#sighs whispers and anguish

[dreammfyre]

the heir's favorite ⋆ jacaerys velaryon

SUMMARY. You are the first daughter of the marriage between your mother Rhaenyra Targaryen and your father Daemon Targaryen. Always the most rebellious and difficult of all, temperamental, impulsive. However, weak before the temptation to possess your older brother, the crown prince Jacaerys Velaryon, a knight par excellence, the opposite of you. But no one in Dragonstone imagined that you shared much more than dragon's blood.

WARNINGS. +18 Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!oc. Targaryen incest (brother and sister). Jacaerys aggressive and dominant. Smut. Based on the second season of House Of the Dragon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE. This was a suggestion left anonymously in the messages, so I invite you to leave yours. Thanks for reading.

The empty room was so quiet that you could feel your thoughts could be heard all over the place. The full moon illuminated the dark sky, standing out against the stars that night where everyone was resting in their chambers, but you were unable to lie in your bed, much less fall asleep without having nightmares. The Stone Table was where everyone met daily to discuss strategies for the war that was being unleashed in Westeros, but now that empty place was strange, so much silence and loneliness. The extinguished embers did not illuminate the tabletop, you touched the stone expecting to burn, however, it was totally cold.

"Who's there?" a familiar voice entered the place. You turned immediately finding Prince Jacaerys, your older brother and heir to your mother's throne. "Sister... it's very late."

"I know, you should be resting." You replied walking towards him.

"It's a bit complex lately." He took the luxury of joking, in response you smiled without much encouragement. "May I know what you're doing here?"

"Not much. Seems to me you're not the only one who doesn't get any rest." You lifted your shoulders casually. "Any news on your rounds?"

Jacaerys shook his head in disappointment, pacing around the table resting his hands on the handle of his sword without taking his eyes off you, analyzing your presence carefully, as if silently judging you. You rested your hands on the stone of the table relaxing your body on your arms, but your head couldn't stop scheming hundreds of thoughts and bloody imaginary scenarios regarding the war.

"Cole's army is getting bigger and bigger and we don't have a damn clue about anything." You said with a tense jaw. "And about my father..." you sighed deeply without looking your brother in the face "no word from him for days."

"That's not your fault." Jace tried to make you feel better with repeated kind words, but your guilt was growing and the anguish of the approaching war wouldn't leave you alone. "Daemon is not the priority."

"That idiot should be here, on the island, with his queen and his children." You whispered angrily. Then you looked up resolute in your decision. "I'll go see him tomorrow."

That didn't sit well with your brother.

"Don't talk nonsense, Visenya." The heir scoffed. "You can't go to Harrenhal alone, it's too dangerous and we don't know if the way is clear."

"You think I'll arrive by land alongside Daemon's imaginary army?" you sneered in the same condescending manner, a brazen gesture that made Jacaerys' blood boil. "I will ride Vermithor's back at dawn and arrive before the sun peaks. I will return the same day with news before the queen."

"That's a lousy idea!" Your brother exclaimed angrily. Grabbing your arm with brute force, forcing you to look him. "How can you even think of traveling alone to lands we don't know if they are enemies or allies?"

"We need to move fast before they come for us, Jacaerys." You squirmed under his grip feeling his fingers bury into your pale skin. "Do you intend to wait for my father to return?" you managed to break free from his grip with difficulty, Jacaerys ran a hand through his wavy hair desperate not to talk sense into you. "Because you may take a seat, I will not be accompanying you."

"Visenya, please understand the magnitude of your stupidity." He begged, chasing you from side to side. Your brother knew how impulsive you were, and how hard it was for you to get an idea out of your head, no matter if it was good or bad and in this case it was a rather dangerous one. "What happens if you cross paths with Vhagar in the skies?" The prince raised his voice to you demanding and imperative trying to intimidate you, anyone passing nearby could overhear your discussion. You turned your back to him, you didn't want to look him in the face out of embarrassment because deep down you knew his words were true. "You have no business there!"

"I have no business here either!" you exclaimed with the same intensity. You were temperamental by nature and now you were blowing off steam. "I'm tired of staying cooped up on the island, waiting for others to figure things out! I'm a dragon rider, and I'm constrained by these walls."

Your brother understood that feeling better than anyone, he grabbed you by both cheeks, covering your face with his firm hands.

"I know how you feel, Visenya. Believe me, but walking out at the first impulse is not the solution, don't you understand?" You put your hands over his, looking at him intently. You wanted to nod to answer him the question he asked you, but you were mesmerized in his nearness and his breath hitting your face. "Stay here, with us." He watched you carefully without letting go, losing himself in the sense of his pleas to look at you closely, you were so beautiful in any light no matter how dim, a Targaryen through and through with bright, intense violet eyes of long white hair like your parents. Jacaerys couldn't help but stare at you, the half-open lips tempting him to taste you, trying not to lose what little composure he had left. "With me."

You possessed the ethereal beauty of your mother and the complex character of your father, Daemon Targaryen. Under your little ethics and impulsiveness you did not think if it was a coherent idea and you threw yourself to kiss the thick lips of your brother who reciprocated instantly, none of them reasoned, they only moved to the rhythm of the kiss where their moist lips brushed anxiously. Your brother's hand on your waist took you by surprise, more so when he pressed you against his body bumping you against his chest and cornering you against the table.

"Go to sleep." Jace scolded you making an attempt to stop kissing you, but you kept reaching for him. "This isn't a good place."

With a smile you ignored knowing the only way to stop the situation was for you to go to your quarters and you didn't feel like leaving. You grabbed her hair tangling your fingers in her chestnut curls, Jacaerys strength intimidated you, but it wasn't enough to stop you.

"Don't go to Harrenhal." He pleaded leaving kisses on your neck, tracing a wet path over your skin taking advantage of inhaling your scent. "Do it and I promise I will warm your bed every night."

You felt a shiver run down your back at his offering, Jacaerys kept leaving kisses until he reached your collarbones uncovered by the neckline of your dress. His warm lips made your heart beat faster, you grabbed him by the face stopping him.

"Would you do that for me?" you asked with dangerous innocence, watching his glossy swollen lips.

"Do you really doubt it?" he answered against your ear, then brushed his nose against yours slowly, you left a short kiss on his lips almost by instinct, so tender and unexpected that you heard a laugh come out of the prince.

"I'll think about it." You whispered touching his chest, playing with the textures of the fabrics, his agitated breathing gave him away, having you close was a personal challenge for the prince. It was a lie, you weren't going to think about it, you just wanted to give him what he needed to hear to stay with you.

Jacaerys' big hands began to take hold of your body squeezing you tightly making you gasp, then you lifted your chin giving him access to your neck, the kisses there unsettled you in a special way and only your brother knew it, taking advantage of your weakness, listening closely to his breathing and feeling the warmth of his breath was much better. Everything about him you liked, and you were missing him lately. The pressure and uncertainty of the war had taken your head elsewhere, you had abandoned each other for valid reasons, but at that second you just wanted to give yourself to him one more time.

You stood on your tiptoes to gain a little more height reaching for his ear, your brother tensed at the delicate touch of your hot tongue against his lobe, you licked delicately knowing that it turned him on, he confessed it to you one night and you never forgot it. A deep moan of satisfaction came from his throat, then carefully, you lowered one of your hands straight down to his pants, positioning yourself over his hard member that was pressing against the fabric.

"This is not the best place." Begged the prince resting his forehead on your shoulder. "We are in a sacred place, you know?"

You cared little for his insistence or decency when you only wanted to shout his name, though you knew Jacaerys was asking you to stop for the sake of not failing in duty, not because the desire wasn't there. No one understood the reason why Rhaenyra did not cancel the stupid engagement between Lady Baela and the right Jacaerys, no one could deny that they could become blameless kings for the history of Westeros, but there would never be the tension and burning desire throbbing as when the fire was unleashed between you. That first time with a taste of sin, you begging him not to stop, that it was going to become a one-time secret that his parents would never find out, a secret they couldn't help but repeat between your sheets and his, in the hallways and in the library.

Desperate, your brother lifted the skirt of your dress with your help by grabbing your leg and pulling it up to his waist. The mere contact made you moan from the pleasure, you clamped your mouth shut to keep from making noise, you were too sensitive and needy and Jacaerys liked to have you under his control. You were always sarcastic, upset and nasty, just like your dragon, but Jacaerys Velaryon knew how to control you.

"What are you going to do if someone finds out about us?" You asked with bated breath. Deep down it was important to keep the secret guarded to keep it. Jacaerys' fingers stroking between your legs making you jump, clinging to the heir's neck and leaning against the table. "What are they going to say when they find out the crown prince fucking his sister."

His fingers slowly moved up and down, playing with your slimy wetness between his fingers. The mischievous grin on the chestnut's face only reflected the satisfaction of having managed to have you like this, so submissive to him.

"Does it scare you?" he whispered against your moaning lips. With his other hand he gripped the back of your neck tightly, so you wouldn't move. "They're going to find out you're my spoiled sister." Two of his long fingers began to search for the perfect place to insert themselves into you. You stirred under his grip settling in for him, your desperate breathing needing him to finish his work, but he seemed very calm provoking you with his words. "Do you know what they'll call you?" he bit your lip, pulling it towards him. "The heir's whore." His fingers slipped inside you so easily, sliding into your wet insides gushing moans from your chest as you felt him move in and out of you. Jacaerys took your leg his free hand clutching his fingers to your thigh preventing you from closing before him.

At the first loud moan you covered your mouth immediately knowing you were attracting attention, the sensation between your legs was stronger. You squeezed your brother's shoulder getting used to the movement of his fingers inside you.

"Don't yell." He ordered uncompromisingly. He had to kiss you to shut you up, which served you a few short minutes. You were losing your mind, your legs wanted to close but Jace put his foot down to stop that from happening.

"Jacaerys." His name on your lips excited him more than anything else, for it was the tone of desperation that mirrored your desire. To know that he controlled you and you were under his dominion with how arrogant you were, that no knight owned you, that everyone desired you for being Rhaenyra's spoiled daughter, but you were his, no matter an arranged marriage or duty was enough. "Mmh." You ran your hand over your face, desperate to keep silent fighting against your body that was beginning to tremble as his fingers went faster.

But for an ego like Prince Jacaerys Velaryon's it wasn't enough. Listening to you enjoy yourself on the Stone Table where every day they met to discuss war strategies was the most satisfying image to his eyes and he was not going to be able to forget it. The way you moved, dragon-like, the sweetest and most desperate noises came from you, none of the whores he had been with compared to the delicacy of a pureblood Targaryen. A unique and unrepeatable privilege.

When your breathing became erratic and the murmurs incomprehensible swearing you were going to reach that peak, Jacaerys came to a screeching halt chastising you. You opened your eyes in disappointment and fury, your heart leaping out of your chest and your legs damp and trembling.

"Be a good sister," he stroked your cheek with the gentleness you deserve to be treated with. You were trying to listen to him but you were so upset you just wanted to insult him for doing that to you. "Turn around."

Your hair stood up at his tone of voice demanding and conciliatory at the same time. As obedient as ever, just for him, you turned your back to him as the prince busied himself with pulling down his pants that were pressing against the erection he was trying to contain. Your heart wouldn't stop pounding, you could still feel his long fingers inside you and the wait, however minimal, was becoming eternal and torturous. You looked sideways at the entrances of the place without finding anyone, but the truth is that you didn't care if at that moment the queen arrived and found them like that, the euphoria and adrenaline was taking over your body and your reason, the overflowing desire had taken your actions. You felt Jace's hands sneaking up your skirt, careful where to touch, looking for just the right position to enter. He stood behind you, your dress pulled up over your back, the mere touch made you moan. You were so wet it was slipping from your entrance.

"Don't say anything." He told you and you nodded, you were capable of begging if necessary, though deep down you knew he enjoyed it making you obey. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

You closed your eyes as you felt Jacaerys slowly push behind you. You took a breath and tried to relax, you both moaned slowly, the prince tensed his jaw and clenched his teeth to keep from making noise, he stayed still for a few seconds searching for your hips digging his fingers into your skin trapping you in that position, moving you back and forth to better thrust. The rubbing of his member on your walls felt warm and wet, an invasion of your body, you were so used to his size that the sensation became familiar, literally. Some of the pieces of stone you unintentionally threw away, that was going to be a problem for later, because now the noise of their bodies colliding was beginning to consume you. The control he had over you didn't bother you, he gripped you tightly taking over everything. Her hips moved with yours instinctively in a delicious back and forth.

"Like this." You gasped with closed eyes and a satisfied expression. You reached for his hand under your dress and clung to him as tightly as Jace clung to you.

His length pumped in and out of you at a rapid pace, but this time, Jacaerys made sure each thrust was deep by ramming his pelvis into your buttocks.

"What a pleasure to meet again, don't you think?" his question was punctuated by your same panting without stopping moving. You weren't able to answer, your high-pitched moans were getting louder and louder, putting both of you at risk. On the other hand, he was breathing heavily. You had to cover your mouth with your hand, biting your palm to stifle your own moans of pleasure at having him inside you.

