#or the forehead press before she faded away

[multi-fandom-imagine]

could I request one where reader tells Fred that she's pregnant and he gets a bit overprotective of her?

A/n: DAD!FRED

You’d been trying to find the right moment to tell Fred all day, but as usual, the Weasley twins had been busy causing mayhem in the shop. Every time you thought you had a second alone with him, someone would burst in needing something.

Finally, after the last customer left and George conveniently decided to “check inventory” in the back (which you highly suspected was his way of giving you privacy), you took a deep breath and turned to Fred.

“Fred,” you started, trying to steady your nerves.

He grinned, draping an arm around you. “Yes, love? What can I do for you? Want me to prank Percy again? Because I’d be delighted.”

You laughed but shook your head. “No, it’s… something else.”

Something about your tone made him sober up instantly. His playful smirk faded into concern, his eyes scanning your face. “You alright?”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it. “Yeah, I’m fine. Actually… I’m better than fine.” You took a deep breath and finally said the words. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, Fred just stared at you. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. It was like watching a broken puppet try to function.

“You’re… what?” he asked, voice higher than usual, your once confidant husband looked like he was hit with a Bludger. The man who survived the Battle of Hogwarts looked like he was two seconds away from keeling over.

You laughed softly, nodding. “Pregnant, Freddie.”

A slow, disbelieving grin spread across his face, but then—just as quickly—it shifted into something else. His hands suddenly hovered near you like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you.

“Merlin’s beard—okay, okay, sit down. You should be sitting.”

“Fred—”

“No, no, no, I mean it,” he said, ushering you toward the nearest chair. “You should be resting. Are you tired? You must be tired. You’re making a baby, that’s got to be exhausting....I... oh god." Fred gripped his hair now realizing how tired he must have made you.

You rolled your eyes as he kneeled in front of you, looking you over like you might break at any second.

“Fred, I’m fine.”

“Well, you won’t be if you keep standing around like that!” he insisted. “We need to get you something to eat. You’re eating properly, right? Oh, I need to tell Mum. She’ll know what to do. And Healer appointments—do we need to make one? When do we make one? You need to sit! Why are you standing! You shouldn't be standing."

You burst out laughing. “Fred, breathe!”

He sucked in a deep breath, exhaling slowly, but his eyes were still filled with excitement and overwhelming concern. “Okay. Right. I’m breathing. I’m calm.” He took another breath and then suddenly turned toward the back of the shop.

“OI GEORGE! SHE’S PREGNANT!”

You groaned, covering your face as George came running in, eyes wide. “Blimey, really?” He grinned at you before turning to Fred. “And you didn’t pass out? Proud of you, mate.”

Fred glared at his twin before turning back to you. “I swear, love, I’m going to take the best care of you. No heavy lifting, no stress, no....no nothing..but pure relaxation."

You sighed, already knowing that Fred was about to become the most overprotective man in existence. But as he kissed your forehead and pressed a hand gently against your stomach, his wide-eyed awe and love made your heart melt. A nervous smile on his lips as his he held you close, the man now guiding you to the back of the store to sit down.

Overprotective? Yes. But the love of your life was also about to be the best dad in the world.

[lazysoulwriter]

sickcare - lewis hamilton. ♡

The quiet hum of the apartment was the only sound filling the air when Lewis stepped inside, rolling his suitcase in behind him. It felt odd—too still. Normally, he’d be greeted by her soft voice, the warmth of her presence filling the space like sunlight spilling through the windows.

“Baby?” he called, frowning as he shut the door behind him. No answer.

His heart stuttered in his chest, the kind of unease that settled deep in his bones. He had been gone for days, racing, meetings, obligations that pulled him away, but she was always there—until now.

Lewis dropped his bag and moved through the apartment, his steps quickening with each unanswered call of her name. He found her curled up in bed, tangled in blankets, her face pale against the fabric of her pillow. His stomach twisted.

“Bunny,” he murmured, rushing to her side, kneeling beside the bed. His hand found her forehead, and his frown deepened at the heat radiating from her skin.

She stirred slightly, cracking her eyes open, and when she saw him, she tried to offer a weak smile. “You’re home.”

His jaw clenched. “I’m home, and you’re burning up. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, exhaustion weighing her down. “Didn’t want to worry you,” she mumbled.

Lewis exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, trying to keep his emotions in check. “Love, you’re the most important thing in the world to me. You being sick is more important than any race, any meeting, any damn thing. If you don’t feel well, I need to know. You can’t do this alone.”

She sighed softly, letting her fingers brush against his. “I didn’t mean to hide it. Just… didn’t want to ruin your week.”

Lewis shook his head, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Nothing matters more than you, baby. I need you to promise me you’ll never do this again.”

She opened her eyes again, glassy with fever, and the guilt on her face made his chest ache. “I promise.”

His fingers threaded through her hair, his touch gentle, soothing. “Okay. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

She hummed a soft agreement, too tired to fight him.

Lewis sprang into action. He fetched medicine, filled a glass of water, adjusted the blankets to make sure she wasn’t too hot or too cold. He smoothed back her hair, whispering soft reassurances, his touch never leaving her for long.

“Drink a little, love,” he urged, holding the glass to her lips. She took a few small sips before sinking back against the pillows. “Good girl,” he praised, and she smiled faintly at the words.

He made her eat a few spoonfuls of soup, brushing her lips after each bite. She let him fuss over her, and for once, she didn’t protest. Being taken care of was a weight lifted off her chest.

As the night stretched on, she felt lighter, the fever still lingering but the burden of loneliness fading away. Lewis crawled into bed beside her, careful but close, his hand never leaving hers.

“I missed you,” she whispered sleepily, her body curling into him instinctively.

Lewis pressed a kiss to her temple. “Missed you more, bunny. And next time, I’m flying home the second you so much as sniffle.”

She huffed a small laugh, nuzzling against his chest. “Dramatic.”

“For you? Always.”

She let out a content sigh, feeling safer than she had in days. Maybe being taken care of wasn’t so bad when it was him.

[mreowsu]

ib: https://www.tiktok.com/@moonstaez/photo/7466145001114733826?lang=en

art cred: 卦阴阳 

painting of an unkempt promise / king!xavier x queen!reader

the dull floor creaked beneath his weight. the heavy, uneven rhythm of his breathing echoing in the chamber. the torches lining the walls flicker feebly, casting shadows that stretch and coil, but they are weak, insignificant against the all-consuming dark pooling in his chest.

his brow pressed to the cool, varnished surface of the painting, and his fingers clutch at the once vivid hues of her face and the warm smile she wore forever captured in time.

the oil paint is cracked with age, the colors faded now.

but the image remains untouched—preserved in cruel, perfect detail. yet it was still undeniably her.

his queen.

his hands grip so tightly against the outline of his queen that his knuckles bled white, pulled the painting closer—closer— as if he could will her to step out from it, until his breath fogged over the varnished surface, warm against the cold, lifeless paint. if he pressed hard enough, if he wished deeply enough, would the oil and pigment shift? would the warmth of her skin return his touch?

he leaned in, eyes half-lidded with something between grief and madness, his lips brushing over the painted curve of hers. it was soft, fleeting—pathetic. desperate.

the taste of dust settled against his tongue, bitter and cruel, and it was only then that his hands trembled.

“come back,” he murmured against the unyielding canvas, his voice breaking like a dying man’s prayer. “please.”

the sharp, splintering sound of nails grinding against varnish could be heard as he nearly ripped the artwork in his desperation. his fingertips digging into the delicate edges, smudging the careful brushstrokes meant to immortalize her.

his fingers find the wooden stable framing his queen. he then grips harder. nails biting into the wood, and for a moment, he swears he hears it splintering, cracking beneath the weight of his grief. but nothing breaks. nothing shatters. only him. only the silence that stretches between the past and the present, between what was and what will never be again.

time, as it often does, betrayed him. the system had failed him—failed them. the one thing he had trusted—leaving him here, in this desolate future, far from the love he lost. and no matter how much he searched, how many years he waited in vain, she never returned. his queen. his heart. 

she should be here. by his side. her laughter should still echo in these halls, her voice should still call his name dearly— xavier!—he could almost hear it. instead, she is nothing more than a relic of time lost—a ghost trapped in the brushstrokes of a masterpiece, her warmth reduced to nothing but fading memory.

and yet, it was his fault. his choice. he was the one who left her in the future he could never return to. the one where he saw her dying, fading from existence while he could only watch helplessly, unable to get to her in time. and now, here he stood, king of a desolate kingdom, and the home of its missing queen.

he held her face in the canvas, his own tears dripping, silent as they mixed with the oil of the painting. 

his breath stirs against the canvas, but it does not bring her back. it never will.

he stayed. he lived. and yet—

what kind of life is this, if not a slow, merciless death?

his hands slip from the frame, falling limply to his sides, but his forehead remains where it is, as if he can will himself back into the past, into the moment before everything crumbled. before he made the choice that cost him everything.

outside, the kingdom flourishes. they sing of their king, of his wisdom, his sacrifice. they do not know that he would trade it all just to hold her once more.

but history is set. time is unyielding. and she is gone.

so he stays here, in the only place where she still exists.

his lips waver against the painted ones before dragging away, trailing from her mouth to the curve of her cheek as if she were real, as if she were warm, as if the bristles of a brush hadn't shaped her into something so devastatingly untouchable.

"i—" the words were strangled, lost between gasps. "god, i-.. i love you so much."

the weight of his utterance held him captive, as the moonlight bathed the painting in an ethereal glow, making her look as if she might, just might, come back to him.

the weight of his guilt, much too heavy too bear and he sank to his knees. the cracks in the frame were proof of what he’d done. the final act of a broken king who could never make things right.

his knees stuck the marble floor with a hollow thud, arms still curled around the massive frame, forehead pressed against the surface like a man in prayer. his grief crushed him, pressing into his ribs until he could barely breathe. his shoulders trembled, then shook, and finally, the dam broke—sobs ripping from his throat, raw and unrelenting.

his fingers clawed at the edges of the shape of his queen, forehead pressing harder, as if he could bury himself in it, as if he could cross the threshold and meet her where time had left her behind.

his crown is heavy.

his grief, heavier.

[partoffantasy]

When the Dawn Fades - Aaric Graycastle / Cam Tauri

⸻ image credits to artbycassmira & etherealbookart ⸻

summary: Aaric’s signet has always warned him of the inevitable, but when the time comes, saying goodbye to the love of his life proves to be the hardest part.

pairing: aaric graycastle x fem!reader warnings: angst, death, battle - ONYX STORM SPOILERS - if you haven’t read Onyx Storm yet, don’t read further word count: 2.9k

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

The Riorson house was quieter than usual. The air inside felt heavy, weighed down by the unspoken fears none of them dared to voice. Outside, the wind howled against the stone walls, the approaching storm a mirror of the battle that will soon be there. The fire in the hearth crackled, casting long shadows along the floor, but even the warmth of the flames couldn't chase away the cold settling deep in Y/N’s bones.

She found Aaric standing by the window, his silhouette outlined in the dim glow of the lanterns. He wasn’t watching the storm, nor was he sharpening his blade like the others. He just stood there, staring out at nothing, his hands resting lightly on the windowsill. The tension in his shoulders was subtle but there—tight, restrained, like he was holding something inside.

Y/N had always prided herself on knowing him better than anyone. She had seen past the layers of arrogance and wit, had fallen for the man underneath—one who loved fiercely, who carried the weight of his past and still somehow found it in himself to care. And right now, she knew something was wrong. “You’re thinking too much,” she murmured, stepping up beside him. She reached out, fingers brushing over his wrist before lacing her hand with his, grounding him. “That’s dangerous.”

Aaric let out a quiet chuckle, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He turned to her then, really looked at her, his gaze tracing every line of her face as if memorizing it. As if it were the last time he’d get the chance. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. “I’m always thinking,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual, rough around the edges. “It’s a hard habit to break.” Y/N arched a brow, tilting her head slightly. “That’s not it.”

His lips parted, but he didn’t argue. He never could lie to her, not convincingly. Instead, his hand tightened around hers, his thumb brushing softly over her knuckles, the smallest act of comfort. A beat of silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant murmur of voices in the other room—Xaden, Violet, and the others discussing last-minute battle strategies. But none of that mattered right now. Not when Aaric looked at her like this. Like she was something precious. Like she was something he didn’t want to lose.

“I love you,” he said suddenly, the words slipping past his lips like a confession, like a prayer. Y/N blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Not because she hadn’t known—she had felt it in the way he touched her, in the way he spoke to her, in every glance and smirk and whispered tease. But this… this was different. This was raw. She swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in her throat. “I love you too.”

Aaric exhaled, his forehead coming to rest against hers, the weight of his presence a comfort she hadn’t known she needed. For a moment, they just stood there, breathing each other in, holding onto something neither of them wanted to name. Because if they did, it would make it real. And Y/N didn’t want to acknowledge the sinking feeling in her gut, the way his body felt like it was saying goodbye.

Before she could press him, before she could demand to know what he wasn’t telling her, Aaric pulled back, his hand coming up to cup her face. His thumb brushed over her cheek, his touch reverent, almost hesitant. “I need you to promise me something,” he murmured. Y/N frowned. “Aaric—” “Promise me.” She hesitated, her heart pounding against her ribs. “What is it?” His jaw clenched for a second before he exhaled, shaking his head like he was trying to dispel whatever thought had crossed his mind. “Just… no matter what happens out there, you keep going. You fight, you survive.”

Something icy settled in her chest. “Don’t talk like that.” “I mean it, Y/N.” His voice was firmer now, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Promise me.” She didn’t want to. She wanted to tell him he was being ridiculous, that they were going to fight side by side and win like they always did. But there was something in his eyes—something she couldn’t quite decipher, something that made her stomach twist.

So she nodded. “I promise.” Aaric exhaled in relief, but the sadness in his eyes didn’t fade. "Do you remember the first time we met?" Aaric asked softly, his voice carrying the weight of nostalgia. Y/N smiled despite the unease coiling in her stomach. "You mean when you insulted my flying skills and almost got a dagger to the throat? How could I forget?" Aaric chuckled, the sound warm, genuine. "You were so furious. I think I fell in love with you right then and there. I'd never seen anyone so breathtaking when angry."

She rolled her eyes, but her fingers tightened around his. "You have a strange way of falling in love, Graycastle." His gaze softened, his free hand coming up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "It wasn’t just that. It was the way you never backed down, the way you fought like the world itself depended on it. The way you looked at me like I was more than my name, more than my past. You saw me, Y/N. You always have."

Her throat tightened, her heart aching at the quiet sincerity in his voice. "Of course, I see you. And I love you, Aaric. Every sharp edge, every reckless decision, every stubborn, infuriating part of you." He exhaled, almost like he had been holding his breath, his forehead pressing more firmly against hers. "I love you so much it terrifies me. If I had more time—" "Don’t say that," she whispered, cutting him off. "We have all the time in the world. That should be enough."

Aaric swallowed hard, nodding slightly, his lips brushing against her temple as he breathed her in. He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead before resting his lips against her temple, breathing her in. Y/N closed her eyes, willing herself to believe that everything would be fine. But deep down, she knew. Something was very, very wrong.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The morning of the battle arrived with a sky the color of steel, clouds hanging low, heavy with the chance of rain. The group stirred early. Armor was fastened, weapons checked and re-checked, but there was no nervous chatter today, no mindless teasing to keep spirits high. Everyone knew what lay ahead. Y/N tightened the straps of her vambrace, glancing over at Aaric across the room. He stood at the far end, adjusting the buckles of his own armor, his movements steady, deliberate. Too calm.

She had seen him before battle dozens of times, had watched him prepare with the same efficiency, the same focus. But this was different. It was in the set of his shoulders, in the way his fingers lingered on each strap as if memorizing the feel of it. It was in the way he looked around the room, at their friends, at her—like he was drinking it all in. Y/N’s chest tightened.

She crossed the room in quick strides, grabbing his wrist before he could pick up his sword. He looked down at her, expression unreadable. “You’re too quiet,” she said, searching his face. “Too… still.” His lips twitched, just slightly. “Would you rather I be pacing?” “I’d rather you be yourself.” Aaric exhaled softly, lifting a hand to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I am myself, Y/N.”

She shook her head. “No. You’re—” Her voice caught. “You’re acting like you already know how this is going to end.” Something flickered in his eyes. It was gone before she could name it, replaced by something softer, sadder. His fingers traced along her jaw, tilting her face up to his. “I know one thing,” he murmured. “I know that I love you.”

Y/N swallowed hard. “Then fight like it.” Aaric’s lips parted, but whatever he had meant to say was cut off by the sound of Xaden’s voice calling for them. The time had come. He exhaled, stepping back, reaching for his sword. “Let’s go.” Y/N followed, but the weight of his words sat heavy in her chest.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The ground trembled beneath them as the dragons and wyverns collided onto the battlefield. It was chaos incarnate. The clash of steel, the crackle of fire, the deafening roars of dragons and the eerie shriek of Venin’s wyvern filled the air. The wind howled, carrying the stench of smoke and blood, the scent of a world on the brink of destruction.

Y/N’s heart beat in her chest like a war drum. Her fingers clenched tightly on the scales of her dragon, Caelan, the familiar heat of the bond between them sparking through her veins. The dragon’s emerald scales shimmered as they dove toward the frontlines, wings cutting through the air with swift precision. “Aaric!” Y/N shouted, her voice nearly lost in the storm of noise that surrounded them. She felt the weight of the moment in the pit of her stomach, the tension in the air crackling like lightning. “Stay close!”

Aaric’s voice came through next to her, steady despite the madness. “Always.” Molvic, the massive blue dragon, surged forward beside Caelan, his form sleek and deadly. Aaric, perched atop him with a focused intensity in his eyes, raised his sword high, signaling the beginning of the charge. Y/N’s heart clenched at the sight. They had fought side by side before, and they would do it again, even if this time felt different. More final.

They were going into the heart of Venin’s forces, and they weren’t alone. Around them, the air was alive with the sounds of battle. The distant crack of lightning, the clash of weapons, the screech of wyverns and dragons in combat. Y/N’s eyes scanned the battlefield, locking onto a Venin, who stood near the center, his wyvern circling around him with a sickeningly familiar malice. 

Aaric’s voice was clipped. “We’ll have to get in close, or we’ll lose our advantage.” Y/N nodded, eyes narrowing as she signaled Caelan to bank left, swooping low over the ground. The venin’s cruel laugh echoed through the battlefield as he saw them approach. “Come, come! I’ve been waiting for this,” he taunted, raising his arms in a grotesque display of confidence. His wyvern screeched in agreement, its claws itching to tear through anything in its path.

The battle intensified around them. Dragons and wyverns tangled in the air, their roars shaking the heavens. Y/N’s mind was a blur, every instinct screaming for her to survive, to fight with everything she had. Aaric’s voice cut through the madness. “We need to take out the venin first!”

Y/N nodded, her eyes fixed on the venin’s glowing red eyes. Caelan roared, and she positioned her alloy arrow once more as they dove toward the venin, weaving through the air with deadly precision. “Molvic!” Aaric’s voice rang out again, commanding. “Distract him! Give Y/N the opening she needs!” Aaric’s voice was the spark she needed. With a primal scream, Y/N shot her arrow right into the venin’s heart. This time, it hit. 

The battle raged on around them, but all Y/N could hear was the pounding of her heart, the frantic beat of her pulse as she pushed Caelan toward the heart of the chaos. The smell of smoke and blood thickened the air, the distant roars of dragons and the screams of the dying blurring into a single, maddening noise. But none of that mattered. Not anymore.

All that mattered was Aaric. Her eyes searched frantically for him, her breath ragged. Her mind was a whirlwind, her thoughts clouded with the memory of his words, his promise—his love. He had known something, something she hadn't wanted to acknowledge. He had been distant, too calm, too serene. And now, as her gaze finally landed on him, her chest clenched.

Aaric was kneeling on the ground, Molvic's massive blue form slumped beside him, the dragon’s body still but not lifeless. The battle had raged on, but the two of them—rider and dragon—were no longer part of it. His armor was bloodied, his chest heaving with labored breaths, his face pale, but his eyes… His eyes were the same as always—sharp, intelligent, filled with that haunting, quiet sorrow. And it was in those eyes that Y/N knew.

Her breath caught in her throat as she rushed to his side, her hands shaking as she knelt beside him, pulling him into her arms as best as she could. He was warm, but there was no strength in him, no vitality in his touch. His body felt heavy, too heavy, as if he were already slipping away from her. "Aaric..." Her voice broke, a desperate whisper as she cradled his face in her hands. "No, no, no… don't do this."

