Her eyes—those familiar, pleading eyes—were begging him to let it go, to move past the hurt that had festered between them.

He longed to give in; he ached to release the stubborn grip he had on his anger. But, God, he needed to hear her say it.

“Not good enough,” he muttered, halting abruptly in his tracks, his gaze and frustration fixed on her as she circled the desk, tantalizingly inching closer.

“What do you want me to do, Rafe? You want me to beg you? To get on my knees and apologize for making the right decision, even if it was in the shittiest way possible?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, frustration seeping through every word, and Rafe could almost see the tension radiating off her.

“Yeah, actually, that sounds perfect,” he shot back, sarcasm barely masking his irritation.

This back and forth was exhausting. Their shared history weighed heavily on his heart, suffocating the feelings of anger in the moment. He could feel the tension pulling them taut, and he knew he wasn’t going to be the one to remain coldhearted.

“Jesus, Rafe—” she groaned, shaking her head in disbelief.

He growled in response, frustration bubbling to the surface once more. This was getting ridiculous. He ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself to take a deep breath, but even that felt too hard in her presence.

“I don’t know why I’m trying to argue with you. You are so goddamn—” he trailed off, searching for the right word that could encapsulate his turmoil.

“What?” she demanded, crossing her arms defiantly as she stared at down, unwavering.

“Infuriating,” he finished bluntly, each syllable tinged with exasperation.

As he stood there, patience thinning like a fraying rope, Rafe couldn’t help but take stock of her—standing across the desk, arms crossed, defiance painted across her features. He felt a rush of anger mingling with something softer and more familiar, something that drew him closer instead of pushing him away.

He wanted to impulsively throw something, to break the remaining tension, but he stopped himself. Arguing with her seemed futile. Time to change tactics.

“That’s funny; I was about to say the same thing about you,” she retorted, flashing him a sarcastic smile that lit up her eyes.

That was exactly the opening Rafe had been waiting for. A smirk danced on his lips, his gaze sharpening with a hint of challenge.

“Yeah?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to mirror her defiance. “What else do you want to say about me huh?”

“I think you’re stubborn, unbelievably arrogant, and obnoxious—” she began, frustration lacing her voice as she counted out his faults on her fingers, completely forgetting to maintain the distance she had fought so hard to keep.

“Mhm, keep going,” he muttered softly, faking genuine intrigue.

He should have felt angered by her tirade, but it was exhilarating instead. He didn’t care that her words were shots fired directly at him. All he could focus on were her eyes, her voice, the way she animatedly recounted her grievances against him—when she spoke, she always took the spotlight, and he was helplessly captivated.

“—you’re selfish and the most conceited Kook I’ve ever met, unbelievably anal about the smallest things possible—” As she continued her list, he noticed she was finally allowing the distance to shrink, unaware of the fact that he was moving closer, drawn to her like a moth to flame.

Rafe's heart thundered in his chest as she continued her passionate tirade, listing all the things she hated about him. Each word poured from her lips like molten lava, fierce and unyielding, yet it brought a surge of nostalgia that he couldn't shake off. God, he missed listening to her talk, even if it was a litany of grievances about him. Her voice, once a source of endless irritation, now struck him as intoxicating.

Unable to resist, a smirk curled at the corners of his mouth. He took a small step closer, reveling in the way she was so engrossed in her rant that she didn’t notice his approach at first.

“I mean you—” she groaned in frustration, suddenly halting her speech as she found herself staring up into his towering gaze.

In that moment, Rafe became acutely aware of how close they were, close enough for him to see the flecks of gold dancing in her hazel eyes. The intensity of her gaze sent a thrill racing down his spine, igniting something deep within him. He adored this—her words like fire, spinning around them as he toyed with her emotions, and standing close enough to breathe in the floral sweetness of her perfume.

His smirk grew into a full-blown grin as he leaned down slightly, drawn to her magnetic energy. Yet, she faltered, stuttering as she stepped back, only to bump against the desk behind her. Perhaps it was foolish, but the moment was intoxicating, and he smirked at her moment of surprise.

As she tried to regain her composure, he seized the opportunity. He stepped into her space, utilizing the very limited room between her body and the table, pushing himself closer until she was completely boxed in. There was something undeniably electric about her being trapped between him and the solid surface of the desk, her expression a mix of shock and indignation as he watched her cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink.

“I—” She stammered. Just as she tried to find an escape, he swiftly moved behind her. His hands gripped her waist with a possessive tenderness as he pressed himself flush against her back. Rafe could feel the rapid rhythm of her heartbeat through their shared contact, and his breath hitched at the proximity. Her frustration filled the air like a palpable force as she struggled against him.

“Let me go, Rafe! This isn’t funny!” she snapped shakily, her voice lined with determination as she attempted to pry his arms from around her.

But he reveled in the challenge. He wrapped his arms tighter, pulling her closer against his chest in a way that felt both maddening and comforting. She could feel the strength of his body melding with hers, and it sent shivers racing up her spine. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her—so achingly familiar, so achingly missed.

“God, I missed you so much,” he growled against her skin, the words slipping out in a heated whisper.

A shudder coursed through her at his admission, eyes slamming shut as she fought against the overwhelming flood of emotion. “Rafe—please—” she pleaded, grit in her voice, desperation lacing her words.

“Please, what?” he countered, his voice a low rumble, almost teasing, as he savored the moment. He inhaled deeply again, immersing himself in the sweetness of her fragrance that lingered in the air.

He could hardly believe this was happening. It was as if time had bent just to bring them together again in this heated, chaotic moment. He couldn’t deny that the tantalizing closeness sent a thrill shooting through his veins; he felt alive, solidifying the truth he’d fought so hard to deny.

In an impulsive motion, Rafe shifted his head, pressing his lips against the column of her neck just below her ear, letting them linger there for a tantalizing moment. The heat radiating from her skin was intoxicating, and he knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning of the tempest of feelings threatening to engulf them both.

“Don’t do this. Let go of me.” Her voice wavered, a mix of determination and uncertainty as she squirmed in his strong arms, but Rafe held her tighter.

“Why not?” he murmured against her skin, feeling the tremble of her body resonating through him. Each shiver ignited a deep-seated hunger he struggled to contain.

His hands moved deliberately, gliding slowly upward along her stomach, brushing delicately against her ribs before resting over her chest. The frenetic rhythm of her heart pounded beneath his palm, and he savored the feeling, the heat radiating between them.

“F-fuck—” she stuttered, overcome by the sensation of his touch. Her head dipped forward and her body instinctively bent, pressing her backside accidentally against him, awakening something primal within Rafe.

He growled in response, the sound low and possessive, before biting down delicately on the sensitive skin of her neck—a thrill of control surging within him. His hands gripped her waist with a fierceness that betrayed his desire, an unyielding need to pull her closer, to press her against him, to feel her warmth enveloping him.

Every fiber of his being felt like it was on fire. He was losing control, intoxicated by the moment, intoxicated by her. He let his teeth drag against her neck as he spoke, his voice a hoarse growl, laced with want. “Say you missed me.”

“Rafe—” she whined, the sound a desperate plea that spurred him further into madness. She squirmed back against him, as if trying to escape, but every movement only fueled his desire.

He felt himself unraveling, every ounce of restraint slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. One hand slid lower, fingers daringly slipping beneath the hem of her dress, inching toward the softness of her skin. He pressed closer, reveling in the heat that radiated off her.

“I said,” he reiterated, his tone hardening as he gripped a fistful of her hair, gently tugging until her head tilted back against his shoulder, exposing the vulnerable curve of her neck. “Say it.”

“Fuck—Rafe—” she whimpered, her legs quaking as his fingers explored the forbidden territory beneath her dress.

He tightened his hold, each breath becoming more labored. He was being pushy, demanding, and he didn’t care. The desperate need for her was growing, consuming him entirely. He was the obsessive, controlling Kook he had always been, but in that moment, he only cared about one thing.

“Come on, baby,” he urged again, his voice low and raw, heavily laced with urgency.

“I missed you,” she whispered, tears pricking her eyes as the truth slipped free from her lips.

The moment those words met his ears, something unfurled within him, spreading warmth through his chest that coursed all the way to his soul. Relief washed over him, suffocating the chaos that had gripped him for so long.

His hand released her hair, moving tenderly to trail his fingers down her throat, feeling the frantic beat of her pulse beneath his touch. He let out a low moan, the deep breaths he took echoing through the quiet room, rapid and heavy.

“Say it again,” he demanded, longing for more of her confession, more of her heart laid bare.

“Rafe—” she sighed, a soft, hesitant whisper, as her ass pressed back against him again, and he could sense the conflict raging inside her.

There they were, caught in a tempest of emotions, where desire battled with logic—a delicate dance that threatened to tip the scales into chaos. Rafe felt the world narrow down to just the two of them, the space between them crackling with tension as everything else fell away. All that mattered was her, his need for her, and the truth that hung in the air between them, waiting to be unleashed.

A deep groan escaped Rafe's lips as she pressed against him, every shift of her body igniting a fire that he struggled to control. His arousal swelled with each desperate movement she made, the heat between them palpable, urging him to close the distance even further. He couldn’t help himself, instinctually moving his hips forward, grinding back against hers with a fervor that spoke volumes of his need.

“Say it again,” he gritted out, his voice thick with urgency, desperately longing to hear her soft, breathy confessions.

There was a part of him that recognized how selfish he sounded, pushing her like this, but he was consumed by the ache for her words, a craving that felt insatiable. He needed this, needed to know she felt the same way he did.

“F—fuck, I missed you, Rafe. Miss you—missed you so much—” she mumbled in a breathless rush, clearly lost in the haze of lust and his intoxicating touch.

Each repetition of her confession had a visceral effect on him, nearly bringing him to tears. He leaned down, resting his forehead against her shoulder, biting the inside of his lip to suppress the tumult of emotions that surged through him. Her words finally broke through his defenses, igniting a desperate resolve within him.

Straightening up again, he pulled her close, hands settling on her thighs, his lips pressing against her neck with a ravenous need. “Let me fuck you,” he whispered hoarsely into her ear, the rawness of his desire laying bare the jagged edge of his longing.

Her body tensed at his words, her mouth falling open in surprise as her eyes rolled back, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. “Fuck—no—no, I can’t—” she whined softly, a mixture of refusal and longing woven into her voice.

But he tightened his grip on her thighs, holding her impossibly closer, anchoring her to him. “Yes, you can,” he murmured, the heat of his breath ghosting over her skin as he brushed his lips against her neck. He could feel her heat radiating against him, and the flood of exhilaration urged him on, hands inching upward along the outside of her thighs, pushing her skirt higher.

“No, Rafe—” she protested weakly, grasping at his hands, squirming in his grasp. But he moved inexorably forward, his fingers urging her skirt until it was bunched around her hips, leaving her exposed.

His lips moved to her ear, moving closer to that fragile line between desire and desperation. “Stop me then,” he challenged softly, wrapping her in the intoxicating weight of his gaze.

“I’m engaged!” Panic surged within her, her breath hitching as she felt the cold air against her exposed lower half, the realization of vulnerability sending a shiver down her spine.

At her reminder, Rafe's breath caught, his chest clenching as the reality of her engagement hit him. Yet, just as quickly, he brushed the thought aside, fueled by the undeniable chemistry that crackled between them. “Take off the ring then,” he countered, his voice smooth, brushing against her ear with delicate persistence.

She shuddered, the involuntary moan spilling from her lips as she squirmed in his unwavering grip, silently berating herself for wearing a thong that left little to the imagination. “Rafe—” was all she could manage, her voice a mix of desperation and reluctance.

In that moment, caught between duty and desire, their reality shifted, the world outside forgotten as they teetered on the edge of something infinitely intoxicating and profoundly reckless. The air between them was thick with temptation, where two hearts clamored for connection while the chains of logic threatened to pull them apart.

Rafe’s grip on her thighs tightened, a primal response to the sweet little moan that slipped from her lips. The sound reverberated through him, igniting a fire in his veins. He pressed harder against her, grinding forward, letting her feel the raw lust that consumed him. He knew he was being too demanding, too pushy, but at that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. All he wanted was her—needed her.

“Take off the ring, baby. You still love me. You’ve missed me for four years. I know it.” His voice was a low, sultry whisper, heavy with longing as he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over her ear.

“Shit—” she gasped, eyes fluttering shut as an involuntary wave of desire washed over her, compelling her to grind back against him.