You started to stir but you were trapped in his hands, he knew you well enough to know what to do, you turned to look at him finding the heir ramming you with force and speed, his hair fell in curls that moved to the rhythm of his rhythm, when their gazes met for a second he stared at you, your face sweating, your eyes bright with a frown of supplication and red cheeks were enough to have no mercy. Your entrance was tightening at the same time you couldn't breathe, that feeling of a wave invading your insides begging for more desperate to reach orgasm. Jacaerys took your with one hand your waist and with the other your hip, encasing his fingers preventing you from escaping, you were in this together and you had to finish it.

You moved your arm and disarranged the pieces on the board. Now you could hear your brother moaning, cursing you for being his undoing and the greatest of his sins, making you his own feeling the power to mark you and deflower you breaking any tradition that governs the Targaryen nobility. It felt so good that you could confess your love to him just so he wouldn't stop. Luckily for both of you, he didn't stop, the rapid movements and the pressure forming in your lower stomach was getting out of control, the noise intensifying from the collision of your bodies and your knees seemed to lose any kind of strength to hold you up, luckily the table was there to support your body, plus your brother who wasn't going to let you fall. Until you couldn't manage to resist anymore, your orgasm came first like a shiver throughout your body, you closed your eyes tightly and watching you exclaim his name in screams of pleasure ended the infinite torture of the heir that took a few seconds to wait.

"Shit." Your voice hopefully came out of your dry mouth. You had your chest against the weight crushing your breasts, one of your hands intertwined with your brother's who was rebounding behind you.

You both took a second to take a breath and assimilate what you had just done, you had promised not to fall into carnal sin again and that's why the last time was several months ago. You leaned on the table with both hands coming back into yourself with your chest heaving, your brother's hands were still in the same place but he was no longer squeezing you with the same possessive intensity. Your hair was falling on both sides, tousled from the movement and your legs were begging you for a rest.

Jacaerys caught his breath, but his heart had not calmed down at all. His body was still experiencing those chills and that unique tension, he took a step backwards out of your body to get dressed. You immediately felt the fluid trickle down the inside of your thighs, dripping slowly down your hot skin.

"Are you okay?" Jace asked pulling up his pants, his movements a little uncontrolled as the adrenaline was still pumping. You nodded fixing your wrinkled dress. It wasn't the first time it had happened, you both knew what it was, that meant you would have to have tea the next morning.

"Looks like I'll be staying."

Your older brother smiled, fixed his hair pulling it back and moving closer to kiss you again, this time slower and softer, trapping your lips with his so slowly that you relaxed. You took his face kissing him again, his scent, his warmth, his bearing that forced you to lift your chin to reach your mouth, the softness of his lips, it was the most comforting sensation you knew.

"Go rest." He whispered without opening his eyes. Tidying your hair behind your ear.

"Okay." You replied in the same tone, so obedient and submissive before him, kissing for the last time his mouth following your movement. "Good night"

Leaving him was complicated, but you were satisfied with the encounter. As you walked you felt the burning between your legs, a reminder that was to last a couple of days that he had made you his once more, that was the greatest secret they kept hidden, they had forgotten for a moment the war between families, the political problems, duty and order.

Jacaerys Velaryon watched you go, silently picking up the sword he had dropped to the ground. That simple symbol that he was capable of abandoning his duty as prince for you, he staked his honor and his word for taking you. He stayed a while longer tidying up the mess they had created, arranging the pieces of stone in the place that corresponded according to the figure, picking up from the floor some that fell without realizing it. It was he who always assumed the role of responsibility for cleaning up the mess and pretending nothing had happened. How was he going to show up tomorrow at this very spot knowing he had relations with Visenya, the spoiled and arrogant princess, right there?

He only hoped Daemon Targaryen would never discover that his daughter was the heir's favorite if he wished to one day ascend the throne.

[dark-raven-666]

Mr chopped x reader + sfw & nsfw headcanons.

He survives and has a body.

A/N: this is my first time writing nsfw so please bare with me. It's SFW until marked.!!

♡´･ᴗ･`♡♡´･ᴗ･`♡♡´･ᴗ･`♡♡´･ᴗ･`♡♡´･ᴗ･`♡♡´･ᴗ･`♡

@vixxine

Art belongs to: reddeong_ on X/ Twitter

As soon as your eyes met his,he whispered to you. "I only wanted you to be happy".

Running to his side you hold him in your arms and help him stand up. Mr. Silvair who was next to you, helped the two of you to a room where he was put it rest.

Mr. Silvair injects him with a small dosage of some kind of medicine that makes him calm down.

Hours pass and his eyes remain closed. You sitting in a chair by his bed. Your head on the bed and hand holding his.

By the time he woke up, you had fallen asleep. He looks around the room only for his eyes to settle on you.

With a quiet sigh, he holds your hand tighter, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

At his touch your eyes flutter open, molting up your arms wrap around him as you sob. " my love... Oh my dear... I thought I had lost you for good.. " you cry out quietly... His gaze softens and he wraps his arms around you. He felt so warm... His skin.. His body was cold... But the warmth came from within... It's like you could feel his love.

His hand caresses your cheek with a look that says he has yearned to do that for eternity. You mean into his palm and hold it with your hands.

As your eyes meet his once more, you can almost feel his anguish... The pain he had endured..

How he had yearned to touch you, to wrap his arms around you, to be worthy of you.

His eyes closing turn to the ceiling and tears stream down... His hand now shaking he let's out one sob and buries himself in your chest in a speed you had never seen him move in.

HCS.

SFW

Loves to have you in his arms.

Feels insecure at times but you're always quick to bury those away with your touch, kisses and loving words.

Full body cuddles are a must. Now that he can wrap up around you like a koala he won't stop doing it.

Allows you to brush his hair and braid it, but NOT cut it.

Now that he can stand up he wants to go everywhere, visit every part of the world, feel, touch everything.

Now that he has this precious body he will not waste it.

Has gotten into your skin care and will continue to.

He got a bruise? It's the end of the world!

Yes he's still his dramatic self.

NSFW 🤫

Very sensitive, what is this odd feeling?

I'm not even going to lie and feed your delusions, barely lasts 2-3 minutes the first like 20 times. It's all just so new.

You know how I said he wants to adventure? Yes with this too. He wants to feel his body and your body.

Sees a bit of side boob and is immediately hard and stroking himself.

Loves the feeling of his fist but boyyy Foss he love your mouth more.

Will not hesitate to get on his knees and whine for your mouth on him.

[endlessdreamworld]

My Sinful Little Angel

a short AU fic featuring secret priest! Sunday of a small village x baker! gn reader

"Thank you again, Mr. Oak," you said as Sunday, the town's resident tailor finished repairing the frayed hem of your apron. "Here," you offer him a half dozen of today's special treat, powdered sugar shortbread cookies filled with raspberry jam.

"Thank you," he gave you a soft smile that made your heart melt. "Here," he offered you up some coins, more than he should but still a paltry amount the judgmental villagers would consider good and proper.

It was part of your little arrangement. You showed up one day out of nowhere, and the town's bakery took you in. You had a roof over your head and a belly full of food, but they paid you next to nothing.

"Tomorrow we're going to be maki--" a knock interrupted your sweet little announcement. It was the baker's son. Sunday didn't miss how your gaze fell to your hands clutching your newly repaired apron, how you seemed so very bashful in the presence of your peer. Oh God in heaven, please smite this wicked fool who dare intrude upon your shared sacred peace and tempt you so.

You gave him a small wave as you headed for the door, "I have to go Mr. Oak, duty calls." You were always so polite and sweet to him, so diligent, always doing more than you should. Sunday noticed the powdered sugar you had graced him with when he paid you for your work and brought it to his unworthy tongue. An ambrosia he didn't earn, one he didn't deserve. You were an angel made flesh, and far too good for a backwater place like this. One day, he swore, he'd do something about it.

As the sun set, he flipped the sign in the window from open to closed before heading off to his second job. Every flock needed a shepherd, and who better to play the role as he? And so the town's church offered a confessional booth service where he served as the confessor.

He settled in behind the screen and prepared his heart for the service. People always had such ridiculous things plaguing them so, but who was he to deny them salvation?

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."

It was the sound of your voice. He held his breath. He couldn't help but hear how nervous and deflated you sounded. What heresy could you have committed to feel so low? "Speak freely, child," he spoke in an unrecognizable drawl. Sunday preferred anonymity. It was better when people didn't know who they were speaking to.

You sigh inwardly and steel your resolve, "I've been having sinful thoughts about another. One of my fellow peers."

Sunday has heard those very words before, and he didn't like where this was going. He was quite fortunate to be able to steer you away from such an unholy sin. "What sorts of thoughts?"

He listened to the sound of fabric brushing against the confessional screen, the sound of you squirming from discomfort. "Carnal ones I'm afraid. Whenever I'm with him, I pray his hands linger more than they should. Every night, I dream of clandestine meetings -- of the perverted sort."

Sunday hears how very affected you are, and he isn't going to allow some degenerate sully your pure soul and infect your mind. He was almost certain it was that baker boy with the way you could scarcely look at him, but if he were to do anything about it, he would need to be sure. "Those are quite heavy sins, my dear, but the lord forgives all who wish to repent."

"Thank you Father." He can hear the smile in your voice and he has you right where he needs you.

"To repent, it would be best to disclose the name of this wolf in sheep's clothing that assaults your thoughts and faithful heart."

Yes, give me a name. This whisper campaign to your excommunication will be as delicious as it'll be unsurprising. It'll be my revenge for whoever dares touch you so frivolously, my sweet angel.

You got quiet, the sound of conflict. Sunday's chest tightened, anguished by your misplaced sense of guilt. You were trying to shield whoever this dastard was by the kindness of your soul. He knew you needed one final push. "The lord forgives all who sin, even the serpent who tempts you so."

"Well," you swallowed thickly. Agony permeated your words as you work up the courage to oust the blasphemer, "it's Sunday Oak."

[slayingfiction]

List of 400+ Dialogue Tags

Below is a full (but not exhaustive) and updated list of dialogue tags. Dialogue tags are a widely debated topic for writers, some saying you should only use said, others arguing the opposite. You will get no opinion for me—only a list to use as you wish :D

Some words may differ in categories based on context.

Expressing Agreement or Confirmation

Acknowledged, Admitted, Affirmed, Agreed, Apologized, Confirmed, Conceded, Gibed, Professed, Reassured, Verified, Vouched

Initiating or Continuing Conversation

Added, Began, Chimed In, Commented, Continued, Conversed, Discussed, Elaborated, Greeted, Interjected, Offered, Proposed, Remarked, Went On

Making a Declaration or Announcement

Announced, Attested, Declared, Decreed, Emphasized, Enunciated, Proclaimed, Revealed, Stated, Voiced

Formal or Deliberate Communication

Chanted, Concurred, Observed, Postulated, Preached, Put Forth, Reasoned, Surmised, Testified

Indirect Communication 

Digressed, Hinted, Implied, Insinuated 

Providing Information, Explanation or Speculation

Alleged, Articulated, Asserted, Clarified, Doubted, Equivocated, Explained, Guessed, Imparted, Informed, Lectured, Noted, Predicted, Quoted, Recited, Reported, Theorized

Expressing Doubt or Uncertainty

Doubted, Faltered, Guessed, Hesitated, Pondered, Questioned, Speculated, Wondered, Ventured

Seeking or Giving Advice

Advised, Coaxed, Proposed, Recommended, Remonstrated, Suggested, Supposed, Urged

Animalistic

Barked, Croaked, Growled, Hissed, Hooted, Howled, Hummed, Roared, Snarled 

Expressing Discontent or Frustration

Complained, Fretted, Grumbled, Protested, Ranted

Demonstrating Authority or Command

Avowed, Commanded, Crowed, Decided, Demanded, Dictated, Directed, Insisted, Instructed, Maintained, Ordered, Pressed, Proclaimed, Reprimanded

Displaying Confidence or Assertiveness

Asserted, Assured, Boasted, Bragged, Claimed, Piped Up, Pledged, Spoke Up, Told, Vowed

Exhibiting Anger or Aggression

Accused, Bristled, Challenged, Cursed, Erupted, Exasperated, Fumed, Groaned, Huffed, Raged, Seethed, Snapped, Spat, Stormed, Swore, Threatened, Whinged

Displaying Sadness or Despair

Anguished, Bawled, Bemoaned, Blubbered, Cried, Despaired, Grieved, Lamented, Mourned, Sobbed, Wept, Whimpered, Worried

Persuasiveness 

Appealed, Begged, Cajoled, Convinced, Persuaded, Petitioned, Pleaded, Prayed

Conveying Fear or Worry

Cautioned, Entreated, Gasped, Quaked, Shuddered, Stressed, Trembled, Warned

Softly or Quietly

Breathed, Called, Crooned, Murmured, Mumbled, Muttered, Sighed, Whispered

Loudly or Forcefully

Bellowed, Boomed, Cried Out, Hollered, Screamed, Screeched, Shouted, Shrieked, Thundered, Wailed, Whooped, Yelled

Demonstrating Disgust or Disdain

Cringed, Gagged, Griped, Groused, Rasped, Scowled, Sneered, Snorted

Expressing Mockery, Disrespect or Sarcasm

Dared, Imitated, Insulted, Jeered, Mimicked, Mocked, Ribbed, Ridiculed, Scoffed, Snickered, Taunted 