He looked up at her, his lips curling into a soft, almost bitter smile, as if he were seeing her for the first time in forever. His hand moved weakly to her wrist, the touch light, barely a pulse. "Y/N…" he rasped, his voice barely a breath. "I told you, didn’t I? I knew." Her heart clenched painfully, her vision swimming with tears she didn’t want to shed. "No," she whispered fiercely. "You can’t. We can’t—"

His fingers tightened, just slightly, and he struggled to sit up, his breath rattling. Molvic's massive form shifted beside him, his deep blue eyes dimming as the dragon's life force slowly bled away as well. The bond between dragon and rider, so strong, so unbreakable, was starting to sever. She could feel it, the weight of it pressing in on her chest, suffocating her.

"I knew," Aaric whispered again, the words breaking her heart with each passing breath. "When we first met, I knew. And when I saw you, when I really saw you, I knew." His eyes focused on her, trying to hold her gaze despite the pain. "You promised me… you promised you’d keep going." "Please, Aaric, don’t say that," Y/N pleaded, her voice thick with emotion as she leaned her forehead against his. "Please, you’re going to make it. We’ll make it through this."

He chuckled softly, the sound full of both sadness and love. "I’m sorry, Y/N. I wish I could’ve kept that promise. But I knew… I knew it would end like this." She shook her head, tears now spilling freely as she held him tighter, unwilling to let go, unwilling to accept the truth that was slowly seeping in. "I can’t lose you, Aaric. I can’t… not like this. Please, don’t leave me."

His hand moved weakly to her cheek, his touch tender despite the fading strength in his body. "You promised… you promised you’d survive, that you’d fight. Don’t break that promise, Y/N. You’ve always been stronger than you know." Her chest heaved with a sob, and she pressed her lips to his forehead, the warmth of his skin so vivid against her tear-streaked face. "I can’t live without you," she whispered brokenly. "Please… please don’t leave me. Not now."

He smiled again, a ghost of the man he had once been, the one full of life and fire, but this time, there was a tenderness in his eyes, an understanding that made her heart shatter. "I’ll always be with you, Y/N. In here…" He pressed his hand gently over her chest, just over her heart. "Always."

Molvic let out a soft, mournful cry, his massive head lowering to nuzzle against Aaric, the bond between them finally breaking as the dragon’s life force flickered and went out. It was slow at first, a delicate fading, as if both dragon and rider were holding on to each other, unwilling to sever their connection. But then, Molvic’s breathing slowed to a stop, and the stillness settled over them like a blanket, the last thread of their bond gone.

Y/N didn’t know how long they stayed like that, Aaric cradled in her arms, Molvic’s still body resting beside them. She didn’t know if the battle still raged around them, or if the world had stopped turning entirely. All she knew was that she couldn’t feel Aaric’s warmth anymore, couldn’t feel the gentle beat of his heart. "Aaric, please…" She kissed his temple, holding him as though her life depended on it. "I love you. I will always love you."

Aaric’s eyes fluttered closed, the last remnants of life slipping away from him. But just before the final breath left him, his lips moved, the words a final confession, a love letter in the form of a whisper. "I love you too, Y/N. Always… always." And with that, he was gone. The world seemed to pause around her as Y/N sat there, holding the lifeless body of the man she had loved. She could still feel the weight of his absence pressing down on her, could still hear the quiet whisper of his voice in her mind. But there was no going back.

The battle raged on, but all Y/N could do was hold on to his memory. The promise he had made her was now hers to fulfill. She had to keep going. For him. For them both. Her heart shattered, but she didn’t stop. She would fight. She would survive. And she would live, no matter how broken she was, no matter how much it hurt. But in her chest, where Aaric’s hand had once pressed, something flickered to life. The fire of his love. And it burned brighter than anything the darkness could throw at her.

[hisfavegirl]

Endless Battle Of Love- Modern!Jacaerys Velaryon x Female.

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2.

Word Count : 9k

Jacaerys Velaryon Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

You stirred awake, your eyes slowly adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. The warmth beside you was familiar, comforting. Jace lay next to you, his breathing even, his face peaceful in sleep. For a long moment, you simply watched him, taking in every detail—the way his dark curls fell messily over his forehead, the faint crease between his brows, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

You had never felt safer than in this moment.

A quiet sigh escaped your lips. If Jace hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t fought for you, you didn’t know what you would have done. The exhaustion of carrying so much pain alone had nearly consumed you. But now… now, there was him.

Jace stirred beside you, his body shifting slightly. Then, as if sensing your gaze, he blinked awake, his dark eyes meeting yours. A slow, sleepy smile stretched across his lips.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

You couldn’t help the soft smile that formed on your own lips. “Morning.”

Jace lifted a hand, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face before he leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. The simple gesture made your chest tighten.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked, his thumb tracing slow circles on your arm.

“Not long,” you admitted. “I was just… watching you.”

Jace let out a low chuckle, his fingers tightening slightly around you. “Creepy,” he teased, but his smile was nothing but fond.

“Shut up,” you muttered, rolling your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade.

Jace’s expression softened as he studied you. “How are you feeling?” he asked gently.

The question made you pause. You weren’t sure how to answer. Were you okay? Not entirely. The memories were still there, the wounds still fresh. But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were drowning.

“Better,” you said after a moment. “Because of you.”

Jace’s jaw tightened slightly, his fingers gripping your arm a little more firmly. “You give me too much credit,” he said. “I just—”

“You saved me, Jace.” Your voice was quiet but firm. “I don’t know where I’d be if you weren’t here. I don’t even want to think about it.”

Jace didn’t respond right away. Instead, he just pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his forehead against yours. “You don’t have to think about it,” he murmured. “Because I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”*

You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as you melted into his embrace. “Promise?”

“I swear it.”

For the first time in a long time, you believed it.

As you and Jace made your way downstairs, the sound of voices echoed through the house. You felt your stomach twist when you recognized them—Aemond and Aegon.

Your steps faltered, and instinctively, you moved behind Jace, gripping the back of his shirt as if it were a lifeline. Not because you were afraid, but because shame clawed at your insides. You knew. You knew they had seen it. The video. The proof of what had been done to you.

How could they look at you the same way now?

Jace, noticing your hesitation, stopped in his tracks. Without missing a beat, he reached behind him, grasping your wrist before gently pulling you forward again, making you stand beside him instead of behind him.

“Don’t do that,” he murmured softly but firmly.

Your throat tightened. “Jace, I—”

“You don’t have to hide,” he interrupted, his grip on your wrist tightening just slightly. “Not from them. Not from me. You did nothing wrong.”*

You swallowed hard, but the lump in your throat remained.

By the time you reached the living room, Rhaenyra was seated gracefully on the couch, her expression unreadable as she observed you both. Aemond stood near the window, arms crossed, his sharp gaze flicking toward you but revealing nothing. Aegon, on the other hand, was sprawled in the chair across from his sister, spinning a silver ring around his finger, his lips set in a firm line.

Silence stretched between all of you for a brief moment before Aegon exhaled loudly and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well,” he started, tilting his head. “I assume we’re all here for the same reason?”

Jace stiffened slightly beside you. “This isn’t up for discussion.”

“It should be,” Aemond finally spoke, his voice calm yet laced with something unreadable. “This isn’t just about you anymore, Jacaerys.”

Your fingers curled into your palm, your nails pressing against your skin. You hated this. The way they were all here, sitting around as if your trauma were some business deal to negotiate.

“I don’t care what either of you think,” Jace shot back, his voice sharp, protective. “She’s safe now. That’s all that matters.”

“Safe?” Aegon let out a dry chuckle, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. “After what we saw, after what those bastards did? And you think just because they’re dead, it’s over?”

Your breath hitched.

“Aegon, enough,” Rhaenyra’s voice was firm, but Aegon barely reacted, his eyes still on you.

“Look,” he said, his tone softer this time. “I’m not saying this to make you uncomfortable, sweetheart.” He ran a hand through his messy blond hair. “I’m saying it because I know what people are like. And this? This won’t just disappear.”

You swallowed, lowering your gaze. You knew what he meant. The internet was merciless. Even if those men were dead, there was always a chance that the damage they caused would linger, that those video would resurface somewhere.

Jace must have sensed the way your body tensed because he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I will handle it,” he said, his voice absolute. “No matter what it takes.”

Aemond exhaled through his nose before finally looking at you, his single violet eye sharp, calculating. “Do you want to know how we handled it?”

You hesitated, your voice barely above a whisper. “No.”

Aemond nodded slightly, as if he had expected that answer. “Good.”

“And what about her?” Aegon asked, gesturing toward Rhaenyra. “What did you tell her?”

“Enough,” Jace said simply.

Rhaenyra, who had been silent this entire time, finally sighed and leaned back against the couch, crossing her legs gracefully. “I knew something had happened,” she admitted, her gaze on you now. “I just didn’t know the extent of it until a week aho when i first meet her.”

You felt yourself shrink under her stare.

“And?” Aegon pressed.

“And,” Rhaenyra continued, her expression softening, “she is not to blame for any of it.”

You blinked, your throat tightening.

“She is a victim,” Jace added, his fingers tightening around yours, “and if either of you have a problem with that, you can leave.”

Silence filled the room.

Aemond, for once, was the first to speak. “No one here thinks otherwise.”

Aegon sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah, yeah. It’s just… fucked up, that’s all.”

“We know,” Jace murmured. “We know.”*

A beat of silence passed before Aegon leaned back in his chair, exhaling loudly. “Well. If nothing else, you’ve got us.”

You looked up at him, confused. “What?”

“We’re in this now too,” Aegon shrugged. “Like it or not. And if anyone so much as breathes your name in the wrong way, they’ll be answering to us.”

Aemond nodded slightly, his expression unreadable, but you could see the sincerity in his gaze.

Your lips parted slightly, surprise washing over you. You weren’t used to this—to people standing by you, defending you.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said quietly.

“We know,” Jace said, squeezing your hand. “But we will.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding slightly.

Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

As Jace stood beside you, his grip on your hand firm, Aemond’s sharp gaze didn’t waver. Then, without warning, he reached out, grabbing Jace’s wrist and pulling him slightly away from you. Aegon followed, stepping in beside them, forming a small huddle a few feet from where you stood.

You frowned, unease settling in your stomach. Jace’s hand slipped from yours as Aemond led him a little farther, lowering his voice—but not enough for you not to hear.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Aemond hissed, his single eye burning with frustration. “Lying to her? Keeping her in the dark about the other videos?”

Jace’s jaw tightened. “Because she doesn’t need to know.”

Aegon scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “And what happens when she finds out? Because she will, Jace. You think you can just shield her forever?”

“If I have to, yes,” Jace snapped back, his expression hardening. “She’s been through enough—”

“And that’s exactly why she deserves the truth!” Aemond cut him off sharply. “You’re treating her like she’s fragile, like she’ll shatter the moment she hears the truth.”

“She’s already shattered,” Jace shot back, his voice low but heavy with emotion. “You didn’t see her, Aemond. You didn’t hear the way she cried in her sleep, the way she begged for help even in her dreams. I did. Every fucking night.”

Aegon sighed, rubbing his temples. “We get it, Jace. We do. But keeping this from her isn’t the solution.”

Aemond stepped closer, his gaze dark and serious. “You think this is over?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “You think just because those bastards are dead, that’s the end of it?”

Jace clenched his jaw. “We wiped out everyone involved.”

“Did we?” Aemond challenged. “Are you sure there’s not a single person out there with access to those videos? Because I’m not.”

Jace exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “We checked everything. Phones, backups, hard drives, laptops. We destroyed it all.”

“And what about people we don’t know about?” Aemond countered. “She was with that bastard for years, Jace. You really think he didn’t share something with someone else? That there aren’t copies floating around somewhere?”

Jace’s hands curled into fists. “Then we find them,” he said, voice steady, unwavering. “And we destroy every last trace of it.”

Aegon sighed, shaking his head. “Look, man. I admire your determination and all, but this isn’t just some street fight we can beat our way out of. We need a plan. A real one.”

“We have one,” Jace said firmly. “Keep her safe. Keep this buried. And if anyone comes looking for her, we make sure they never find her.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed slightly. “And what about her? What about what she wants?”

Jace hesitated for a fraction of a second. “She wants to move on.”

“She wants to survive,” Aemond corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Jace exhaled through his nose. “What do you want me to do, Aemond? Tell her everything? Watch her break even more?”

Aemond stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “I want you to prepare her. Because the worst thing you can do for her right now is let her believe she’s safe when she’s not.”

Jace swallowed hard, his throat tightening.

“If she doesn’t know the full truth,” Aemond continued, “she can’t protect herself. And if she can’t protect herself, then no matter how hard you try—”

“—You’ll never be able to keep her safe,” Aegon finished, his voice quieter now, but just as serious.

Jace shut his eyes for a moment, his hands shaking slightly.

Aemond exhaled, his tone softening just a little. “We’re not saying this to fight you, Jace. We’re saying it because we care about her too. And the longer we wait, the more dangerous this becomes.”

Jace opened his eyes again, his gaze flicking between Aemond and Aegon before finally turning toward you.

You were still standing there, looking small, fragile. But there was something in your eyes—something hesitant, something afraid and that was what broke him the most. Because Aemond was right. You deserved to know. Even if it hurt. Even if it changed everything.

Because the truth?

The real danger hadn’t passed.

Not yet.

The soft hum of the television filled the quiet room, the morning news droning on in the background. You barely paid attention at first, too lost in your own thoughts, but then—

"Breaking news: The bodies of six men were found late last night in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Police have yet to release official statements, but sources suggest that the killings were highly calculated, with no evidence left behind. It is estimated that they had been executed more than six days from the condition of their bodies. Among the deceased is—"

Your breath hitched.

The camera panned across the scene, a shaky close-up of a body partially covered by a bloodstained tarp. But it wasn’t the body that caught your attention—it was the hand.

A limp, lifeless hand, peeking from beneath the tarp and wrapped around that wrist was something you knew all too well.

A bracelet.

A simple, silver bracelet with a small engraving on the inside. Your bracelet or rather—the one you had once given to him. Your heart slammed against your ribs. Your fingers trembled slightly as they curled against your lap.

He was dead.

Truly dead.

Your ex-motherfucking-fiancé was gone.

You barely noticed the way your breathing had quickened until Jace’s warm hand slid over yours, grounding you. You turned slightly, meeting his gaze.

He wasn’t looking at the TV. Neither were Aemond or Aegon. They all sat in silence, unmoving, their expressions unreadable. No regret. No guilt. Just… nothing and that silence alone spoke volumes.

They knew.

They knew.

And they had done it.

Your fingers twitched, but you didn’t pull away. You weren’t scared. You weren’t even angry. If anything— You were relieved.

A deep, shuddering exhale left your lips as you shifted your gaze back to the screen. The news anchor was still talking, going on about police investigations, gang involvement, possible suspects—

It didn’t matter. Because the only thing that mattered was that he was gone. You licked your lips, the words forming before you could stop them.

"He’s really dead."

Jace stiffened slightly beside you, his grip on your hand tightening just a fraction.

Aegon scoffed under his breath, tilting his head slightly. "What, you wanted us to leave him breathing?"

"No." You shook your head, voice steady. "I just… I don’t know. It feels… surreal."

"He doesn’t exist anymore," Aemond stated simply, his tone devoid of emotion. "And neither does the rest of his filth."*

You swallowed, the weight of his words settling over you.

"Good,"* you whispered. That was all you said and that was all you needed to say. A slow, heavy silence settled between you all. Then— A sigh.

Rhaenyra.

She had been standing near the doorway, quietly observing, letting the weight of the moment sink in. But now, she stepped forward, her expression unreadable as she grabbed the remote and clicked the TV off.

"Enough of this," she murmured, turning back toward all of you. "Come. Let’s eat."

You blinked. "What?"

"Breakfast is getting cold," she said simply, walking toward the dining table. "And after everything that’s happened, I think we all need something warm in our stomachs."*

You stared at her, almost incredulous.

The woman just shut off a murder investigation report like it was the weather segment and proceeded to call everyone for breakfast. Aegon let out a short laugh. "God, Sister, sometimes I forget how cold you are."

"It’s not cold," Rhaenyra corrected smoothly, glancing over her shoulder. "It’s practical. We can talk about this later. For now, we eat."

Aemond hummed in agreement, already pushing himself up from the couch. "She’s right."*

Jace hesitated beside you before finally releasing your hand, rising to his feet. He turned to you, his expression softening just a little. "Come on," he murmured. "You need to eat."*

You stared at them all.

At Rhaenyra, effortlessly composed. At Aemond and Aegon, unbothered and calm and at Jace. Jace, who had done all of this for you. Jace, who had gotten his hands dirty for you.

Jace, who had just killed for you and yet, even after all of that— He still looked at you the same. Like you weren’t ruined. Like you weren’t broken. Like you were still you.

Your chest tightened.

Slowly, you inhaled and then you stood up, slipping your fingers into his.

"Okay," you murmured. "Let’s eat."

The clinking of silverware against porcelain filled the dining room, the only sound cutting through the thick silence. You ate slowly, methodically, your mind still processing everything.

It felt strange.

To know they were gone.

That the people who had tormented you, broken you, and made you feel like nothing—were nothing now themselves.

No more threats. No more fear.

Just... silence.

You swallowed another bite, barely tasting it, your eyes flickering up to glance around the table.

Rhaenyra was speaking with Aemond, their conversation low but casual, as if discussing business rather than murder. Aegon, on the other hand, had his usual smug expression, twirling a fork between his fingers.

And then there was Jace.

He wasn’t eating.

He wasn’t even pretending to.

Instead, his gaze was on you, watching your every movement like a hawk. The way your fingers gripped your fork. The way your lips parted slightly before taking another bite. The way your brows furrowed ever so slightly as your mind wandered.

His grip on the table tightened.

And then—

"Alright, enough of this boring silence."

Aegon’s voice cut through the air, making you blink in surprise. You turned your gaze to him just as he leaned back in his chair, stretching lazily before dropping his hands into his lap.

"We have something to discuss," he continued, tilting his head slightly. "After we finish eating, of course."

Something about his tone made you pause. Something about the way he said it—lighthearted yet firm, playful yet serious—made your stomach twist just a little.

You glanced at Jace instinctively and you saw it immediately. The way his entire body had gone rigid. The way his jaw clenched, the muscles twitching slightly. The way his fingers curled against his thigh, a slow exhale escaping his lips as he visibly tried to contain himself.

Your heart skipped a beat.

"Jace?" you murmured quietly, so only he could hear.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, blinking once before shaking his head. "It’s nothing."

But you weren’t stupid.

And you weren’t buying it.

Before you could press further, Rhaenyra’s voice filled the space. "Not at the table, Aegon," she said simply, taking another sip of her drink. "It can wait."

"Oh, come on, sister." Aegon smirked. "Aren’t you curious to see how she reacts? I sure as hell am."

Your stomach twisted even more.

React?

To what?

Your fingers tightened around your fork, your appetite quickly fading as you darted a glance between them all. Aegon’s smugness, Aemond’s neutral indifference, Jace’s barely-contained frustration— They all knew something. Something you didn’t and you weren’t sure you were going to like it.

The living room felt too small.

The walls seemed to close in as you sat on the couch, your fingers gripping the fabric of your clothes without realizing it. Rhaenyra stood by the door, arms crossed, observing silently. Aegon, for once, looked… cautious. Careful. His usual smugness dimmed as he shifted in his seat.

"Look," he started, exhaling through his nose. "I need you to listen and not freak out, alright?"

Your fingers twitched.

Your chest felt tight.

You already didn’t like where this was going.

Aemond, who stood beside Jace, cut straight to the point. "We found more videos," he said, voice void of emotion.

Your ears started ringing.

"More?" Your voice came out quieter than you intended.

Jace tensed beside you, his entire body rigid, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He didn’t want this conversation to happen. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his foot bounced slightly as if he were barely restraining himself from lashing out.

"Yes," Aemond continued. "Not just one or two. We’re talking—" He hesitated and in that hesitation, you knew. You knew it was bad. Really bad.

"How many?" Your throat felt dry, and the moment you asked, you wished you hadn’t.

Aemond didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

"Twenty-four."

The moment the number left his lips, your vision blurred. Your breath hitched. Your fingers went numb.

Twenty-four.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

Twenty-four videos of you.

Your world started spinning. Your lungs constricted, struggling for air, but no matter how hard you tried to breathe, it wasn’t enough.

The walls were closing in.

The room was shrinking.

Your chest burned, your fingers trembled, your vision swayed—

And then—

"Hey. Look at me."

Jace’s voice cut through the haze.