At her movement, Rafe let out a quiet groan, the sensation pushing him closer to the edge of his self-control. He moved his left hand up to her own, feeling the thin diamond band resting on her ring finger. A surge of frustration coursed through him—it was the symbol of a promise she had made, a life she had chosen. But right now, that ring felt like a barrier, one he was determined to dismantle.

Instead of removing it himself, he guided her hand upward to her mouth. “Take it off,” he repeated, his voice hoarse and deep, laced with an urgency that made her shiver.

With a hesitance that melted into a thrill, she opened her mouth, sucking her ring finger inside and wrapping her lips around the diamond ring. Slowly, he guided her, coaxing her movements as she pulled it off. His heart raced, eyes locked onto the sight of her mouth, so intimate and alluring, as she obliged his silent demand.

“Now throw it on the floor,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with unrestrained desire.

But she shook her head, the ring still nestled between her lips as she turned to face him, a mix of defiance and longing swirling in her eyes.

Rafe tilted his head, caught between frustration and fascination. His fingers found her chin, tilting it gently to force her gaze up to meet his. He could see the conflict waging within her, the way her lips parted slightly, a surrender hanging on the edge of her breath.

“Spit,” he commanded, his tone quiet yet resolute.

Yet again, she shook her head, stubbornness flaring in the depths of her gaze.

“I said spit,” he snapped, a darker edge to his voice. He released her chin, frustration boiling beneath the surface as he moved swiftly. His hand pressed forward, forcing his long fingers into her mouth, making her choke on them, reclaiming the ring from her mouth in one fluid motion before throwing it onto the floor, where it clattered loudly, a stark reminder of the reality they were trying to escape.

His gaze darkened as he watched her chest heave, her breaths growing heavier, lips wet and parted in a way that unraveled him completely.

As she panted up at him, the tension between them reached a boiling point, filled with unsaid words and unfulfilled desires. In that charged silence, where time seemed to stand still, they both recognized the precipice upon which they balanced—a moment fraught with consequence, desire, and the undeniable pull of longing that neither could resist any longer. The world around them faded, leaving only their breaths, their hearts, and the fiery connection that threatened to consume them whole.

Rafe lowered his head again, his lips grazing her ear once more, sending shivers down her spine. “Turn around,” he whispered breathlessly, the warmth of his breath wrapping around her like a secret promise.

She shivered at his command, slowly turning to face him, her heart thundering in her chest as she swallowed hard. The world around them faded, the noise from the outside dimming into a distant hum.

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

A moment later, she found herself placing her cheek against the messy desk, gripping its edge tightly as their bodies moved in a rough, desperate rhythm, a primal dance fueled by emotion. The room was a chaotic disarray—papers strewn across the floor, supplies discarded carelessly, the small couch shoved against the wall, and a lamp lying broken, its light extinguished. It was an absolute mess, but Rafe couldn’t bring himself to care about any of it. In that moment, all he could think about was her—the reality of her body against his, and the stark, electric connection that pulsed between them.

With his hands firmly anchored on her hips, he pulled her back against him, feeling her warmth seep into him as his chest rose and fell in labored breaths.

“Rafe—Rafe—shit—” she moaned, the sound a beautiful symphony of need and longing as she instinctively reached behind to clutch at his arm, her legs shaking as she struggled to maintain her composure.

He was close—too close.

“Come here,” he gritted out, pulling her against his chest.

Without hesitation, he buried his face in the curve of her neck, biting down roughly as he panted against her skin, a shudder running through him as he surrendered to the moment. The rush of sensation was intoxicating, overwhelming. For a second, he felt breathless, high on their shared connection, unable to calm the wild pounding of his heart.

With a loud groan, he shuddered against her, spilling in her, her arousal mixed with his dripping down his cock.

Yet a voice in his mind warned him. If he let go of her now, if he released the tight grip he had around her, she would slip away—just like she had before. So, he held on, anchoring her between himself and the desk, his hands roaming over her body, desperate to keep her close.

As she tapped on his thigh, a subtle signal for him to get off, his teeth clenched in frustration. But he ignored her silent plea, determined not to give in.

Burying his face deeper into her neck, he inhaled her scent, a heady mix of familiarity and desire. He wrapped his arms tighter around her waist and chest, holding her against him as though she were his lifeline.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he murmured, the words laced with confusion and longing, a plea for understanding.

She swallowed hard, struggling to catch her breath against the tumult of emotions coursing through her. “I’m not doing anything—”

“You are.” His voice held an edge, a growl that reflected both frustration and need. He was angry—not just at her, but at the situation that kept pulling them apart despite the undeniable chemistry that tied them together.

“You can’t possibly tell me that you feel nothing for me,” he whispered, his eyes searching hers for the truth he desperately wanted to believe.

“Rafe—”

With a soft sigh, she turned to face him, their eyes locking in a moment thick with unspoken words. The truths they had been avoiding hung heavy between them. She could feel the intensity, the unyielding heat of their connection, and for the first time, there was no chaos outside them—only the fragile clarity of what they both felt.

He kept his hands firmly wrapped around her, refusing to let go, the terror of loss gripping him like a vice. The thought of releasing her sent waves of panic crashing through him, a primal fear that the moment his fingers slipped away, she would turn and walk out of his life once more. Rafe's eyes bore into hers, fierce and desperate, revealing just how deeply the prospect of losing her again threatened to shatter him.

He was terrified to let go, afraid that the moment he released her, she would vanish again, slipping away into the abyss that had separated them for four long years. His heart raced, each beat echoing the unspoken dread gnawing at him.

Their gazes locked, his eyes reflecting a storm of fierce desperation. He had endured a hollow existence since she left, and the thought of losing her again felt like a death sentence. “I do still care about you.” Her fingers gently caressed his cheek, a touch filled with warmth but tinged with regret.

But then, as if a fragile bubble had burst, the weight of what they'd just shared crashed down upon them. “But what we just did—it was wrong. And I—I need to tell Ilgaz about it.” With that admission, she bit down on her lip, guilt washing over her features like a dark tide.

He leaned into her touch, desperate for comfort but feeling a tightness grow in his chest. “You seriously plan on telling your fiancé that you just cheated on him?” he spat, disbelief crashing upon his heart like a wave. The vulnerability and honesty she embodied felt like a double-edged sword in this moment.

“Of course I am. I can’t lie to him. He deserves the truth,” she replied softly, her honesty only intensifying his despair, her voice heavy with guilt.

He should have expected her response; she had always been forthright, unwaveringly so. But the thought of her returning to Ilgaz, recounting their stolen moment, twisted in his gut like a knife. His hands tightened around her arms, unwilling to loosen his grip, bound by emotion and fear.

“Say you still love me,” he muttered, his voice rough like gravel, the plea escaping him before he could stop it.

“Why?” she asked cautiously, confusion knitting her brow. “Why is it so important to you?”

“Because I need to know,” he implored, surrendering to raw emotion. The grip on her arms tightened as if to pull her deeper into the gravity of his need. Four years had passed since they had been apart, four years spent in a fog of longing. He could feel the tension in his grip on her, an addict grasping his last fix after years of deprivation.

Four years spent apart, and here they stood again, caught in this charged moment, their past alive in every breath they shared.

The silence that followed was deafening, wrapping around them like an inescapable shroud. Her heart raced as the realization hit her—she had loved him fiercely once, and perhaps that love had never truly faded. But how could she risk everything by admitting that she still craved him, still felt the magnetic pull that defied logic?

Tears shimmered in her eyes, the swirl of emotions reflected back at him. “I care about you,” she finally confessed, her own voice unsteady. “But I can’t just run away from reality again. I owe it to Ilgaz to be honest.”

He felt the finality of her words crash over him, the bitter truth sinking in. Life could not be so simple; they had grown into different people, woven paths that no longer intersected. Yet, in that charged silence, he saw something behind her eyes: a flicker of the past, a memory of the love that had once flourished between them.

“But what if you can be honest with him,” he said slowly, searching for the right words, “and still choose what you truly want?”

She hesitated, caught between loyalty and the undeniable pull of their shared connection. “What if I want both?” she whispered, the conflict rich in her voice.

“Then choose,” he said, his voice softening. “Choose what makes you happy. Maybe the truth doesn’t have to shatter everything.”

A stillness enveloped them, each heart beating in the heavy silence. The city around them faded, leaving only the two of them standing at the precipice of a decision that could change everything.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped closer, their foreheads almost touching. “I’ve missed you,” she murmured, her breath warm against his skin. “I’ve missed us.”

After a long moment, she nodded to herself, tears slipping down her cheeks, but now they shimmered with a sense of relief. “You’ve always been my first love. I can’t deny that,” she said, her voice trembling yet resolute.

His eyes were dark, filled with a desperate intensity that caught her off guard. It was a frantic plea, a mixture of hope and despair that mirrored the internal chaos raging within her. “I’ve been trying to forget you,” she finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But every moment I spend with you reminds me of what we had. It confuses me.”

He swallowed hard, the hope surging within him sparking a flicker of desire. “It confuses me too, but it’s real. This connection… It’s not something we can just wish away. You have to know that.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes as the truth of his words echoed within her. “But Ilgaz… What about him?”

“Maybe we need to be honest with ourselves first before we decide what happens next,” he replied gently, his expression softened by understanding. The ruins of their past lingered heavily in the air between them, but so too did the potential for something new—something real and unfiltered.

She bit her lip, torn and trembling. “I don’t know if I can just walk away from him.”

“Then don’t,” he said, the steadiness in his tone offering her solace. “Take your time. But don’t let fear dictate your happiness. You deserve to know how you feel without guilt shadowing you.”

She winced, face twitching in guilt. “It's too late for that.”

Rafe nodded, pursing his lips as his eyes darted to her hair, his finger coming up to adjust a few fray pieces, “I know, baby.”

He watched as she fought an internal battle, emotions flashing across her face in rapid succession—confusion, longing, terror, and finally acceptance. In that moment, her heart and mind clashed as she confronted the truth she had buried for far too long.

“I need to think,” she finally breathed, her voice trembling with the weight of her decision.

“Of course,” he replied, releasing his grip slowly, though a part of him wanted to hold on tightly and never let go. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

With one last glance laden with emotions too complex to unravel in the moment, she stepped away, the distance between them filled with possibilities yet to be explored. Each step away felt like an ache—a reminder of both what was lost and what could potentially be found.

But as she walked out the door, she felt something shift within her. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to embrace the uncertainty, to feel the weight of her choices without allowing guilt to hold her back.

And he stood watching her go, a bittersweet smile on his lips, realizing that this moment—fragile yet potent—might lead to healing, to truth, and perhaps, to love again. The night stretched around him, open and endless, as he clung to the hope of what tomorrow might bring. They were two souls intertwined by fate, navigating a complex dance of honesty and desire, ready to discover if love could truly survive the wounds of the past.

The End.

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thef1diary · 7 months ago

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While It Lasts | L. Norris - 2

Summary: Lando expected nothing more than relaxation and fun for two weeks during his summer break. What he didn’t anticipate was meeting you, someone who felt like a perfect match in every way. As the days quickly passed, he found himself falling deeply for you, only to be confronted with the heart-wrenching reality that your time together was far more limited than he ever imagined.

Part 1

PLEASE READ: This story contains themes of loss, morality, fear, death, relationship strains, mental health struggles, including significant emotional impact related to the reader’s journey with a chronic illness and some scenes are set in hospitals. Reminder that this is simply a work of fiction, please don’t take it to heart.

wc: 16.5k

You woke up to the faint clattering of dishes in the kitchen. Groggily, you opened your eyes, feeling the stiffness from sleeping awkwardly on the couch. Stretching, you realized Isaac was already up, making breakfast.

“Isaac,” you called out, your voice hoarse from sleep.

He didn’t seem to hear you, the noise of the kitchen drowning out your voice. With a sigh, you decided to hobble over to him, each step a reminder of your twisted ankle and the awkward position you’d slept in.

Reaching the kitchen, you leaned against the doorway for support. “Isaac,” you said a bit louder.

He turned, surprise and concern crossing his face. “You should be resting.”

“I know,” you replied, wincing slightly as you moved closer. “But we need to talk.”

Isaac set down the pan he was holding, his expression turning serious. “Alright, let’s talk.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the words you were about to say. “Isaac, I’m sorry for yelling at you yesterday. I know you’re just trying to take care of me.”