Doing Annoyingly

Gloated, Goaded, Nagged, Pestered, Provoked, Sassed, Tattled

Emotional or Expressive Communication

Grunted, Mewled, Panted, Quavered, Sniffled, Snivelled, Squawked, Whined, Yowled

Showing Empathy or Comfort

Comforted, Consoled, Empathized, Soothed, Sympathized

Indicating Thoughtfulness or Reflection

Contemplated, Echoed, Mused, Pondered, Recalled, Reflected, Remembered, Reminded, Reminisced, Retorted, Reiterated

Expressing Humour or Amusement

Cackled, Chirped, Chuckled, Giggled, Guffawed, Jested, Joked, Laughed, Quipped

Revealing Information

Confessed, Confided, Divulged, Disclosed, Expressed, Hinted, Revealed, Shared, Spilled, Uttered

In a Flirtatious Way

Bantered, Cooed, Flirted, Joshed, Moaned, Purred, Teased

Demonstrating Surprise or Astonishment

Gasped, Marvelled, Yelped

Indicating Hesitation or Reluctance

Faltered, Hesitated, Stammered, Stuttered

Engaging in a Dispute or Argument

Argued, Bargained, Bickered, Contended, Debated, Disputed, Negotiates, Objected, Rebutted, Shot Back

Showing Enthusiasm or Excitement

Beamed, Blurted, Cheered, Exclaimed, Gushed, Raved, Rejoiced, Sang, Squealed, Trumpeted

Expressing Approval or Praise

Applauded, Complimented, Encouraged, Exhorted, Extolled, Lauded, Praised

Speaking in a Continuous or Repetitive Manner

Babbled, Chattered, Jabbered, Rambled, Rattled On, Repeated

Questions and Answers

Answered, Asked, Cross-examined, Inquired, Implored, Probed. Prodded, Prompted, Queried, Questioned, Quizzed, Requested

Expressing Criticism or Disagreement

Challenged, Chastised, Chided, Condemned, Corrected, Countered, Criticized, Deflected, Demurred, Denounced, Scolded

Negative or Deceptive Communication

Denied, Droned, Exaggerated, Interrupted, Lied

Finishing the Conversation 

Concluded, Finished, Thanked

Neutral or Miscellaneous

Admired, Consented, Foretold, Invited, Mentioned, Mouthed, Pointed Out, Replied, Said, Sputtered, Volunteered

Don’t forget our Grand Opening Giveaway starts February 1st/24 on Tumblr, Instagram and slayingfiction.com! You don’t want to miss it!

Happy Writing!

[pucksandpower]

To Hell With Duty

Lewis Hamilton x soulmate!Reader

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

Warnings: abusive family dynamics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But that’s not fair!” You protested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he speaks, his voice low and warm.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look at him, confused. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready,” you say firmly.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She sounds brave,” Lewis comments.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re running towards it.

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that ...”

“It can’t be ...”

“The princess!”

“With Lewis Hamilton?”

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

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

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

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

The questions come rapid-fire after that.

“Why did you leave the UK?”

“Are you and Lewis Hamilton really soulmates?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ve got your back, Y/N!”

“Love wins!”

“You show ‘em, Lewis!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Together.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that ...” he asks quietly.

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

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

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

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

“Y/N,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you so much.”

You cling to him, your own tears falling freely. “Eddie ... I’m so sorry I left without saying goodbye. I just ... I couldn’t ...”

Edward pulls back, holding you at arm’s length. His eyes roam your face, as if memorizing every detail. “Don’t apologize. Not ever. What you did ... Y/N, I am so incredibly proud of you.”

His words catch you off guard. “Proud? But I abandoned the family, my duties ...”

Edward shakes his head firmly. “You chose love. You chose happiness. You did what I was too weak to do.”

You glance at Lewis, who’s standing a respectful distance away, giving you this moment with your brother. “Edward, this is Lewis. My soulmate.”

Edward extends his hand to Lewis. “It’s an honor to meet you, Lewis. Thank you for protecting my sister and giving her the happiness she deserves.”

Lewis shakes his hand, his expression sincere. “The honor is mine, Your Highness. Y/N is the bravest, most amazing person I know. I’m just lucky to be part of her life.”

Edward’s smile is tinged with sadness. “Please, call me Edward. And you’re right, she is amazing. Always has been.”

You look at your brother closely, noticing the lines of stress around his eyes, the slight slump in his shoulders. “Eddie ... how are you? Really?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s ... not easy. The family is in turmoil after your departure. Father is furious, Mother is heartbroken, and I’m ... well, I’m trying to hold it all together.”

“And Lily?” You ask softly, referring to Edward’s soulmate. “Have you heard from her?”

Edward’s expression clouds over. “No. Not since ... not since that day.”

You take your brother’s hand, squeezing it gently. “It’s not too late, you know. You could still reach out to her.”

Edward laughs bitterly. “And say what? ‘Sorry I let them burn off my soulmate mark and married someone else. Want to grab coffee?’”

Lewis steps forward, his voice gentle but firm. “With all due respect, Your High- Edward, it’s never too late. The bond between soulmates ... it’s not something that can be erased, no matter what’s done to the physical mark.”

Edward looks at Lewis, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “You really believe that?”

Lewis nods. “I do. Y/N and I found each other against all odds. Who’s to say you and Lily can’t do the same?”

You squeeze Edward’s hand again. “Eddie, you deserve to be happy. You deserve love. It’s not too late to choose yourself, to choose love.”

Edward looks torn, glancing around at the crowds, the cameras, the weight of expectation that’s always surrounded you both. “But the family ...”

“Will still be there,” you say softly. “But you’ll be facing them as your true self, with your soulmate by your side. It makes all the difference, trust me.”

Your brother is quiet for a long moment, clearly wrestling with years of ingrained duty and expectation. Finally, he looks up, a new determination in his eyes.

“You’re right,” he says, his voice growing stronger. “You’re absolutely right. I’ve spent too long living for everyone else. It’s time I lived for myself.”

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “Does this mean ...”

Edward nods, a mix of fear and excitement in his eyes. “I’m going to do it. I’m going to find Lily. I’m going to make things right.”

You throw your arms around your brother, hugging him tightly. “I’m so proud of you, Eddie. And I’ll be here for you, every step of the way.”

As you pull back, you see tears in Edward’s eyes, but also a lightness that you haven’t seen in years. “Thank you. For showing me that it’s possible to choose love. For being brave enough to pave the way.”

Lewis steps forward, placing a hand on Edward’s shoulder. “If you need any help — legal advice, security, anything — just say the word. You’re family now.”

Edward looks at Lewis gratefully. “Thank you. I might just take you up on that.”

Just then, Maria approaches discreetly. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to move. The press is getting restless.”

You nod, turning back to Edward. “Will you be okay?”

He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “I will be. For the first time in a long time, I think I really will be.”

As you prepare to part ways, Edward pulls you in for one last hug. “I love you, little sister. Thank you for reminding me what’s truly important.”

“I love you too, Eddie,” you whisper back. “Go find your happiness. You deserve it.”

With one last squeeze, Edward steps back. As he walks away, you see him pull out his phone, a look of determination on his face. You have a feeling you know exactly who he’s about to call.

Lewis wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “You okay, love?”

You nod, wiping away a stray tear. “More than okay. I feel ... hopeful. For Eddie, for us, for everything.”

As you make your way back through the paddock, you’re struck by how different everything feels. The stares don’t bother you as much, the whispers fade into background noise. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be, with the person you’re meant to be with.

“You know,” Lewis says as you reach the Ferrari garage, “I think I’m going to win this race.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smile playing on your lips. “Oh? And what makes you so sure?”

Lewis grins, pulling you close. “Because I’ve got my lucky charm by my side. How can I lose?”

You laugh, the sound light and free. “Well, in that case, you’d better not disappoint. I expect nothing less than a victory, Sir Hamilton.”

As Lewis leans in for a kiss, you’re vaguely aware of cameras flashing and people cheering. But none of that matters. What matters is this moment, this love, this life you’ve chosen.

You think back to a year ago, when you were terrified of finding your soulmate, of the consequences it would bring. Now, standing here at Silverstone, with Lewis by your side and the hope of your brother finding his own happiness, you realize that choosing love wasn’t just the brave choice.

It was the only choice.

As Lewis heads off to prepare for the race, you take your place in the garage. The roar of engines fills the air, and you feel a surge of excitement.

This is your life now. Supporting Lewis, championing love, and showing the world that sometimes, the greatest act of duty is being true to yourself.

As the race begins, you watch Lewis tear around the track, your heart swelling with pride and love. You may not wear a tiara anymore, but you’ve gained something far more precious — the freedom to love, to choose, to be yourself.

And as the chequered flag waves and Lewis crosses the finish line in first place, you know that this victory isn’t just his.

It’s yours. It’s Edward’s. It’s everyone who’s ever had the courage to choose love over duty, happiness over expectation.

As you rush to congratulate Lewis, wrapped in his arms as the crowd cheers, you know that this is just the beginning. There will be challenges ahead, obstacles to overcome. But with love by your side and the strength to be true to yourself, you’re ready to face whatever comes.

Because in the end, love always wins. And you? You’re living proof of that.

***

The warm Brazilian sun streams through the windows of the spacious beachfront home, filling the living room with a golden glow. The sound of children’s laughter mingles with the distant crash of waves, creating a symphony of domestic bliss.

You’re seated on the plush carpet, surrounded by an array of colorful toys. Your three-year-old daughter, Emilia, is busily stacking blocks, her little face scrunched in concentration. Across from you, Edward is attempting to wrangle his own two-year-old son, James, who seems more interested in knocking down Emilia’s creations than building his own.

“James, darling, let’s build our own tower, shall we?” Edward coaxes gently, redirecting his son’s attention.

You can’t help but smile at the scene. Five years ago, you never could have imagined this — you and Edward, raising your children together, free from the constraints of royal duty.

The sound of a door opening draws your attention. Lewis walks in, his arms full of grocery bags, closely followed by Lily.

“We come bearing snacks!” Lewis announces with a grin.

Emilia’s head snaps up at the sight of her favorite person. “Daddy!” She squeals, abandoning her blocks and running to Lewis.

Lewis sets down the bags just in time to scoop up his daughter, peppering her face with kisses. “Hello, my little racer. Have you been good for Mummy?”

Emilia nods enthusiastically. “I builded a big tower!”

“Built, sweetheart,” you correct gently, getting to your feet. “And it was a very impressive tower indeed.”

Lewis sets Emilia down and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in for a quick kiss. “And how’s my other favorite girl doing?”

You smile, leaning into his embrace. “Better now that you’re home. How was the market?”

“Busy,” Lily chimes in, setting down her own bags. “But we managed to get everything on the list, plus a few extras.”

Edward stands, hoisting James onto his hip. “Extras, you say? Let me guess — more of those brigadeiros that you’re definitely not addicted to, right, love?”

Lily’s cheeks flush slightly as she laughs. “I plead the fifth. This baby wants what it wants.”

Your eyes light up at the reminder. Lily is five months pregnant with their second child, and you’re all buzzing with excitement.

“Speaking of the baby,” you say, moving to help unpack the groceries, “have you two decided if you’re going to find out the gender?”

Edward and Lily exchange a look. “We’re still debating,” Edward admits. “Part of me wants to know, but there’s also something nice about the surprise.”

Lewis chuckles, joining you in the kitchen. “I remember that debate. Though if I recall correctly, someone couldn’t handle the suspense and made me call the doctor at two in the morning to find out.”

You playfully swat his arm. “Hey, you were just as curious as I was!”

As you all work together to put away the groceries and prepare snacks for the kids, you’re struck by how natural this all feels. The easy banter, the shared responsibilities, the love that permeates every interaction. It’s a far cry from the rigid formality of your royal upbringing.

“You know,” Edward says, as if reading your thoughts, “sometimes I still can’t believe this is our life now.”

You nod, understanding completely. “I know what you mean. It’s so different from what we always thought our futures would be.”

Lily comes up behind Edward, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Different, but better, right?”

Edward turns, pulling her close. “Infinitely better. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

As you watch your brother with his soulmate, you feel a wave of happiness and gratitude wash over you. It hadn’t been easy for Edward to follow in your footsteps, to give up his place in the line of succession and choose love over duty. But seeing him now, so relaxed and genuinely happy, you know it was worth every struggle.

“Earth to Y/N,” Lewis’ voice breaks through your reverie. “Where’d you go just now?”

You smile, shaking your head. “Just thinking about how far we’ve all come. How different things could have been.”

Lewis nods, understanding in his eyes. “Do you ever regret it? Giving up your title, your life in England?”

You don’t hesitate for a second. “Never. This life, with you, with our family — it’s more than I ever dreamed possible.”

A sudden crash from the living room interrupts the moment. You all rush in to find James standing triumphantly atop a mountain of scattered blocks, while Emilia looks on in horror.

“James Edward Henry Albert Windsor!” Lily exclaims, trying to sound stern but failing to hide her amusement. “What have we said about destroying other people’s creations?”

James, looking not at all repentant, grins widely. “I king of the castle!”

Edward struggles to keep a straight face as he lifts his son off the block mountain. “Yes, well, kings should be builders, not destroyers. Let’s clean this up and then we can all build a castle together, okay?”