You barely registered that you were shaking. That your breaths were coming out in short, ragged gasps. That your nails had dug into your own arms, gripping yourself so tightly it hurt. Jace grabbed your hands, prying them away from your arms, forcing you to focus on him.

"Breathe." His voice was firm, commanding. "Look at me and breathe."

But you couldn’t.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t think.

You felt exposed. Violated. Every piece of you had been taken, used, recorded—and now it was all out there.

"They’re gone." His voice softened just a fraction. "They don’t exist anymore. We made sure of it."

His hands cupped your face now, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks.

"Breathe with me."

You felt his forehead press against yours, his warm breath fanning over your lips. He inhaled deeply, exaggerating it so you could follow.

You tried.

You really tried.

But your breath still hitched, still wavered—until his hands slid down to your shoulders, then your back, pulling you into his chest.

"I’ve got you." His voice rumbled against you, low and steady. "I’ve got you, okay? Just focus on me."

You squeezed your eyes shut, clutching onto him, your body still trembling as you struggled to match his breathing.

Slowly, painfully, your heartbeat steadied. The panic didn’t disappear completely, but it dulled, just enough for you to register your surroundings again.

Jace held you, his arms secure, his grip firm yet careful, like he was afraid you might break. When you finally pulled back just slightly, your eyes met his, and you saw it— Rage.

Not at you.

Never at you.

But at the people who had done this to you. "They can’t hurt you anymore," he whispered.

The moment Aemond spoke, your fingers tightened around Jace’s arm. "My men are still looking into it," Aemond said, his voice even, controlled. "There’s a chance those bastards sent the videos to someone else before they died."

Your body went rigid.

Your breath caught in your throat.

No. no, no, no— A strangled sound left your lips, something between a sob and a gasp. Your lungs burned, struggling to take in air as panic clawed at your chest. The room blurred at the edges, and suddenly it was too much—

Too loud.

Too bright.

Too suffocating.

Your knees buckled. You didn’t even realize you were falling until Jace caught you, his strong arms wrapping around your body before you hit the floor.

"Hey, hey—" His voice was frantic now, shaking slightly. "You’re okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe, baby, please."

But you couldn’t.

Your vision darkened, the voices around you fading into nothing and then— Everything went black.

You woke up to warmth.

Gentle hands.

A soft voice calling your name. Your eyelids felt heavy as you slowly blinked, your mind sluggish, your body weak. The first thing you saw was Jace.

He was hovering over you, his brows furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. His hands cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek.

"You scared the shit out of me," he muttered, his voice raw with emotion.

You swallowed, your throat dry. "What… happened?"

Jace exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before gripping your hand tightly. "You passed out," he said, his grip tightening just slightly. "You were panicking, and then—fuck, your eyes just rolled back, and you collapsed."

Your stomach twisted at his words. You had never fainted before. Sure, you had panic attacks, but you had never actually blacked out.

The weight of everything hit you all over again.

The videos.

The possibility that someone else had them.

That they could still be out there, waiting to be exposed, to be used against you.

Your chest tightened again.

Jace saw the way your fingers twitched, the way your breathing started to quicken, and before you could spiral again, he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Breathe with me," he whispered.

You shuddered but tried to match his breaths. Inhale. Exhale.

You felt his hand trail down to your back, rubbing slow, soothing circles.

"Aemond’s men are handling it," he reassured you. "And if—if—anyone out there has those videos, we will find them. We will destroy them."

You swallowed hard, your hands gripping his hoodie.

"What if we don’t?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.

His grip on you tightened.

"Then we burn the whole fucking world down until we do." There was no hesitation in his voice. No doubt. Just pure, unwavering determination and for the first time since all of this started…

You felt just a little bit safer.

You sobbed into Jace’s chest, your entire body trembling as fear wrapped around you like a suffocating shroud. The memories, the helplessness, the overwhelming dread—it was all crashing down on you again, like a wave threatening to drag you under.

Jace’s arms tightened around you, his hand cradling the back of your head as he whispered soft reassurances into your ear.

"I’ve got you."

"You’re safe."

"I won’t let anything happen to you."

But the fear didn’t leave. It clung to you, sinking its claws deep into your skin. Aemond let out a quiet sigh, sharing a glance with Aegon before clearing his throat. "Come on," he murmured, nudging Aegon. "Let’s give them some space."

Aegon hesitated for a moment before nodding, and with that, they both slipped out of the room, leaving you alone with Jace.

But even then, the panic didn’t fade.

You clung to him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie, your sobs shaking your entire body. Jace didn’t say anything—he just held you, pressing gentle kisses against your temple, rubbing slow, soothing circles into your back.

And slowly… so slowly… your cries turned into quiet sniffles.

Your breaths came easier.

Your body felt heavier. Jace exhaled, resting his chin on the top of your head. "Do you want me to get you some water?" he asked softly.

You shook your head weakly. "Just… stay."

"Always."

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that—wrapped in his warmth, the sound of his heartbeat steady against your ear.

But then…

A new presence.

The soft rustling of fabric. A gentle hand on your shoulder. You blinked blearily, and when you looked up, you found yourself staring into the warm, kind eyes of Rhaenyra.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

She simply reached out and took your hand, gently pulling you away from Jace before wrapping her arms around you.

And the moment she held you…

You broke down all over again.

A fresh wave of sobs wracked your body as you clung to her, burying your face into her shoulder, your tears soaking into the soft fabric of her dress.

She didn’t shush you. She didn’t tell you to stop crying. She just held you, her fingers threading through your hair, her touch so soft, so motherly.

"You’re safe now, my dear," she murmured, her voice warm and steady. "No one will ever hurt you again. I swear it." You believed her.

Alicent’s voice rang through the house like a sharp blade cutting through the heavy atmosphere.

"Aemond! Aegon!"

You flinched at the sudden intrusion, your grip on Rhaenyra tightening as your breath caught in your throat. Jace immediately stiffened beside you, his expression darkening as he instinctively shifted, placing himself slightly in front of you as if to shield you from whatever storm was about to unfold.

Alicent’s heels clicked loudly against the floor as she stormed into the room, her sharp green eyes scanning the space until they landed on her sons, who had just reentered from the hallway.

"Would one of you like to explain to me why I received a report about six men being slaughtered in a warehouse last week?" she demanded, her voice sharp and filled with barely restrained fury. "And why the two of you are involved?"

Aemond, ever composed, only tilted his head. "I assume you already know the answer, Mother, or else you wouldn’t be here."

Aegon snorted, crossing his arms. "You should be thanking us, honestly."

Alicent’s nostrils flared at their dismissive attitudes, her jaw tightening as she took another step forward. But before she could say anything else, her gaze shifted—finally landing on you.

You froze.

Her sharp green eyes narrowed in confusion as she took in your red-rimmed eyes, your tear-streaked cheeks, and the way Rhaenyra still held you close.

"And who is this?" Alicent asked, her tone less harsh but still filled with scrutiny.

When no one answered immediately, she turned to Rhaenyra. "Who is she? And why is she crying?"

Rhaenyra’s grip on you subtly tightened, as if instinctively shielding you from whatever judgment Alicent might cast.

"She’s someone who has been through enough without you raising your voice at her," Rhaenyra answered coolly. "Lower your tone, Alicent."

The words were spoken softly, but there was steel behind them, and for a brief moment, the room felt colder.

Alicent’s expression flickered with something unreadable before she exhaled sharply, composing herself. "I did not come here to argue with you, Rhaenyra," she muttered. "I came to demand answers from my sons."

But her gaze flickered back to you, eyes scanning you more carefully now—the oversized shirt that was clearly Jace’s, the way you were curled close to Rhaenyra, the quiet trembling of your fingers as you tried to steady your breath.

A realization seemed to settle over her.

She turned back to Aemond and Aegon, her voice quieter now. "What exactly did you two do?"

Aemond merely adjusted his gloves, his expression unreadable. "We took care of a problem."

Alicent’s gaze darted between them, then to Jace, then to you.

"A problem," she repeated, her tone dripping with suspicion. "And this… has something to do with her, doesn’t it?"

No one answered immediately.

But Jace—who had been silent all this time, barely restraining his own rage—finally spoke, his voice eerily calm.

"The men they killed deserved worse."

Alicent’s brows lifted, but before she could ask more, Aegon let out an impatient sigh.

"Look, Mother, just know that we didn’t kill anyone who didn’t deserve it," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "And honestly? We probably did the world a favor."

Alicent’s lips parted as if to say something, but then her gaze shifted back to you. She studied you carefully, as if searching for an answer in the quiet way you curled into Rhaenyra’s embrace, the way your fingers fidgeted, the way Jace had positioned himself protectively near you.

Then… something in her expression softened.

She wasn’t stupid.

She had seen this kind of fear before.

She took a slow breath, then exhaled.

"I see." It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t approval. But it was understanding and for now… that was enough.

Jace barely had time to react before Alicent stepped forward and shoved him—not hard, but enough to make him stumble slightly backward. His brows furrowed in confusion as he steadied himself, looking at her with narrowed eyes.

"What the hell—"

"Move," Alicent said simply, her voice firm but not unkind. Jace clenched his jaw but obeyed, stepping aside. Then, to your surprise, Alicent turned to you.

She crouched slightly, bringing herself to your level as her gaze softened. You tensed, not knowing what to expect, but she didn’t seem angry—just… studying you.

"I know this is all overwhelming," she finally said, her tone much gentler than before. "But you don’t have to be afraid anymore."

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond.

Then, she reached out and—surprisingly—brushed her fingers through your hair, smoothing it in a motherly gesture.

"Everything will be alright now," she murmured. "No one is going to hurt you again."

Your throat tightened.

You didn’t know what to say. You had braced yourself for judgment, for disapproval, maybe even dismissal. But instead… you were met with warmth.

Alicent took a breath and stood up, glancing at the others.

"I am Alicent Hightower," she finally said, her voice stronger now. "Rhaenyra’s stepmother… and mother to Aemond and Aegon." Her gaze flickered to her sons briefly before settling back on you.

"That means you are under my protection now as well." You blinked, startled.

"I—" You hesitated, unsure of what to say.

"You don’t have to say anything," Alicent interrupted softly. "Just know that from this moment forward, you are not alone. Whatever has happened to you… whatever you have been through… it ends here."

You felt a lump form in your throat. She wasn’t saying it just to make you feel better. She meant it.

Jace, who had been watching quietly, exhaled and crossed his arms. "Took you long enough," he muttered.

Alicent shot him a sharp look. "Watch your mouth, Jacaerys."

Aegon snorted. "That’s rich, coming from you."

Aemond merely sighed, adjusting his gloves as if this conversation was exhausting him. "Can we move past the dramatics now?" he muttered. "We still have more important things to deal with."

Alicent ignored them. Instead, she reached out once more, giving your hand a small but firm squeeze before finally pulling away.

"Come," she said. "You should rest. And we should talk." For the first time in a long time… you believed her.

Aegon groaned as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He leaned back against the couch, pulling it out lazily before glancing at the screen. The name flashing across it made him sit up straighter.

"Helaena?"

Aemond and Jace immediately turned their heads toward him. Without wasting time, Aegon answered the call and put it on speaker.

"Brother," Helaena’s soft but urgent voice filled the room. "I’m coming over. There’s something you need to know."

Aegon frowned, exchanging glances with Aemond and Jace. "What is it? Just tell me now."

"No," she said firmly. "Not over the phone. I’ll be there soon."

And then the call ended. Aegon let out a frustrated sigh, tossing his phone onto the coffee table.

"She always does this," he muttered.

Jace, who had been sitting tensely with his hands clasped, exhaled through his nose. He was still on edge, barely holding himself together after everything that had happened today. His knuckles were white from how tightly he had been clenching his fists.

"If she says it’s urgent, then it must be," Aemond said calmly. He was swirling the amber liquid in his glass, his one remaining eye sharp and calculating. "We wait."

Aegon scoffed. "What if it’s nothing? Helaena has always been—" he paused, searching for the right word, "—peculiar."

Aemond shot him a cold look.

"She sees things," he reminded him. Aegon rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Jace ran a hand down his face, trying to steady himself.

"What if it’s about her?" he muttered.

Aemond narrowed his eye at him. "Who?"

Jace gave him a sharp look. "Who the fuck do you think?"

Aegon sighed. "Alright, relax. She’s upstairs with our mothers, she’s safe."

Jace didn’t look convinced. His knee bounced up and down anxiously, his entire body restless. Aemond finished his drink in one smooth gulp and set the glass down with a soft clink.

"Then let’s hope Helaena brings something useful."

Helaena strode into the room with a sense of urgency, her heels clicking against the floor as she clutched her laptop tightly. Without a word, she shoved Aegon aside, making him grunt in protest.

"Fucking hell, Helaena," Aegon muttered, rubbing his arm where she had pushed him.

Ignoring him, she placed the laptop on the coffee table and opened it swiftly, her fingers flying over the keyboard. The screen illuminated her face, and her expression darkened as she pulled up an email inbox—your email inbox.

Jace, who had been standing tense with his arms crossed, immediately stepped closer. His brows furrowed as he recognized the email address.

"What the fuck is this?" Aemond asked, leaning forward.

Helaena didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she clicked on the most recent email. The moment the content loaded, she turned the screen towards them.

The room fell into silence.

Displayed on the screen were several screenshots—gruesome, explicit, and undeniably real. Each frame contained a piece of your nightmare, stolen and turned into a weapon against you.

Jace’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening as his hands curled into fists. He could feel the bile rising in his throat. His vision blurred with rage as he scanned the threatening message attached to the images:

"You belongs to me. Did you think you could erase everything? The world will see soon enough. Three hours."

Aegon let out a long, slow exhale, running a hand through his hair.

"These fucking bastards," he muttered under his breath. Aemond leaned in closer, his fingers tapping the armrest of the couch rhythmically as he processed the situation.

"Who the fuck sent this?" Jace finally spoke, his voice eerily calm, but the fury behind it was unmistakable.

Helaena’s fingers moved again, tracing the source of the email. "It’s untraceable for now. They used a deep web service to send it. But I might be able to find something if I have more time."

"We don’t have time," Jace growled, pacing back and forth. "We have less than three hours."

"Then we act now," Aemond stated simply, already pulling out his phone.

Jace clenched his fists, breathing heavily through his nose. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to kill something.

"We need to tell her—" Aegon started, but Jace cut him off sharply.

"She doesn't need to know about this."

Aemond, leaning back against the couch, let out a slow breath, tilting his head slightly as he observed his nephew. "And what happens when she finds out? Because you know she will, Jace."

Jace’s jaw tightened. He ran a hand through his curls in frustration before snapping, "Did you see what happened earlier? Did you? She fucking shut down, Aemond. She had a full-blown panic attack just from hearing about the other videos. What do you think will happen if she finds out some bastard still has them?"

Aegon leaned against the wall, arms crossed, nodding slightly in agreement. "He's not wrong," Aegon muttered. "She’s barely holding on as it is. If we tell her, it’ll break her completely."

Helaena, who had been silently working on her laptop, finally spoke up. Her voice was softer but carried weight. "Keeping it from her might feel like protection, but if she finds out later—on her own—it’ll feel like betrayal."

Jace clenched his fists, his frustration boiling just beneath the surface. "I know that," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "But right now, the only thing that matters is making sure she never has to see this again. We have less than three hours. We take care of it. And we make sure she never finds out."

Aemond exhaled through his nose, considering. He tapped his fingers against his knee in thought before finally nodding. "Fine. But if this backfires, it's on you."

Jace met his uncle's gaze with unwavering determination. "It won’t backfire. Because we’re not going to fail."

Helaena sighed, her fingers still typing as she tracked the email source. "We need a plan."

Jace didn’t hesitate. "Then let’s get to work."

The voices of Alicent and Rhaenyra grew louder as they approached the living room, their conversation stopping the moment they saw the laptop screen.

Alicent froze. Her usually composed face hardened as she took in the images, her lips pressing into a thin line. For a long moment, she said nothing, just staring at the evidence of what had been done to you. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until finally, she spoke.

"Where did you get this?" Her voice was sharp, controlled—but beneath it was a barely contained fury.

Helaena, still typing rapidly, answered without looking up. "It was sent to her email an hour ago. An anonymous account, but I’m tracing it now."

Alicent inhaled sharply, then turned to Jace. "Does she know?"

Jace didn’t answer right away. He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling harshly before shaking his head. "No. And she doesn’t need to."

Rhaenyra crossed her arms, glancing toward the stairs. "She’s asleep. I gave her something to help her rest." Her gaze softened slightly, but her voice remained firm as she turned back to them. "She was still shaken after everything earlier. I couldn’t leave her like that."

Jace’s jaw tightened. The thought of you needing medication just to find peace made something in him twist painfully. He hated this. Hated that you were suffering while he sat here, helpless to make it all go away.

Alicent moved to stand beside the couch, her eyes narrowing as she took in the email again. "And you were planning on handling this yourselves?"

Aegon scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck. "What do you think, Mother? We don’t exactly have a lot of options here."

Aemond, still leaning back in his chair, finally spoke. His tone was cold, practical. "We need to find out if these are the only copies. If this bastard sent them to someone else, we’re in trouble."

Helaena glanced up from her screen. "I’m working on it. But it’s not easy. Whoever this is, they know how to cover their tracks."

Jace let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his face. His entire body felt tense, his mind running through every possible outcome. None of them were good.

"Then we move fast," he said finally. "We find this bastard before the three hours are up. And we make sure he never gets the chance to do this again."

Alicent watched him carefully, something unreadable in her expression. "And if she finds out?"

Jace met her gaze without hesitation. "She won’t."

But even as he said it, he couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in his chest. Because deep down, he knew—secrets like this never stayed hidden forever.

Rhaenyra guided Jace through the dimly lit hallway, her grip on his wrist firm but gentle. He didn’t resist, didn’t ask where she was taking him—he simply followed, his mind too clouded to think clearly. The weight of everything was pressing down on him, heavier than ever before.

Once they reached the back garden, away from the others, Alicent finally stopped. The cool night air wrapped around them, the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers filling the space. Jace stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing uneven.

Rhaenyra turned to face him, her eyes scanning his face. He looked exhausted—his usual confidence stripped away, replaced by something raw and vulnerable.

"Jace," she called his name softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He flinched slightly at the contact, but didn’t pull away. He kept his gaze on the ground, his jaw tightening as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

"You don’t have to hold it in," She whispered, rubbing slow circles on his back. "Not with me."

Jace exhaled sharply, his shoulders shaking slightly. His fingers dug into his palms as he tried to push everything down—the anger, the helplessness, the fear. But then Rhaenyra pulled him into a firm embrace, wrapping her arms around him as if she were shielding him from the world.

And just like that, the dam broke.

Jace’s breath hitched as he buried his face against her shoulder, his entire body trembling. He wasn’t crying—not exactly—but he was close. His arms hung limp at his sides for a moment before he finally gave in and held onto her, gripping the back of her dress tightly.

"I can’t—" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I don’t know how to fix this, Mother."

Rhaenyra tightened her hold on him. "You don’t have to fix everything, Jace. You’re already doing more than enough."

"It’s not enough!" His voice cracked, frustration leaking into his words. "She’s still suffering. She’s still afraid. And I—" He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes squeezing shut. "I should have been there. I should have done something sooner."

Rhaenyra pulled back slightly, cupping his face in her hands. "You listen to me, Jacaerys Velaryon," she said firmly, her green eyes locking onto his brown ones. "What happened to her is not your fault. You found her when she needed you most. You protected her when no one else did. And right now, she needs you to be strong. Not to punish yourself for something you had no control over."

Jace clenched his jaw, his eyes glistening under the moonlight.

"But what if it happens again?" he whispered. "What if I can’t stop it?"

Rhaenyra sighed, brushing his curls away from his forehead. "Then we will deal with it together. All of us."

Jace let out a shaky breath. He wasn’t sure if those words were enough to ease the storm raging inside him, but at the very least, they made him feel a little less alone.

For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to rest—just for a moment—in his mother’s embrace.

Jace’s chest tightened as he stepped back inside, his eyes immediately landing on the laptop where Helaena sat hunched over the keyboard. Aemond stood beside her, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Aegon was pacing, rubbing his face in frustration.

“What is it?” Jace asked, his voice strained.

Helaena didn’t look away from the screen as she spoke. “I found something.” Her fingers hovered over the trackpad, the cursor blinking over a hyperlink.

Jace moved closer, his heart pounding. The link led to a dark, barely formatted website with a single string of numbers— a phone number.

Without hesitation, Helaena grabbed her phone and dialed. The call rang twice before someone picked up. A man’s voice, disguised and dripping with amusement, came through the speaker.