He shook his head, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and pain. “Every single day for the past four years, I have this fear that you’ll leave me at any moment. Yes, it is selfish, very selfish because I truly don’t know what you’re feeling, what you’re going through. But while you might’ve accepted that you’re dying, I didn’t! I just wanted to make sure you’re taking care of yourself, so you can live another day, so you can see me graduate college, see me – I don’t know – find the love of my life or get married. I’m sorry. You’re my sister, you are the last person I need to act like I’m on eggshells around you.”

Your heart ached at his words, the depth of his fear and love hitting you hard. “Your fear is valid, Isaac. Just because I’ve accepted it, doesn’t mean that I like it. But it won’t change fate, will it? It won’t change the fact that I’ve been dealt a shitty hand at life. All I know is that when I’m taking my last breaths, whenever it is, I don’t want to regret anything. I don’t want to regret not living enough because of the fear of dying. Just because I have a stupid countdown doesn’t mean I should be afraid to live.”

Isaac looked at you, his eyes moist with unshed tears. “I just want you to be here, to live as long as possible.”

“I know,” you whispered, reaching out to engulf him in a hug. “I’ll try to take better care of myself.”

He nodded slowly, his grip tightening around your body. “And I’ll try to be less overprotective, I promise, I’ll try.”

You smiled, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Thank you, Isaac.”

As you stood there, holding onto each other in the quiet morning light, you felt a sense of peace. When he pulled back, he scrunched up his face. “But it’ll be harder to explain that to mum and dad.”

You shrugged, “they’ll get it, one day, hopefully.”

After breakfast, Isaac announced he needed to run some errands in town. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he said, grabbing his keys. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. Take your time.”

As the door closed behind him, the house fell into a quiet lull. You settled back on the couch, trying to get comfortable and rest your ankle. Just as you were starting to drift off, the doorbell rang.

With a sigh, you swung your legs off the couch and hobbled toward the door, wincing with each step. When you finally reached it and pulled it open, you were greeted by Lando’s mischievous grin that quickly turned into worry.

“Hey,” he said, his brow furrowed as he took in your hobbling form. “You shouldn’t be up and about. How’s the ankle?”

“Hey, Lando,” you replied, leaning against the doorframe for support. “It’s sore but I’ll survive. Come in.”

He stepped inside, immediately reaching out to steady you. “Here, let me help you back to the couch.”

You nodded, grateful for his support. You leaned against him and held his hand as he guided you back to your spot on the couch. You couldn’t help but notice the warmth of his touch and the genuine concern in his eyes.

“Thanks,” you said once you were settled again. “What brings you here?”

Lando shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “I wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re not getting into any more trouble.”

You chuckled softly. “Well, I did manage to twist my ankle pretty badly.”

His expression turned serious. “I know. I felt terrible leaving you like that last night.”

“It’s alright, I was already sleeping before you left,” you waved off his concern.

“Speaking of falling asleep…” Lando began, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I couldn’t resist stopping by the bookstore you mentioned. Figured I’d pick up a couple of books to keep us entertained.”

You grinned, appreciating his thoughtfulness. “You went to the bookstore? You really are determined to explore every corner of this town, aren’t you?”

Lando nodded enthusiastically, pulling the books out of the bag he carried when he entered. “Of course! And since my favorite tour guide is out of commission,” he said, gesturing to your injured ankle, “I had to take matters into my own hands.”

He revealed two identical books, holding them up with a grin. “Thought we could have a reading competition. Winner gets bragging rights.”

You chuckled, shaking your head in amusement. “It’s always a competition with you, isn’t it?”

Lando shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “What can I say? I’m a competitive guy. Comes with the territory. Oh, and by the way,” he added casually, “did I mention I’m a Formula 1 driver?”

You blinked, surprised by the revelation. “Wait, seriously?”

Lando grinned, “yeah, been racing for quite a few years now.”

You nodded, a smile spreading on your face when he delved into the details, and it’s evident that he loves talking about his passion.

“That actually makes so much sense, that’s how you know the Sainz family, right?”

Lando’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Yes, but how do you know them?”

You laughed softly, and it quickly became a sound Lando loved hearing. “I live next to the villa, remember?” You teased jokingly.

A sheepish smile grew on his face, “oh, right. So what, you’ve met Carlos too? And here I thought I was the first F1 driver you’ve met.”

You nodded. “Yeah, in passing. We never really talked much, but I’ve seen him and his family around often.”

Then you leaned closer and whispered, “but don’t tell him that he may no longer be my favourite.”

He quirked up an eyebrow, leaning in as well and responding with the same amount of energy. “Then who is?”

You shrugged, leaning back with a small smile and a faint blush covering your cheeks. “I think I might have to watch a race to decide.”

As you continued chatting with Lando, the pain in your ankle seemed to fade into the background. His enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself drawn into his stories about racing, the thrill of waiting for the lights to go out, and the camaraderie between his fellow drivers.

Eventually, you decided to start the reading competition. Both of you settled into the couch with your respective books, determined to see who would finish first. But as the minutes ticked by, Lando found it hard to focus on his book. His gaze kept drifting to you, watching the way your eyes moved across the pages and the little expressions that flitted across your face as you read.

He couldn’t help but want to talk to you, to hear more about your thoughts. Finally, he put his book down with a sigh, unable to concentrate any longer.

“So, what’s next on the agenda once your ankle’s better? Something less adventurous, perhaps?”

You placed your book down after marking your page, chuckling as you looked at him. “Can’t focus, can you?”

“Not with you around,” he shrugged casually.

Trapping your lip between your teeth to prevent a smile from growing on your face, you chose to focus on the question he asked.

“There’s this amazing seafood restaurant nearby. It’s a local favorite, and the food is incredible. Fresh catches of the day, and the chef’s specials are to die for. You’ll love it!”

As you spoke, you didn’t notice Lando’s face pale slightly. He wasn’t a fan of seafood, but he couldn’t bring himself to dampen your excitement by telling you the truth. The way your eyes lit up talking about the place made him want to experience it with you, even if he never wanted to be around any sort of fish.

“Sounds great,” Lando said, forcing a smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

You clapped your hands together, beaming. “You won’t regret it, I promise. The view from the restaurant is amazing too. It’s right by the water, and you can see the boats coming in and out of the harbor. It’s a perfect spot for a relaxing evening.”

Lando nodded, matching your enthusiasm as best he could. “That sounds perfect. I can’t wait.”

“How about we go there for dinner tomorrow?” you suggested, your excitement bubbling over.

“Tomorrow night it is,” Lando agreed, his smile genuine due to your smile despite his seafood reservations.

The next evening came around too quickly for Lando’s liking. Instead of stressing over what to wear this time, he was worried about the food itself. The prospect of seafood was daunting, but he didn’t want to let you down. As he rummaged through his closet, Max walked into the room with a teasing grin.

“Mate, you like her so much that you’d willingly eat seafood for her?” Max said, leaning against the doorframe.

Lando looked up, a mixture of nerves and amusement on his face. “Yeah, well, it’s not just about the food. It’s about the company.”

He chuckled, “you’re a brave man.” Then he sighed exaggeratedly, “oh the things you do in love.”

Lando’s back straightened suddenly. “It’s not love… yet. We’re just hanging out.”

Max’s eyes widened since he didn’t expect such an answer, “wait a second, ‘yet’? Do you actually like her?”

Lando shrugged, trying to play it off, but the slight smile on his face betrayed him. “I don’t know, Max. Maybe. It’s… complicated.”

Max studied him for a moment, then a grin spread across his face. “I should’ve seen it coming, but she’s great! Maybe even a little out of your league,” he spoke with a teasing grin, that only made Lando roll his eyes when he saw his best friend’s face.

“She’s beautiful,” he said softly, not denying Max’s words.

Max's teasing grin softened into a more serious expression. "Hey, I'm serious though. You don't have to go through with this if you're not comfortable. You shouldn't feel like you have to force yourself to like something just to impress her."

Lando appreciated Max's concern, but he shook his head. "It's not about impressing her. I want to spend time with her, Max. She's... she's different."

Max raised an eyebrow, a knowing look in his eyes. "Different, huh? Well, just be careful, okay?"

Lando nodded, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty and anticipation. "Of course."

As Max left the room, Lando took a moment to collect his thoughts. He knew Max was just looking out for him, but there was something about you that made him want to take the risk. With a determined smile, he finished getting ready and was about to head out to meet you, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement building inside him.

Right as he was leaving the villa, Max’s voice rang out. “If you need an excuse to skip out, I can come up with something. No need to torture yourself over fish.”

Lando shook his head, appreciating the concern. “Thanks, Max, but I’ll be fine. I just… I don’t want to ruin this. She’s really excited about the place.”

A very short drive later, Lando knocked on your door, and when you opened it, his eyes widened appreciatively as they swept over you. You wore a simple yet elegant dress, the color complementing your features perfectly.

“Wow,” he breathed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You look amazing.”

Blushing slightly at his compliment, you thanked him and closed the door behind you as you left your cottage, walking towards Lando’s car. “Thanks, Lando, you don’t look too bad yourself.”

He fell in step beside you, still admiring your outfit. “So, do you have a hot date or something?”

You chuckled at his question, shaking your head. “Nope, no dates, just going out with some racer guy, not sure if you know him.”

Sitting in his car, he instantly looked at you with a raised eyebrow and a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “Hmm, sounds like a great guy! Is he interesting?”

You laughed, nudging him as he drove. “Very.”

When you arrived at the restaurant, the sun was just starting to set, casting a golden glow over the water. It was nestled right by the harbor, with a perfect view of the boats coming and going. Lando parked the car and helped you out, his hand lingering a moment longer than necessary as he offered support for your still-healing ankle. Even though you could walk without needing support again, you didn’t mind holding onto his hand.

“Wow, this place is beautiful,” he said, genuinely impressed by the picturesque setting.

“I told you,” you replied with a satisfied smile. “Come on, let’s get a table by the window.”

The interior of the restaurant was cozy, with soft lighting and a gentle murmur of conversation filling the air. A small fish tank adorned one corner of the room, the colorful fish swimming lazily in the water. Lando couldn’t help but chuckle nervously as he glanced at the tank.

“Kinda cruel, isn’t it?” he joked, nodding towards the fish tank. "Having live fish in a seafood restaurant," Lando remarked with a wry smile.

Still, you laughed, nodding in agreement. "The owners think it adds to the ambiance."

As you were seated and handed the menus, Lando took a deep breath, steeling himself for the seafood-heavy options. But when he looked across the table and saw your excited expression, he hoped it would all be worth it. This evening was about enjoying your company, and he was determined to do just that, and perhaps if everything went very well, he might casually mention that he’d like to take you out on an actual date.

As the waiter took your orders, you couldn't contain your excitement, eager to indulge in the fresh seafood the restaurant had to offer. Lando, however, seemed a bit hesitant, but he eventually settled on a dish, trying to mask his apprehension with a smile.

Once the food arrived, you dug in eagerly, savoring each bite of the delicious seafood. However, as you glanced over at Lando, you noticed something was off. His attempts to conceal his discomfort were evident, and you could see the struggle on his face as he hesitantly bit into a shrimp, his expression revealing disgust as he tried to swallow it.

Concerned, you leaned closer to him, your voice soft with worry. "Is everything okay, Lando?"

He hesitated, clearly torn, spitting the piece of shrimp into a tissue before finally admitting, "I'm sorry, I just... I can't do seafood."

Surprised by his confession, you felt a pang of guilt wash over you. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Lando shrugged, looking sheepish. "I didn't want to ruin your plans, you looked so excited to come here and I thought I could handle it, but..."

Without hesitation, you reached out, taking his hand in yours. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Leading him out of the restaurant, you felt a mix of disappointment and concern. Disappointed that he didn’t feel comfortable sharing such a simple detail with you, and concerned that he attempted to eat a shrimp, knowing he disliked it, all for your sake.

But as you walked together, you were determined to salvage the evening because you didn’t want the night to end just yet. "How about we find a burger place? Is that something you'll enjoy."

Lando's gratitude was evident in his smile as he nodded, and together, you set off to find a new spot to continue your evening, determined to make it memorable for all the right reasons.

You and Lando ended up sitting in his car, munching on takeout burgers and fries, the mood was light and laughter filled the air. Lando was in the middle of telling a funny story from his racing season, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he recounted the antics of how multiple of his fellow drivers tried to convince him to try seafood but failed.