As you all pitch in to help clean up the blocks, Emilia tugs on your sleeve. “Mummy, will James be a real king someday?”

The question catches you off guard. You exchange a look with Edward, unsure how to explain the complicated reality of your family’s situation.

Lewis kneels down next to Emilia, his voice gentle. “No, sweetheart. James won’t be a king and you won’t be a princess. But that’s okay, because you get to be something even better.”

Emilia’s eyes widen with curiosity. “What’s that, Daddy?”

Lewis smiles, pulling her into a hug. “You get to be yourself. You get to choose who you want to be and what you want to do with your life. And that’s much more special.”

You feel tears prick at your eyes, overwhelmed by the simple beauty of Lewis’ words. This is why you left, why you chose this life. So that your children could have the freedom you and Edward never had growing up.

As the afternoon wears on, you all migrate to the back patio. The kids play in the sand under the watchful eyes of their parents, while you, Lewis, Edward, and Lily relax on the comfortable outdoor furniture.

“So,” Lily says, her hand resting on her growing belly, “have you two given any thought to expanding your own family?”

You and Lewis share a knowing look. “Actually,” you say, unable to keep the excitement from your voice, “we’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”

Edward raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell, little sister.”

Lewis takes your hand, giving it a squeeze. “We’re thinking of adopting. There are so many children out there who need loving homes, and we have more than enough love to give.”

“That’s wonderful!” Lily exclaims, her eyes shining. “Oh, Emilia would love a little brother or sister.”

You nod, watching your daughter play. “We think so too. We’re just starting the process, but it feels right.”

Edward leans forward, his expression serious. “Have you thought about how this might affect things back in England? The press ...”

You sigh, having expected this question. “We have. And honestly, we’ve decided that it doesn’t matter what they think. This is our life, our family. We’re not going to let fear of judgment or outdated institutions dictate our choices anymore.”

Lewis nods in agreement. “We’ve already faced the worst they could throw at us. We came out stronger. Whatever comes next, we can handle it together.”

Edward’s serious expression melts into a proud smile. “You’re right, of course. I’m sorry, old habits die hard I suppose. I’m thrilled for you both, truly.”

As the conversation flows, touching on everything from potential names for Lily and Edward’s baby to Lewis’ upcoming ambassador campaign, you’re struck by how perfectly imperfect this life is. It’s messy and chaotic at times, full of unexpected challenges and joy in equal measure. But it’s real, and it’s yours.

The sun begins to set, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and pink. James and Emilia, tired from their day of play, curl up in their fathers’ laps. As you watch your brother gently stroke his son’s hair, you remember a conversation from years ago.

“Eddie,” you say softly, “do you remember what you told me the day they ... the day they burned off your soulmate mark?”

Edward looks up, his eyes clouding with the memory. “I told you that if you ever found your soulmate, you should run. Run far away and don’t look back.”

You nod, feeling Lewis’ arm tighten around you. “I’m so glad I took your advice. And I’m even more glad that you eventually followed it too.”

Edward smiles, looking down at James and then over at Lily. “So am I, Y/N. So am I.”

As the evening draws in, you all move inside. The kids are put to bed, their excited chatter about building sandcastles and racing cars fading into peaceful sleep. You, Lewis, Edward, and Lily settle in the living room, glasses of wine in hand (sparkling juice for Lily).

“A toast,” Lewis proposes, raising his glass. “To family, to love, and to the courage to choose our own path.”

“To freedom,” Edward adds, his eyes shining with emotion.

“To second chances,” Lily chimes in, her hand resting on her belly.

You raise your own glass, feeling a swell of emotion. “To us. All of us. And to the beautiful, chaotic, perfectly imperfect life we’ve built together.”

As you clink glasses, you catch Lewis’ eye. In that moment, you’re transported back to that day at Silverstone, when you first ran into each other. The fear, the excitement, the life-changing decision you made in an instant.

You wouldn’t change a thing.

As the night wears on and conversation flows freely, you realize that this — this warmth, this love, this freedom — this is what happily ever after really looks like. It’s not a fairy tale ending, but a beginning. A beginning of a life filled with love, choice, and the joy of being truly yourself.

And as you curl up in bed that night, Lewis’ arms around you and the sound of the ocean in the distance, you know that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Your family’s story is still being written. And you can’t wait to see what the next chapter brings.

[cumironi]

SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS: GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

“suguru, help!” he sounds, pathetic. gojo satoru is a pathetic man when it comes to you. “ . . . there are so many kisses to have, soul and bone for you to crash and swear that how stars are born, so please. . ., believe me, you have to believe me,” he cries, holding your hands, begging for you to love him— love him enough to stay.

warning : age-up! satosugu, depressed! fem x reader, drug mention, trauma mention, suicide, self-harm, death mention, drowning, blood, heavy angst.

w/c : 6,2k | [☆] MASTERLIST

𝜗𝜚 . . . . i had to stop so often writing this because i can't stop crying and think that i shouldn't continue because it hurts me so bad that i have to take a cold shower and think about my life. and honestly, i wasn't supposed to write the last part but yeah..

A MINUTES AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

it was too quiet. . .

gojo satoru never screams so loud in his entire life, so loud. . . the world shaking beneath his feet, ready to swallow him whole and rotten. so loud . . . he sure he can no longer hear. he ran, slipping on his way until he broke his knee on the puddle of the red, transparent liquid that spill from the bath-up.

the starling sigh, you were there. . .

“no, no, no, baby— no.”

the water, tinged with a haunting crimson, surged and overflowed, cascading into the bathroom with relentless force. it climbed steadily up gojo's legs, as if the liquid itself sought to ensnare him, to drag him down into its suffocating embrace, or just. . . mock him.

a dark mockery that seemed to whisper that it alone held the power to drown him, to swallow your trembling breaths and the last echoes of your voice. it wasn’t him, or geto suguru who was to be your executioner, but the merciless water, eager to claim your final, stutter breath.

“i-i —sorry, i’m sorry..” you stammered.

your voice stammered between choke, barely a murmur beneath the frothy waves, struggled to be heard amidst the tumult. your eyes, devoid of warmth, reflected a chilling detachment. the coldness in your gaze was almost tangible, a stark contrast to the chaotic, drowning world around you.

“suguru, help!” he sounds, pathetic.

gojo, even on the verge of your death is still so gentle, as if he's afraid you are going to die than you already are. dropping on his knees as he tries to pull your warm bodies out of the bath-up.

gojo shook his head, a soft whisper escaping from his trembling lips, “shhh, it's alright baby, it's alright, you're alright,” his mumble, each word a fragile promise against the storm of his own emotions— words and voice shaking, his bones and soul shivering. his strong arm wraps around your body, pulling you closer to his chest, feeling everything, even as his flesh trembling.

tears cascaded from the corner of your eyes, tracing silken paths down your skin, while his embrace, though trembling, sought to cradle and calm you, a sanctuary against the turbulence of your anguish.

“suguru, please help!” again, this time he shouted.

geto runs upon hearing the horror howling, and his purple irises about to peel from his face and his lungs lose air— ragged gasps, as if each inhale were stolen from him. the scene before him struck with a painful clarity: you nestled within gojo’s embrace, your body wracked with distress.

foaming at the mouth, you appeared trapped in a tormenting grip of anguish, while the open scars on your wrist bled stories of suffering and desperation. in that moment, the sight was both heart-wrenching and surreal, a vivid tableau of fear and pain, painted across the canvas of his deepest fears.

“i'm sorry— i-i'm so sorry,” you whisper between choking gasps as geto kneels beside you and your body shaking. tears cascade uncontrollably, each dropping a shimmering testament to a sudden, overwhelming regret. it is as though a profound realization has swept over you, too late to mend the wounds that have been inflicted.

the regret feels like a bitter aftertaste of the sorrow you can no longer escape. the eyes of those around you, trembling with the weight of their own anguish, are bloodshot and haunting, mirroring the crimson that flows from your wrist. in that agonizing moment, the world feels irrevocably broken, and the fleeting desire to be alive seems like a distant, unreachable dream.

they burst from the bathroom, gojo's arms wrapped tightly around you as he dashes through the chaos. your lifeless feet and hands dangle, a heavy, haunting reminder of the blood seeping steadily onto the floor. each drop forms a macabre trail, like the relentless shadow of death that clings to you, a grim companion refusing to let go.

the crimson stains splatter and pool in your wake, an anguished testament to the finality that now seems inevitable— each red stain on the ground is a haunting reminder, a stark declaration. as they run, the blood's mournful descent weaves a sorrowful narrative of moments slipping away, each drop a poignant echo of what might have been, a stark and unyielding declaration that time has run out, that it is too late.

and suddenly, everything feels like a slow motion.

6 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

the doctor spoke with a grave tone, his words laced with concern. “it appears,” he began, looking at gojo who's just sitting there with his eyes focusing on the floor, meanwhile geto standing beside him. “that she intentionally tried to overdose. we've had to act swiftly to pump the substances from her body, working to counteract the severe effects of her actions.”

geto's hand gently gripping on gojo's shoulder as they listen. his expression was one of solemn seriousness, reflecting the urgency and gravity of the situation. “we've done everything we can to stabilize her, but it's crucial that you two understand the seriousness of what she has done. this was a life-threatening situation, and we're only beginning to address the underlying issues that led to this crisis.”

the doctor continued, his voice carrying a mix of relief and concern. “fortunately, the cut on her wrist wasn't too deep,” he said, his eyes scanning the notes before them. “it seems that the severity of the injury was somewhat mitigated by her weakened state from the drugs. if she had been stronger, the outcome might have been different.”

his tone softened, acknowledging the fragile balance between the danger of the overdose and the mitigating effects of your physical condition. “we've managed to address the immediate threats, but it's crucial to understand that this is a serious wake-up call. we need to work on her recovery and the emotional struggles that led to this moment.”

if she had been stronger, the outcome might have been different,’ the words echoed repeatedly, hauntingly through the air, like a broken record stuck on a painful refrain. once, twice, three times, they reverberated through their minds, each repetition a stark reminder of how close they came to losing you, how dangerously close the edge of despair was.

even the notion of ‘almost’ carried a weight too immense to bear, a heavy presence that pressed down on their hearts. the silence that followed was thick with unspoken guilt and anguish; none of them could find the words to bridge the chasm of their shared grief. they avoided each other's gaze, unable to escape the silent blame that hung heavy between them, a suffocating testament to their collective sense of failure.

gojo stared at his hands through the thin veil of his blindfold, his fingers trembling as they traced the dried blood staining his pale skin. the sight of it was a brutal reminder of you. with a strained effort, he clenched his hands tightly, hoping to meld the dried blood with his own, as if to erase the haunting evidence of what had transpired— his last hope trying to be with you.

each breath felt like a desperate gasp, a small gap forming between his lips as he struggled to draw in air. the sensation of suffocation gripped him, a relentless pressure squeezing his chest, making each inhale a battle. despite his efforts, the air seemed insufficient, leaving him feeling as though he were on the precipice of life, teetering on the brink of an abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

geto felt an overwhelming tide of guilt and anguish, a heavy weight pressing down on his heart. the scene that unfolded before him replayed in his mind like a relentless, agonizing loop, hunting him down like he is some kind of a fucking prey. he was haunted by the sight of your suffering, the image of your blood-streaked hands and the anguished cries that pierced the air. each moment of his own reflection, seeing the remnants of your blood on his skin and his white shirt, deepened his torment.

the sense of responsibility gnawed at him, a constant reminder of how close he came to losing you. he felt suffocated by a profound sorrow and helplessness, as if the very air around him was too thick, leaving him gasping for breath— like the death itself pointing its ugly fucking finger to his face and laugh at him, at them.

what a fucking pathetic man’ the death must be said.

the weight of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders, and the silence between him and his companions only amplified his inner turmoil. the unspoken blame and the aching realization that he couldn't undo what had happened created a chasm of despair within him, making each moment feel like an eternity of unbearable remorse.

both of them are buried in profound sea of grief, guilt, shame because a thousand moments with you that they take for granted— shame, for thinking, assume that there would be a thousand more. is it too selfish to be here?’ they thought.

that curse must be laughing at them, the higher-ups, everyone— pointing their finger from all directions. look at them, ’ they thought, those two who called themselves the strongest can even save a single soul,’ again they must be laughing, let alone a soul who is to be called the love of their life.

but nobody knows, none, not even a single soul that, oh, how your presence evokes such selflessness in them— even amid their silent, tormented reflections. they are consumed by an incessant questioning of the selfishness of their own sorrow, wondering if it is wrong to cling to their grief while you teeter on the precipice of loss.

the haunting thought persists, a cruel reminder of time's fragile nature and the profound depth of their remorse. in their heartache, they are acutely aware of the contrast between their own suffering and the delicate balance of your existence, each moment of their anguish a poignant testament to the sorrow they feel for having taken so much for granted.

is it okay to feel sad? ’ they thought.

even the very sensation of sadness and grief feels like an indulgence they do not deserve. i can't even protect her, what rights do i fucking deserve to be sad?’ they thought. to them, these emotions seem an opulent luxury, an extravagant gift they are not entitled to. in their hearts, the depth of their sorrow feels almost excessive, a poignant reminder of how their suffering pales in comparison to the magnitude of the almost loss they face.

each wave of grief feels like a grand, unwelcome opulence, an unjust reward for the pain they have caused and the moments they have squandered. the luxury of their sadness seems a cruel irony, a stark contrast to the profound emptiness of the reality they must now confront.

people passing by in front of them, throwing them a glance or two. seeing their red eyes and tears-stain cheeks, blood in their hands, in shirts, in pants, in their soul, laid bare. everyone wants to give them both a pat on the back, telling them that they are good at handling grief; howling, crying, and blaming each other. that's the proper way to handle grief.