“Ah… I was wondering when you’d call.”

Jace stiffened, his grip on the back of Helaena’s chair tightening.

“Who the fuck are you?” Aemond demanded, his voice low and cold.

The man chuckled, the sound light and taunting. “Now, now. No need to be so rude. You already know who I am, don’t you?”

Jace’s hands curled into fists. “Where did you get those videos?”

“Oh, those?” The man hummed as if she was reminiscing about a fond memory. “Let’s just say… a little birdie left me a gift before he met his unfortunate end. And now, I hold something very, very precious to you, Jacaerys.”

Jace’s stomach churned. “What do you want?”

“Oh, it’s not about what I want. It’s about what you want. And I imagine you want those files deleted, don’t you?”

Helaena’s hands were shaking slightly as she tried tracing the call, her eyes flicking between the numbers on the screen.

“If you lay a finger on those files—” Aemond started, but the woman cut him off with a laugh.

“Relax, Aemond. I’m not an idiot. I know exactly how valuable this is.”

Aegon exhaled harshly, his hands on his hips. “So? What’s your price?”

The man clicked his tongue. “I’ll be in touch soon. Until then… be good boys, won’t you?”

And with that, the line went dead.

Helaena cursed under her breath, slamming the laptop shut. “Damn it! He cut off the trace.”

Jace ran a hand through his hair, his breath ragged. He glanced at Aemond and Aegon, their expressions mirroring his own fury and frustration.

“Who the fuck is he?” Jace muttered.

Aemond’s eyes darkened. “Someone who clearly knows how to play this game.”

Jace clenched his jaw, looking toward the stairs where you were still resting. He had promised to keep you safe, but now—now, the nightmare wasn’t over.

It was just beginning.

Rhaenyra’s expression darkened as she reached for the laptop. “Show me the number again,” she instructed, her voice controlled but tense.

Helaena hesitated for only a second before pulling the number back onto the screen. The moment Rhaenyra’s eyes landed on it, her entire body stiffened. Her fingers curled against the table, knuckles turning white.

Aegon, who had been watching her reaction closely, narrowed his eyes. “You recognize it.” It wasn’t a question.

Rhaenyra exhaled sharply. “I do.”

Jace’s heart pounded in his chest. “Who is it?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line before she finally spoke, her tone sharp as a blade. “Hellfire.”

The room went completely silent.

Aemond was the first to react, his jaw tightening. “You mean them?”

Rhaenyra gave a slow nod. “Yes. That number belongs to someone within Hellfire. And if they’re involved, this just got much worse than we thought.”

Jace felt a chill run down his spine. “Who the hell is Hellfire?”

Aegon let out a dry laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Only the biggest fucking problem our family has ever had.”

Helaena, still typing furiously, glanced up. “They’re an underground syndicate. Ruthless, highly organized, and they specialize in blackmail, extortion, and destruction. They don’t just ruin people—they erase them.”

Jace’s breath hitched. “And we’re their target?”

Rhaenyra turned to face him fully, her expression grim. “We’ve always been their target.”

Aemond ran a hand down his face. “So this isn’t just about the videos.”

“No,” Rhaenyra confirmed. “It’s about power. They must have been working with those bastards long before we even knew. The question is—” she gestured to the laptop, ”—why did they keep the videos? What’s their endgame?”

Jace’s stomach twisted. “They said they’d be in touch. They want something.”

Aegon scoffed. “Of course they do. And I doubt it’s just money.”

Helaena’s eyes darkened. “No. They never plays for just money. They play for control.”

Jace exhaled sharply, his hands balling into fists. “Then we take the fight to them.”

Aemond gave him a sharp look. “Not without a plan. We can’t afford to go in blind.”

“We don’t have time to wait!” Jace snapped, his anger boiling over. “They have those videos! They could release them at any second!”

Rhaenyra placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Jace.” Her voice softened just slightly. “I know what’s at stake. But if we don’t handle this the right way, we won’t be able to protect her.”

Jace swallowed hard, his mind flashing back to you sleeping upstairs, completely unaware of what was unfolding.

“Then what do we do?” he asked, his voice quieter but no less desperate.

Rhaenyra’s gaze swept over her sons before settling on Helaena. “We find them before they make their next move. We cut this off at the root.”

Aemond’s eyes gleamed with something dark. “And we end them.”

Jace’s fingers tightened around his phone as he read the message again, his breathing growing heavier with every second. His jaw clenched, and his entire body went rigid.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely above a growl.

The message was the same for everyone. A single video file attached, a brutal reminder of what had already been done to you. Jace refused to open it. He didn’t need to. The mere thought of it made his blood boil.

His eyes snapped up, meeting Aemond’s and Helaena’s. “Tell me you have something.”

Aemond exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Nothing yet. Whoever’s behind this is smart. They’re covering their tracks well.”

Helaena was furiously typing on her laptop, her expression tense. “I’m trying to trace the origin of the message, but it’s bouncing through too many servers. It’s like trying to follow a ghost.”

Jace ran a frustrated hand through his hair before slamming his fist down on the table, making everyone flinch. “We’re running out of fucking time!” he snapped. “Every second we sit here doing nothing is another second they have power over her!”

Rhaenyra, who had been silent until now, spoke up from where she stood near the window. “We are doing something, Jace. We’re figuring this out.”

“Not fast enough,” he shot back, his voice raw with frustration.

Aegon let out a dark chuckle from where he was leaning against the wall. “I hate to say it, but he’s right. If we don’t act now, we’re just waiting for them to release the rest of the videos. And when they do, it’s over.”

Jace’s hands were shaking. He turned to Aemond, his eyes burning. “We need leverage. We need something that will force them to stop before they do any more damage.”

Aemond met his gaze, calculating. “You’re talking about playing their game.”

“I don’t give a fuck what game we have to play, Aemond. We end this. Now.”

Helaena suddenly sat up straighter, her eyes wide. “Wait. I think I found something.”

Everyone immediately turned to her.

“What is it?” Rhaenyra asked.

Helaena’s fingers flew across the keyboard as she pulled up a new window. “I traced the number back to an old account linked to multiple aliases. And I just found a lead—an offshore account that was recently accessed from a location in the city.”

Jace leaned over her shoulder, his heart pounding. “Where?”

She hesitated before looking up. “It’s a nightclub. One of theirs.”

Aemond smirked. “Now we’re talking.”

Jace grabbed his jacket. “Let’s go.”

Rhaenyra’s voice stopped him. “Jace, wait.”

He turned, his expression dark. “There’s no time to wait.”

She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his. “I know. But you need to be smart about this. No reckless moves.”

Aegon scoffed. “Kind of hard when we’re dealing with psychopaths who hold all the cards.”

Aemond crossed his arms. “Not for long.”

Jace’s grip tightened on his phone. His mind was made up. “We finish this tonight.”

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @callsignwidow @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @ashblooddragons

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

Sonic x Shadow Generations? More like Sontails x Shadaria Generations 😎

[khioneee]

tap out. pt ii.

warnings. mentions of death, emotional distress, grief and loss, pregnancy.

a few years later, another tap-out ceremony arrives, but this time, the air feels different—heavier, somber. simon’s been gone for over a year, his deployment unexpectedly extended due to an incident overseas. you’d been told he couldn’t come home for a while, but that didn’t make the waiting any easier.

today, you stand among families who aren’t just here to tap out their loved ones but to say goodbye to those who didn’t make it home. tears stream down faces as loved ones gather around caskets, grieving the soldiers they’d lost. the sight fills you with a mix of dread and relief, knowing simon is still out there, waiting.

simon stands in formation, rigid as always, but he has a sense for you. before you even appear in his line of sight, he knows you’re near. but imagine his surprise when he catches a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision, a small bundle wrapped securely in your arms.

his heart hammers in his chest, quickening as he realizes what this means. his breath catches, his eyes fixed on you as you approach. you look up at him, your eyes sparkling, a knowing smile on your face as you watch the subtle changes in his expression—the slight twitch of his eyebrows, the way his breathing picks up as it dawns on him.

both of you had been trying for a baby before he left, and now, standing before him, you hold that precious life in your arms. it had been a struggle going through pregnancy without him, feeling his absence during every kick and every sleepless night. but seeing him now, looking more than ready to meet your child, all the pain fades away, replaced by a joy so profound it fills every inch of you.

‘daddy’s home,’ you whisper softly, tilting the blanket so simon can see her tiny face, fast asleep, a perfect mirror of him in miniature. she’s got his nose, his quiet strength already etched into her tiny features.

with tears in your eyes, you reach up, your hand finding his cheek, tapping him out in the gentlest of touches.

the moment your hand connects, simon moves, breaking formation as he pulls both of you into his arms, holding you close as if he’ll never let go. his voice is thick with emotion, barely a whisper as he murmurs, ‘my loves.’

you knew your husband had a reputation in the military—a man as cold and unyielding as steel, a fortress no one could break. but as he held you and your newborn in his arms, that carefully built facade cracked, revealing a vulnerable side of him that only you ever saw. the tough soldier was gone, replaced by a man whose heart lay entirely with his family.

‘do you want to hold her?’ you ask softly, watching his eyes light up with a blend of surprise and joy.

‘her?’ he whispers, voice catching on the single word, as if it’s almost too much for him to believe.

you nod, smiling through a haze of happy tears. ‘her.’

with slow, reverent movements, you pass your daughter to him, watching as she looks impossibly tiny cradled in his strong arms. simon looks down at her with a mixture of wonder and fierce protectiveness, as though he’s already memorizing every detail of her face.

as if sensing her father’s gaze, the baby yawns, a soft little sound that makes simon’s eyes shine with awe. you catch the faintest smile pulling at his lips, a rare, tender expression that he reserves only for moments like this.

he leans down, pressing his lips gently to her forehead. ‘never gonna let anything happen to you,’ he murmurs, voice thick with love and quiet promise.

while simon was lost in his quiet moment with your daughter, a loud shout cut through the air, breaking the peaceful silence.

‘is that our baby i see?!’

simon’s head snapped up, his expression immediately shifting to something harder. he turned to see soap grinning widely, practically bouncing with excitement. with a sigh, simon reached over and smacked the back of soap’s head, though his movements were careful not to jostle the sleeping baby in his arms.

‘there’s people grieving, you idiot,’ simon muttered, but soap only snickered, completely unfazed.

‘and what do you mean, ‘our’? she’s y/n’s and mine. you’re not part of this relationship, mate,’ simon added, his tone dripping with mock irritation.

but soap, undeterred, just ignored him and held out his hands, wiggling his fingers in a display of exaggerated excitement. ‘oh, come on! let me hold our child!’

simon groaned, looking down at you with a glance that seemed to ask, ‘do i really have to put up with this?’ but he couldn’t hide the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as soap’s enthusiasm filled the air around you.

reluctantly, and with another sigh, simon finally leaned over, carefully passing your daughter to soap, though not without a low, ‘if you don’t keep her calm, you’re not holding her again.’

soap just grinned, taking her into his arms as if he’d won the lottery, cradling her gently and cooing softly.

soon after, the rest of task force 141 gathered around, drawn by the excitement, each member eager to catch a glimpse of the new addition to the family.

you and simon stood to the side, watching with cautious eyes as they took turns holding her, each one adopting a careful gentleness you wouldn’t have expected from hardened soldiers.

price held her with a proud grin, murmuring something about ‘training her to be the next captain,’ while gaz made her giggle softly with his gentle cooing. even the usually reserved roach softened as he held her, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

you glanced up at simon, watching his face as he stood beside you, arms crossed in a show of casual indifference.

but you knew him too well. beneath the mask of stoicism, there was something warmer, a subtle softness in his gaze as he watched his team, his family, sharing this moment with him. this gruff, unbreakable soldier, who had once thought he’d lost everything, had found a new family among them, one that shared in his joys and sorrows alike.

reaching over, you took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. he didn’t say anything, just gave your hand a quick squeeze in return, a quiet acknowledgment. but you could see it in his eyes, that gratitude for a family he never expected to find—a family that had now become part of yours.

[oepionie]

— "HE'S THE OTHER MAN!" . the corpse groom

SYNOPSIS: A ghost groom has claimed MC as his unwilling bride. Unfortunately for him, she's already got a lover

⊹ [ c.w ] — violence, possessive behavior, malleus blows a fucking green laser down ramshackle, mentions of blood, yuu is poor but we alrdy knew that, papa crewel crumbs

⊹ [ w.c ] — 1.6k opening post with malleus! if this gets enough attention, I might do more :P

"You what?" Crewel seethed, eyes wide as an unsettling smile stretched across the red of his cheeks.

"Repeat that."

"I…I accidentally released that ghost from the spellbook," Grim sobbed, his glossy eyes reflecting both fear and guilt as he looked up at the imposing figure of the professor. "And he's taken my henchhuman as his bride!"

Oh, Great Sevens. Not again.

Crewel groaned, his hands reaching up to frantically rub at his burning eyes. The flickering candlelight cast erratic shadows across his face.

"Please, do tell. How in Wonderland did someone with your lackluster skills manage to—" The professor was abruptly cut off by a loud, almost obnoxious cry that echoed from the doorway. Turning sharply, Crewel saw Crowley hunched against the entrance frame, hysterically sobbing into his palms. Fat tears dripped beneath his ornate mask, glistening in the low light. "They grow up so fast! My dear child is already getting married!"

Crewel's eye twitched as he took in the scene: Grim shaking like a leaf, and Crowley, dramatically weeping, pathetically looking to him for a solution.

"Fools," Crewel snarled, striding out of the room as he fished his phone from his coat pocket. "If you two won't be of use, then I'll have to enlist the help of those mutts instead."

The day had started like any other in Ramshackle, but you certainly didn't expect it to end with a wedding. Surrounded by the ghostly residents of the dorm, you stood dressed in all white, a bouquet clutched in your hand. Curling in yourself, you sighed and rested your head in your hands, avoiding everyone's gazes which felt like icy needles on your skin.

Ramshackle's old lounge, with its worn-out floorboards and faded wallpaper, was the chosen venue for your ceremony. Whispers rustled through the gathering, carried on a faint breeze that stirred the dust motes in the dim light. Somewhere in the background, the somber notes of an organ piano echoed. You didn't even know you had a piano…

"Dear?"

Jumping with a shriek, you whipped your head around. A ghostly visage, bathed in a deathly pale blue glow, hovered inches from your face, an unnaturally wide grin stretched across their blue lips. Bony fingers gently traced up your cheeks, sending tingles down your spine.

With sunken eyes and high, sharp cheekbones, Elizan—a "visiting" friend of one of Ramshackle's ghosts—was truly a sight to behold. His complexion had a pallor that matched the moonlight filtering through the decrepit windows of the form. Wisps of long, flowing indigo hair framed his face, swept back as if caught in a breeze that only he could feel.

"You look wonderful," he cooed, pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead, leaving your cheeks burning.

"Ah. Thank you," you stammered, averting your gaze and gently pulling away. You could hardly focus on the words being spoken to you, your mind spinning with the surrealness of it all.

"You look... Good as well," you forced out with a cough, tugging at your hair nervously. "But... Listen... I—"

Before you could finish, the door to the entrance slammed open, nearly breaking off the hinges with a sound that could wake the dead, sending cracks spider-webbing through the already dilapidated walls.

On the inside, you screamed louder than the hinges.

You had painstakingly patched up the door after Grim's recent screw-up—a feat that had tested your patience and carpentry skills to their limit. Unless you wanted to survive on a diet of stale canned food and cafeteria leftovers for another year, you couldn't afford any more repairs.

While you were busy mourning the loss of having decent meals, heaving and leaning against the door for support, your friends called out your name in a panic, their bleary and furious gazes zeroing in on your figure. Clad in white, you stood there, the perfect picture of a pretty blushing bride.

The uninvited guests didn't go unnoticed by your "groom," and in seconds, you were pulled into a suffocating grip. Elizan's usually serene demeanor shattered like fragile glass. His deathly pale features contorted into a snarl, veins pulsing ominously beneath translucent skin. His typically gentle eyes blazed with an unsettling fire, icy whites now narrowed and piercing.

"Mutt!" Crewel seethed, his foot slamming into the floor and shattering the newly installed tiles. Your soul nearly left your body as you screamed inside again. There go a thousand thaumarks…

"What in the Sevens is this!?" Crewel shrieked, running a gloved hand through his tousled hair. With sharp movements, he pointed a finger at Elizan. "I'll have you know I can have you arrested for trespassing, unlawful detention, and violating the sanctity of this academy!"

"How... How dare you? Barging into this sacred ceremony—Who even are you?!" Elizan snapped back, his arms coiling tightly around your torso. The crowd erupted in a haze of shouts and muddled answers. Unable to understand anything, Elizan's intense gaze shifted and bore into yours, demanding answers. You gulped nervously, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable in his grasp.

"Who is he?! Who are they?!" he barked like a dog, flashing his sharp fangs at you.

"Uh… That's my professor—uh, Crewel," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "And those are… They're my… friends?" Your gaze flickered to the group of men who had entered, their expressions ranging from confusion to anger.

Elizan's wide eyes now filled with shock, white orbs glossed over with luminescent blue tears. He pushed you away as if you had burnt him, recoiling from your touch as though it pained him physically.

"You know other men?!" the ghost cried out, his hands clenching into fists, his midnight blue hair cascading wildly around his face like a tempestuous sea. The tortured cries of the groom echoed through the room, sending a shiver down your spine as you awkwardly shifted on your feet, feeling like a character caught in an soap drama.

"…Yes?" you replied, unsure.

"How could you do this to me?!" He sobbed, a dark shadow covering his face. "Running off on an affair the DAY of our marriage?!"

"Well, that's a rather dramatic accusation—" you started, but Elizan shook his head in anguish.

"Answer me! Do you have another man?!" His voice shook the room, and you took a few cautious steps back.

"Elizan, please," you uttered gently, your eyes darting nervously toward one of the men in the room.

Your lover didn't meet your gaze; instead, his eyes were locked onto the ghost, a storm of emotions brewing beneath his features. As you jumped down from the makeshift podium, you shot an apologetic frown at the ghost, hoping to diffuse the escalating situation. "Don't you understand? You're the other man."

"No! You're married to me!" Elizan shrieked, lunging forward in a frenzy, his nails clawing at the air as if trying to grasp something intangible. "Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

MALLEUS DRACONIA

"Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

Lilia raised an eyebrow with a chuckle, his form reclined against a fogged-up window of the room. The weather was gloomy and stormy, the skies tinted green outside, casting an eerie glow over the scene. The window pane, streaked with raindrops and mist, blurred the view of the turbulent skies beyond. Lilia hummed a tune under his breath, a calm figure amidst the brewing storm.

With a sidelong glance, his eyes locked onto Malleus, whose entire figure shook with a barely contained wrath that threatened to engulf the very air around him. The young prince's chest heaved in violent, choked breaths as smoke wisped from his mouth and nose—tendrils of flames flickering amidst the swirling dust and ash.

A deafening crack tore through the air as a vivid surge of green emerald lightning erupted from the heavens, descending upon the roof of the venue with explosive force. The blast of energy painted the sky with a blinding flash of green as it crashed into the building, sending broken glass and wood raining down upon the venue.

Cursing, Elizan moved you both aside, a large chunk of debris hurtling past, narrowly missing your startled form. As more debris crashed down, he shielded you with an outstretched arm, a shimmering barrier briefly forming to deflect a particularly large piece of wood.

"Spectral pest," Malleus seethed, his eyes aglow with an eerie green hue as his nails elongated into sharp claws. With a click of his tongue, he raised his hands, summoning thorns that spiraled towards Elizan, ensnaring the ghost in their sharp embrace. Simultaneously, from the floorboards below, vines emerged like serpents, their tendrils gently but firmly pulling you away from Elizan's protective embrace and guiding you into the safety of Malleus's arms.

"How—?! Ngh!" Elizan writhed against the thorny vines. The prickly tendrils twisted around him like serpents, their sharp points digging into his ghostly flesh.

Malleus paid no mind to the struggling spirit, keeping his gaze fixed on you as he checked for any signs of harm. His expression softened with relief upon finding you unscathed, albeit a bit dusty.

"Beloved," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm amidst the lingering chaos. His gloved hand moved delicately, sweeping away the clinging dust from your shoulders and arms. Pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingered there briefly, conveying a warmth that contrasted starkly with the raw power he had displayed moments ago.

"Are you alright?"

Blinking up at him with wide eyes and frazzled hair shooting up in every direction, you nodded dumbly. Turning away from him, you nearly gasped aloud to see the room in shambles, debris scattered everywhere, and the eerie green glow of energy still lingering in the air. The ghostly residents were in a state of panic, their translucent forms flickering as they moved frantically.