You couldn’t help but laugh along, enjoying the animated way he described each moment. You playfully nudged Lando, a grin spreading across your face. “Well, it seems like all those F1 drivers couldn’t get you to try seafood, but I did, even if it was just a bite!”

Lando leaned back in his seat, a lighthearted smile playing on his lips. “You know, for you, I’d try anything… except seafood.”

As you heard Lando's words, a soft realization came to you that his remark held a hint of flirtation.

“Why don’t you like seafood anyways?” you couldn’t help but ask, especially since this town was full of loads of seafood options and now you had to think of other restaurants for him to try.

Lando shrugged, taking another bite of his burger before answering. “I guess it’s just not my thing. I’ve never been a fan of the taste or the texture.”

As you indulged in your burger, a smear of sauce found its way to the corner of your lips. Lando's eyes caught the small detail, and with a gentle smile, he pointed it out. "You've got a little something right there."

You chuckled, raising your hand to wipe it away, but before you could, Lando's fingers grazed over the corner of your lips, wiping away the sauce. His touch was gentle, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary as he leaned in close.

A subtle warmth spread through you at the intimacy of the gesture, and for a moment, time seemed to slow as you met his gaze. There was something unspoken between you, a silent acknowledgment of the growing connection that seemed to deepen with each passing moment.

His fingers lingered at the edge of your lips, and you could feel his breath, warm and inviting, mingling with yours. The world around you faded, leaving only the two of you in that fleeting instant.

“Lando…” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. The space between you grew smaller, your faces inching closer together.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes flicking down to your lips and back up to your eyes. The anticipation was electric, a charged moment that seemed to stretch on forever.

But then, he pulled back, a faint blush tinting his cheeks. “I don’t want our first kiss to be like this,” he murmured, his voice soft but resolute. “You deserve a proper date first.”

A mix of disappointment and warmth washed over you. His thoughtfulness, his desire to make things right, only made your heart ache more with affection. Amidst the laughter and shared stories, his words hung between you, a promise of something more.

As quickly as the thought arose, the weight of your illness pressed down on you, reminding you of life's fragility and the uncertainty of tomorrow. Your thoughts lingered on wondering if you even had a future in general. To entertain the idea of a future with him would only cause your heart to ache, knowing that you might not live to see those dreams come true.

The thought of a future, a proper date, a real kiss—all of it seemed so painfully out of reach.

It was a bittersweet realization, knowing that even the simplest of dreams could be overshadowed by the reality of your condition. While he would return back to the fast paced world of racing, you would remain in this small town, wondering how many more dreams you would have to crush because fate decided to take away your life, inch by inch.

Awkwardness filled the car on your end, your emotions shifting to cold and stoic, like they were before you met him. The warm connection you had felt only moments ago was replaced by a wall you erected to protect your heart. Lando noticed the change, his cheerful demeanor faltering as the silence grew heavy between you.

Soon enough, you both finished your burgers, and Lando started the car to drive you home. The ride was quiet, the earlier laughter and easy conversation now replaced by a tension that neither of you acknowledged. When he pulled up to your house, he turned off the engine and looked at you, a hint of concern in his eyes.

“Do you want me to walk you to the door?” he asked softly.

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “No, it’s fine. Thanks for the evening, Lando.”

He watched as you climbed out of the car, a confused and worried expression on his face. As you walked to your door, you could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t look back. You shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment as a tear threatened to slip down your cheek.

Lando sat in his car, staring at the closed door, wondering what he had done wrong and why the evening had ended on such a somber note. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something important had changed, but he had no idea what it was or how to fix it.

—

Over the next couple of days, you don’t acknowledge the thoughts that are bubbling up in your mind, instead choosing to tread carefully and immerse yourself in your daily routine. You’ve lived a lot more than you have over the past couple of months, and felt the joy that it brings. But now, you had to face the consequences causing you to distance yourself away from Lando before you got too attached to the happiness that came with being around him. Once you realized that you truly wanted to kiss him that night, everything changed. You had to take a preemptive measure, a self-imposed boundary designed to shield your heart from potential pain.

Your health deteriorated significantly. Your energy waned, and simple tasks like walking around the house left you breathless and exhausted. Fortunately, you have a doctor’s appointment scheduled, a simple routine checkup. However, it coincided with plans you made with Lando. Determined to distance yourself from him, you don’t tell him about the change of plans.

At the doctor’s appointment, you sit in the sterile examination room, the familiar scent of antiseptic mingling with nerves that coil in the pit of your stomach. These appointments, routine yet crucial, serve as a barometer of your ongoing battle against your illness.

As the doctor enters, his expression is professional yet compassionate, his eyes scanning through your medical history with a practiced ease. You recount the recent symptoms you’ve been experiencing, the fatigue that seems to seep into your bones, and the persistent ache that lingers despite treatment.

With a sympathetic nod, the doctor orders a series of tests, his urgency palpable as he reviews your file. The minutes stretch into an eternity as you wait for the results, each passing second filled with a silent plea for a glimmer of hope.

When the test results finally come back, the doctor’s demeanor shifts subtly, his tone measured yet grave. “I’m afraid the results are not as we had hoped,” he begins, his words heavy with significance.

Your heart sinks at the confirmation of your worst fears, the reality of your illness casting a shadow over your hopes for improvement. Despite your best efforts, it seems that the tide of your health is turning against you once again.

A sense of dread fills you as he explains that the illness has advanced more rapidly than expected. “We need to keep you overnight for observation,” he says gently. “Your vitals are unstable, and we need to adjust your treatment plan.”

You nod, too emotionally tired to object, allowing a nurse to lead you to the hospital room, one that you became too familiar with over the past few years. You would spend yet another night under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital, experience another round of tests and treatments, and take another uncertain step into the abyss of your illness.

You lie in the hospital bed, hooked up to various machines, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over you like a heavy blanket. The familiar beeps and hums of the medical equipment provide a disconcerting backdrop to your thoughts, each sound a reminder of the precariousness of your health.

As you drift in and out of consciousness, your mind wanders to Lando, the plans you had made together now nothing more than distant dreams. Guilt gnaws at the edges of your consciousness, knowing that he waits for you, unaware of the sudden turn your day has taken.

Just as the shadows of doubt threaten to overwhelm you, a soft knock on the door interrupts your thoughts. Startled, you turn to see Isaac's familiar face framed in the doorway, concern etched into his features.

"Hey," he says softly, crossing the room to sit beside you. "I got your text. Are you okay?"

You manage a weak smile, grateful for his presence amidst the sterile confines of the hospital room. "Yeah, just another setback," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Isaac reaches out to squeeze your hand gently, his touch a comforting anchor in the sea of uncertainty. "You’ll get through this," he says, his voice steady and reassuring.

As Isaac settles into the chair beside your hospital bed, he observes the flurry of activity around you—the nurses bustling about, the doctors conferring in hushed tones, tweaking the machines, their purpose still a mystery to him after all these visits.

When there's a lull in the commotion, Isaac hesitates before speaking, his voice soft with concern. "Hey, I wanted to let you know... Lando stopped by the cottage today."

“What’d he say?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"He asked about you today," Isaac begins, his tone gentle. "Said you had plans but you didn't show. He mentioned he hasn't seen you in a couple of days. Is everything okay between you two?"

You nod weakly, offering a small smile to reassure Isaac. "Yeah, everything's fine. I just... I don't know, I guess I realized that I've been enjoying his company a lot more than I should, given my condition."

He frowns, “what’s wrong with that? You’re both happy around each other, so why are you distancing yourself away from him?”

You scoff, “have you seen me?” You raise your arm that has an IV inserted, along with the other wires connected to you.

“It doesn’t matter,” Isaac insists gently. “He cares about you. You deserve happiness too, regardless of what’s going on with your health.”

You shake your head, a hint of frustration in your voice. “You don’t understand, Isaac. I don’t have a guarantee of how I’m spending the next week, let alone the rest of my life. I don’t want to hurt Lando by snatching away his happiness one day too. I’m just… preventing myself, and him, from getting too attached to each other.”

Isaac sighs, his expression softening with understanding. "You're not scared of getting too attached, are you? You already are, whether you admit it or not. But by staying away, you're only hurting yourself and him more."

You avert your gaze, feeling the weight of his words sinking in. "I know," you admit quietly. "But I don't know what else to do."

"He deserves to know if he's falling in love with you," Isaac says gently, his voice filled with concern. "And you deserve to have someone by your side, especially during the tough times."

You let out a heavy sigh, knowing he's right but still unsure of what to do next. "I guess I did find someone that fate hates more than me."

"So you agree, that he's in love with you?" Isaac probes, searching your eyes for confirmation.

"He's only in love because he barely knows me," you reply, your voice tinged with sadness.

“Maybe you should give him a chance to know you, the real you,” he responds.

You bite your lip, unsure of how to respond. Deep down, you know Isaac is right, but the fear of hurting Lando is overwhelming. Yet, the thought of pushing him away hurts just as much.

Before you can dwell on it further, a nurse enters the room, breaking the momentary silence. Isaac gives you a reassuring smile before standing up to give you some privacy. As he leaves, his words linger in the air, leaving you to contemplate the complexities of your situation.

The next morning, you’re discharged, feeling even more drained. The doctors have adjusted your medications, but the prognosis remains grim.

You left the hospital, walking in step beside Isaac for a moment until he headed towards the parking lot to bring the car around. As you were blinking in the bright morning sunlight, you nearly collided with Max, who was just outside chatting with someone on his phone.

“Hey there!” Max greets you with a wide grin, sliding his phone into his pocket. However, his expression quickly turns into a frown as he notices the hospital wristband adorning your wrist. “Wait, were you in there?” he asks, concern lacing his words. “Is everything okay?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, not wanting to worry him unnecessarily or dive into the complexities of your recent hospital stay. “Oh, it was just a routine checkup, some bloodwork, you know how that goes, nothing to worry about,” you assure him with a tight-lipped smile.

Max’s eyes narrow slightly, clearly not entirely convinced by your explanation, but he decides not to press further.

He glances over his shoulder, then back at you. “I was just at the café right down the street.”

You nod, “good choice, they make the best coffee in town.”

He smiled as his choice was approved by you. “Do you need a ride? I’m heading back to the villa.”

You shook your head, “no it’s alright, Isaac’s bringing the car around.”

“Alright, I guess I’ll see you around, only a few more days left before we leave this paradise,” he reminds you.

You offer him a grateful nod. “Yeah, time flies, doesn’t it?” you reply with a forced smile since you were hoping to return home soon. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

As Max nods in agreement and starts to walk away, you can’t shake the feeling that he suspects something isn’t quite right. But you push the thought aside, determined to focus on the present moment and put on a brave face as you step away from the hospital and back into the world outside.

As Isaac parks in the driveway, you notice Lando pacing back and forth by the front door, his brows furrowed in concern. The sight of him fills you with a tumult of conflicting emotions. Isaac’s words echo in your mind, urging you to be honest with Lando, to tell him how much you care about him, to share the burden of your illness. But fear gnaws at your insides, whispering that revealing the truth will only drive him away.

His expression changes from relief to frustration as he sees you approaching.

“Where were you?” he demanded, his voice tinged with worry. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

As you and Lando stand in front of each other, locked in a tense silence, Isaac takes a step back, sensing the need for privacy between you two. With a subtle nod, he heads inside the cottage, leaving you and Lando alone on the doorstep.

The weight of unspoken words hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you both with its palpable intensity. You struggle to find the right words to break the silence, to bridge the growing chasm between you, but fear and uncertainty grip you like a vice, paralyzing your tongue.

Lando shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flickering between you as if searching for answers in the depths of your eyes. His expression is a mix of hurt and confusion, mirroring the tumultuous storm raging within your own heart.

You want to tell Lando the truth, to let him in, but the thought of exposing your vulnerabilities terrifies you. You can’t bear the idea of him seeing you as fragile, of pitying you. So, holding your head up high, you decide to make him hate you before he realizes that he loves you.

You force a nonchalant shrug, trying to play it off. “I had some errands to run, and I forgot we had plans.”

“Forgot?” he repeats, incredulous. “We made those plans a while ago. Forget that, I haven’t seen you for days. What’s really going on?”