18 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

your hands are warm, a stark contrast to the pallor of your pink lips, which have lost their vibrant hue, your eyes open still so retain their gentle softness, a quiet testament to the grace you still hold.

as you lie upon the hospital bed, draped in the drab, floral-patterned gown that clings to you, it feels woefully inadequate. the gown, mundane and worn, seems too insipid and shabby to encompass your beauty, too faded and forlorn.

“i'm sorry. . .” you mumble.

you can’t bring yourself to look at them as they sit beside your bed, their eyes red and swollen from sleepless nights, their uniforms crumpled and disheveled, their hair falling in untamed disarray. their faces have lost their vibrant hue, a stark contrast to their usual vitality.

gojo satoru’s once-brilliant blue eyes, which used to shimmer with an unyielding light, now seem dull and lifeless, even when the golden sunlight spills over them. the sunlight, which once might have enhanced the beauty of his gaze with its warm orange tones, now only serves to highlight the emptiness that has replaced his once-sparkling eyes— it's dull, it's dull, it is fucking dull.

geto suguru's strikingly handsome face is graced with a smile, tender and achingly gentle, as though he is pouring all his effort into offering you a sliver of solace. his lips tremble with a subtle quiver, betraying the deep sadness that lingers beneath his calm exterior. his once-vibrant purple irises have dimmed, their former brilliance faded to a shadow of their former selves.

you fear that they might darken further, losing their hue altogether, slipping into a void of despair where even color seems to vanish. the sight of his sorrowful eyes, so devoid of their usual spark, reflects a profound sadness that pierces the heart, a silent testament to the emotional toll of the moment.

oh, what i have done. . .’ you thought.

“don't, please don't,” gojo pleads, his voice trembling as he clasps your unharmed hand with a desperate grip. his blindfold has been removed, revealing eyes that are filled with raw, unfiltered emotion as he gazes at you. beside him, geto's hand rests gently at the back of your head, his touch tender and soothing. he caresses your hair with a featherlight motion, his thumb brushing softly over your scalp.

“we are so sorry for taking you for granted,” he murmurs, the words heavy with regret and sorrow. “we are sorry for offering you only a lukewarm love, when you deserved a love that was fierce and all-consuming, a love that burned brightly and fiercely. i'm sorry,” his voice wavers, each word an echo of their deep remorse, as they both grapple with the weight of their unspoken apologies and the profound realization of what they failed to give you.

they do not seek to question why your soul bleeds, nor do they dare to unravel the dark tapestry of your pain. the blood, flowing with a steady, silent, and disturbingly deliberate pace, engulfs you in its relentless embrace. it seeps into every corner of your being, a somber tide that threatens to consume you entirely.

they find themselves unable to confront this harrowing reality, their hearts too burdened to bear the weight of such a painful inquiry. the sight of your suffering leaves them paralyzed, unable to utter the questions that linger in their minds, as they grapple with the profound helplessness of watching you slowly succumb to the encroaching shadows.

“i love you, baby,” gojo whispers, “i'm sorry that you're in so much pain so to think death is the only salvation,” he stopped for a second, cocooning your hand with his large one before resting his cheek against. “i'm sorry i didn't notice your rage for the world and too busy loving you. does my love scare you, love? that's why you decided to leave, hm?” his voice shaking, lips quivering.

“if you are angry, stab me a little so you can feel better, make it hurt, i don't care. a little suffering would be worth it if it's by your hands, by your pretty little hands,” he murmured against your skin, his breath a warm whisper that sent shivers across your body. each word was a soft plea, wrapped in a tone that trembled with both desperation and tenderness.

his trembling lips pressed gently against your hand, each kissing a fleeting starburst of warmth against your cool skin. him— no they, stood ready to endure your pain, inviting you to inflict upon them the hurt you felt.

they stand poised to let you sink your teeth into them, to delve into their very flesh. to let you open them up, laid bare and vulnerable, just to offer you a chance to heal. just so they can love you a little too much, starving even— like a flesh begging to be knitting together over a wound. ruin me, ruin us, and we will let you.

“i love you, i love you, i love you,” he gave you stars in each between. they fucking love you like a rotten dog. “believe me when i said this. . . there are so many kisses to have, soul and bone for you to crash and swear that how stars are born, so please. . ., believe me, you have to believe me,” he cries, holding your hands, begging for you to love him— love him enough to stay, “we love you.”

he finally said we’ geto thought.

at first glance, people might assume that geto suguru’s love for you surpasses that of gojo satoru, that his love is somehow greater. yet, the truth remains that it has always been gojo satoru who harbors the most profound and boundless love for you from the very beginning. his love is vast, immense, and utterly astonishing, stretching beyond the horizons of understanding.

gojo’s devotion is a vast expanse, a love so deep and wide that it seems to defy the very limits of emotion. even geto suguru, who himself is capable of immense love, finds himself awestruck and somewhat intimidated by the sheer magnitude of gojo’s feelings. no one can truly grasp the depth of gojo’s love—not even gojo himself—such is the overwhelming, almost incomprehensible nature of his heart’s boundless devotion to you.

and sometimes it scares the shit out of geto.

but maybe, just maybe, they have a little too much love for you more than for each other, even more than for themselves— as if you make a space in their ribs, and call it home country.

30 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

geto stirred from a restless sleep, his head resting gently against your hospital bed, nestled close to your side. as he slowly opened his eyes, he was met with the soft, gentle sight of you gazing at him, a faint, tender smile gracing your lips. the serene moment, bathed in the quiet of the hospital room, brought a flicker of warmth to his weary heart, a small but profound comfort amid the lingering shadows of their shared sorrow.

“hey sunshine,” geto whispered in a hoarse croak, reaching a hand to brush your hair away from your face, “how long have you been awake?”

“long enough to notice the dark circles under your eyes and the tear stains on your cheeks,” you replied softly, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek, your thumb tenderly caressing the worn skin. geto hummed, his hand capturing yours and guiding your palm to his lips, where he planted a gentle kiss.

the touch of your skin was like a salve, soothing the ache in his weary soul. he chuckled weakly. his eyes were tired and his skin pale, but your touch made him feel alive. “you’re too observant for your own good,” he teased, his lips curving into a weary smile.

geto shifted in his chair, wincing slightly as his body protested the movement. he settled into a more comfortable position, still holding your hand in his, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your knuckles.

he studied your face, taking in every detail, from the delicate flutter of your eyelashes to the subtle flush in your cheeks. the sight of you, even in this vulnerable state, filled his heart with a mixture of tenderness and protectiveness.

“how are you feeling?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, his gaze fixed on your face. he knew it was a question he had asked before, but he couldn’t help himself. he needed to hear you speak, hear your voice, just to reassure himself that you were still with him.

“like shit,” you answer.

your hand is still gently cupping his cheek, thumb running low across his skin in a loving manner. at your blunt response, geto's lip curled into a soft smile. even in your weakened state, you still had a defiant spark.

he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as he savored the sensation. “i thought we agreed no profanity,” he teased, his voice laced with affectionate humor, opening his eyes to meet your gaze. he turned his head slightly, his lips brushing against the palm of your hand in a tender kiss.

“you’ve always been a bad influence on me,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and ticklish. he chuckled softly, his eyes softening as he studied your face.

he took a moment to compose his words, his expression growing serious. “there was a moment,” he began, his voice a hoarse whisper, “a moment when i thought i lost you.”

your smile faltered, and your eyes softened with concern as you listened to the gravity in his voice. you reached up to gently touch his cheek again, your thumb brushing away the remnants of his sadness.

“i’m here now,” you whispered, your voice steady but filled with warmth. “you haven’t lost me.” you looked deeply into his eyes, trying to convey with your gaze the depth of your presence and the promise of your unwavering support. “and i’m not going anywhere,” you added softly, hoping to soothe the lingering fear in his heart.

his hand covers yours, holding it against his cheek as he closes his eyes, relishing in your soothing touch. for a moment, he just allows himself to bask in your presence, letting the warmth and comfort wash over him.

“i was afraid i wouldn’t get to hear you say that,” he murmured, his voice growing thicker with emotion. he opened his eyes, the raw vulnerability in his gaze bared to you, his heart laid bare.

your heart ached at the sight of his vulnerability. you gently squeezed his hand, your voice trembling with sincerity as you spoke. “i’m so sorry,” you said softly, your eyes filled with compassion.

geto’s thumb traced gentle, small circles on the back of your hand. “you have nothing to apologize for,” he assured you, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “it was my responsibility to keep you safe, and i failed.”

the guilt and regret in his voice were palpable, the weight of his self-imposed responsibility clear. he lowered his gaze, wrestling with emotions that were etched deeply into every line of his weary face.

he lifted your hand from his cheek, bringing it to his lips and pressing a lingering kiss against your knuckles, his gaze never leaving yours. “i just need you to know how much you mean to me,” he added, his voice cracking slightly. his grip on your hand tightened, as if he was holding onto you for dear life.

geto’s lips continued to brush against your knuckles as he spoke, soft and gentle. his eyes held yours captive, the depth of his affection bared for you to see.

“you are my everything,” he confessed, his voice hoarse with the weight of his honesty. “the thought of losing you, of living in a world where you don’t exist…” he trailed off, a pained expression crossing his features. he was torn between the love that engulfed his heart and the fear that threatened to consume him.

geto drew in a shaky breath, composing himself as best he could. he lifted his gaze from your hand, meeting your eyes once again. his expression held a mixture of love and devotion, but also a hint of desperation.

“i need you to know that no matter what, i will do everything in my power to protect you,” he vowed, his voice steady despite the turbulent emotions raging within him. “not just because it’s my duty, but because i love you more than i thought it was possible to love someone.”

you met his gaze with a warm, reassuring smile, the depth of your gratitude shining through. “thank you,” you said softly, your voice imbued with genuine appreciation. your smile was a reflection of the profound comfort and reassurance you felt, a silent promise to stand together through whatever lay ahead.

geto’s eyes softened at your smile, a flicker of relief passing over his weary face. he squeezed your hand gently, his touch both appreciative and protective.

he studied your face for a moment, his gaze lingering on each contour, each freckle and line, as if to further commit them to memory. “don’t scare me like that again,” he murmured, mostly in jest, but with an underlying current of seriousness.

gojo entered the room, his expression a mix of relief and lingering concern as he carried a bag of your belongings. upon seeing the tender moment between you and geto, his eyes softened, though they carried a hint of the exhaustion and worry that had shadowed him. he set the bag down and approached, took a sit at the edge on the other side of your bed, his voice catching slightly as he spoke.

“don’t scare me like that again too,” he said, his tone gentle but tinged with the weight of his emotions. his gaze met yours with a blend of earnestness and relief. “i know suguru’s been holding on tight, but i’ve been right here, too. seeing you like this... it’s been hard on all of us. please, don't leave us.” his words were a heartfelt plea, an echo of the concern and love he carried for you, a testament to the depth of his feelings and the strength of his devotion.

geto’s grip on your hand tightened momentarily at the sound of gojo’s voice, his eyes darting towards his best friend. he could hear the exhaustion and worry that laced gojo’s words and knew all-too-well the weight of the responsibility they shared.

he turned his gaze back to you, his expression a mix of worry and relief. his thumb resumed its gentle, soothing circles on the back of your hand. “yeah,” he said in agreement, his voice gruff with emotion. “please, don’t scare us like that again.”

gojo’s presence brought with it a sense of familiarity, a comfort that was both grounding and reassuring. he reached out and placed a gentle hand on your arm, his touch a silent expression of his affection and concern.

he studied your face, his eyes tracing every contour, every line, as if to commit the sight to memory. “how are you feeling?” he asked, his voice softer now, though still tinged with worry. “i wanna say like shit but suguru said no profanity,” you puff a little chuckle.

geto gives a little scoff at your comment, his expression laced with a mixture of annoyance and affection. he rolls his eyes playfully and mutters, “you’re such a bad influence.”

gojo’s lips curled into a small smirk before he turned his gaze back to you, the lines around his eyes creasing with a mix of amusement and relief. “can’t have you talking like that,” he teased, his words light but carrying a hint of genuine concern.

gojo studying your face carefully before speaking ever so softly, “well, apart from the obviously crappy mood geto’s been in, you look good. your color is better.” he noticed a faint crimson crushed on your cheeks, a little pink on your lips.

he reached his hand out to smooth a strand of hair away from your forehead, his touch light and tender. his gaze wandered from your face to where geto still held your hand, his eyes reflecting a subtle hint of appreciation.

geto watched gojo's gentle touch, his grip on your hand unconsciously tightening a little bit in response. his expression was a mixture of protectiveness and vulnerability, his eyes betraying the fear and worry that still tugged at his heart.