"My dorm," you whimpered, your mind racing as you calculated the cost of the damage.

With a chuckle, Malleus adjusted his grip on you, his muscles flexing as he gently set you down. Your legs felt shaky as you tried to steady yourself.

"I will handle the cost of repair, my dearest," Malleus assured you, bending down to your height, his voice dropping to a whisper. Green eyes bore into yours, strands of his midnight hair falling over his face. "You will not need to worry about such things once we are formally betrothed."

You froze, your face suddenly warming and burning.

"What?!"

Malleus reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek, claws dragging across your supple cheeks. "Yes, my dear," he murmured, chest rumbling as his lips curved into a sharp smile. "You heard me correctly."

"I… I don't know what to say," you whispered, feeling dizzy with emotion.

"Will you consider it?" he asked softly, a faint hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Please?"

Caught in the depth of his gaze, you felt your resolve melting away. "I-I guess?" you breathed, your voice trembling. "I'll… consider it."

A smug smile spread across his face, and he tenderly pressed his lips against yours. "That's all I ask, my dearest."

After ensuring you were alright one last time, Malleus redirected his focus to Elizan. With a flick of his wrist, the thorns under his control tightened around the ghost. Elizan shrieked and thrashed about, his translucent form writhing in pain as the thorns dug deeper.

"Do try to exercise some restraint, my boy," Lilia drawled, tapping his sharp fingers idly against his crossed arms. "We do not want Ramshackle to be bathed in blood. It would be very unsanitary."

not too sure if i am continuing but feel free to suggest some peepl bookies

[2tarbell]

omg omg, mean!rafe being so pussy drunk he begins to blabber praises to crybaby, who feels confused between loving and hating the big change, cuz even when she’s still being pounded into tears, she still just wants her rafey to be mean!! :c

MEAN!RAFE + CRYBABY!READER ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

rafey coming home from a looooong day of bein’ all rough and intimidating, his crybaby is there with issues of her own. pouty at whatever bullshit she decided was wrong that day. rafe is exhausted, completely worn out from the workload he’s dealing with. so he lets her yip like a little puppy at him, unaware of the boiling tension just under the surface of his icy gaze, until he can’t take it anymore, grabbing her throat and telling her what’s gonna happen next.

(“yeah? you wanna— wanna act like a big girl? upstairs. clothes off.”)

maybe it’s mean, maybe rude; crybaby doesn’t give two shits (if the glossy stain on her blue undies says anything).

that’s how she ends up bouncing breathlessly on his cock, choked sobs leaving her swollen lips each time she sinks down, “dad— daddy… sssshhhit…”

rafe is leaning back on the headboard, his hands rough against the supple skin of her hips. it’s all grunts and babbles of incoherent pleasure from the two — the sting from his mean words making her mind feel hazier & hazier.

“yeah, put that fuckin’ shit to use — c’mon, baby,” he mutters, blue eyes transfixed on the twist of her bottom half. watching with bated breath as she swallows his length easily, pussy so wet it’s sloppy.

but then she’s planting her palms on his abs and grinding her hips down, the drag so delicious and mind-numbing it makes rafe choke. his eyes roll back as the pressures of the day fading away until all that’s left is the warmth of her walls around him. her sniffles and broken moans make his length pulse.

his eyes roll back, body shuddering and large hands keeping her down on his cock, “fuck, slower…”

his slurred command shocked reader, expecting dirty words & scolds. but, always eager to please, she moves in deeper, slower grinds, eyes clenched shut in concentration to keep her rhythm. her efforts earn a buck from the man under her — gasps and growls falling from his mouth.

“yes, yes— fuck, atta girl… making this dick feel so good, baby.”

his hand trails up her body, grabbing her chin tenderly and directing her wet, low-lidded gaze back to him. suddenly he’s rolling her against him with more fervor, taking control of her hips with his arm wrapped fully around her waist. their foreheads are pressed together tightly, noses bumping with each drag.

rafe speaks lowly, voice almost in a drunken slur, “god, you’re so fuckin’ pretty. look at me… jesus, just—like—that…”

the sweet whisper of his words reach her ears and she feels pathetic when a pang shoots from her heart right to her core. more arousal gushed around him, feeling confused at the thump-thump in her pussy & heart.

crybaby was used to the mean daddy that punished her and literally spit in her mouth. but this version of her man — all soft and touching her with a sense of reverence — left her melting further into his guided movements.

“f-f-fuuck, daddy, gonna make me cum,” she whined, hands moving up to clutch his cheeks. she felt hot and tingly, furrowed brow as she tried to grasp her orgasm, approaching it.

“there you go, good fuckin’ girl— cream all over daddy, baby. lemme hear you cry—”

she sobbed as her body finally couldn’t take it anymore, tensing before shaking and trembling through her release. the clench of her walls around him make rafe hiccup, release sputtering into her awaiting core.

they both were a mess of sweat and tears, breathing like they’d just run a marathon as the adrenaline started to wear off. he runs his nails across her back and nuzzles his nose in her hairline, inhaling her unique sent.

the softness was a surprise but something she let herself fully enjoy! sometimes they both needed something sweeter <3

[moonlightwritingf1]

Christmas Morning | LN4

🎄 summary ━━━━━━━ Morning sex with Lando on Christmas morning

🎄 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

🎄 word count ━━━━━━━ 3.9k

🎄 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

The first thing Y/N noticed was the warmth. It seeped through her skin, wrapping around her like a cocoon, and for a moment, she forgot where she was. The faint aroma of pine needles and cinnamon lingered in the air, intertwined with a scent unmistakably his—a blend of cedarwood cologne and the subtle musk she now instinctively linked to Lando. Her eyelids fluttered open, and there he was, still asleep beside her, his dark curls tousled against the white pillowcase.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered softly, though she knew he couldn’t hear her yet. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, one arm draped lazily across her waist, pulling her closer even in sleep. She smiled, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingertips, marveling at how peaceful he looked. There were no cameras here, no fans or flashing lights—just them, wrapped up in each other.

Lando stirred, his nose scrunching adorably before his eyes blinked open. For a moment, he seemed disoriented, but then his gaze found hers, and a slow, sleepy smile spread across his face. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep but impossibly warm. He shifted slightly, his hand sliding up her back to tangle in her hair. “Did Santa come?”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound muffled as she buried her face in his chest. “I think so,” she teased, pressing a light kiss to his collarbone. “But I don’t need presents. Not when I have you.”

He chuckled, the vibration rumbling through her as he tightened his hold on her. “Cheesy,” he accused, but there was no bite to his words. Instead, his fingers began to trace idle patterns along her spine, sending shivers down her body. “But I like it.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, the world outside their little bubble fading into insignificance. The sun crept higher, casting golden streaks across the room, and somewhere in the distance, they could hear the faint jingle of bells—probably someone walking their dog in the snow. But neither of them paid it any mind. Right now, there was only this: the softness of his touch, the way his breath tickled her ear, the lazy, contented smiles they exchanged without needing to say a word.

Eventually, Lando’s hand stilled against her back, and he tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were darker now, more intense, and Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat. “You’re beautiful,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Especially like this, all sleepy and soft.”

She blushed, her cheeks heating under his scrutiny, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she reached up to brush a curl from his forehead, her fingers lingering on his temple. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

He grinned, that mischievous spark she loved so much lighting up his eyes. “Not so bad, huh? Damn, I must be losing my touch.” Before she could respond, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that started off sweet but quickly deepened. His tongue brushed against hers, coaxing a soft moan from her as she melted into him.

Their bodies pressed together, every curve and angle perfectly aligned, and Y/N could feel the heat building between them. His hands roamed her body, leaving trails of fire in their wake, and she arched into his touch, craving more. “Lando,” she breathed against his lips, her voice trembling with need.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down her spine. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, brushing against the sensitive skin of her stomach, and she gasped.

“You,” she answered without hesitation, her hands gripping his shoulders as if to anchor herself. “Just you.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. In one swift motion, he rolled them over so that she was beneath him, his weight pressing her into the mattress in the most delicious way. His lips found hers again, hungry and demanding, and Y/N surrendered completely, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer.

His hands slid up her sides, pushing her shirt up until it pooled around her shoulders, and then he broke the kiss just long enough to pull it over her head and toss it aside. His eyes darkened as they roamed over her, taking in every inch of exposed skin, and Y/N shivered under his gaze. “So perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. He bent his head, his lips trailing hot kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and lower still, until he reached the lace edge of her bra.

Y/N gasped as he unhooked it with practiced ease, his mouth immediately seeking out her breast. His tongue flicked over her nipple, teasing it into a hardened peak, and she cried out, her hips arching off the bed. “Lando,” she moaned, her nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

He hummed in response, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure rippling through her, before switching his attention to her other breast. His hands weren’t idle either; one slid down her side, skimming over her hipbone, while the other cupped her breast, kneading it gently as he lavished it with attention.

By the time he finally lifted his head, Y/N was trembling, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. “Please,” she begged, her voice barely recognizable to her own ears.

“Please what, love?” he asked, his lips curving into a wicked smile as he watched her squirm beneath him.

“Touch me,” she pleaded, her hand reaching for his, guiding it downward until it rested between her legs. Even through the thin fabric of her panties, she could feel his warmth, and she whimpered, desperate for more.

Lando groaned, his forehead dropping to rest against hers as he cupped her through the lace, his fingers rubbing slow, deliberate circles that had her gasping. “You’re so wet already,” he growled, his voice thick with need. “God, I love how much you want me.”

She didn’t have the breath to respond, her entire body thrumming with anticipation as he tugged her panties down her legs and tossed them aside. And then his hand was on her again, his fingers sliding through her slick folds before slipping inside her, curling in just the right way to make her cry out.

“Lando! Oh, God,” she moaned, her hips bucking against his hand as he added another finger, stretching her, filling her. His thumb found her clit, circling it in time with the thrust of his fingers, and Y/N felt the coil in her belly tighten, threatening to snap.

“Come for me, baby,” he urged, his voice rough with desire. “Let go.”

And she did. With a strangled cry, her body convulsed around his fingers, waves of pleasure crashing over her until she thought she might drown in them. Her vision blurred, her limbs turned to jelly, and it took everything she had just to keep breathing.

When she finally came back to herself, Lando was watching her with a satisfied smirk, his fingers slowly withdrawing from her body. “You’re incredible,” he said, his voice filled with awe, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, her heart swelling with love and a hint of mischief as she met Lando’s gaze. Before he could react, she placed her hands firmly on his shoulders, shoving him back. He landed on the bed with a startled laugh, his hair falling messily across his forehead as he looked up at her with wide, amused eyes.

“Your turn,” she murmured, her voice low and laced with a daring edge. Her fingers found the waistband of his boxers, curling around the fabric with deliberate intent.

Lando’s breath hitched, the playful glint in his eyes quickly replaced by something deeper, more intense. His hips lifted instinctively, a silent invitation, as her touch sent a spark coursing through him. The air between them was charged, her steady gaze trailing over him like a flame, leaving him utterly captivated.

She didn’t hesitate, her lips parting slightly as she took him into her hand, feeling the weight and heat of him. Lando groaned softly, his head falling back against the pillow as she began to stroke him slowly, her thumb brushing over the sensitive tip. His hands fisted in the sheets, the muscles in his arms tensing as he tried to keep himself still.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” she murmured, her voice low and husky, filled with a mixture of admiration and desire. She leaned down, her breath ghosting over him before she pressed a soft kiss to the base of his length. His whole body shuddered, a choked sound escaping his throat.

Y/N wasn’t teasing now. She wanted to give him everything—every ounce of pleasure she could. Her tongue flicked out, licking a slow path up the underside of his shaft, savoring the way he twitched beneath her touch. When she reached the top, she circled the tip with her tongue, tasting the salty precum that had gathered there. Lando’s hips bucked involuntarily, and a deep growl rumbled in his chest.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he gasped, his voice raw and desperate. “Just like that.”

Encouraged by his reaction, she took him into her mouth, sinking down inch by inch until she felt him nudging the back of her throat. She relaxed her jaw, letting him slide deeper, her hand moving in tandem with her mouth. His moans grew louder, filling the room, and she could feel the tension building in his body, his thighs trembling beneath her.

Her free hand trailed up his stomach, feeling the tight muscles contract under her fingertips. She loved how responsive he was, how every touch, every lick, every suck brought him closer to the edge. And she intended to push him right to that brink before pulling him back, wanting to draw out his pleasure as long as possible.

Lando’s hand tangled in her hair, not forcing or guiding, just holding on for dear life as she worked him over. He was close—so close—and she could feel it in the way his breathing became erratic, the way his grip tightened ever so slightly. His hips jerked again, and he let out a strangled cry, his entire body tightening like a coiled spring.

But just as he was about to tip over the edge, Y/N pulled back, releasing him with a wet pop. Lando’s eyes flew open, wild and disoriented, and he stared at her in disbelief. “Y/N… what are you—?”

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she straddled him, positioning herself above him. His hands instinctively gripped her hips, steadying her as she lowered herself onto him, taking him inside her in one smooth motion. They both groaned in unison, the sensation overwhelming.

“Christ…” Lando hissed through clenched teeth, his head falling back against the pillow again. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away, too consumed by the feeling of him filling her completely. She moved slowly at first, rolling her hips in a lazy rhythm, savoring the friction and the way his hands dug into her skin. His eyes never left hers, their connection deepening with every thrust.

As she picked up the pace, her movements became more urgent, more desperate. She braced herself on his chest, her nails lightly scraping his skin as she rode him harder. Lando’s groans turned into low, guttural sounds, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. The dual sensations made her whimper, her own pleasure building rapidly.

“You feel so good,” she breathed, her voice trembling with need. “I love being with you like this.”

Lando’s response was a rough, almost primal growl as he sat up suddenly, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. Their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling as he thrust into her from below, meeting her every movement with equal intensity. The shift in angle sent sparks shooting through her, and she clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. “I love you. So much.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of his words and the way he was looking at her. “I love you too,” she managed to choke out, her voice thick with emotion.

Their kisses were frantic now, messy and uncoordinated, but filled with passion. Every touch, every thrust, every word was an affirmation of their love for each other. Y/N could feel herself teetering on the edge, her body begging for release, but she held on, wanting to prolong this moment for as long as possible.

Lando, however, seemed to have other plans. One hand slid down between them, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing tight circles around it. The added stimulation was too much, and she cried out, her body convulsing around him as she came hard.

Watching her fall apart pushed him over the edge, and with a low, guttural groan, he spilled himself inside her, his hips stuttering as he followed her into oblivion. They clung to each other, their bodies trembling as wave after wave of pleasure washed over them.

When they finally came down, they collapsed back onto the bed, tangled together in a sweaty, sated heap. Lando pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his arms tightening around her. “That was… incredible,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but filled with contentment.

Y/N nuzzled into his chest, her heart swelling with love. “It always is with you,” she replied softly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin.

For a while, they just lay there, basking in the afterglow and the warmth of each other’s embrace. But soon, Y/N felt a familiar ache building again, a quiet yearning that refused to be ignored. She shifted slightly, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone before whispering, “Do you think we can go again?”

Lando chuckled, his fingers threading through her hair. “You’re insatiable,” he teased, but there was no mistaking the desire in his voice.

Lando’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, vibrating against Y/N’s cheek as she nestled closer. His fingers still tangled in her hair, he tilted her face up to meet his gaze. “Maybe we should open presents first,” he suggested, his voice low and teasing. “I think I got you something special.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh? And what makes you so sure I can wait that long?” she countered, her hand trailing down his chest, skimming over the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin.

He caught her wrist gently, bringing her fingers to his lips for a soft kiss. “Because I know how much you love surprises,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “And trust me, this one’s worth it.”

She sighed dramatically, though her heart fluttered at the look in his eyes. “Fine,” she relented, sitting up and stretching lazily. “But if this present isn’t as good as you’re making it out to be, I expect compensation.”

Lando’s laughter filled the room, a warm, infectious sound that made Y/N smile. Before she could process what was happening, he leaned down and swept her into his arms effortlessly. She gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders as he grinned down at her, his boyish charm on full display.

“Lando!” she protested through a laugh, though she didn’t resist.

“Patience, love,” he teased, carrying her out of the bedroom and into the living room, where the soft glow of the Christmas tree bathed everything in a golden light. He gently lowered her onto the sofa, his touch lingering as he made sure she was comfortable.

“Wait here,” he murmured, winking before turning to kneel by the tree. His shoulders flexed as he reached beneath the branches, rummaging through the pile of gifts with practiced ease. Y/N couldn’t help but admire the way his muscles moved, her heart fluttering at the effortless strength he exuded.

After a moment, he straightened up, a neatly wrapped box in his hands. Turning back to her with a triumphant grin, he walked over and held out the package, his eyes alight with affection.

“For you, my love,” he said softly, his voice warm and brimming with excitement, as though he couldn’t wait to see her reaction.

She took the box, her fingers brushing against his as she did. The wrapping paper was delicate, adorned with tiny snowflakes, and she felt a pang of guilt for wanting to tear into it immediately. But Lando’s expectant gaze urged her on, and she carefully peeled back the paper to reveal a velvet jewelry box underneath.

Her breath hitched as she opened it, revealing a stunning silver necklace with a pendant shaped like a snowflake. It sparkled even in the soft morning light, and Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “Lando… it’s beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he replied softly, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “Here, let me put it on you.”

She turned around, presenting her back to him, and felt the cool metal press against her skin as he fastened the clasp. His fingers lingered on her neck, tracing slow, deliberate patterns that sent shivers down her spine. When he finally leaned in to press a kiss to the space between her shoulder blades, Y/N couldn’t suppress a soft gasp.

Y/N pushed herself up from the sofa, her movements deliberate as she made her way to the Christmas tree. She crouched down, carefully retrieving a small, rectangular box tucked away beneath the glowing branches. Her fingers lingered on the neatly wrapped present for a moment before she straightened up and returned to the sofa.

Settling back into her spot, she turned to Lando, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Your turn,” she murmured, holding the gift out to him with a soft smile. Her heart raced as his curious gaze flicked between her and the box, his hands brushing against hers as he took it.

Lando’s brow furrowed slightly with intrigue, and he began to unwrap the gift, his movements slow and deliberate, savoring the moment. Y/N’s pulse quickened as she watched him, her anticipation growing with every tear of the paper.

Inside was a custom-made photo book, filled with pictures of their time together—moments captured in candid laughter, stolen kisses, and quiet mornings just like this one. Lando flipped through the pages, his expression softening more with each photograph. “Y/N… this is incredible,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over a picture of the two of them at sunset, silhouetted against the sky.

“I wanted you to have something to remind you of us,” she explained, her voice trembling slightly. “Of everything we’ve been through, and everything we’ll still do together.”

Lando set the book aside, his eyes locking onto hers. “You don’t need to give me anything to remember us,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “You’re all I think about, every day. You’re my everything.”

Tears welled up in her eyes again, and she leaned in to kiss him, pouring all the love she felt into the gesture. His hands came up to cradle her face, deepening the kiss until they were both breathless. When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them.

“I love you,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible.

“I love you too,” Lando replied, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from her cheek. “More than anything.”

The atmosphere around them shifted, a charged intimacy settling between them that made Y/N’s breath hitch. Lando’s gaze locked onto hers, his eyes dark and filled with intent. Slowly, his hands slid down her arms, leaving a trail of warmth that sent shivers coursing through her. His touch lingered at her wrists for a moment before he grasped her waist, firm yet gentle.

Without breaking eye contact, he guided her onto his lap, her legs straddling him as their bodies pressed flush against each other. The closeness was overwhelming, every point of contact sparking with heat. Y/N could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palms, mirroring the rapid thud of her own.

“Do you want…” he began, his voice low and husky, but Y/N cut him off with another kiss, her hands tangling in his hair as she pressed herself against him. There was no need for words; the way she arched into him, the way her breath hitched when his fingers traced the curve of her waist, said everything.

Lando laid her back against the pillows, his lips never leaving hers as he covered her body with his own. His touch was tender but insistent, exploring every inch of her as though he was memorizing her all over again. When his mouth found her neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, Y/N couldn’t hold back a moan.

“Lando…” she breathed, her hands clutching at his shoulders. “Please…”

He didn’t need further encouragement. His hand slipped between her thighs, parting her folds with practiced ease, and she gasped as his fingers found her already slick and aching. He teased her slowly, circling her clit with just enough pressure to make her squirm, but not enough to push her over the edge.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured against her ear, his voice sending shivers down her spine. “Is this what you wanted earlier?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, her hips bucking against his hand. “Lando, please…”

He chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing her earlobe. “So impatient,” he teased, but finally gave her what she craved, sliding two fingers inside her and curling them just right. Y/N cried out, her back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed over her.