Annoyed, and wanting to distance yourself from him before your feelings grow even stronger, you let a hint of irritation seep into your voice. “I don’t owe you an explanation for everything I do, Lando. It’s not a big deal.”

He’s taken aback by your rudeness, his face falling slightly. “Not a big deal? I’ve been worried sick about you.”

“Well, you don’t need to be,” you say curtly, avoiding his eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

An awkward silence falls between you two, the tension palpable. Lando’s expression shifts from hurt to confusion. He takes a step back, clearly stung by your words.

“Fine,” he says quietly, his voice pained. “If that’s how you want it.”

You nod, turning away from him and heading inside, each step feeling heavier than the last. Lando stands outside for a moment longer, staring at the closed door. He can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to your abrupt change in behavior, but he respects your wish for distance. With a heavy heart, he turns and walks away, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the echo of the door closing between you

You lean against the door, quickly sliding down and sitting on the floor as you cover your face with your hands, fighting back tears.

Pushing him away is probably the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but you convince yourself it’s for the best.

Isaac spots you sitting on the floor, and quickly rushes towards you. Moving your hands away from your face, he notices the tears staining your cheeks and has an idea of how the conversation went with Lando.

"You're still as stubborn as ever, aren't you?" he remarked rhetorically, but then he enveloped you in his arms, holding you close as you trembled with sobs.

You pulled back slightly, sniffling as you tried to compose yourself. "I can't tell him," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rush of emotions.

Meanwhile, Lando trudged back to the villa, his mind heavy with thoughts and his heart weighed down by the encounter with you. When he arrived, Max was idly sitting around.

“Hey, mate,” Max greeted but his expression turned serious as he observed Lando’s demeanour. “You okay?”

Lando shrugged, sitting next to Max as he tried to brush off the weight of his emotions. “I saw her today.”

He nodded, “how’d it go?”

Lando frowned, furrowing his brows. “I don’t know, Max. That’s the thing. It’s like I saw a completely different person today. Someone I thought I knew, but now… she’s like a stranger.”

Max furrowed his brow, concerned. “What do you mean?”

Lando shook his head, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like she was pushing me away, Max. Acting cold and distant, like she didn’t want anything to do with me.”

Max nodded in understanding. “Well, mate, maybe she’s just having a rough day. I mean, she was at the hospital earlier.”

His words caught Lando off guard. He blinked in surprise, his brows furrowing as he processed the information. “Wait, she was at the hospital?” he asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice.

Max nodded solemnly. “Yeah, I saw her leaving earlier today. Said it wasn’t serious, just a routine check up but she looked very tired, like she hadn’t slept properly in days.”

Lando’s concern deepened as he absorbed Max’s words. “Why didn’t she tell me?” he murmured, a mix of worry and frustration evident in his voice.

Max placed a comforting hand on Lando’s shoulder. “Maybe she just needs some space, mate. It’s not easy opening up about personal stuff, especially to someone you care about a lot.”

“You think she cares about me?” Lando asked, his tone almost a mumbling mess.

Max scoffed, “see I knew you were an idiot but not to this extent that you don’t even see the obvious. Of course she cares about you, mate!”

“Well I know that, it’s just I don’t wanna read into something that’s not there, you know?”

Max squeezed Lando’s shoulder reassuringly. “Trust me, mate, it’s there. Sometimes, we just need a little nudge to see what’s right in front of us.”

Lando nodded slowly, his mind still swirling with doubts and questions. “I guess you’re right,” he conceded, a faint glimmer of hope starting to flicker within him.

Max grinned, clapping him on the back. “That’s the spirit! Just give her some time, and I’m sure things will sort themselves out.”

The cottage exudes a somber atmosphere, suffused with memories of those initial days when you sought refuge from your parents' house, just across town. After your diagnosis, living with your parents became unbearable, evoking memories of your tumultuous teenage years, always feeling scolded and misunderstood. With persuasion and determination, you relocated to the cottage, that has always acted as a second childhood home, with your brother, longing for respite from the tumult of your parents' home. Eventually, your parents themselves moved to the next town over, seeking their own fresh start, leaving you and your brother to navigate the challenges of your illness in your quiet abode.

Now, as you sit in the same kitchen where you once grappled with the harsh reality of your illness, the mood is eerily similar. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you as the silence in the cottage seems to press down, a stark contrast to the vibrant conversations and laughter that once echoed within these walls during your childhood summers. Even more palpably, you recall the warmth of recent memories, the shared laughter with Lando when you had twisted your ankle, filling the space with a joy that now feels distant and elusive. The air is thick with unspoken words, the tension palpable as if one wrong move could shatter the fragile peace you carefully built.

Isaac sits across from you, his presence comforting amidst the somber atmosphere. He watches you closely, his gaze filled with concern and understanding.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breaking the silence that hangs heavy between you.

You force a smile, but it feels hollow on your lips. “Just tired,” you reply, the words barely audible over the quiet hum of the refrigerator.

While Isaac may be aware of some of the pain you feel, he doesn’t know the full extent of what you’re enduring. You want to shield him from the worst, hiding just how much it hurts. The pain has been relentless, gnawing at you day and night, with only a brief sense of comfort for a few hours after taking your medication. Every movement feels like a struggle, every breath a reminder of the fragility of your condition.

Isaac studies your face, his eyes narrowing with concern. “You should call Mom and Dad,” he says softly, breaking the silence. “They need to know what’s going on. Your health is getting worse.”

You shake your head, the thought of burdening your parents with more bad news twisting your stomach into knots. “They’ve been hoping I’m getting better.”

Isaac sighs, reaching across the table to take your hand. “They’re gonna find out soon enough and they’ll want to be here for you, to support you. It’s better they hear it from you than from anyone else.”

You look down at your hands, Isaac’s warmth a stark contrast to the cold dread settling in your bones. “I just… I don’t want to shatter their hope again.”

Isaac squeezes your hand gently. “They love you. They’re not going to be disappointed in you. They’ll be worried, sure, but they need to know. You need all the support you can get.”

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. “Okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I’ll call them.”

Isaac gives you a reassuring smile, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Good. We’ll get through this together. You’re not alone.”

You manage a hint of a smile, looking at Isaac. “You know,” you say softly, “you’re such a good older brother especially for someone who’s younger than me.”

Isaac chuckles, a warm, comforting sound in the quiet room. “Age is just a number,” he says, squeezing your hand gently. “Besides, someone has to keep you in line.”

“Keep me in line? I think we’ve switched roles, remember how I used to keep you out of trouble?” You remark.

You can feel the tension ease in the room as Isaac laughs at the memory before standing up to prepare dinner, allowing you to pick up your phone.

The thought of hearing your parents’ voices fills you with a mixture of fear and relief. You know Isaac is right, but the conversation ahead feels like another mountain to climb. Taking a deep breath, you dial the familiar number, bracing yourself for what’s to come. The phone rings, and with each passing moment, you feel the weight of the upcoming conversation pressing down on you.

Finally, your mother answers, her voice warm and familiar. “Hello, sweetie. It’s been a while since you called. How are you?”

You hesitate for a moment, trying to keep your voice steady. “Hi, Mom. I… I need to talk to you about something.”

There’s a pause, and you can hear the concern in her voice. “What is it, honey? Is everything alright?”

Before you can respond, she quickly switches to a video call. Her face appears on the screen, eyes wide with worry. “Tell me what’s going on,” she says, her voice trembling slightly.

Seeing her face makes it harder to hold back your emotions. You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “Mom, I’ve been trying to stay strong and not worry you and Dad, but… my health has been getting worse.”

Her expression shifts from concern to fear and then to a hint of anger masking hurt. “Worse? How worse, dear? Are you not taking care of yourself properly?”

You wince at her words, knowing they come from a place of worry. “I stayed a night at the hospital,” you continue. “They said if it doesn’t get better with the new medication, I’ll have to go back. The pain has been relentless. I can barely move without feeling it, and the medication only helps for a few hours.”

Your mother’s face pales, her eyes filling with tears. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner? We’ve been hoping you were getting better.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you admit, your voice cracking. “I wanted to protect you from the worst of it.”

Your mother shakes her head, wiping away a tear. “We’re your parents. We want to be there for you, no matter what. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I know,” you say, your own tears starting to fall. “It’s just so hard. Every day feels like a struggle, and I didn’t want to burden you.”

Isaac rounds the kitchen table and speaks up, his voice steady and supportive. “We’re all in this together, Mom. We need your support now more than ever.”

Your mother nods, her expression determined, though the hurt still lingers in her eyes. “We’ll be there for you, sweetheart. Every step of the way.”

Just then, she turns her head and calls out, “Honey, come here. It’s important.”

A moment later, your father appears on the screen, his face etched with concern. “What’s going on?”

Your mother explains quickly, her voice trembling. “She’s not doing well. She had to stay overnight at the hospital, and she might have to go back soon. We need to be there for her.”

Your father’s expression hardens with resolve. “We’ll come over soon. Don’t worry, just be careful.”

Hearing his firm, supportive words, you feel a sense of relief and hope. “I will, thank you, Dad. I love you both.”

“We love you too,” he replies, his voice full of emotion. “We’re here for you, no matter what.”

After exchanging goodbyes and promising to see each other soon, you hang up the phone, feeling a slight sense of relief wash over you. Though it's only temporary, the weight on your shoulders lifts ever so slightly.

As Isaac reveals dinner, the aroma of his culinary creation fills the air, tempting your senses with its savory goodness. But as you take a closer look at your own plate, disappointment washes over you. The food in front of you is bland and uninspiring, reminiscent of the tasteless hospital meals you’ve grown accustomed to.

You poke at your food with little enthusiasm, knowing that the increased dosage of medication has left your taste buds dulled and unresponsive. “I can’t eat this,” you mutter, pushing the plate away with a sigh.

Isaac looks up from his own meal, concern creasing his eyebrow. “Come on, you need to eat something,” he urges, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s important for your recovery.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “But it tastes like nothing,” you protest, the monotony of the hospital diet weighing heavily on your spirit.

Isaac nods sympathetically, understanding your struggle. “I know it’s tough,” he says softly. “But remember what the doctor said about avoiding spice. It’s all part of the plan to help you get better.”

Reluctantly, you take a small bite, forcing yourself to chew and swallow despite the lack of flavor. The effort feels futile, but you know Isaac is right. You need to keep up your strength, even if it means enduring tasteless meals for the time being.

As you pick at your food, Isaac’s voice breaks through your thoughts, his tone lighthearted but determined. “Hey, once you’re feeling better, we’ll have a hot chicken wing contest,” he suggests, a playful twinkle in his eye. “Just like old times. And I promise, I’ll make them so spicy, you won’t be able to taste anything for a week.”

Despite yourself, a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips. The idea of a hot chicken wing contest brings back memories of happier times, when your biggest worry was who would win the next round.

“Deal,” you agree, the idea of better days ahead spurring you on. But deep down, you know the truth that you can’t bring yourself to voice aloud in front of him again. You’re not getting better, no matter how much you wish you could.

The next day, you wake up with a sense of urgency gnawing at your insides, an inexplicable feeling pulling you towards the lighthouse. It’s as if an invisible force is guiding you, compelling you to make this journey one last time.

As you slip out of bed and prepare to leave the house, a mixture of determination and trepidation fills your heart. You know deep down that this might be the last opportunity you have to climb those stairs, to feel the wind on your face as you stand at the top and gaze out at the vast expanse of the ocean.

Isaac notices your movements and steps forward, concern etched into his features.

“Hey, where are you off to?” he asks, his voice gentle yet probing.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should share your intentions. But then, you meet his gaze and find solace in his familiar eyes.

“I’m going to the lighthouse,” you reply, your voice steady despite the weight of your words. “I just… need some time alone.”

Isaac’s expression softens, understanding dawning in his eyes. He reaches out to squeeze your shoulder gently, offering silent support.

“Take all the time you need,” he says softly. “And if you need anything, call me.”

With a grateful nod, you offer him a small smile before turning to leave, the weight of your decision heavy on your heart.

You make your way up the stairs to the lighthouse, each step feeling heavier than the last. The climb feels like an uphill battle, and you find yourself pausing every few steps to catch your breath.

Your chest heaves with the effort, and a wave of dizziness washes over you as you reach the halfway point. You lean against the railing, willing yourself to continue despite the fatigue that threatens to overwhelm you.

With each step, the distance between you and the top of the lighthouse seems to stretch on forever. Your muscles ache with exertion, and your breath comes in ragged gasps.