he took the moment to observe the soft interplay of emotions between you and gojo, the easy familiarity and the deep bond that existed between you all. he could sense the weight of gojo's concern as he studied your face, the care and attention in his touch.

gojo's voice was soft as he continued, his gaze still fixed on your face. “so, how are you feeling, for real?” he asked, his tone a gentle echo of geto's earlier question. “any pain? any discomfort?”

geto looked at you, his eyes silently pleading for you to be honest. he was hanging off your every word, each response a small insight into your well-being.

you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their concern pressing down on you. meeting gojo’s gentle gaze and then turning to geto’s silent plea, you spoke with a mixture of remorse and honesty. “i’m sorry,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “i’m sorry for how i handled things. i know i should have talked to you both, but i didn’t—i tried to take matters into my own hands without thinking it through first.”

your eyes reflected a deep sense of shame and regret as you continued. “i actually feel like absolute shit right now, and i’m ashamed of myself for thinking i could find a quick solution without considering the impact it would have on you both.” you looked at them, hoping your words conveyed the depth of your remorse and the sincerity of your apology, wanting them to understand that your actions were not a reflection of your feelings for them, but rather a moment of misguided desperation.

gojo's expression softened with understanding, his eyes filled with compassion. he knew the weight of your words, the regret and shame that clung to them. he reached his hand back to your arm, his touch gentle and reassuring.

geto's gaze was a mix of surprise and relief as he processed your apology. his hand around yours tightened slightly, his thumb tracing reassuring circles on your skin. “it's okay,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “we all have moments of weakness. what matters is that you're here, safe and alive.”

you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you at their responses, their understanding and compassion a balm to your wounded spirit. “thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “thank you for not being angry with me and for not questioning me right away. i know i made a terrible mistake, and i’m grateful you’re here, supporting me instead of condemning me.”

geto's grip on your hand tightened slightly, his eyes filled with a complex mixture of emotions— relief, love, and a hint of lingering fear. he shook his head gently, a reassuring smile on his lips.

gojo chuckled softly, his eyes filled with a mixture of compassion and playfulness. “we can save the anger and lecturing for when you’re not looking so terrible,” he joked, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “and trust me, baby, i had a lot of choice colorful words for you when the right time comes,” he lean in to kiss your forehead, “but right now, we just trying to be here for you.”

geto nodded in agreement, his grip on your hand still tight. he couldn’t help but roll his eyes a bit at gojo's playfulness, but there was a hint of fondness beneath the feigned annoyance.

he leaned in, reaching out with his other hand to gently brush a strand of hair off your forehead. “you are a stubborn, reckless, and stubborn pain in the ass,” he scolded lightly, his tone a soft but affectionate mix.

gojo chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners with humor. he settled himself closer, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. “he's right, you know,” he chimed in, his smile wide. “you're very good at pushing our buttons and getting under our skin.”

geto's lips curled into a small smile, his expression a mixture of feigned anger and affection. “and you're even better at making us worry,” he added, his tone light but underlined with the gravity of their concern. “but we care about you more than anything,” he added, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “so you better not do something like that again, you hear me?” his voice held a hint of authority, but mostly it was filled with love and concern.

geto's smile grew a bit wider, his eyes crinkling endearingly at the corners. “yeah,” he said, his voice firm. “you better listen. we don’t need anymore of these near-death experiences from you.”

gojo chimed in enthusiastically, leaning in a bit closer. “yeah, cause let me tell you, i can’t handle any more gray hairs than i already have.”

geto's grip on your hand tightened again, his expression a mix of sternness and vulnerability. he looked at you intently, his gaze locking with yours. “he's right,” he echoed, his voice firm but filled with warmth and care. “no more reckless decisions. no more putting yourself in danger. you hear us, my love?”

gojo nodded in agreement, his expression serious but eyes softened with concern. he added, “yeah, we can't keep having our hearts in our throats like this. it's not good for our health, you know.” geto's hand caressed your arm gently, a silent plea for your understanding. “we just want you safe and sound. that’s all we ask.”

a hint of vulnerability flashed across geto's face, his expression betraying the weight of his words. he locked eyes with you, his gaze filled with a mixture of pleading and sincerity.

“we just want to know that you're safe,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “that you're not recklessly endangering yourself anymore.”

gojo leaned in closer, his hand resting on your arm lightly. “we can't bear the thought of something happening to you again,” he chimed in, his tone carrying an undercurrent of worry.

they continued to exchange tender words and earnest pleas, their voices overlapping in a chorus of concern and affection. each spoke fervently about their love and the lengths they would go to ensure your safety and happiness. their words, though filled with their own fears and frustrations, were underscored by a deep, unwavering care for you.

as you watched them, a soft smile touched your lips. their earnest devotion, their refusal to let you face this alone, filled you with a profound sense of comfort and gratitude. you could see their love in every gesture and hear it in every word, and it warmed your heart. despite the gravity of the situation, their caring presence made you feel cherished and supported, giving you strength even in the midst of your own turmoil.

after a few moments of their heartfelt declarations, the room fell into a short silence, the weight of their words lingering in the air.

gojo ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of nervous energy. “and just so you know, suguru here basically took a week off work to sit by your bedside like a damn watchdog, he even almost made the rainbow dragon eat gakuganji because that fucker won't let him leave.” geto, caught off guard by the sudden revelation, flushed faintly and shot a glare at gojo.

geto, taken aback, shot a sharp look at gojo before retort, “you clearly about to hollow purple the higher-ups and the entire school because they won't let you stay here with her.” gojo's expression darkened for a moment, “you know i would do it in a heartbeat, if i could.” geto's grip on your hand tightened, his gaze still fixed on gojo. “i know you would. and i'd be right there with you.”

gojo and geto turned their attention back to you when they heard your soft chuckling, their expressions a mix of relief and amusement at hearing you laugh.

gojo chuckled as well, “you find that funny, huh?” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. geto rolled his eyes a bit, but his own smile betrayed his true feelings. he couldn't stay serious when you laughed. “just the thought of us going rogue and taking down the entire school system for you is amusing, i guess,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm.

you hummed in satisfaction, “they are shit anyway.” a gentle smile lingering on your pale lips.

gojo chuckled warmly, his eyes sparkling at your comment. “ah, and there’s that signature wit of yours coming back.”

geto, still feigning annoyance but struggling to hide a grin, shook his head slightly. “still as blunt and unfiltered as ever,” he said, his eyes soft.

you glances at both of them, the comforting silence lingering between you, and with a tender smile, you mouthed softly, “i love you.” your cheeks flushed a delicate crimson beneath your pale complexion as you kissed their cheek.

gojo and geto exchanged a brief glance at your sweet words and soft kisses, their hearts swelling with warmth and love. gojo's hand reached out to stroke your hair, his touch gentle and loving. “we love you too,” he said softly.

geto's smile widened as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “always,” he breathed, his voice filled with tenderness.

the thought of you coming back to them is warm.

TAGLIST :

@junni-berry @fortunatelyfurrygiver @soraya-daydreams @diorzs @dancing--devils @iloveboysinred @bounie1 @nina3871 @ohnotheusernameisbroken

[maxtermind]

absolutely loved ‘baby, would i still be your lover’, everyone single one got me in my feels! i was wondering would you consider doing a part 2? whether it ends in angst or fluff

I'll tell you the truth, but never goodbye

★ : summary :: when he accidentally insults you during an argument- aftermath ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris ★ : genre :: hurt/comfort, hints of angst ★ : word count :: 4.3k ★ : a/n :: thank you so much for the love on part 1 💓 some of these have open ending so you can pick whether you'd like to forgive them or not as a reader!! feedback is appreciated :)

( part 1 )

Max Verstappen

You sighed as you sat down to have your morning tea as usual, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong. As if you hadn't spent all night long getting your phone spammed with calls that you were ignoring.

After mindlessly roaming around for a bit, you eventually decided to crash at your best friend’s place. You lazily waved at her as she frantically got ready to leave for work. However, you were on your tiptoe as soon as the door opened.

A body that was possibly sleeping while leaning against the door fell inside and you heard curses that you were quite too familiar with. Your heart clenched at the sight of your boyfriend - or perhaps now, your ex-boyfriend - on his knees, nursing the wound on his head. The ache of seeing him in pain reignited the anguish you thought you had left behind.

“Okay,” you heard your friend murmur. “I'm gonna let you guys get to it.” She was out the door a second later.

You looked at the closed door instead of the man who was desperately trying to make eye contact with you.

“How long have you…” You trailed off before deciding that you didn't want to know.

“As soon as you turned your phone off, Y/N! I've been here since last night.” "Why?" you choked out, the words barely escaping your lips as tears threatened to overflow. His brows furrowed before he ran his hands over his face and got up to sit right next to you. You saw his hand itching toward yours and instinctively pulled it towards your body. "Because I needed to see you in person, to talk." He took another deep breath and you later realized that he was trying to stop himself from crying. “I realize I messed up, baby. I.. I never should have let you walk out.” But his attempt to mend the shattered pieces of your relationship only served to reopen the wounds, your walls instinctively rising in defense,"Talk? You think a talk is going to fix everything?" Max's eyes were filled with a mix of regret and desperation as he reached out for your hand, his fingers trembling slightly. "No, I don't think a talk will magically fix everything," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion.

"But it's a start. I need you to know that I'm truly sorry for what happened. I hate myself for hurting you, for making you doubt how much you mean to me."

You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, the pain of the previous night still too fresh in your mind.

“How can I trust you again, Max? How can I be sure that this won't happen again?" Your voice was barely a whisper, filled with the ache of betrayal.

Max's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I know I've messed up, Y/N. But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to earn back your trust. I'll work on my temper, I’ll be better to you, I'll do anything you ask of me. I just need you to give me another chance." “You know you’ve always been the best to me, right? I just can’t believe that instead of talking it out yesterday, you straight up skipped to breaking up wit-” Fresh tears started falling down your cheeks. Max immediately leaned forward to hold you in his arms and you let him because you needed him. But how could you trust him again? How could you be sure that history wouldn't repeat itself? That he won’t throw away your whole relationship just because the anger got a hold of him? As Max held you close, you felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over you. Part of you wanted to push him away, to scream and shout at him for causing you so much pain. But another part of you craved his warmth, his touch, his presence.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Max whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I know I messed up, and I hate myself for it. I never meant to hurt you, I swear."

You buried your face in his chest, the tears soaking through his shirt as you struggled to make sense of your feelings.

“I just don't know if I can do this anymore, Max," you admitted, your voice muffled against him. Max tightened his embrace, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "I understand," he murmured, his voice gentle. His admission eased your thumping heart a bit, you were glad to have him back. The storm within you finding a momentary calm.

"I made you feel like our relationship was disposable, like breaking up was no big deal. But that couldn't be further from the truth. You're the most important person in my life, baby and the thought of losing you terrifies me. I'll do whatever it takes to make things right between us, to show you just how much you mean to me. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust if you still want me."

Lewis Hamilton

The weight of Lewis's words hung heavy in the air, suffocating you as you retreated into the sanctuary of your bedroom. Tears streamed down your cheeks unchecked, your heart aching with a pain you couldn't quite comprehend. How had a day that started with such a promise turned into this? You buried your face in your hands, the sting of Lewis's words feeling like acid running through your veins.

Outside the door, the silence was deafening, broken only by the muffled sound of your sobs. Lewis stood frozen in place, his mind racing as he replayed the exchange in his head.

He couldn't believe the words that had escaped his lips, couldn't fathom how he had allowed his frustration to morph into such hurtful remarks.

Minutes stretched into eternity as Lewis grappled with the weight of his actions, the gravity of his words settling like a lead weight in his chest.

He wanted to reach out to you, to apologize and make things right, but his feet remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the magnitude of his mistake.

Inside the bedroom, you were consumed by a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Anger, hurt, betrayal - they all swirled together into an ugly monster, threatening to engulf you whole.

How could the man you loved, the man who had always been your rock, turn on you with such venom?

But beneath the anger and hurt, there was a flicker of doubt, a gnawing fear that maybe Lewis's words held a grain of truth. Maybe you were too insecure, too needy, too demanding. Maybe you were asking for too much, expecting him to be there for you when he had his own priorities and responsibilities. Maybe-

The sound of a soft knock on the door snapped you out of your thoughts, and you looked up to see Lewis standing there, his expression wrought with regret and guilt. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the unspoken apology hanging heavy in the air. Looking at him distraught made your chest feel worse. How could he make you feel ten fold worse than this and not feel a thing? 

"I'm sorry," Lewis finally whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't mean what I said. I was out of line, and I know I hurt you. Please, let me make it right." He rushed through the words.

His words pierced through the haze of your pain, and you felt a bit of heaviness leaving your body. He crossed the room in a few strides, dropping to his knees in front of you, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. 

"I don't know what came over me," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion before your boyfriend took your hand away from your face and kissed your cheeks. "I was so caught up in my own frustrations that I lashed out at you, and I hate myself for it. You don't deserve to be treated that way, especially not by me."