“That’s it, love,” he encouraged, his pace steady and unrelenting. “Let go for me.”

She obeyed, her climax hitting her hard and fast, her body trembling as she clung to him. Lando held her through it, whispering sweet nothings in her ear until she finally came down, her breathing ragged and her limbs heavy.

Before she could catch her breath, Lando shifted, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, maintaining eye contact as he slid them down and kicked them aside. The tension between them crackled like static electricity, every movement charged with anticipation. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, his hands gripping her hips as he entered her in one smooth thrust. They both groaned, the sensation overwhelming after the intensity of her orgasm.

He started slow, savoring every second, every movement. Each thrust was deliberate, drawing out every ounce of pleasure until Y/N was writhing beneath him once more. “You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice strained with effort. “I’ll never get tired of this.”

“Neither will I,” she gasped, her nails digging into his back as she lifted her hips to meet his. Their rhythm grew faster, more urgent, until neither could hold back any longer. Lando’s name fell from Y/N’s lips like a prayer as she came undone again, her body tightening around him. He followed close behind, burying his face in her neck as he spilled himself inside her.

[pucksandpower]

Find Me Again

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: in which two soulmates are destined to always find each other only to be torn apart lifetime after lifetime after lifetime … until finally, they’re not (aka the reincarnation AU)

Alexandria, 30 BC

The scorching Egyptian sun beats down on Alexandria as you hurry through the bustling streets, your sandals slapping against the warm stone. The air is thick with tension — whispers of Octavian’s approaching army have the city on edge. But your mind is elsewhere, focused on the stolen moments you’ll soon share with Lando.

You slip into a secluded alleyway, heart racing as you spot his familiar silhouette. Lando’s face lights up when he sees you, though worry creases his brow.

“There you are,” he murmurs, pulling you close. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

You melt into his embrace, savoring his warmth. “I’m sorry I’m late. The palace has been in chaos with all the rumors flying about.”

Lando’s arms tighten around you. “It’s true then? Octavian draws near?”

You nod against his chest. “I fear so. Cleopatra grows more desperate by the day.”

He pulls back, cupping your face in his calloused hands. His dark eyes search yours intently. “Come away with me,” he pleads. “We can leave the city tonight, find passage on a ship bound for Greece or Cyprus.”

Your heart aches at the longing in his voice. “Lando, you know I can’t abandon my duty to the queen. She needs me now more than ever.”

“And what of my need for you?” Lando’s voice cracks with emotion. “Each day I’m torn between my loyalty to Rome and my love for you. I cannot bear the thought of you in danger when Octavian’s forces arrive.”

You reach up to caress his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath your fingers. “My brave soldier,” you murmur. “Always trying to protect me. But I’ve survived far worse than regime changes. We’ll find a way through this, as we always do.”

Lando leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. “I wish I had your optimism. Every time I close my eyes, I see visions of you lying lifeless amidst the chaos of battle.”

A chill runs down your spine despite the oppressive heat. “Don’t speak of such things,” you chide gently. “We make our own fate, remember?”

He sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know. I just ... I can’t shake this feeling of impending doom. Promise me you’ll be careful, my love. Promise you’ll do whatever it takes to stay safe.”

“I promise,” you whisper, sealing the vow with a tender kiss.

Lando responds eagerly, drawing you closer as the kiss deepens. For a blissful moment, the world fades away and there is only the two of you, lost in each other’s embrace.

A distant shout breaks the spell. You reluctantly pull away, both breathing heavily.

“I should go,” you murmur regretfully. “Cleopatra will be wondering where I’ve disappeared to.”

Lando nods, though he doesn’t release you from his arms. “When can I see you again?”

You bite your lip, considering. “Three days from now, at sunset. Meet me by the lighthouse?”

“I’ll be there,” he vows solemnly. “Be safe, my love.”

With a final lingering kiss, you slip from his embrace and hurry back towards the palace. Your heart feels lighter despite the looming threats, buoyed by Lando’s love and the promise of your next rendezvous.

But fate, it seems, has other plans.

The next few days pass in a blur of mounting tension. Cleopatra grows increasingly erratic, oscillating between grandiose plans to seduce Octavian and talks of ending her own life. You do your best to comfort and counsel her, all while stealing moments to daydream about your upcoming meeting with Lando.

On the fated evening, you’re helping Cleopatra prepare for bed when she suddenly fixates on a basket of figs brought by a servant.

“Ah, how fitting,” she muses, a strange glint in her eye. “Did you know, my dear, that the Egyptians that came before us believed figs to be the fruit of the afterlife?”

A chill runs down your spine. “My queen?”

Cleopatra waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t look so worried. I was simply contemplating the cyclical nature of life and death. Come, help me into bed.”

You obey, tucking the sheets around her with practiced ease. As you turn to leave, her hand darts out to grasp your wrist.

“Stay with me a while longer,” she implores. “I find I cannot bear to be alone with my thoughts tonight.”

Your heart sinks, knowing you’ll miss your rendezvous with Lando. But duty wins out over desire. “Of course, my queen. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

Hours pass as you sit by Cleopatra’s bedside, listening to her reminisce about better days. Just as your eyelids begin to grow heavy, a commotion in the hall startles you both fully awake.

“What’s happening?” Cleopatra demands, sitting up.

Before you can answer, the doors burst open and a breathless messenger stumbles in. “My queen,” he pants, “Octavian’s army has breached the city walls!”

Cleopatra’s face hardens. “So, the end has come at last.” She turns to you, her gaze intense. “Fetch me the asp.”

Your blood runs cold. “My queen, surely there must be another way-”

“Do not argue with me!” She snaps. “I will not be paraded through Rome as Octavian’s prize. Now go, quickly!”

With a heavy heart, you hurry to retrieve the venomous snake from its hidden chamber. Your hands shake as you return, presenting the basket to Cleopatra.

She reaches for it eagerly, but pauses. Her eyes meet yours, softening slightly. “My faithful friend,” she murmurs. “You have served me well. I release you from your duties. Go, find that Roman boy of yours and flee while you still can.”

Your eyes widen in shock. “You knew?”

Cleopatra’s lips quirk in a sad smile. “I’ve always known. Now go, before it’s too late.”

Torn between duty and desire, you hesitate. In that moment of indecision, everything changes.

Cleopatra reaches for the asp, but in her haste, she knocks the basket from your hands. The snake falls to the floor, immediately striking at the nearest target … you.

Pain explodes in your ankle as the asp’s fangs sink into your flesh. You cry out, stumbling backwards.

“No!” Cleopatra wails, lunging to catch you as you fall.

The world begins to spin as the venom courses through your veins. Your last coherent thought is of Lando, waiting faithfully by the lighthouse. As darkness closes in, you pray he’ll forgive you for breaking your promise.

Hours later, Lando fights his way through the chaos of the conquered city. He charges into the palace, heedless of the danger, desperate to find you.

When he bursts into Cleopatra’s chambers, his worst fears are realized. Two bodies lie motionless on the floor — the queen and beside her ...

“No,” he chokes out, falling to his knees beside your lifeless form. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”

Lando gathers you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as sobs wrack his body. “You promised,” he whispers brokenly. “You promised you’d stay safe.”

But promises, like empires, are so easily broken. As the sun rises on a new era for Egypt, it sets on this chapter of your shared story. Yet even as this life ends, the seeds of the next are already taking root, waiting to bloom in another time, another place.

For true love, like the mighty Nile, cannot be contained. It flows ever onward, carving new paths through the landscape of eternity.

Pompeii, 79 AD

The ground trembles beneath your feet as you race through the chaotic streets of Pompeii. Ash rains from the sky, coating everything in a ghostly gray shroud. All around, people scream and push, desperately seeking escape from the fury of Mount Vesuvius.

“Lando!” You call out, your voice hoarse from the acrid air. “Lando, where are you?”

A hand suddenly grabs your arm, yanking you into a narrow alleyway. You whirl around, ready to fight, only to find yourself face to face with Lando. His usually immaculate toga is torn and stained with soot, his dark curls matted with ash.

“Thank the gods,” he breathes, pulling you into a fierce embrace. “I thought I’d lost you in the crowd.”

You cling to him tightly, savoring his familiar warmth amidst the chaos. “We need to get out of the city,” you say urgently. “The mountain — it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Lando nods grimly. “I know. I’ve been trying to make it to the harbor, but the roads are completely blocked. It’s madness out there.”

Another tremor rocks the ground, stronger than before. Pieces of masonry rain down from the surrounding buildings. Lando shields you with his body as you both press against the alley wall.

“We can’t stay here,” you say once the shaking subsides. “It’s not safe.”

“Nowhere is safe,” Lando replies, his eyes haunted. “But you’re right, we need to keep moving. Come on, I know another way to the docks.”

Hand-in-hand, you dash back out into the crowded street. The air grows thicker with each passing moment, making it harder to breathe. You pull the edge of your stola over your mouth and nose, squinting through the haze.

Lando leads you through a maze of side streets and back alleys, avoiding the worst of the panicked crowds. But with each turn, your hope dwindles. The mountain’s fury seems to be growing by the minute, raining down fire and ash with terrifying intensity.

As you round another corner, you come face to face with a wall of rubble blocking the entire street. Lando curses under his breath, pounding his fist against a fallen column.

“It’s no use,” he says, defeat creeping into his voice. “Every path to the harbor is cut off. We’re trapped.”

You squeeze his hand reassuringly. “Then we’ll find somewhere to wait it out. The gods won’t abandon us. We just have to have faith.”

He turns to you, a sad smile playing on his lips. “Always the optimist, aren’t you? Even in the face of certain doom.”

“One of us has to be,” you reply, managing a weak smile of your own.

Another violent tremor shakes the ground, nearly knocking you both off your feet. In the distance, you hear the ominous rumble of collapsing buildings.

“Quick, in here!” Lando shouts, pulling you towards a sturdy-looking stone building. You duck inside just as a fresh barrage of burning rocks pelts the street where you were standing moments ago.

As your eyes adjust to the dimness, you realize you’re in some kind of workshop. Half-finished statues and blocks of marble are scattered about, coated in a fine layer of ash that has sifted through the cracks.

“A sculptor’s studio,” Lando muses, running his hand along a nearby bust. “Rather fitting, don’t you think? To spend our last moments surrounded by art meant to outlast us all.”

You shoot him a reproachful look. “Don’t talk like that. This isn’t the end. We’ll get through this, just like we always do.”

He sighs, pulling you close. “I admire your spirit, my love. But I fear this time, the Fates have other plans for us.”

As if to punctuate his words, the ground gives another violent lurch. The air grows even thicker, filled with choking dust and sulfurous fumes.

“It’s getting harder to breathe,” you gasp, fighting back a coughing fit.

Lando guides you to a relatively clear corner of the room, helping you sit on the floor before settling beside you. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, drawing you against his side.

“Just try to take shallow breaths,” he instructs, his own voice strained. “Like this, see?”

You nod, focusing on matching your breathing to his. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your labored breaths and the distant rumble of the mountain.

“Lando?” You whisper after a while.

“Hmm?”

“I’m scared.”

He tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I know, love. I am too.”

“Tell me a story?” You ask, your voice small. “Like you used to, when we first met. Remember?”

Lando chuckles softly. “How could I forget? You were the most stubborn student I’ve ever had the misfortune of tutoring.”

“Hey!” You protest weakly, managing a smile despite everything. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh no?” He teases. “Who was it that insisted the Odyssey would be vastly improved if Odysseus had simply asked for directions?”

You laugh, the sound quickly dissolving into a cough. “Well, it’s true! Twenty years to get home? Penelope should have moved on.”

Lando shakes his head in mock dismay. “Such disrespect for the classics. I clearly failed as your tutor.”

“Never,” you murmur, snuggling closer to him. “You taught me far more important things than dusty old stories.”

“Oh? And what might those be?”

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “You taught me what it means to truly love someone. To find a home not in a place, but in a person.”

Lando’s eyes shine with unshed tears as he leans down to kiss you softly. “And you, my darling, taught me that life is meant to be lived, not just studied. You brought color to my world of scrolls and stone.”

Another tremor shakes the building, sending a fresh wave of dust raining down on you both. The air grows thicker, each breath a struggle.

“Lando,” you wheeze, gripping his hand tightly. “I don’t want to die.”

He pulls you onto his lap, cradling you against his chest. “Shh, it’s alright. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“Promise you won’t leave me?” You plead, your vision starting to blur.

“Never,” he vows fiercely. “Not in this life or any other. Wherever our souls go next, we go together. I promise.”

You manage a weak nod, focusing on the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. As consciousness begins to slip away, you’re struck by a strange sense of déjà vu.

“Lando?” You murmur, your voice barely audible.

“Yes, love?”

“I think ... I think we’ve done this before.”

He lets out a shaky laugh. “What, died in each other’s arms while a volcano erupts? I think I’d remember that.”

You shake your head slightly. “No, not exactly. But this feeling ... like we’ve known each other forever. Like we’ll find each other again, no matter what.”

Lando is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is thick with emotion. “Maybe we have. Maybe we will. I’d like to think so.”

“Me too,” you whisper.

As the world crumbles around you, you cling to each other. Your last thoughts are not of fear or regret, but of the love you share. A love so powerful it transcends time itself.

And as this chapter closes, another waits to begin. For some bonds are too strong to be broken, even by death. Your souls are destined to find each other again and again, weaving an eternal tapestry of love across the ages.

Salem, 1692

The air in the Salem courthouse is thick with tension and the bitter scent of fear. You stand before the assembled judges, your wrists bound tightly with rough rope that chafes your skin. The crowd of onlookers murmurs and shifts restlessly, their faces a sea of suspicion and barely concealed hostility.

Lando sits among them, his face a mask of anguish as he watches the proceedings. He wants nothing more than to rush to your side, to shield you from the madness that has gripped the town. But he knows that any show of support would only damn you further in the eyes of the court.

Judge Hathorne’s voice rings out, silencing the whispers. “The accused will step forward.”

You take a shaky step, raising your chin defiantly despite the terror coursing through your veins.

“You stand accused of witchcraft and consorting with the devil,” Hathorne intones gravely. “How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” you declare, your voice stronger than you feel. “I am no witch, merely a midwife and herbalist. I have done nothing but help this community.”

A snort of derision comes from the crowd. You turn to see Goodwife Putnam, her face twisted with malice. “Lies!” She shrieks. “I saw her dancing naked in the woods, consorting with dark spirits!”

“That’s not true!” You protest. “I was gathering herbs for my remedies, nothing more!”

Judge Hathorne raises an eyebrow. “And can anyone vouch for your whereabouts on the night in question?”

Your heart sinks. You had been alone that night, as you often were when foraging. “I ... I was alone, your honor. But I swear on all that is holy, I am no witch.”

A ripple of whispers sweeps through the crowd. Lando’s fists clench at his sides, his jaw tight with the effort of remaining silent.

“Very convenient,” Hathorne remarks dryly. “Goody Putnam, you may continue with your testimony.”

The woman stands, her eyes gleaming with a fervor that chills you to the bone. “I’ve seen her speaking to animals as if they could understand her. And just last week, my cow’s milk turned sour the very day after she visited our farm!”

“That’s ridiculous!” You exclaim. “Milk spoils, it’s a natural occurrence. And I often speak to animals, as do many others. It does not make me a witch!”

But your protests fall on deaf ears. One by one, your neighbors step forward with increasingly outlandish accusations. Every misfortune, every unexplained event is laid at your feet.

“She cursed my crops!”

“My child fell ill after eating her bread!”

“I saw her flying on a broomstick!”

The claims grow more absurd, but the judges nod solemnly at each one. You feel the noose of suspicion tightening around your neck with each passing moment.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Lando leaps to his feet. “This is madness!” He shouts. “You’re condemning an innocent woman based on nothing but gossip and superstition!”

All eyes turn to him. Judge Danforth fixes him with a steely glare. “Master Norris, you will remain silent or be removed from this courtroom.”

“I will not be silent while you murder an innocent woman!” Lando retorts. He turns to the crowd, imploring them. “Can’t you see what’s happening? We’re tearing our community apart with these baseless accusations!”

A murmur of uncertainty ripples through the onlookers. For a moment, you dare to hope that reason might prevail.

But then Abigail Williams, one of the young girls at the center of the witch hunt, lets out a blood-curdling shriek. She points a trembling finger at you. “Her specter! I see her specter tormenting me even now!”

The other girls quickly join in, writhing and screaming as if in the throes of possession. The courtroom erupts into chaos.

“Order!” Judge Hathorne bellows, pounding his gavel. “Order in the court!”

As the commotion dies down, he turns to you, his expression grave. “The evidence against you is overwhelming. Unless you confess and repent, I have no choice but to find you guilty of witchcraft.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. You know that a confession might spare your life, but it would mean living a lie. And worse, it would lend credence to the madness gripping Salem.

“I will not confess to crimes I did not commit,” you say quietly but firmly. “I am innocent before God and man.”

Judge Hathorne’s face hardens. “Then you leave us no choice. You are hereby sentenced to death by hanging. May God have mercy on your soul.”

The crowd erupts into a mix of cheers and shocked gasps. Lando’s anguished cry rises above the din. “No! You can’t do this!”

He rushes towards you, but is quickly restrained by two burly constables. “Let me go!” He shouts, struggling against their grip. “She’s innocent!”

Your eyes meet his across the chaotic courtroom. Despite everything, you manage a small, sad smile. “It’s alright, Lando,” you call out. “Be strong. This isn’t your fault.”

As the guards move to lead you away, Lando breaks free and rushes to your side. He cups your face in his hands, his eyes wild with desperation. “I’ll find a way to stop this,” he vows. “I won’t let them take you.”

You lean into his touch, memorizing the feel of his hands on your skin. “There’s nothing you can do, my love. Promise me you’ll stay safe. Don’t let them take you too.”

“I can’t lose you,” he chokes out, tears streaming down his face.

“You won’t,” you whisper fiercely. “Not really. I don’t know how I know this, but I swear we’ll find each other again. In another life, another time. This isn’t the end for us.”

The guards roughly pull you apart. As they drag you away, you keep your eyes locked on Lando’s, drawing strength from his gaze.

The next few days pass in a blur of fear and desperate prayer. You cling to the strange certainty that had come over you in the courtroom — that somehow, someway, this is not truly the end for you and Lando.

On the day of your execution, you walk to the gallows with your head held high. The crowd that has gathered is subdued, some already beginning to question the justice of what’s happening.

You scan the faces, searching for Lando, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Your heart aches at his absence, but you understand. It would be too painful for him to watch.

As the noose is placed around your neck, you close your eyes and think of Lando. Of his laugh, his gentle touch, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. You hold onto these memories as the world falls away beneath your feet.

Your last conscious thought is a promise — to find him again, no matter how long it takes.

Miles away, hidden in the woods, Lando feels the exact moment you leave this world. He collapses to his knees, a wordless cry of anguish tearing from his throat. But even in his grief, he feels the echo of your final promise.

“I’ll find you,” he whispers to the uncaring forest. “In this life or the next. We’ll be together again. I swear it.”

And so another chapter closes, the threads of your shared destiny stretching onward through time. The cycle continues, each life bringing you closer to the moment when you’ll finally break free of this endless dance of death and rebirth.

Yekaterinburg, 1918

The Ipatiev House looms dark and foreboding in the Yekaterinburg night. You pace the confines of your makeshift prison, the once-opulent rooms now a stark reminder of how far the mighty Romanovs have fallen. The sound of raised voices and heavy footsteps from the floor below sends a chill down your spine.

“They’re coming,” your sister Maria whispers, her eyes wide with fear.

Before you can respond, the door bursts open. A group of armed men file in, their faces grim and purposeful. Your heart nearly stops when you spot a familiar face among them.

“Lando?” You gasp, scarcely able to believe your eyes.

He meets your gaze, his expression a turbulent mix of emotions. “Grand Duchess,” he says stiffly, the formal title at odds with the intimate moments you’ve shared in secret.

“What’s happening?” You demand, struggling to keep your voice steady. “Why are you here?”

Yakov Yurovsky, the commandant of the house, steps forward. “The Ural Soviet has decided to execute the Romanov family,” he announces coldly. “You are to be moved to the basement immediately.”

A wave of terror washes over you. “No,” you breathe. “No, this can’t be happening.”

Your eyes lock with Lando’s, silently pleading. For a moment, you see the conflict raging behind his eyes. But then his expression hardens, and he looks away.