But you refuse to give up. You grit your teeth and push through the pain, focusing all your energy on reaching the summit. With each step, you draw closer to your goal, fueled by the determination to see the view from the top one last time.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you reach the top of the lighthouse, gasping for air, only to find Lando already there, leaning against the railing and gazing out at the horizon. He turns as he hears your footsteps and ragged breaths, surprise flickering across his face.

He takes a step back, clearly intending to give you some space. “I’ll go down,” he mutters awkwardly, gesturing towards the stairs. “This place is your spot.”

But before he can move away, you reach out and grab his hand, stopping him in his tracks. “No,” you say firmly, your voice stronger than you feel. “Stay.”

He hesitates for a moment, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, but then he nods and settles back against the railing, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart as you lean against the railing beside him. Despite the exhaustion that weighs heavily on you, being close to him brings a sense of comfort that you can’t quite explain.

“Thanks,” you murmur, grateful for his presence beside you.

He offers you a small, tentative smile in return, his hand tightening around yours in a silent gesture of support.

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you turn to Lando, feeling the weight of the unspoken tension between you two like a heavy blanket.

"Listen, I owe you an apology," you begin, your voice soft but sincere. "I've been acting... differently lately, and I want you to know that it's not because of anything you did. That day, I was at the hospital for a routine checkup, and it just tired me out more than I expected. I’m sorry about ditching our plans."

You technically didn’t lie, but also didn’t tell him the whole truth either. You pause, searching his face for any sign of understanding or acceptance. His expression softens, and you feel a flicker of relief.

"I shouldn't have been so rude to you," you continue, your tone earnest. "I appreciate your patience, and I'm sorry if I made you feel unwelcome."

Lando nods, his eyes reflecting empathy. "It's okay," he says gently, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "I understand. And I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable by showing up here."

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "No, you don't need to apologize. I'm glad you're here."

With that, the tension between you starts to dissolve, replaced by a sense of mutual understanding and acceptance as you stand side by side, watching the waves crash against the shore below.

Taking a moment to admire the breathtaking view from the top of the lighthouse, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. But as the adrenaline of the climb begins to wear off, your legs start to tremble beneath you, threatening to give out at any moment.

Recognizing the warning signs of exhaustion, you carefully lower yourself to the ground, your muscles protesting with each movement. Sitting down with a heavy sigh of relief, you lean back against the cool stone wall of the lighthouse, grateful for the brief respite from the physical strain.

Lando joined you as well, sitting side by side on the floor of the lighthouse. You continue to hold onto his hand, your fingers tracing patterns absentmindedly. However, despite your attempt to clear the air, he still seems hesitant, his brows furrowed with confusion.

Finally, unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, Lando breaks the silence. “Hey, can I ask you something?” he begins, his voice tentative.

You turn to him, meeting his gaze with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. “Of course,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the weight of the conversation.

He hesitates for a moment before plunging ahead. “Did something happen the night we went for burgers?” he asks, his words carefully measured. “I mean, you seemed off after… and I’ve been wondering if I did something wrong.”

Realization dawns on you that he’s talking about the almost kiss. The memory of that night floods back, the charged moment in his car when he had pulled back. You had admired his restraint, his desire to do things right, but it also made your heart ache with longing.

Your heart sinks at his words, the guilt weighing heavy on your chest. “No, Lando,” you assure him, squeezing his hand gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You glance at him, seeing the earnest concern in his eyes. How you wish you had the courage to pull him in by his collar and kiss him then, to let him know just how much he meant to you despite everything.

But he doesn’t seem convinced, his gaze searching yours for any sign of dishonesty. “Don’t lie,” he says softly, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration.

You hesitate, grappling with the weight of your own emotions and the truth you’re desperate to conceal. Part of you wants to tell him how much his presence means to you, how his laughter lights up even the darkest corners of your world. But fear holds you back, whispering cruel reminders of the inevitability of heartbreak both of you will experience.

Instead of answering his question, you take a deep breath and change the subject. “So, when are you leaving?” you ask, trying to divert his attention away from your own turmoil.

He furrows his brow, clearly surprised by the sudden shift in conversation but decides not to push for an answer. “Tomorrow,” he replies, a hint of sadness in his voice.

You offer him a small smile, “well, I hope you had a good time despite my lackluster tour guide skills,” you quip, attempting to lighten the mood.

He chuckles softly, the sound warm and genuine. “Meeting you was my favorite part,” he admits, his gaze unwavering as he meets your eyes. “Spending time with you, even if it wasn’t every day, made this trip unforgettable.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks at his admission, the warmth of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. There’s a playful glint in his eyes that ignites a natural spark of flirtation between you.

In the quiet solitude of the lighthouse, you find yourself caught up in the moment with Lando, the days missed due to your own fear melting away with each shared smile and genuine laugh. Despite the lingering weight of your illness and the uncertainty that shadows your future, you're finally able to let go of the constant worry and embrace the present.

You realize that constantly dwelling on the unknown, on whether you'll have more time together or not, only serves to rob you of the joy of the moment. So instead, you allow yourself to be fully present with Lando, savoring each precious second together.

Yet, beneath the surface of your newfound acceptance, there still lingers a trace of fear. You know that distancing yourself from Lando won't protect either of you from the inevitable pain that lies ahead. His genuine smile, the way his eyes light up when he's with you, speaks volumes, and you can't deny the pull you feel toward him.

Despite the uncertainty of what the future holds, you're willing to take the risk, to open your heart to the possibility of love, even if it means facing the inevitable heartache that may follow. Because in the end, the fleeting moments of happiness you share with Lando are worth every ounce of pain.

Lando straightens up, his movements fluid and confident, as he leans in closer, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. "Hey, do you mind giving me your number and surname?" he asks casually, but there's a hint of mischief in his tone.

You raise an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. "What are you going to do with that information?" you inquire, your curiosity piqued.

His smile widens, a charming grin that could melt anyone's heart. "Well, first so we can still stay in touch even if I’m on the other side of the world, and second so I can send you a pass for one of my races," he replies smoothly, his voice laced with playful charm.

You can't help but chuckle at his response, shaking your head in amusement. "And why would I come to your race?" you tease, enjoying the banter between you.

Lando's gaze softens, a warmth in his eyes that catches you off guard. "I think you might be my lucky charm," he admits, his tone sincere.

You pause, feeling a flutter of excitement mixed with uncertainty. "You believe in lucky charms?" you ask, a hint of skepticism in your voice.

He nods, his smile unwavering. "I didn't," he confesses, "but now it seems like a good time to start believing. Why are you asking so many questions?" he adds playfully, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You can't help but smile at his lighthearted demeanor, appreciating the way he effortlessly lightens the mood. "You don't want me as a lucky charm," you reply, a touch of self-doubt creeping into your voice.

Lando's expression softens, his gaze filled with genuine warmth. "Why not?" he counters, his tone gentle yet determined.

"It won't last long," you murmur, a pang of sadness tugging at your heart as you glance away.

He reaches out, gently tilting your chin to meet his gaze. "It'll last as long as you're by my side," he insists, his voice sincere and unwavering. "That is up to you, don't you think so?"

His words catch you off guard, stirring something deep within you. "Now who's asking lots of questions?" you tease, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Still you," he replies with a chuckle, his eyes twinkling with affection.

You shake your head, feeling a surge of warmth at his playful banter. "You're something else, Lando."

"So are you," he replies, his smile soft and genuine. "In the best way possible."

You oblige Lando’s request, typing your phone number into his phone and saving your full name in his contacts. It’s a small gesture, but one that feels significant in the moment, despite the fact that you know you’ll never take him up on the offer for a pass to his race.

As the sun casts its golden glow across the rugged coastline, you and Lando sit side by side, taking in the breathtaking view from the top of the lighthouse. The air is filled with the sounds of seagulls circling overhead and the distant rumble of waves crashing against the shore below.

Lando’s arm around your shoulders feels like a lifeline, grounding you in the present moment amidst the tumult of your thoughts and emotions. You find solace in his presence, a sense of calm washing over you as you soak in the warmth of the afternoon sun.

The playful banter and teasing remarks give way to a comfortable silence, allowing you both to simply be in each other’s company without the need for words. It’s a moment of quiet intimacy, where the weight of the world fades away and all that matters is the connection between you and Lando.

You lean into his embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing and the reassuring strength of his arm around you. In this moment, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the warmth of Lando’s presence, you feel a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that whatever the future may hold, you’re grateful for this moment of shared serenity.

As you both prepare to descend the stairs, Lando pauses, noticing your reluctance to leave the view behind. "Shouldn't I be the one lingering back to admire the horizon? After all, I'm the one leaving, not you," he quips with a playful smirk.

You chuckle at his remark, shaking your head in amusement. "Come on, Lando, don't act like you're the only one who appreciates a good view," you tease back, nudging him lightly.

He grins, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before turning back to the scenery. "Fair point," he concedes, his tone light and playful. “I’ll wait for you downstairs then.”

You nod, watching him make his way down the stairs. The gentle breeze ruffles your hair, and you take a deep breath, committing the scene to memory.

With a sense of purpose, you scan the area, searching for the perfect spot to leave your message. Your eyes alight on a small alcove tucked away in a corner, sheltered from the wind and hidden from plain sight. It’s a secluded nook, easily overlooked by passersby, but will be found if it’s searched for.

Slipping something into the alcove, you ensure it’s nestled securely among the shadows, a subtle gesture meant for only the most observant of visitors. With a satisfied nod, you turn to follow Lando down the stairs.

—

The following day is a whirlwind of activity as your parents arrive at the cottage. They come bearing an array of supplies and comforts, ready to pamper you with their love and attention.

"Sweetheart, we brought some of your favorite homemade meals," your mom chirps, bustling into the kitchen with bags of groceries in tow.

Your dad follows closely behind, a stack of freshly laundered blankets in his arms. "And I made sure to pack extra blankets in case you get chilly," he adds with a warm smile.

Isaac turns to your mother, his expression gentle yet concerned. “Just a heads up, she can’t have any spicy food because of the doctor’s orders,” he explains, hoping to avoid any culinary mishaps.

“Isaac, don’t ruin it,” you mutter, holding the tupperware filled with your favourite dishes.

Your dad, overhearing the conversation, interjects with a reassuring pat on Isaac’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, son. Your mother has spent many hours in the kitchen cooking up a storm for our girl here,” he says with a fond smile. “A little taste of home can work wonders for the soul.”

You can't help but smile at their fussing, feeling a mixture of gratitude and guilt at their doting gestures. "How long are you planning to stay?" you inquire, trying to gauge the extent of their visit.

"Until you're better, of course," your mom replies without hesitation, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Throughout the day, your parents dote on you, attending to your every need with unwavering devotion. They fluff pillows, brew tea, and fuss over you as if you were a child again, and despite the sadness that tugs at your heart, you find solace in their presence.

As evening falls and the cottage is filled with the aroma of home-cooked meals, you can't help but feel a pang of bittersweet nostalgia. These moments of familial closeness are precious, and you savor each one, knowing deep down that they may be fleeting.

Amidst the cozy atmosphere that had filled your cottage, a sudden realization dawns on you. Today is the day Lando is leaving, and with the flurry of activity happening throughout the day, you had almost forgotten.

Abandoning your dinner mid-bite, you quickly put on a pair of shoes, your heart pounding with urgency. As you rush towards the door, your parents pause in their fussing, exchanging puzzled glances as they notice your abrupt departure.

“Where are you going?” your mom asks, concern etched in her voice.

You pause in the doorway, a sense of determination driving you forward. “I have to see Lando,” you reply, your words rushed and breathless.

As you disappear out the door, your parents turn to your brother, confusion evident in their expressions. “Who’s Lando?” your dad asks, his brow furrowed in bewilderment.

Isaac sighs, shaking his head as he meets their gaze. “He’s the one she’s in love with,” he explains softly, a hint of sadness in his voice. “But I’m not sure if she’s ready to accept it yet.”

As you reach the villa, your breath comes in ragged gasps, each inhale becoming a struggle. Pain pulses through your chest with every heartbeat, but you refuse to let it slow you down. Adrenaline surges through your veins, driving you forward with an urgency born of raw emotion.

Your eyes scan the scene before you, taking in the sight of Max hurriedly loading the car with his and Lando’s bags. The trunk is nearly full, a testament to the impending departure that looms over you like a storm cloud. You feel a knot form in your stomach, a sense of panic seizing hold of you as you realize that time is slipping away.