You studied his face, searching for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was genuine remorse and regret. And despite the pain still raw in your chest, you couldn't deny the love you felt for him, the longing to mend what had been broken between you. “You hurt me,” you whispered but didn’t push him away as he laid down with you, holding you close to his chest. Some of your resolve wavering when you felt his fast heartbeat. “I wanted you there so much.” He nodded as he shushed you, his own eyes dropping tears. “I’m so so sorry, baby. I can't even begin to express how deeply I regret the way I acted the whole day, I know you deserve so much more but-” You shifted slightly, knowing all that you wanted right now was comfort, you didn't want to forgive him or minimize the weight of his actions. "I don't know if I can right now," you replied, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions.

Lewis's eyes brimmed with tears as he whispered, "Please don't shut me out. I can't bear the thought of losing you."

You felt a pang of guilt at the pain evident in his voice. "I just need some time to process everything," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I understand," Lewis replied, his tone filled with sorrow. "But please know that I'm here whenever you're ready to talk."

You nodded, silently acknowledging his words as you allowed yourself to be enveloped in his comforting embrace. 

"I promise to make it up to you," Lewis vowed earnestly, his voice laced with determination. "I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust."

"I want to believe you," you admitted quietly, your heart heavy with uncertainty. Everything was a little too raw right now and your emotions were all over the place.

"I'll spend every moment proving it to you," Lewis declared, his eyes locking with yours in a silent vow.

“I was thoughtless and cruel today, and I never should have let those words leave my lips. You are not insecure, you are strong and resilient, baby. You deserve so much better than the hurtful words I spoke. Please know that I can’t lose you, Y/N. I will work tirelessly to regain your trust and rebuild what I have so carelessly shattered. You mean the world to me, and I will spend every moment striving to be worthy of your love.”

Carlos Sainz

As you sat nervously in your childhood home, the familiar sights and sounds providing little comfort, your mind raced with thoughts of disappointment and hurt.

For the third time, Carlos had failed to join you in meeting your parents, leaving you to face their questioning looks and unspoken concerns alone. You had rehearsed what you would say to them, how you would explain his absence, but each time, the words caught in your throat, choked by a mixture of frustration and sadness. For the past few days since you walked out of your apartment, you had been ignoring Carlos’ attempts to reconcile with you. The calls and texts he spammed you with were ignored and curses left your mouth as soon as your mind went back to the day of the argument, bringing unwanted tears to your eyes.

In the passing, you saw a Ferrari conference being conducted and as much as you wanted to reach out and talk it out with him, your heart did flips that you were sure you should have visited a doctor for.

Your parents, ever perceptive, noticed your unease as you fidgeted with the napkin in your lap, casting worried glances in your direction. You tried to muster a reassuring smile, but it faltered, betraying the turmoil within you.

How could you explain to them that the man you loved couldn't find the time to meet them, despite his promises and assurances? "What's wrong, sweetie?" your mom asked, concern evident in her voice.

You sighed, hesitating for a moment before replying, "It's Carlos... He like…"

Your dad's brow furrowed. "Is everything okay?"

You tried to muster a reassuring smile. "Yeah, he said that he got caught up with work. You know how busy he is with his racing and all..." Your dad’s brows furrowed when you trailed off, about to ask you what exactly you meant but just as you were steeling yourself to broach the subject, the doorbell rang, startling you from your thoughts.

Your heart sank as you realized it was likely a neighbor stopping by to meet you since you don’t visit that often, you stood up to go greet them. But then, to your disbelief, you heard his voice drifting through the door, before you saw your boyfriend standing right behind it. Your head titled in confusion and you drew a breath that took most of the stress from the previous days away from your body.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, his tone apologetic yet determined. Carlos took your hand and kissed it lightly,"Traffic was a nightmare." “What about the conference that you-” “You’re the most important person in my life, Y/N.” He cut you off before pulling you in and walking to the dining room that was in his vision. As if that was the answer to your question.

You turned to face him, your eyes wide with surprise and a flicker of hope. There he was, looking slightly disheveled but undeniably earnest, his gaze that locked on yours was as if it was seeking forgiveness. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the regret etched in the lines of his face.

Your parents exchanged a glance, their expressions softening as they took in the sight of Carlos standing before them. 

Despite their reservations about his repeated absences, they couldn't deny the genuine affection that Carlos held in his eyes when he looked at you.

Before you could find the words to respond, Carlos took a step forward, his hand reaching out tentatively. "I'm really sorry, both of you," he said, addressing your parents directly.

"I know how important this is to you, and I should have made more of an effort to be here on time."

His words hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of his shortcomings and a pledge to do better. You felt a surge of emotion welling up inside you, a mixture of relief, gratitude, and a glimmer of renewed faith in your relationship. "Well, we're just glad you could make it," your dad said, offering Carlos a handshake.

"Thank you for coming, Carlos," your mother said, her voice warm yet cautious. "We understand that life gets busy, but it's important to make time for the people who matter most."

Carlos nodded, his expression earnest as he met her gaze. "I couldn't agree more. Family means putting in effort, I promise to make it up to all of you."

As you sat down to dinner, the atmosphere was tinged with a sense of reconciliation and hope. Your hand still intertwined with his as you saw him charm your family. Despite the rocky start, Carlos's presence brought a newfound sense of unity and understanding to the table. And as you shared stories and laughter, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to mend what had seemed irreparably broken.

In that moment, you realized that love wasn't just about grand gestures or sweeping declarations—it was about the everyday moments of connection and compromise, the willingness to forgive and grow together.

And as you looked at Carlos, his eyes filled with determination and affection, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, hand in hand.

Charles Leclerc

Charles had apologized right after he had said those words and though you had both fallen back into routine, the underlying bitterness and resentment was still present. You weren’t the one initiating any kind of affection from your side and every time Charles was initiating anything, you half assed your way out of it. Was it childish? Probably. But you were still not comfortable with how easily you had forgiven Charles, burying your hurt just to avoid conflict once again despite knowing deep down that he has hurt you probably more than anyone else ever has. These thoughts were running through your head as you sat beside Charles, your heart still heavy with the weight, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. Especially because Charles seemed distant, his mind preoccupied with thoughts, that you couldn't help but wonder what exactly they were. Why had he even asked to go on a date today? To break up with you? Suddenly, Pippa appeared, her presence causing the knot to form in your stomach to get tighter. She approached with a confident stride, a charming smile gracing her lips as she greeted Charles with a hug.

"Hey, Charlie!" Pippa exclaimed, her eyes flickering briefly in your direction before returning to Charles. "Long time no see!"

Charles returned her hug, though his embrace seemed somewhat forced. "Hey, Pippa. Yeah, it's been a while." 

You observed their interaction closely, your unease growing with each passing moment. Pippa's presence always seemed to unsettle you, and you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to their friendship than met the eye. Was he gonna break up with you in public and confess his years long feelings for Pippa? Charles glanced at you, his expression softening as he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "I was just out with Y/N today."

You couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth at his actions, his affectionate gesture soothing some of the tension that had been building between you.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," Pippa said, offering you a friendly smile. "Sorry I didn’t see you next to Charlie."

You returned her smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes and managed to reply without gagging. "Nice to meet you, Pippa." Charles tightened his grip on your hand, silently reassuring you of his presence and support. "We were just grabbing a coffee," he explained, his gaze flickering between you and Pippa. "Care to join us?"

Pippa hesitated for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced at you before turning back to Charles. "Actually, I was hoping we could catch up alone, if that's okay."

You felt a pang of anxiety at her words, a sense of foreboding settling in the pit of your stomach. Despite your reservations, you nodded, forcing a smile as you released Charles's hand. It was better to walk away yourself than to have Charles dismiss you.

"Of course," you said, though your voice sounded strained even to your own ears. "I'll wait for you outside."

Charles shot you an alarmed look as you stood up,”I’ll see you in a few.” Charles’ hand lingered on yours for a moment longer before you reluctantly let go and made your way to the door.

You leaned against your car and enjoyed the wind for a second. You couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of the exchange between your boyfriend and his best friend sitting inside.

You were half scared to find them kissing or something but, instead a sense of confusion washed over you as you watched the way Pippa was angrily point a finger at Charles and scream at him.

It was a second later when she stormed out before making her way towards you.

"Is he doing this because of you?!" Pippa's accusatory tone sent a shiver down your spine, her words hitting too close to home.

Before you could even process what was happening, Charles emerged from the cafe, his expression determined as he approached you and Pippa.

"Go home, Pippa," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument as he intertwined his hand with yours.

Pippa's eyes blazed with anger, her fists clenched at her sides as she glared at Charles. "You will regret this, Charles!" she spat before storming off, leaving you both standing there in stunned silence.

Once Pippa was out of sight, you turned to Charles, your heart pounding in your chest. "What was that all about?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at you with apologetic eyes. "I'm sorry you had to witness that, Y/N. Pippa has been... difficult lately."

You frowned, your mind reeling with confusion and frustration. "Difficult how?"

Charles hesitated for a moment, his gaze searching yours as if trying to find the right words. "She's been pushing boundaries, trying to come between us. But I won't let her." 

"Hey," he continued, taking your hand in his. "I told Pippa that I wouldn't be spending time with her alone anymore. If she can't accept you, then it's better for us to not be friends at all."

You blinked in surprise, a rush of gratitude flooding through you at his words. "Really?"

Charles nodded, squeezing your hand gently. "Really. You're the most important person in my life, and I won't let anyone come between us."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. "Thank you, Charles. I appreciate you standing up for us."

He smiled softly, squeezing your hand reassuringly. "I'll always stand up for us, Y/N. You mean everything to me."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you threw your arms around him, holding him close. Despite the lingering bitterness and resentment, you couldn't deny the overwhelming love you felt for him in that moment.

Lando Norris

As you stepped out of the taxi, the cool night air enveloped you, offering a moment of respite from the whirlwind of emotions that had engulfed you throughout the evening.

Your heart still felt heavy with the weight of Lando's hurtful words, but beneath the pain, a numbness resided- knowing deep down that you might’ve just broken up with your boyfriend.

Before you could take another step, you heard the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from behind. Turning around, you saw Lando rushing towards you, his eyes filled with remorse and his expression wrought with sorrow. Your hand instinctively went to your chest, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart.

"Y/N, please wait," he called out, his voice pleading as he reached your side, breathless from his haste.

You pulled your face to meet his eyes, uncertainty and wariness etched into your features as you met his gaze. Part of you yearned to turn away, to shield yourself from the pain of his words, but another part couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, he was sincere in his apology.

"Lando," you said softly, your voice tinged with a mixture of hurt and apprehension. You wanted to say more but the damn ball in your throat stopped you doing so.

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours as he searched for the right words to express the depth of his regret. "I know I messed up, Y/N. I hurt you, and I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for that."

His words washed over you like a soothing balm, offering a sliver of comfort. But still, you couldn't bring yourself to let go of the hurt that lingered in your heart.

"I should have been there for you tonight, supporting you and showing you how much you mean to me," Lando continued, his voice filled with genuine remorse. "Instead, I let my own selfishness and insecurities get in the way, and for that, I am truly sorry."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to him, the sincerity in his voice echoing the ache in your own heart. You were sure you’ll regret letting go of this amazing relationship without at least attempting to work on it.

Despite the pain he had caused you, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to rebuild what had been broken.

"I don't expect you to forgive me right away, Y/N," Lando said softly, his hands shaking and showcasing the intensity of his vulnerability.

"I know I have a lot of work to do to earn back your trust and your love. But please, just give me a chance to make things right. I promise to do whatever it takes to show you how much you mean to me, every single day for the rest of my life."

His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity and remorse, leaving you torn between the desire to hold onto the pain of the past and the hope for a brighter future. As you gazed into his eyes, searching for any hint of insincerity or deceit, all you found was raw honesty and unwavering devotion.

With a heavy heart and a flicker of hope, you reached out to take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. "I don't know if I'm ready to forgive you just yet, Lando," you whispered, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Lando takes a step closer, gently cupping your face in his hands. "I'll spend every moment proving I'm worthy of your love, Y/N. Let me show you how much you mean to me, starting from this moment. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust, even if it means giving you the space you need. Just know that I'm here for you, whenever you're ready."

( writing masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[beloveds-embrace]

I read your distress from the DukeDom 141 AU and....ajbslywbsoauwjs

You have broken the system, I LOVE the anguish when somehow karma acts and there is divine justice (and König it's divine 🫦🫦🫦)

Do you have some more crumbs for this hungry girl? Pretty please with sprinkles on top? 🥺🥺🫶🏼✨️✨️✨️

Thank you!! The anon who sent the angst ask is just so damn big brained. Phenomenal i hope they know their impact. Enjoy!! 💕💕💕

John stares at you, his eyes unreadable and a little frown on his face. Embers within the fireplace crackle, keeping the study warm against the November chill, while rain pelts against the windows. Despite it being only 2 in the afternoon, the sky is dark and cloudy enough to be mistaken for late evening.

You wait patiently, standing in front of his desk with your hands in front of you. Your face is colder than his.

“So?” You ask at last.

“…why?”

Your eyes close for a few seconds, and then you open them. Your purse your mouth, and then speak.

“Because I want one.” You say, shrugging delicately. “I will be back before the annual winter gala. All work has been finished and submitted, and what can’t be done now has been appropriately delegated with your approval. As such, I would like to go on a holiday, just for a few weeks.”