As the guards begin herding your family towards the stairs, you manage to maneuver closer to Lando. “How could you be part of this?” You hiss under your breath.

His jaw clenches. “The revolution demands sacrifices,” he mutters. “Even from those we ... care about.”

“Care about?” You repeat incredulously. “Is that all I am to you now? After everything we’ve shared?”

A flicker of pain crosses his face. “You know it’s more complicated than that. Your family’s rule has caused immeasurable suffering. This ... this is justice.”

“Murder is not justice,” you retort, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger.

Before he can respond, you’re roughly pushed forward. The journey to the basement is a blur of terror and disbelief. Your mind races, desperately seeking a way out of this nightmare.

In the dank cellar, Yurovsky instructs your family to line up against the wall. You find yourself between your younger siblings, instinctively trying to shield them even as your own knees threaten to give out.

“Wait,” you cry out as Yurovsky raises his hand to signal the firing squad. “Please, spare the children at least. They’re innocent in all this!”

Yurovsky’s face remains impassive. “There can be no Romanov heirs left to rally around. The old regime must end here and now.”

You turn to Lando, making one last desperate appeal. “Lando, please. If what we had meant anything to you, don’t let this happen. Help us!”

For a moment, you see the Lando you knew — the passionate young man who spoke of creating a better world, who held you under the stars and whispered promises of a future together. But then the revolutionary mask slips back into place.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely audible. “But this is bigger than us.”

As the soldiers raise their weapons, time seems to slow. You think of all the lives you might have lived — the futures now forever lost to you. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you, as if you’ve faced death with Lando before.

“Ready!” Yurovsky’s voice cuts through your reverie.

You straighten your spine, determined to face your end with dignity. Your eyes find Lando’s one last time.

“Aim!”

“I forgive you,” you mouth silently, even as tears stream down your face.

You see Lando’s composure crack, anguish flooding his features. He takes a half-step forward, as if to intervene, but it’s too late.

“Fire!”

The basement erupts in a deafening cacophony of gunshots and screams. You feel a searing pain in your chest as bullets tear through you. As you crumple to the ground, your fading vision fixates on Lando’s horrified face.

With your last breath, you whisper, “Find me again.”

Then darkness claims you.

Lando stands frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from your lifeless form. The smokey smell of gunpowder mixes with the metallic scent of blood, turning his stomach.

“Finish them off,” Yurovsky orders dispassionately. “No survivors.”

As his comrades move forward with bayonets, Lando stumbles back, retching. He staggers up the stairs and out into the cool night air, gulping it down desperately.

What has he done?

He’d believed so fervently in the revolution, in the need to sweep away the old order to build a better world. But staring at his blood-stained hands, Lando feels nothing but horror and soul-crushing guilt.

Your final words haunt him. “Find me again.” But how can he, when he’s destroyed any chance of a future together?

As dawn breaks over Yekaterinburg, Lando makes a decision. He can’t undo what’s been done, but he can ensure the truth isn’t buried along with your body.

Over the coming weeks, as the Bolsheviks spread lies about your family’s fate, Lando works in secret to document what really happened. He gathers evidence, writes detailed accounts, and arranges for the information to be smuggled out of the country.

It’s a dangerous game. If caught, he’ll be branded a traitor to the revolution. But Lando no longer cares about ideology or politics. His only goal is to honor your memory and ensure that history remembers the truth.

Late one night, as he prepares to flee the country with his damning documents, Lando allows himself a moment of quiet reflection. He thinks of your smile, your compassion, the way you challenged him to see beyond his rigid beliefs.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers to the empty room. “I failed you in this life. But I swear, somehow, I’ll make it right. If there’s any justice in the universe, we’ll meet again. And next time, I’ll protect you. I’ll choose you over everything else.”

As he slips out into the night, Lando feels a strange sense of certainty. This isn’t the end of your story. Somehow, someway, you’ll find each other again.

The wheel of fate continues to turn, carrying your intertwined souls towards yet another lifetime. But with each cycle, the bond between you grows stronger. Perhaps next time, you’ll finally break free of this tragic pattern and find the happiness that’s eluded you for so long.

Jonestown, 1978

The humid Guyanese air hangs heavy over Jonestown, thick with tension and the cloying scent of tropical flowers. You stand among the gathered crowd, your heart pounding so hard you fear it might burst from your chest. Beside you, Lando’s hand finds yours, squeezing tightly.

“This isn’t right,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the droning speech coming from the pavilion. “We need to get out of here.”

You nod imperceptibly, not daring to speak. Jim Jones’ paranoid ravings have reached a fever pitch in recent days, and you both know that even the slightest hint of dissent could be deadly.

“My children,” Jones’ voice booms out over the loudspeakers, “the time has come for us to make our final stand against the oppressors who seek to destroy our paradise.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd. You scan the sea of faces, seeing a mix of blind devotion and barely concealed terror.

“Our Congressional visitors have betrayed us,” Jones continues, his words slurring slightly. “They will bring nothing but destruction. We have no choice but to enact our glorious revolutionary suicide.”

Your blood runs cold. You’d heard whispers of this plan, but had desperately hoped it was just another of Jones’ manipulative tactics.

“Lando,” you whisper urgently, “we have to run. Now.”

He nods, his face pale but determined. “Follow my lead. When I give the signal, we make a break for the jungle.”

But before you can move, you feel a vice-like grip on your arm. You turn to see your mother, her eyes wild with fervor.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She hisses. “This is our moment of triumph. You will not ruin it with your lack of faith.”

On Lando’s other side, his father has a similar hold on him. The older man’s face is a mask of grim resignation. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, son,” he says quietly.

You watch in horror as Jones’ lieutenants begin distributing paper cups filled with a sinister purple liquid. The bitter almond smell of cyanide fills the air.

“No,” you breathe, struggling against your mother’s grip. “Mom, please. This is insanity. We don’t have to do this!”

But your pleas fall on deaf ears. Your mother’s grip only tightens as she accepts two cups from a passing aide.

“Drink,” she commands, thrusting one towards you.

You shake your head vehemently, clamping your mouth shut. Beside you, Lando is engaged in a similar struggle with his father.

“You can’t force us to do this!” Lando shouts, drawing the attention of nearby cult members. “This is murder!”

Jones’ voice cuts through the growing commotion. “Those who resist are traitors to our cause. They must be made to comply, for the good of all.”

Suddenly, you’re surrounded by a group of Jones’ most fanatical followers. Rough hands grab you, forcing your head back. You struggle wildly, but it’s no use. You feel the cold rim of the cup pressed against your lips.

“No!” Lando cries out, fighting to reach you. “Leave her alone!”

But he too is overwhelmed, multiple hands restraining him as the poisoned drink is forced upon him.

The sickly-sweet liquid burns your throat as it’s poured into your mouth. You choke and splutter, but can’t prevent some of it from going down. Beside you, Lando’s muffled cries tell you he’s suffering the same fate.

As the hands release you, you collapse to your knees, coughing violently. Your vision swims, the world taking on a surreal, nightmarish quality.

“Lando,” you gasp, reaching out blindly.

His hand finds yours, gripping it weakly. “I’m here,” he manages, his voice raw. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t protect you.”

You crawl closer, fighting against the growing weakness in your limbs. All around, people are collapsing, some screaming in agony while others slip away in eerie silence.

“It’s not your fault,” you whisper, cupping Lando’s face with a trembling hand. “We never stood a chance against this madness.”

Lando’s eyes, clouded with pain, meet yours. “This can’t be how it ends,” he says desperately. “Not again.”

A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you. “Again?” You murmur, confused.

He nods weakly. “I don’t know how, but I feel like we’ve been here before. Facing death together, unable to stop it.”

As the poison works its way through your system, flashes of other lives flicker through your mind. Ancient Egypt, Pompeii, Salem, Russia — each time, finding each other only to be torn apart.

“I remember,” you breathe, wonder mingling with the pain. “We keep finding each other, but we never get our happy ending.”

Lando pulls you closer, both of you shaking with the effort of fighting off the inevitable. “Next time,” he vows, his voice barely above a whisper. “Next time we’ll break this cycle. We’ll find a way to be together.”

You manage a small, sad smile. “Promise?”

“I promise,” he murmurs, pressing a weak kiss to your forehead.

As consciousness begins to slip away, you cling to each other. The sounds of screaming and Jones’ maniacal laughter fade into the background. In these final moments, there is only you and Lando, and the love that has somehow endured across lifetimes.

“Find me again,” you whisper, echoing words spoken in another life.

Lando’s grip on your hand tightens fractionally. “Always,” he breathes.

As darkness closes in, you’re filled with a strange sense of hope. This tragic cycle can’t go on forever. Someday, somehow, you’ll find a way to break free and finally have the life together you’ve been denied so many times.

Your last thought, as you slip away, is a prayer to whatever cosmic force keeps bringing you together.

Next time, let it be different.

Next time, let us live.

And as your souls depart this tragic scene, unseen wheels of fate begin to turn once more. The cycle continues, but perhaps this time, with the weight of so many shared lifetimes behind you, you’ll finally find your way to a happier ending.

In the years that follow, as the horror of Jonestown is revealed to the world, two names are lost among the hundreds of victims. But your story — the story of a love that refuses to be extinguished — lives on, waiting for the next chapter to unfold.

Monaco, 2024

The soft glow of computer screens illuminates Lando’s face as he leans into his microphone, his eyes darting between the chat and his game. “No, chat, I’m not going to sing the Baby Shark song,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You lot are absolutely mental, you know that?”

The door to his streaming room creaks open, and he glances over, his face softening into a warm smile as you pad in, wrapped in an oversized hoodie you’ve stolen from his wardrobe.

“Speaking of sharks,” Lando grins, addressing his audience, “look who’s decided to join us. It’s my favorite cuddly shark!”

You roll your eyes fondly at the nickname, a reference to your habit of playfully nipping at his shoulder when you’re feeling particularly affectionate. As you approach, Lando pushes his chair back slightly, making room for you to settle onto his lap.

“Come here, you,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist as you curl into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. To his stream, he explains, “Sorry chat, the missus is feeling a bit clingy tonight. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

You mumble something unintelligible into his skin, making him laugh. “What was that, love? The stream can’t hear you when you’re trying to become one with my neck.”

Lifting your head slightly, you repeat, “I said, don’t let me interrupt your gaming. I just wanted cuddles.”

Lando presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “You’re never an interruption. Besides, I think the chat’s been asking for a cameo from you all night.”

You turn to face the camera, waving sleepily. “Hi, chat. Sorry I’m not more entertaining tonight. Long day at work.”

The chat explodes with greetings and well-wishes, scrolling by almost too fast to read. Lando chuckles, giving you a gentle squeeze. “See? They love you. Probably more than they love me, to be honest.”

“That’s fair,” you murmur, nuzzling back into his neck. “No one loves you more than I do.”

Lando’s breath catches for a moment, and you feel his heart rate pick up. Even after all this time together, simple declarations of love still affect him deeply. It’s one of the many things you adore about him.

“Alright, chat,” Lando says, his voice a touch huskier than before. “You’ve gone and made her all sappy. I hope you’re happy with yourselves.”

You can’t help but giggle at his attempt to deflect. “Oh please, you love it when I’m sappy.”

“Maybe,” he concedes with a grin. “But if I admit that, they’ll never let me hear the end of it. I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”

You snort inelegantly. “What reputation? Everyone knows you’re a big softie.”

“Oi!” Lando protests, poking you in the side and making you squirm. “I’ll have you know I’m very tough and manly. Right, chat?”

The stream erupts with a mix of agreement and playful disagreement, peppered with emotes and inside jokes. You watch the scrolling text with amusement, marveling at the community Lando has built.

“See?” Lando says triumphantly. “They agree with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure at least half of those messages were sarcastic, babe.”

Lando waves a hand dismissively. “Details, details. The point is, I’m incredibly macho and not at all a softie.”

“Mmhmm,” you hum skeptically. “Is that why you cried watching Up last week?”

“Hey!” Lando exclaims, his cheeks flushing slightly. “That’s classified information, that is. You can’t just go revealing my secrets to the entire internet!”

The chat goes wild at this revelation, demanding to know more about Lando’s movie-watching habits. You can’t help but laugh at his mock-outraged expression.

“Sorry, love,” you say, not sounding sorry at all. “But if I have to put up with your sniffling during Disney movies, the least I can do is share the joy with your fans.”

Lando groans dramatically. “That’s it, I’m filing for divorce. Chat, you’re my witnesses. This is grounds for divorce, right? Revealing a man’s most intimate vulnerabilities?”

You roll your eyes fondly. “We’re not even married yet, you goof.”

The words slip out before you can think better of them, and suddenly the atmosphere in the room shifts. Lando’s eyes widen slightly, his gaze locking with yours.

“Yet?” He repeats softly, a note of wonder in his voice.

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you don’t look away. “Well, yeah. I mean, unless you had other plans?”

For a moment, Lando seems to forget entirely about the stream. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing gently across your skin. “No other plans,” he murmurs. “Just you. Always you.”

The intimacy of the moment is broken by the chat exploding once again, this time with a flurry of ring emotes and excited keysmashes. Lando blinks, seeming to remember where he is.

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Well, chat, I think that’s my cue to end the stream for tonight. Got some, uh, important things to discuss with this one.”

You bury your face in his neck again, half embarrassed and half thrilled by the turn of events. As Lando rushes through his usual sign-off, you can feel the barely contained energy thrumming through him.

The moment the stream ends, Lando spins his chair to face you fully, his eyes bright with excitement. “Did you mean that?” He asks eagerly. “About the marriage thing?”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. “Of course I did. Lando, I’ve loved you for lifetimes. There’s nothing I want more than to marry you.”

Something flashes in his eyes at your words — a fleeting moment of recognition, as if some long-buried memory is struggling to surface. But then it’s gone, replaced by pure joy.

“Lifetimes, huh?” He grins, pulling you closer. “Well, in that case, I suppose we better make this one count.”

As his lips meet yours in a tender kiss, you’re filled with an overwhelming sense of rightness. After so many tragic endings, you’ve finally found your happily ever after. And this time, you’re not letting go.

“I love you,” you murmur against his lips. “In this life and every other.”

Lando’s answering smile is radiant. “And I love you. Always have, always will.”

As you lose yourselves in each other’s embrace, the echoes of past lives fade away. This is your time, your chance at happiness. And you plan to make the most of every single moment.

[undertheorangetree]

Tantrum

Summary- Art’s girlfriend sucks at tennis. He helps her feel better.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Stanford era Art. Exhibitionism. Body worship. Cunnilingus. Wee bit of fingering. P in V sex. Riding. The fluffiest giggliest sex you've ever seen. Me not knowing a damn thing about tennis.

Author's Note- Hi idk if you noticed but i have Challengers brain rot rn specifically for Art Donaldson :// As a theatre kid I simply had no choice it was always gonna be him. Read the full fic on AO3.

When Art had looked up at her with big pleading eyes, all but begging her to allow him to teach her the basics of tennis, she was in no position to refuse. It had been sweet, how badly he wanted to share his passion with her, the kisses he had peppered across her neck and chest in order to entice her into it, and she couldn’t so much as imagine denying him. Forget the fact that she had never held a racket in her life, that her strengths had always been rooted in academia rather than athletics.  If allowing him to teach her would make him happy, she would do it.

Though not without complaint.

She lets out a frustrated grunt as the ball hits the net- again- before turning her head up to glare at Art when he barely manages to stifle his laugh. He smothers it immediately when he catches sight of her glower, hand coming up to rub at his mouth as if he can physically wipe away his smile and she feels her teeth grind together.

“You can’t laugh. You’re the one who wanted me to do this so you’re not allowed to make fun of me,” she complains, her voice half petulance half hurt and immediately his face morphs into something more apologetic.

“I’m sorry baby.” He makes his way closer but she simply rolls her eyes, turning her nose up when he reaches out to her. He takes it in stride. “I’m not laughing at you, you’re doing very well. It’s just funny to see you so frustrated.”

It’s her turn to laugh, though it is little more than a humourless bark. “I am not doing very well. I suck.”

He makes a sympathetic noise as he attempts to reach for her again. She allows it begrudgingly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as his hands close around her elbows, face dropping into her neck to press a kiss there. She thinks that he’s about to praise her further, try to coax her back into committing herself to the game, but he stays silent, continuing to lavish her with silent kisses.

She’s happy for the odd hour they decided to come here, the tennis court completely devoid of any other life. It’s a colder night than it should be for mid spring, the floodlights and moon the only two things to provide them with any light, and she’s grateful finals have chased everyone else away. She’s glad to have this time alone with him, despite her frustration. To feel like they are the only two people in the world.

“You’re just hitting the ball too hard,” he explains, face still half buried in her throat. “And you aren’t even attempting to aim. Putting everything you have behind the hit doesn’t make it a good one if you don’t know where you’re sending it. There’s more to tennis than just force, you have to be smart about it.”

She scoffs, reaching up to press her palm against his forehead and shove him away, ignoring the shit eating grin that’s made itself known on his face. “Just go over there and hit the damn ball. Before I leave you here by yourself.”

The grin doesn’t fade, his amusement more than clear, but he does as she asks, returning to his side of the court. She lets out another aggravated sigh as she returns to the position he had told her to wait in, knees bent as she waits for him to serve, realizing more and more that she prefers to watch him play tennis rather than do it with him. She finds far more joy watching him from the stands as he chases after the ball, sweat dripping from his curls and grunts echoing in her ears. Here, where she is the one chasing the ball like a damn dog and failing to send it sailing over the net when she does manage to catch it, there is no time to admire Art in his element.

She almost feels bad for her poor attitude, wishing she was less competitive so that she could simply enjoy this quality time with him, but every failure does nothing but enrage her further, sending her spiralling further into frustration.

Read the rest here :)

[meazalykov]

mystery

barcelona femeni x lena oberdorf x reader

the team finds out about your potential relationship at the same time as everyone else

the chill of december bites at your skin as you step off the plane, a light fog of condensation forming with each exhale. 

cairo airport is filled with activity, a stark contrast to the quiet ache in your chest from leaving barcelona behind for the break. everyone else scattered to their families..alexia to her parents, mapi to her sisters.. ingrid tagging along with mapi.

however, you made a different choice. you texted lena as soon as the winter schedule was released, your fingers shaking with equal parts nerves and excitement as you hit send. her response had been almost immediate: 

yes, come to me.

the cab ride to the german resort in egypt feels longer than it is, the traffic weaving around you in a rhythm you can’t quite predict. your mind drifts to her…how her voice sounded over the phone just the night before, soft and inviting despite her latest recovery session. 

you remember the way she laughed when you told her you’d packed her favorite chocolate from spain, calling you “extra” with a playful tease. 

when you finally step into the lobby, obi is already waiting with lea. she stands near the entrance, her dark shirt hanging loosely on her body, her hair tied back in a simple ponytail. 

obi’s eyes light up the second they meet yours, a warmth there that makes the entire journey feel worth it. she doesn’t move right away..her lips curl into that familiar smile, the one that always tugs at something deep inside your chest, and then she steps forward. 

“you’re here,” she says, as if she needs to convince herself this isn’t just another late-night call or grainy video chat. 

“i’m here,” you echo, your voice quieter, carrying all the weight of missing her and finally seeing her again. 

she pulls you into her arms before you can say anything else, her grip firm but tender, as though she’s afraid you might disappear if she holds too tightly. the scent of her shampoo..something citrusy and sharp..mixes with the faint chill on her skin, and you close your eyes, melting into the familiarity of her embrace. 

obi’s hands trace soothing lines along your lower back, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades. it’s just you and her, breathing each other in.

“you must be exhausted,” she says when she pulls back slightly, her hands still resting on your shoulders. obi’s eyes scan your face like she’s memorizing every detail all over again. 

“i’ve had worse travel days,” you joke, but lena shakes her head, her lips quirking in mild disapproval. 

“you never let me take care of you,” she mutters, almost to herself, before lacing her fingers with yours and tugging you toward the elevator. 

“no hey for me?” lea jokes. 

“how could i forget about my favorite person here!” you laugh, pulling lea into a tight hug.

“hey!” lena says which gets a good laugh out of lea and you.

the ride up to obi’s room is quiet, save for the faint hum of holiday music filtering through the speakers. lena leans against the wall, her thumb absently brushing over your knuckles. 

you don’t say much..it’s a comfortable silence, the kind that comes with knowing someone so intimately that words aren’t always necessary. 

once inside the room, lena drops her small bag near the small table and immediately turns to you. she’s always been like this…direct, unguarded when it’s just the two of you. she steps closer, her hands finding your cheeks, her thumbs brushing lightly over your skin. 