Then, amidst the chaos, you spot Lando emerging from the villa, his expression one of surprise and concern as he catches sight of you. His brow furrows in confusion, his eyes searching yours for an explanation.

Without hesitation, you push yourself forward, your feet carrying you towards him with a desperate urgency. With trembling hands, you reach out to him, your fingers brushing against his arm before wrapping around him in a tight embrace. His warmth envelops you, a comforting anchor amidst the storm raging within you. For a fleeting moment, the pain in your chest eases, replaced by a sense of peace that only he can provide.

For a long moment, you simply hold onto each other, the world around you fading into insignificance as you find solace in each other’s arms. The weight of unspoken words hangs heavy between you, the truth lingering on the tip of your tongue, waiting to be unleashed.

As you finally pull away, a silent understanding passes between you, a shared acknowledgment of the depth of your connection. Lando’s gaze searches yours, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and affection, silently asking if you’re okay.

You manage a faint smile, though it feels fragile on your lips. “I just had to see you before you left,” you confess softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His expression softens, a warmth in his eyes that speaks volumes. “I’m glad you came,” he replies, his voice gentle and reassuring.

You linger for a moment longer, drinking in the sight of him, committing every detail to memory. Then, with a heavy heart, you reluctantly release him, knowing that time is running short.

As Lando returns to help Max with the bags, you watch him go, a sense of longing tugging at your heart.

Once everything was packed up, Lando and Max walked towards you, their footsteps echoing on the gravel driveway. Max reaches you first, his face lit with a warm smile. Without hesitation, he pulls you into a brief, friendly hug.

“Thanks for the good company,” Max says, his voice full of genuine gratitude. “And for keeping Lando’s mood up throughout this trip. You’ve been a real lifesaver.” He chuckles, the sound infectious, and you can’t help but laugh along with him.

“Anytime,” you reply, your smile widening. “It’s been fun having you both around.”

Max steps back, giving Lando space to step forward. Lando’s eyes meet yours, and there’s a depth of emotion there that makes your heart skip a beat. He takes your hands in his, holding them gently as if afraid you might disappear.

“This isn’t goodbye,” Lando says softly, his tone filled with a mixture of hope and determination. “Just a ‘see you later,’ alright?”

You nod, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “See you later,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

Lando pulls you into a tight embrace this time, his arms wrapping around you protectively. You breathe in his familiar scent, the comfort of his presence grounding you in the moment.

He pulls back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he searches your face. “Don’t think I forgot about giving you a pass,” he says with a small, teasing smile. “I’ll be waiting for you at the race.”

You smile through the tears that threaten to spill over. “We’ll see.”

Max claps Lando on the back, breaking the emotional moment. “Come on, mate, we’ve got a plane to catch.”

With one last look, Lando releases you and heads towards the car. You watch them drive away, a mix of sadness and hope swirling within you. The ache in your chest grows, but you try to push it aside, focusing on ways to fulfill the promise of seeing him again.

As you start walking back home, the exertion from earlier catches up to you. Your breath becomes labored, each step feeling heavier than the last. A sharp pain radiates through your chest, and you find yourself struggling to stay upright. Determined to make it back to the cottage, you push on, but every movement is a reminder of your body’s limitations.

By the time you reach the door, you’re barely holding on. You collapse onto the porch steps, gasping for breath, the world around you blurring as you fight to stay conscious. Moments later, the door swings open, and Isaac is there, his face pale with worry.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, rushing to your side. His voice sounds distant, echoing in your ears.

You try to speak, but the words get caught in your throat. Instead, you manage a weak nod, though it’s clear you’re far from okay.

Isaac doesn’t waste another second. He scoops you up in his arms, carrying you inside. “Mom! Dad!” he calls out, his voice frantic. “Something’s wrong. We need to get her to the hospital.”

Your parents appear almost instantly, their faces a mixture of fear and determination. Your dad grabs the car keys while your mom hurries to gather your things, her hands shaking.

In the car, you drift in and out of consciousness, the pain and exhaustion overwhelming you. Your mom holds your hand tightly, whispering soothing words that barely register. Isaac drives with a grim focus, the worry in his eyes reflected in the rearview mirror.

At the hospital, the staff quickly takes over, whisking you away on a stretcher. Your family is left in the waiting room, their anxious faces a blur as you’re rushed through the halls.

As the doctors and nurses work to stabilize you, you catch fleeting thoughts of Lando, Max, and the brief, bright moments you shared. The reality of your condition settles in, and you realize just how fragile your hope had been.

The doctors stabilize you for now, but you wake to the sound of your mother's soft cries in the room. Her face is buried in your father's shoulder, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Your father is holding her close, his eyes red and puffy, a grim expression etched on his face. Isaac stands nearby, his jaw clenched, trying to hold himself together.

You blink, the fluorescent lights above casting a harsh glow on the stark white walls. A doctor stands at the foot of your bed, looking somber. You catch bits and pieces of his words, the clinical detachment in his voice contrasting sharply with the raw emotion in the room.

"...best if she doesn’t return home... too weak... last days in the hospital..."

The full weight of the words crashes over you, and a sense of helplessness fills your heart. You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and the words come out as a rasp. "Mom? Dad?"

Your mother's head snaps up at the sound of your voice, and she rushes to your side, taking your hand in hers. "Oh, sweetheart," she whispers, tears streaming down her face. "We're here. We're right here."

Your father moves closer, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "We won't leave your side," he promises, his voice steady despite the tears in his eyes.

Isaac approaches the bed, his usual bravado stripped away. "Hey," he says softly, trying to muster a smile. "We’re all here for you."

You swallow hard, trying to process the reality of the situation. "How long?" you manage to ask, your voice barely a whisper.

The doctor steps forward, his expression compassionate. "It’s hard to say for certain," he admits gently. "But we’ll do everything we can to keep you comfortable."

You nod, a mixture of fear and resignation settling over you. Your mother's sobs have quieted, but the sorrow in her eyes is unmistakable. "I’m so sorry," you whisper, feeling a pang of guilt for putting them through this.

"No, don’t apologize," your father says firmly, squeezing your shoulder. "This isn’t your fault. We’re just grateful to be here with you."

Your family’s presence brings a small measure of comfort, but the reality of your condition is a heavy burden. You look around at their faces, trying to memorize every detail, every expression. The room feels both claustrophobic and infinite, the moments stretching out like a fragile thread.

As the night wears on, you find solace in their presence. Your mother hums softly, stroking your hair, while your father reads to you from a book you loved as a child. Isaac sits by the window, watching the night sky, his expression pensive.

You know that the days ahead will be difficult, but for now, you take comfort in the love that surrounds you. The hospital room, with its sterile walls and beeping machines, becomes a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you can hold on to the precious moments with your family, no matter how fleeting they may be.

—

The sterile scent of the hospital room is overwhelming, the beeping of the machines a constant reminder of the deteriorating state of your health. The wires and tubes attached to your body are a constant presence, their weight both physical and symbolic. The medication dulls the pain, but it also leaves you in a fog, half-aware of the world around you.

Isaac sits by your bedside, his expression a mix of forced cheerfulness and hidden sorrow. He tries to make you laugh, telling stories and cracking jokes, but there’s an underlying tension in his voice.

You take a shaky breath and glance at Isaac. “So, this is it, huh?” you say with a dry laugh, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the sadness in your voice.

He looks at you, the forced cheerfulness slipping from his face. “Still laughing?” he asks, his voice quivering.

“If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t want that to be the last expression you remember me by.”

Isaac’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Remember when you said that you weren’t able to be a proper older sister to me ever since you got diagnosed?” he asks softly. “That’s wrong. You still were because you powered through every moment of pain on your own. Even now, you’re as selfless as ever.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you swallow hard. “I got a taste of how it feels to be selfish recently,” you confess, your voice trembling. “To see what you want right there in front of you, waiting for you to take it, but I almost got too attached to it that fate had to rip it away from me again.”

“Are you talking about Lando?” Isaac asks gently, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, the memories of your brief time with Lando flooding back, a bittersweet ache in your chest. “Life is so cruel, so fickle,” you say, your voice barely audible. “When I finally accepted my fate, it flipped and gave me a chance to be happy, to fall in love, to live like I’ve never done before. When I experienced it all, it just made me greedy. I wanted to keep living like that. But I won’t be able to because in a moment, it’s taken away again.”

Isaac squeezes your hand, his grip warm and reassuring. “You deserved every moment of happiness,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “And you brought happiness to those around you, too. Remember that.”

The days pass in a blur of medical checks, whispered conversations, and the quiet hum of machines. Your parents come and go, their faces lined with worry but always offering words of comfort and love.

Then comes Sunday, one that’s special for you because it’s also race day.

The hospital room is dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the television screen mounted on the wall. The muted hum of machines and the occasional beep provide a constant backdrop to your labored breathing. Your family surrounds you, their presence a source of comfort even as your strength wanes. The room is filled with an unspoken tension, a fragile hope that somehow, you might find the strength to hold on a little longer.

Earlier in the day, you had pleaded with the nurses to let you watch the race. “Please,” you whispered, your voice weak but determined. “I just want to see him race one last time.”

The nurses had exchanged glances, their expressions softening. “Alright,” one of them had said gently. “We’ll make sure you can watch it.”

Now, the vibrant colors of the Formula 1 race contrast sharply with the sterile white of the hospital room. Lando’s car, resplendent in its sleek orange design, zips around the track with an elegance and speed that seems almost otherworldly. The commentator’s voice crackles with excitement as they describe the race in vivid detail.

“And Lando Norris takes the lead! He’s showing incredible skill out there today, really pushing the limits of his car and his own abilities. The crowd is going wild!”

You try to focus on the race, on the laps ticking by, the thrill of each turn, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult. Your vision blurs, the lines between the real and the surreal beginning to merge. Every breath is a struggle, each one more labored than the last.

Your mother sits by your side, her hand gently stroking your hair, her eyes red-rimmed but determined to stay strong. Your father stands at the foot of the bed, his face etched with lines of worry and sorrow. Isaac holds your hand, his grip firm and reassuring, his eyes never leaving your face.

You gather your remaining strength, turning your head slightly to look at Isaac. “Can you give him a message for me?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper, each word a struggle.

Isaac leans closer, his face etched with concern and determination. “What do you want to say?” he asks gently, his eyes locked onto yours, ready to carry your words to Lando.

You pause, the weight of the moment settling over you. With great effort, you manage to form the words that have been in your heart. “Tell him… tell him that he made me believe in living life again. That he gave me something beautiful in my last days. And… and that I’ll always be cheering for him, even if I’m not there.”

Isaac’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, and he nods, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. “I will. I promise.”

On the television, Lando navigates the sharp turns of the track with precision and grace. The roar of the engines and the thrill of the race create a stark contrast to the quiet, somber atmosphere of your room. The commentator’s voice booms with excitement.

“Norris is extending his lead! This could be his race if he keeps up this pace. The team must be thrilled with his performance!”

On the Formula 1 track, the atmosphere is electric. Lando sits in his car, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He can feel every vibration of the engine, every nuance of the track. The pit crew buzzes with activity, their movements synchronized and efficient. Over the radio, his engineer’s voice provides updates and encouragement.

“You’re doing great, Lando. Keep this up and the win is yours.”

Lando nods inside his helmet, his focus razor-sharp. The crowd’s cheers blend into a singular wave of energy that propels him forward. He pushes the car to its limits, every fiber of his being dedicated to the race.

Back in the hospital, your breathing becomes more labored, and your family’s concern deepens. Your mother’s voice breaks as she hums softly, a lullaby from your childhood. Isaac squeezes your hand, his own tears finally breaking free.

“I love you,” you whisper, the words a final, heartfelt goodbye.

“We love you too,” Isaac responds, his voice choked with emotion. “More than anything.”

On the track, Lando crosses the finish line, the checkered flag waving triumphantly. The crowd erupts into a frenzy of cheers and applause. The commentator’s voice is almost drowned out by the noise.

“Lando Norris wins the race! What an incredible performance!”

In the paddock, Lando is overwhelmed with joy, the culmination of his efforts and dedication. He pulls off his helmet, his face breaking into a wide smile as he celebrates with his team. He can’t wait to share the victory, to tell you about the race, to see the look of pride in your eyes.

You watch from the hospital room, as Lando stands on the podium, lifting the trophy high, a sense of accomplishment filling him. A smile graces your lips, noticing the pure joy on his face. Then, you close your eyes, the vision of Lando’s smile still fresh in your mind.

Time stands still. As the world fades around you, your family holds you close, their whispered goodbyes blending into a chorus of love and sorrow. The light in your eyes dims, and with one last, labored breath, you slip away into a place beyond suffering.

As soon as the machine flatlines, the piercing sound of the monitor cuts through the room, signaling the end. Your mother's cries shatter the silence, raw and heart-wrenching. She grips your hand with desperate strength, her knuckles turning white, as if her hold on you could somehow bring you back.

"No, no, please!" she sobs, her voice cracking with each word. Tears stream down her face, her body trembling with the force of her grief. She shakes you gently at first, then more insistently, refusing to accept the finality of it. "Wake up, please wake up!"

Your father stands by her side, his own face etched with anguish. He places a hand on her shoulder, trying to offer support, but his own tears betray his stoic exterior. Isaac, standing a little apart, is frozen in shock, his eyes wide and uncomprehending as he watches the scene unfold.

The room is filled with the oppressive weight of sorrow, the air heavy with the collective grief of your family. The nurses, having done all they could, step back to give your family space, their own expressions somber and respectful.

Your mother’s cries grow louder, a desperate plea to a reality that feels too cruel to be true. She holds your hand to her cheek, her tears wetting your skin as she rocks back and forth. "Please, don’t leave us," she whispers, her voice breaking. "We need you."

The doctor steps forward, his face grave, and gently places a hand on your mother’s arm. "I’m so sorry for your loss," he says quietly, his words sincere but powerless against the tidal wave of their grief.

The only reality that matters is the unbearable pain of losing you, and the impossible task of trying to say goodbye.

On the top step of the podium, Lando basks in the glow of victory, the thrill of the race still pulsing through him. But amidst the celebration, a nagging feeling tugs at him, a sense that something is missing. A bittersweet undercurrent flows through his triumph.

Unbeknownst to him, a message of love and gratitude is on its way, bridging the distance between the track and the hospital room, connecting two hearts in a moment that transcends time and space.

Suddenly, your phone rings, the shrill sound cutting through the flatline beeping on the monitor. Each ring echoes through the room like a mournful dirge. Isaac’s hand hovers over the device, his heart pounding in his chest as he hesitates to answer. But when the call comes again, he knows there’s no escaping the inevitable.

With trembling fingers, he accepts the call, the voice on the other end sending a shiver down his spine. “Were you watching the race? I told you that you are my lucky charm.”

Isaac’s breath catches in his throat, his eyes welling with tears at the bitter irony of Lando’s words. He struggles to find the strength to respond, his voice choked with emotion. “Lando… it’s Isaac.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line, followed by a tremor of uncertainty in Lando’s voice. “Isaac? What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

Isaac’s heart clenches at the desperation in Lando’s voice, his own grief threatening to consume him. “She’s gone, Lando,” he manages to choke out, his voice breaking with sorrow. “My sister… she’s gone.”

The words hang heavy in the air, a painful reminder of the cruel twist of fate that has robbed them of their happiness. Lando’s breath hitches, his voice barely a whisper as he responds. “No… no, that can’t be true. Tell me you’re lying, tell me this is some sick joke please”

Isaac’s heart aches as he hears the disbelief and anguish in Lando’s voice. He wishes he could erase the truth, to shield Lando from the devastating reality they now face. But there’s no escaping it, no denying the painful truth that hangs between them like a heavy shroud.

“I wish I could, Lando,” Isaac murmurs, his own voice choked with sorrow. “I wish this was just a sick joke, but… but she’s really gone.”

There’s a long, agonizing pause, broken only by the sound of Lando’s ragged breathing on the other end of the line. Isaac can imagine the turmoil raging within him, the crushing weight of grief threatening to overwhelm him entirely. He relays the message that you had for him, only hearing Lando breathing heavily in response.

As Lando stands there, clutching the phone that brought him devastating news, the world around him seems to blur into a haze of incomprehensible grief. The congratulations from his fellow drivers fall on deaf ears, their voices distant and muffled as if coming from a far-off place. Daniel, Carlos, George—all of them offer their heartfelt congratulations, their smiles genuine, but Lando can't bring himself to respond.

He feels disconnected, as if he's merely a spectator watching his own life unfold from a distance. The cameras flash around him, capturing the jubilant celebrations of victory, but Lando feels nothing but a hollow emptiness gnawing at his soul.

Unable to bear the facade any longer, Lando excuses himself from the crowd, retreating to the sanctuary of his driver's room. Once alone, the weight of his grief crashes over him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him in its depths.

With a gut-wrenching scream, Lando releases the pent-up anguish that has been building inside him since the moment he received that fateful call. He falls to his knees, his body racked with sobs as he grapples with the cruel twist of fate that has torn his world apart.

In that moment of agonizing despair, Lando feels utterly alone, lost in a sea of grief with no shore in sight. The victory he had worked so hard for feels meaningless now, a hollow triumph overshadowed by the devastating loss of someone he held dear.

As the echoes of his cries fade into the silence of the empty room, Lando finds himself consumed by a profound sense of despair. In the midst of his greatest triumph, he is confronted with the harsh reality of mortality, and it is a bitter pill to swallow.

Alone in his hotel room, Lando’s victory feels hollow amidst the empty silence that surrounds him. Instead of celebrating with the fanfare of music, alcohol, and camaraderie that would be expected after such a result, he finds himself throwing his belongings haphazardly into his suitcase, his movements mechanical and devoid of purpose.

The room feels suffocating, the weight of grief pressing down on him like a physical force. With a sense of urgency, Lando hastily gathers his things, his hands trembling as he zips up his suitcase.

As he exits the hotel, he fires off a text to his manager, explaining the situation briefly, typing through his clouded vision full of more unshed tears.

Lando chooses not to drive, the mere thought of operating a vehicle feeling like an insurmountable task. Instead, he hails a taxi, his mind consumed by thoughts of you and the gaping void left in your absence.

The taxi driver casts him a curious glance as he climbs into the backseat, his tear-streaked face a stark contrast to the typical fare. But Lando pays no mind to the stares, his thoughts consumed by the overwhelming grief that threatens to consume him.

Throughout the journey to the airport, Lando’s tears continue to flow unabated, his heart weighed down by the magnitude of his loss. He feels adrift, lost in a sea of pain and sorrow, unsure of how to navigate the tumultuous waters of his emotions.

Lando finds himself grappling with conflicting emotions as he boards the plane back to the town filled with memories of you. Despite the overwhelming pain of revisiting every corner suffused with reminders of your presence, he knows deep down that he cannot stay away.

The thought of pretending that everything is fine when it's not feels like a betrayal of the love you shared, a denial of the profound impact you had on his life. And so, with a heavy heart and a mind clouded by grief, Lando embarks on the journey back to the place where his heart still lingers, knowing that he must confront the pain head-on in order to find a semblance of peace.

Lando’s return to town is marked by exhaustion and dishevelment, the toll of a sleepless night evident in the shadows beneath his eyes and the weariness etched into his features. He barely manages to greet Isaac before retreating to the solitude of the lighthouse, seeking solace in the familiar embrace of its quiet sanctuary.

As Lando stands at the top of the lighthouse, his gaze fixed on the horizon, he can't shake the feeling of déjà vu that washes over him. The flickering beam of the lighthouse casts eerie shadows against the walls, the only sound the mournful cry of seagulls in the distance. It's as if he's been transported back in time, to a moment frozen in history, when tragedy and loss hung heavy in the air.

Tears stream down his cheeks, his sobs echoing in the empty space around him as he allows himself to surrender to the overwhelming tide of emotion.

In the stillness of the lighthouse, Lando is consumed by a sense of profound loss, his heart aching with the absence of the one he longs for. He sits there for hours, his thoughts consumed by memories of you, his soul yearning for the warmth of your presence.

In the dim light, Lando recalls the story you once shared with him, of the tragic love that had unfolded within these very walls decades ago. A woman, waiting faithfully for her lover's return, had spent countless nights standing vigil at the top of the lighthouse, her heart filled with hope and longing. But as the years passed and her lover failed to return, her hope turned to despair, her love transformed into bitter regret.

Now, as Lando stands in the same spot, he can't help but draw parallels between that long-ago tragedy and his own situation. Like the woman of the story, he finds himself clinging to a glimmer of hope, praying for a miracle that may never come. In his heart, he still holds onto the belief that you'll come back to him, that the news of your loss is just a bad dream from which he'll soon awaken.

With each passing moment, however, the harsh reality of your absence becomes more pronounced, the weight of grief bearing down on him like a leaden cloak. Yet, despite the pain that threatens to consume him, Lando refuses to give up hope. He remains steadfast in his vigil, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of your return, his heart yearning for the moment when he'll finally see you again.

His gaze sweeps over every corner of the lighthouse, wanting to etch every detail into his memory. The soft glow of the fading sunlight filters through the windows, casting a warm golden hue over the space. He takes a deep breath, trying to imprint the scent of saltwater and sea breeze into his mind.

As he moves around, his eyes fall upon a small alcove tucked away in a corner, hidden from plain sight. Something tugs at his instincts, urging him to investigate further. With cautious curiosity, he steps closer, his heart pounding in anticipation.

Reaching into the alcove, his fingers brush against something smooth and delicate. He pulls out a folded piece of paper, his breath catching in his throat as he realizes what it is. With trembling hands, he unfolds the note, his eyes scanning the words written in your handwriting.

Lando, I hope this note finds its way to you. It's strange how emotions can turn even the fearless into cowards. I couldn't bring myself to give you this letter in person, so I'm leaving it here, hoping it reaches you. I'm guessing you already know the truth, and that I'm no longer here by your side.

As he reads those words, he can hear your voice in his mind. The acknowledgment that you couldn't face him in person fills him with a mix of sadness and understanding. He feels a pang of guilt, wondering if there was something he could have done differently to make you feel more comfortable sharing your feelings with him.

I don’t think a mere ‘I’m sorry’ is enough for keeping the truth from you. The reason why I did is because every moment with you felt like a dream, and in my dreams, my illness never existed. I’ve always cursed fate for the shitty hand it dealt me but I never would’ve gotten a chance to live something close to the perfect life if it wasn’t for fate.

A melancholic smile tugs at his lips as he reflects on the sentiment expressed in your words. Each moment spent with you had indeed felt like a dream, a precious respite from the relentless demands of the racing world.

Before you came to town, I felt like a living corpse, waiting for my illness to take me under, but when I met you, it gave me a purpose to look forward to the next day. Being your tour guide, although I think it was because you just wanted to spend time with me, was probably the most I’ve lived ever since I was diagnosed. While I used your presence as an excuse to live like I used to, I didn’t ever imagine falling in love with anyone, much less a British racing driver.

A wave of emotions wash over him as he reads your heartfelt confession, his own heart aching with a mixture of sadness and longing. Tears blur his vision as he continues reading, slightly tracing over your words with his finger.

I wish I had the courage to say this to you face to face, to witness your reaction and perhaps hear you say the words back. But one thing I admire about you is your ability to live in the moment. So, in this moment, I want to tell you that I love you, Lando Norris, even though I'm no longer by your side. I hope our memories bring a smile to your face, just as they did to mine.

Please, don’t blame yourself for any of this. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. You're the reason I found joy again, laughter again. Lando, you brought me back to life. Thank you. I'll love you always.

- Your favourite tour guide

As he reaches the final words of the note, he clutches it to his chest, feeling your presence close to him. In that moment, amidst the quiet solitude of the lighthouse, Lando finds a fleeting sense of peace amidst the storm of his emotions. He knows that no matter what the future holds, your love will always remain a guiding light in his heart.

With tears streaming down his cheeks, he whispers a silent promise to you, his beloved tour guide, into the salty breeze surrounding your favourite place. “I’ll never forget you. I’ll carry your love with me, always.”

Then he adds with a sob wracking through his body, “I love you too.”

As he sits in the lighthouse, Lando no longer waits for your return. Yet, he feels your love enveloping him, every word of the note etched into his heart. Though you may be gone, your presence lingers, filling the space around him with warmth and tenderness. In that moment, he finds solace in the memories of your love, knowing that you'll always be with him, no matter where life takes him.

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