“you’re really here,” she whispers, and this time it sounds more like a confession, a quiet marvel at the reality of it. 

“of course i am,” you reply, your voice steady even though your heart is racing under her gaze. 

“you think i’d spend with anyone else?” 

obi’s smile softens, and she presses a kiss to your forehead before resting her own against it. 

“you have no idea how much i’ve missed you.”

you think you do. you’ve felt it in every passing day since the last time she came to barcelona to see you, when you had to say goodbye in the quiet of your apartment, neither of you wanting to let go. you feel it now, in the way her hands linger on you like she’s trying to make up for lost time. 

“probably as much as i’ve missed you,” you say, and it earns you that laugh…the low, melodic one that makes your chest feel impossibly full. 

“impossible,” she teases, before finally pulling away just enough to guide you to the bed. 

you lay down cuddling with her for a brief moment before you have to go outside for more activities. the both of you talk lightly, just discussing things that maybe you guys didn’t on the phone. 

she mentions lea and kathi’s terrible jokes during her recovery sessions. there’s a tenderness in her voice whenever she talks about her friends, and you’re grateful her friends has been there for her during the times you couldn’t be since you played in barcelona. 

after a night out, where lena djs with her friends while you just sit with lea by the bars in support.. you feel the exhaustion from the trip begin to creep in, but lena seems to notice before you can say anything. 

she nudges you gently, her arm wrapping around your shoulders as she takes you back to your shared hotel room. 

“sleep,” she murmurs, her voice low and soothing. 

“i will still be here, i am just going to the bathroom to get unready.” 

maybe five minutes later.. you feel yourself getting pulled into her arms, in this secret little world you’ve built together in egypt while the time lasts. 

throughout the next week in egypt felt like a dream. the kind of dream you never wanted to wake up from or escape. you and lena spent days exploring, stealing moments for yourselves, surrounded by her closest friends. 

the most thrilling part of it all? riding dune buggies across the sprawling sands. the powerful machines roared as you navigated the uneven terrain, the wind whipping against your face as lena rode beside you, grinning like a kid who just found her favorite candy.

somewhere in the golden expanse of the desert, lea insisted on capturing photos of everyone. lena was her usual reluctant self, but you? you were feeling the sun on your skin, the freedom in the air. 

when lea aimed the camera your way, she didn’t even have to ask you to stand still when you started walking so you had your own individual pictures. 

the timing of the pictures couldn’t have been more perfect..your hair moved gently in the breeze, and the sunlight painted your skin with a radiant glow, setting you apart from the vast golden orange backdrop of sand. 

“oh wow this one’s stunning,” lea grinned, showing the screen to lena first. obi’s eyes lingered on the image a moment longer than necessary, a small, almost imperceptible smile pulling at her lips before she nodded.

“you’re posting that, right?” lena asked, her tone teasing but edged with sincerity. 

you did. how could you not? it was the kind of picture that didn’t come around often. within minutes, your feed was getting notifications. 

what you didn’t expect was for some eagle eyed fans to piece together that lena and lea had posted stories from the exact same desert in the same hour. while neither of them appeared in your photo, the connection was made…three high-profile football players in the same place, at the same time?

the internet was quick to notice. 

still, everything was manageable. until lena, in true lena fashion, decided to break the silence. obi’s comment on your post was simple, direct: 

hot

that one word sent shockwaves through your notifications. 

suddenly, the noise grew louder. fans were scrambling for answers, dissecting every post and interaction…or lack thereof. you and lena had never made a habit of commenting on each other’s photos, not publicly, at least. 

sure, you liked her posts, and she liked yours, but it was subtle. this? this was anything but subtle. you were not mad at lena, in fact, you kind of enjoyed that people were starting to know about this.

the first text came late that night. your phone buzzed on the nightstand as you lay beside lena, who was lazily scrolling through her own notifications. 

ingrid. 

ingrid: what are you doing in egypt with obi? 

ingrid: nothing wrong! i didn’t think that you guys even knew of each other

you stared at the screen for a moment, debating your response. lena noticed, leaning over to catch a glimpse of her old wolfsburg teammate texting you. 

“are you going to answer her?” she asked, her voice calm but curious. 

“not yet,” you murmured, locking the phone and setting it back down. lena chuckled, pressing a kiss to your lips before tossing your phone to the side.

the texts didn’t stop there. by morning, your phone was flooded…alexia, salma, frido, ewa. all of them had the same question: 

alexia: what's going on? 

ewa: i see you guys 😏😏 

salma: so what are you doing in egypttt!??? 😏😏🤨

fridolina: since when did you and obi start dating? 

later, lena posted her slideshow on instagram. a collection of moments from the trip since its your last day here: the sunset over the desert, the group at dinner, her in the pool. 

however, it was the last photo that threw everything into chaos. the picture was taken by the dj booth, all of you in one frame. lea stood between phil and fridolin, and lena stood on fridolin’s other side. 

there you were, at the end, lena’s arm draped comfortably around your shoulders, your head leaning against hers. 

the comments exploded. 

HELLO???

wait… are they together?! 

obi and y/n?? since when?? 

HOW DID WE NOT SEE THIS COMING?!

THE HARD LAUNCH OKAYYY

lena smirked at the influx of attention, but you could feel the tension brewing in your phone as it buzzed relentlessly on the table. by now, the barcelona group chat was probably in flames. 

you could picture alexia starting her own mini investigation, salma and frido laughing at the absurdity, and ewa typing out a flurry of messages just to be nosey about her old teammate and new teammate being together. 

“they’re not going to let this go, you know,” lena said, her tone light as she scrolled through her own growing list of missed calls and texts from her bayern teammates like kathi, tuva, and georgia. 

“i know,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair. 

“but we’ll figure it out when we get back. you to munich, me to barcelona.”

lena smiled, pulling you closer. 

“as long as i have my beautiful sexy girlfriend, then i am okay.” 

you giggled. 

back in barcelona, a week after you and obi left egypt.. the locker room is quiet as you push the door open, though the quiet feels almost… staged. 

your footsteps echo slightly as you step in, and the moment you glance up, you realize why. every single one of your teammates is staring at you, arms crossed, smirks plastered across their faces like they’ve been waiting for this exact moment.

“so,” vicky starts, leaning against her locker with the kind of casual confidence that spells trouble. 

“how was egypt with your new girlfriend?”

you roll your eyes, already regretting every decision that led to this. 

“good morning to you too,” you mutter, heading straight for your locker, hoping and praying that they’ll let it slide. 

they won’t.

salma snickers as she moves to sit beside your locker, her grin way too wide. 

“you’re not even going to deny it, are you?”

“what’s there to deny?” you sigh, pulling off your hoodie and grabbing your training shirt. your hands move a little quicker than usual, like if you’re dressed fast enough, they might lose interest. 

they don’t.

“what’s there to deny?” ewa repeats, feigning shock. 

“you’ve been secretly dating obi, and you think we’re just going to let that slide without asking questions?”

you groan internally but keep your face calm, pulling your shirt over your head and starting on your socks. 

“it’s not a secret anymore, is it?” you reply, your tone steady, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“how long?” ewa presses, leaning forward. 

“and don’t even think about lying.”

you glance up at her, then at the rest of the team, who are all waiting, some sitting on the benches, others leaning against lockers, every single one of them focused on you.

 alexia, standing near the door, raises an eyebrow as if to say, you might as well tell them.

“four months,” you say finally, your voice even. 

the reaction is instant. gasps, laughter, and a mix of disbelief ripple through the room.

“four months?” frido exclaims. 

“and you didn’t tell anyone? not even us?”

“i told esmee,” you admit, earning a collective groan from the group.

esmee turns her head away from the team, hoping to not become the center of the teasing since she didn’t spill your secret. 

salma throws her hands up dramatically. 

“esmee doesn’t count. she’s your best friend here.”

you shake your head, tying your laces as you prepare for the next wave of teasing. 

“obi and i wanted to keep it private for a while,” you explain, keeping your voice calm despite the heat rising to your cheeks. 

“it’s long-distance. clearly since she plays at bayern. we wanted to make sure it worked before people started asking questions or… making assumptions.”

that quiets them for a moment, and alexia nods slightly, her expression softening. 

“that makes sense,” she says, her tone understanding. 

“it’s a lot of pressure, especially with both of you playing in different places.”

you give her a small, grateful smile before aitana pipes up. 

“but you’re terrible at keeping secrets, you know that, right?” 

the whole room erupts in laughter, and even you can’t help but join in. 

“apparently,” you admit, grabbing your water bottle and heading toward the door. 

“hey, for what it’s worth,” vicky calls out as you reach the exit, 

“you make a cute couple. but don’t think this means we’re done teasing you.” 

you roll your eyes but grin despite yourself. 

“i wouldn’t expect anything less.” 

masterlist

[wxwrites]

Lightning Bolts

Sevika X Reader, angst & fluff. (f!reader)

While she can recognize her own strength in certain aspects, sometimes she really struggles with recognizing it in other places. You catch her frowning at her own appearance in the bathroom mirror.

men dni

Sevika has always kept herself guarded and closed-off, rarely ever displaying vulnerability or affection. In her mind, all of that made her weak, and that was the worst feeling she could ever experience. She has always been the protector, the one who sacrifices herself for Zaun and those she’s loyal to. Due to her irrevocable nature, that is what led to one of the most traumatic moments of her life. 

So, now she has to cope with one of the biggest insecurities that she has ever had to deal with. And it’s not her new arm, she actually really appreciates the look and how it makes her feel. The men that used to intimidate her as a kid, now cower in fear as her loud boots clank through each building she enters and every street she walks on. She finds the new strength dependable, fascinating, and addicting. 

However, she catches herself staring at the deep scars that streak across her cheek and down her neck. But she’s not just looking, she’s criticizing how the blue glares beneath her skin, causing a different kind of rage to bubble. Her jaw clenches as she watches it glow and fade in little ripples across her dark skin, nearly fracturing the mirror in front of her. Always her own critic, always feeling like she could just be better. The only thing that stops her downward spiral is your sweet voice, calling towards the bathroom. “‘Vika?” She hears, and immediately drops her fist to the ceramic sink, cracking the corner slightly. You swiftly step towards her at the sound of the commotion, pressing a soft hand onto her shoulder.

“What’s goin’ on, baby?” you ask gently, rubbing over the tense muscle with your thumb. “Nothin’, I’m okay, sweetheart,” she replies, fighting every urge in her mind that is screaming at her to push you away. She huffs lowly and slumps over the sink, bowing her head slightly, subconsciously leaning into your soft touch.

“Talk to me, yeah?” you coax gently, scratching the tips of your fingers through her new undercut, smiling at her softly as you admire her new look. She shakes her head briefly before sighing, and muttering a quiet, “I’m just not a fan of… y’know,” she gestures to the deep scarring on her cheek and neck. You give her a sympathetic smile and move your hand from her neck to her cheek, gently soothing it over the marks. She flinches initially and wants to jerk her head away– and she does for a split second. But, she eventually leans back into your touch, letting you thumb over the scars.

You cock your head in confusion as you look at her pretty face, “You’re so beautiful, Sevika.” you compliment, standing up on your toes to press a kiss to her cheek. “They’re like… little lightning bolts.” you say, trailing your fingers down her cheek, to her jaw, and then to her collarbones. They continue further down her body, but they’re greatly concealed by the shirt and vest she’s currently sporting. “Beautiful, and bright, and so lovely.” You continue, pressing your lips to her collar softly, chuckling against her skin as she shivers at your touch. “I wish I could help you see yourself the way that I see you.” you mumble against her skin, keeping your lips and hand attached to the glistening cracks. 

She sighs deeply at your comment and rests her forehead against yours, tilting your chin up with her hand as she presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’m getting there.” she replies quietly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I know, I know.” you repeat, smiling against her neck. “And I’ll be here for whenever you need me, yeah?” you state, reaching down to lace your fingers together. 

[fox-guardian]

[ID: An eight page digital comic featuring Sam, Celia, and Alice from The Magnus Protocol on a gray background. The characters are all colored with a single color each. Sam is red, Celia is green, and Alice is pink. Sam is a fat Arab man with short curly dark hair, a mustache, and a small goatee, and he is wearing small black earrings, a cardigan, a turtleneck, trousers and loafers. Celia is a taller Korean woman with short dark hair and she is wearing rectangular glasses, piercings including an industrial piercing, an x-shaped earring, and snakebites, a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a vest, trousers, and black wrist cuffs. Alice is an even taller white woman with long fluffy hair and crooked teeth, and she is wearing cat eye glasses, three pairs of earrings, snakebites, a flannel shirt, a hoodie tied around her waist, a patchwork skirt, bracelets, and a lanyard.

Sam and Celia are stood at a table covered in papers. Celia urgently turns to Sam. Celia: Alice is coming! She can't catch us researching, we need a diversion, QUICK! How can we make her think we're not doing what we're doing? Sam, shrugging really hard: UHHHH she thinks I have a crush on you?? Celia, sweating, turns back to where Alice is coming from, panicked, and turns back to Sam, shrugging and reaching for him. Celia smiling a bit manically: Yeah, that'll work, sure!

Sam, with Celia's hands grabbing his cardigan: Wait whaAAAA- He is pulled out of frame. Alice walks in: Hey Sam, working hard or hardly woOOOAA She leans on the doorframe as she holds a hand to her chest in shock.

The next panel is rendered with soft pink shadows and "shoujo sparkles" in the now pink background. Sam is sitting on the table holding onto Celia, whose face is buried in his neck as she wraps one arm around his back and the other holds up one of his legs under his knee. Neither of their faces are visible. The rest of the page fades back to gray from there. Sam and Celia look over at Alice, hair ruffled, Sam is now blushing. Sam: ALICE!! He pushes Celia away and they look at each other for a moment, panicked. Sam: It's- .... exactly what it looks like! Celia: Aw, you've caught us! He rests his hands on her shoulders and they both look in opposite directions as though embarrassed. Celia is also blushing lightly. There are red and green neon signs pointing to them reading "Totally Ham-Slammin'" and "GAY! (in an M/F way)" respectively.

Alice looks to be in shock with a vacant expression and a computer pop up over her forehead reading "Alice.exe has stopped responding". In the next panel she is fine again and back to smirking. Alice: WOW SAM, didn't know you had it in you! Now I'm no snitch, so I didn't see anything, BUT- you lovebirds should cut it out before Gwen catches you. Celia and Sam look at each other anxiously, cheeks pressed together as she speaks. Alice: You KNOW she'd tell Lena. Celia, pulling back and smoothing her hair out: Oh, for sure. Sam: Th-Thanks, Alice. Alice: Don't mention it! I'll give you crazy kids a minute to straighten up, TA-TA~ She waves as she leaves.

Sam and Celia listen to her steps fade before going "phew" and finally pulling away from each other, now holding hands at an arms distance. Celia: You alright? That was kinda sudden.... Sam: It's fine! Just a bit caught off guard. Celia: I can't believe she actually bought all of that! Sam: Me either! Works for me, though.

Celia: Did you want to get down- Sam, pulling away suddenly, blushing again: NO! He crosses his legs and looks away sheepishly, scratching his head. Sam: I wanna stay here another minute or so.... Celia, concerned: You sure you're alright? Sam: Yeah! Just, er.... Celia looks at him, confused. Sam, blushing increasingly harder: Ahem. (He folds his hands in his lap politely.) I am not immune to being thrown on a table. Celia, smiling and politely stepping away: AH! .... Noted~

She walks away casually, still smiling. Celia: I'll give you a minute to collect yourself. Sam, head down in his lap, embarrassed: Thanks.... He looks up after she leaves. Sam: Wait. He straightens up, slightly panicked, face entirely red. Sam: What do you mean by "NOTED"?!

end ID]

~~~~

i am SO glad this episode didn't entirely debunk the silly headcanon that birthed this comic. initially i wasn't convinced sam actually had a crush so i made this like "well if he didn't before, HE DOES NOW" so.... here's this silly comic thing <3 i just think they're neat <3

[bkgml]

9:06pm

kats 💕: you’re not even ready for the movies i have planned

9:15pm

kats 💕: why are you so late

kats 💕: did you put your socks on backwards or smthn

9:43pm

kats 💕: yn what the hell?

10:01pm

kats 💕: baby what’s wrong?

kats 💕: you’re fucking stressing me out.

10:08pm

kats 💕: yn please

katsuki sits on the edge of his bed, leg bouncing.

where are you?

feeling fed up with this waiting game, he stands abruptly and throws open his door.

stomping to your dorm he yanks it open to find it empty… that’s weird.

he figures you could be training and lost track of time so he heads to the training rooms.

no sign of you, but he does spot kirishima.

“have you seen yn?” he asks impatiently.

kirishima turns to him confused.

“um no? maybe ask mina i saw her in the common room before coming out here.” he replies before returning to his punching bag.

katsuki huffs heading towards the exit with a frown on his face.

he checks the first floor common room and doesn’t see mina.

sighing he thinks he should check her floor… if only he remembered what floor she was on.

so he sighs and goes up floor by floor looking for her.

finally, he sees her pink curls shake while she laughs on the common room couch with sero, kaminari and momo laughing along with her.

“hey.” he says, walking towards them with a scowl on his face.

“hey bakugou!” sero calls from his spot on the couch.

“you seen yn?” he asks the group, ignoring sero.

“why don’t you come over here and find out?” mina asks and his head tilts in confusion.

“just come here!” she groans and he huffs but come closer to the couch anyway.

groaning when he sees you, cuddled up in a ball asleep with soft breaths spilling from your lips.

“fucking hell yn.” he mutters to himself.

“she’s been asleep for hours.” mina says, laughing.

“you fucks couldn’t have put a damn blanket on her? she looks freezing.” he says sighing in annoyance.

walking around the couch he sighs before gently picking you up and ensuring you’re comfortable before making his way back to the elevators.

“bye yn!!” mina calls.

you stir in katsuki’s hold, eyes peeking open and seeing your boyfriend.

“hey kats.” you mumble, stretching.

“what time is it?”

“like 10:30.” he says, trying not to sound annoyed.

“what? did i miss our movie date?” you ask sounding sad.

all his anger fades away at your words.

“yeah, you did baby. it’s okay.” he soothes.

“it’s not okay kats!” you whine, eyes fighting to stay open.

“we can still watch what you planned out. we have to!” you say frowning, nuzzling your face in his chest.

“it’s late sweets. a sleeping date is just as good.”

the two of you argue back and fourth during the elevator ride and the walk back to his dorm.

“i want to watch the movie kats.” you frown, trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes.

“shh, i know.” he says, laying you down in his bed and kissing your forehead.

he goes to brush his teeth and when he comes back to the room he sees you sitting up in his beds, covers tossed aside and a determined look taking over your sleepy features.

you pat the spot next to you and he sits.

you press the power button on the remote and see the movie he was gonna put on for you.

you feel his arms snake around your stomach and try to pull you to his chest. you wriggle out of his arms because you know you’ll be out like a light if you’re in his arms.

he laughs, knowing your tactic.

“thought you weren’t tired.” he teases.

you whip your head to look at him.

“i’m not.” you defend. he laughs, shaking his head.

“let me hold you then. you shouldn’t fall asleep… unless you’re tired.” he says, arms grabbing at you again.

“fine.” you huff, cuddling into him.

his hands brush the hair that falls over your forehead back, kissing your exposed head, then allowing your hair to fall back into place. he continues repeating this pattern and you look up at him through your eyelashes.

“you overdid it during training today, hm?” he murmurs with his lips against your head.

you shake your head.

“i’m not tired.” you repeat.

he laughs, brushing your hair back again.

“yeah yeah. i know. doesn’t mean you didn’t go too hard today.” he whispers.

the repetitive movement of his hand moving through your hair made your eyes droop and you inched closer to his chest so he wouldn’t notice.

obviously, he noticed.

“hey.” he whispers, placing a few pecks along the side of your face.

“hm?” you mumble sleepily.

he smiles down at you.

“you might not be tired, but i fuckin am.” he lies.

“how about we turn the movie off and get some sleep, okay?”

you look up at him and he shoves his face in your neck, practically tackling you and wrapping his arms around you.

you giggle softly.

“turn off the damn tv.” he grumbles, now feeling seriously tired.

you reach around him, grabbing the remote and switching the tv off.

you press a soft kiss to his face before laying your head on the pillow and yawning.

“hey katsuki?” you whisper.

“mmmmwhat.”

you smile at his sleepiness, pressing open mouth kisses down the side of his face.

“i might’ve lied when i said i wasn’t tired.” you say as quietly as you possibly can.

he peeks one eye open at you.

“you don’t say.”