None of that is an issue, John thinks to himself. You are so cold now, dear wife. Colder than I’ve treated you. None of that is an issue except-

“Who will be you taking with you-“

“König.” You don’t hesitate for a single second. To John, it feels like you are attempting to match the attitude of thunder and lightning outside. “He will be my knight, as he’s always been. I care not for what others guards may join. The estate I’ve chosen already has maids and cooks to upkeep it, yes? That should be everything.”

John wants to say no.

There’s been a shift in you, and he knows they are to blame yet he so terribly dislikes it. König has become your… everything, in a sense. The maids already whispered about you and didn’t help you, and so now you care very little about what they’d say about König being the one to help you get ready for the day. He is your shadow; he brings you food himself, John knows, has seen Johnny grit his teeth and bite his tongue so he doesn’t say how ashamed he feels that he’s made someone feel like they can’t eat his food.

It is aslo König who holds your arm, and takes you on walks. König who listens to what you want, what you ask for, and doesn’t treat you as an afterthought. The one and only time you have spoken to Kyle lately is to simply ask him if he knows where König is.

König was close to you in the way John had been distant to you. In the way all of them had been distant to you.

Now, it feels like you are keeping the distance, despite their attempts at fixing this. It feels like König is keeping the distance, your second shadow. John isn’t blind to the hatred König carries for them, isn’t blind to the possessive way König holds your hands.

And your waist. John had heard how you called out König’s name, one night. He’d seen the delicate way you’d had to sit, seen the way König had been fussing over you.

The implications left his mouth bitter for the rest of the day.

And now….

He wants to say no. He truly does. But if he does it, then he knows he will be subjecting you to more pain. It would mean keeping you here with König, and John having to see it all.

“Very well.” He sighs at last, something green and tight curdling in his stomach. He doesn’t acknowledge it. “I will make sure everything will be ready for you, wife.”

“Thank you.”

And not once do you look at him with that warm, special smile you have only for König.

[larcenywrites]

For Love, We Sin the Most

Nightcrawler x Reader

Technically spoilers if you read any x-men anthology and haven't made it through second coming/ haven't read quest for nightcrawler. I don't get into many details or stay very canon anyway lol

Warnings: 18+ | no pronouns or assignments used for reader | unprotected sex | sex in a church | kinda public sex? | an established relationship of some kind ;) | sad | but happy ending! sort of | lots of plot with some porn | comfort/fluff | a little foreplay, a little aftercare | light bondage? sorry I really love his tail

Word count: 2,650

Summary: The resident catholic is having a hard time settling with the terms of his resurrection and just trying to feel again.

When Rachel frantically called on you to find Nightcrawler, you probably preferred to find him in battle, fighting demons. Luckily, on a Sunday morning, you knew exactly where to look first, creaking open the large wooden door just enough to pass through into the small lobby. The lights were off, but there was low singing from further inside. You would have proceeded to peek past that second set of doors, but the quick flick of blue that curled out from the sunlight and into the shadows nearby finished your investigation for you. 

Well, you did, in fact, find him fighting demons.

This would normally be the part where you'd tease him about being terrible at hiding, but you didn't need to see his face to hold your tongue. Instead, you found a nearby panel of switches, flooding his side of the room in low light. Without the darkness, he could no longer blend and hide, but he didn't recoil. Hunched over, his hands were clasped together on his knees, and his tail tightly curled over his feet. You approached him wordlessly. You could tell he was focused but not on you, proven when he crossed himself right on cue. A cue you hardly heard yourself. 

He continued to sit still for a few minutes. Obviously, he knew who stood before him. Otherwise he would have hid. Taking a deep breath, you placed a hand on his shoulder. "Shouldn't you be attending the service?" You asked softly. 

"I," he finally choked out after several moments. "I'm not sure I am allowed to anymore." His words, although quiet, dripped with despair. For him, this welcoming foyer was his ancient narthex, created for those who weren't allowed into the sanctuary but still wished to listen to its sermon. 

"Have you spoken to a Father about it?" Without further knowledge, you can only suggest a priest. 

"And what would I say?" Kurt raised his voice in his anguish and grimaced at his own volume. "What would he say?" He tagged on, much quieter this time. He practically curled into himself as if he were cold. You sighed sadly at the sight, looking away. A small staircase in the corner caught your interest and gave you another idea. Reaching your hands down to his, you unfurled his hands from one another and took them into yours. At the gesture, he finally lifted his head to look at you. It took all you could not to take his sad face in your hands instead. 

"I think he would tell you to come in," you reply in a gentle whisper. You smile down at him as you barely tug him towards you, convincing him to stand. When he finally does, you study him. His black blazer and black slacks, his white button-up shirt. A few top buttons were messily undone, but it only made him more handsome. Silently, with a hand in his, you led him up those wooden steps. Your intuition was right when they opened into a high balcony overlooking the inner room. That narrow gallery stretched against the wall was mostly dark, with only the tops of stained glass windows bleeding in light over the single row of benches. There was a reason someone like him chose such a dark, unpopulated church. 

As you began to leave the doorway, deadweight stopped you in your tracks. Looking back, a pair of downcast yellow eyes glowed under the wooden arch. Naturally, he blended into the shadow. You came back to him, taking his other hand and settling between him and the wall. At the very least, maybe it would help for him to see this place again, you figured. You let him listen, watching him closely as he watched the floor. 

And what a horrible day for a sermon about heaven. 

"I saw it, you know," he barely spoke up, accent whispering like a snake. "Paradise." He said the word hauntingly, not with any grandeur nor remorse. He turned his head as he spoke, looking down at the alter, but he seemed distant. Perhaps in memory. The light of the window caught his eye and reflected brilliant pale yellow. In the darkness, the other was like fire. 

"And yet you came back," you whispered back. Even you weren't quite sure what you meant by it, but he knew it wasn't merely an observation. Contemplating, he stared down into the room. The priest below continued, but you only wanted to hear whatever else Kurt had to say. 

"There were many reasons I did what I did," he soon continued, still not looking at you. "Did it the way I did." He never told you the full story, not even Logan knew. You waited for more, but he didn't respond. He probably didn't want to talk about it—at least, not for another few minutes.

"I never thought that love would be my greatest sin," he finally said. "I wanted so badly to come back," he nearly sobbed, quickly putting his hand over his mouth to keep from interrupting the service below. He gathered himself for a few moments. 

"To this place," he continued, "to my friends," he sighs before turning towards you, his fiery orbs still refusing to meet your gaze, "to you." Even when you cupped his cheek in your hand, his hand you left behind followed, fingers wrapping around your wrist. "That it would be greater than my love for God," he started but didn't finish when his voice began to rise again. By now he was rambling about things you hardly understood, but you hung on to every word. 

"You said it yourself," you gently tease, more loving than lighthearted. "There is no love without sin." With a soft smile, your touch on his cheek stroked over the fur on his neck and drifted over what bare upper chest those undone buttons revealed. You knew you shouldn't, not here, but as his expression only grew more somber, you found yourself sliding your hand further, reaching the space above his heart for only a second before frantic yet gentle fingers pulled you away, afraid of what you'd find.

Or the lack thereof. 

You couldn't stand to see him so sad, not even willing to look at you. As the preaching continued somewhere down below, something about fulfillment, there was really only one thing on your mind as you continued to watch his pained eyes. "Do you miss it?" You didn't mean to let your emotion ring in your tone as you whispered— doubt, disappointment, sadness. He picked up on it, raising his face once more to meet your gaze. Solemn eyes panicked, realizing his mistake. With a change of posture, he stepped closer, grasping your arm and placing your palm over his chest again. "Not in the same way I missed here," he reassured you. His eyes were still sad, but so earnest. You could feel the metal cross hanging from his pendant with how hard he pressed your palm into his chest. You both stared at one another in silence, but understanding. 

Something about the word doom was quietly uttered through the archway.  

"I realize now that I had already found Paradise," he proclaimed longingly, leaning in slightly. Though flattered, you only half-smiled. 

"You shouldn't talk like that here," you whispered, cupping his jaw. "Surely it's a sin." 

And he'd already cut his path of redemption short enough. 

"And yet it would be a sin not to." His tone was almost desperate. He leaned in closer, head tilted dangerously close to a kiss. You began to protest, but his grip on your arm tightened in defiance. "My soul is already adrift elsewhere," he hissed in a hurried whisper, "and He has no use for my body." He shook his head in defeat, tilting his chin to kiss the hand that held him before looking back up. "So if it's all I have left, I will use it to worship who does." His voice cracked against your lips, and he practically fell into you. 

Your back hit the wall with a thud that made you panic, but any protest of his name was muffled and lost between his lips. He could only follow what made him feel at the moment, and he'd come to his senses later, but right now, he was desperate to atone for his sins in a different way. It was a long, suffocating kiss that was touch-starved, hardly focused on any particular pleasure other than the need for your warmth. Despite knowing your current circumstances, you relaxed into him, taking your hand from his face and gripping the soft, indigo curls on the back of his head. He took that as his cue to press into you impossibly more, knees knocking with yours as you both nearly buckled from his weight. 

Finally, he pulled back just enough to catch his breath, warm breath fanning against your cheek a few times before eagerly diving back in. This time, he moved with you. Your noses knocked each time he rolled his head to find his favorite angle, and, in annoyance, you tried to hold him still with your hand on his neck and your grip on his hair. In response, his lips parted, tongue lapping at your top lip and tentatively touching yours when you let him in. 

His grip on your waist was harsh, almost as if he was scared that if he let go even a little, he might lose this moment forever. As if he couldn't hold you enough, his tail joined in, wrapping itself beneath your ass and tightly snaking around your waist. You felt him smile into the kiss when you pet over the peach fuzz of his tail before he abruptly pulled away from your lips, tongue sliding over your bottom lip as he withdrew into your neck. Sweetly, he kisses your pulse. And you know where he's going. 

"We should 'port somewhere else," you suggest softly. The light kisses on your neck become open-mouthed and wet, showing you just what he thinks about your suggestion. You catch the words reunion with God bouncing off the wall, and you weren't sure if the devil himself said it or the clergyman was sermonizing below. You tilted your head back for him at the prickling feeling of his fangs. 

With a mind of their own, your hands worked down the rest of the button on his shirt, splaying your fingers through the velvety fluff of his chest, barely able to feel the warm beating of his heart. At least you knew that he was alive, in some way or another. 

Making sure you could feel all of him, you pushed his blazer and shirt off his shoulders, feeling him down and scratching over his abs just the way he used to like it, and he tensed them just the way you remember. 

When his hands left your hips to slide off his clothes, they came back to do the same to you, sliding under your top and over your bare skin. You let him undress you, and eventually, you both stood nude. 

Even after being… gone for so long, he remembered just where to touch you. He held your hips flush with his while licked over your nipple, pawed between your legs, and tickled your inner thigh with the curling of his fuzzy tail. Feeling boneless, the wall helped him to hold you up while you focused on covering your mouth to muffle your pleasured moans and sighs. 

You were suddenly spun around, strong arms wrapped tightly around you as they swiftly lowered you to the wooden floor. Kurt's lithe form settled between your legs, back bowed as he bent down to mouth over your stomach. On his knees, he worshiped you carnally, hands gripping over-excitedly at your thighs and waist. 

Fingers around your wrist pulled your hand from your mouth, quickly replaced with that crushing pair of full lips again. Some would say he was desecrating holy ground, but Kurt would say quite the opposite. In a nest of clothes, right there in the dark loft of his place of faith, he took you. Whether it was because he was most comforted here or because he was angry at the circumstances, his hips pumped into you with a fervor that had you clawing into his back and biting his shoulder to muffle your whines. 

The floor was cold and hard and uncomfortable as he rocked you back and forth, but he was the opposite— warm and soft and lovingly fucking you into the ground. Luckily, the pious music drifting through the doorway covered up the sound of his cock slapping into you and his hissing moans as you bit and carved the punishment of love into his skin. 

You were ripped from his shoulder when he sat up, not even bothering to cover your gasping moan at the change in angle. Blunt nails dug into your skin as he held your hips, making your legs squirm and draw up behind him with the overstimulated pleasure. 

It was like a perverse religious painting, with his cross pendant wildly swinging above you and fangs gleaming along with his eyes; his tail, pointed like a devil's, bound your legs around his waist. This was heaven to him right now, watching you arch your back off the ground and eyes fluttering heavily as you both found that perfect sweet spot. 

It was when you came on him that his glowing eyes beheld the glorious sight he was searching for. He kept going, desperate to keep the image of your moaning, parted lips in his mind, and keep the feeling of your warm cream that dripped over his cock. "Oh~ mein gott," he growled at the way you tightened around him. You could almost laugh at the way he said it if you weren't busy trying to recover. "(Y/N)," he panted and spoke your name like gospel. "My dearest."

Your only response could be a meek whimper of his name, but it was enough when you weakly rolled your head to look up at him. If you couldn't tell by the way his brows raised and furrowed, you knew that he was right on the edge by the constriction of his tail around your ankles, keeping you bound around him while he came, throbbing, deep inside you. 

It was quiet now, aside from panting and the sounds of the congregation conversing and slowly departing that same creaking door that got you here in the first place. You felt you could finally relax and close your eyes when the last of the noise was shut out with the door, and you could finally stretch out your legs again as you felt his tail unravel. He had the same idea, stretching out his legs when he fell into your side. He let you have your space, but that sneaky tail laid loosely over your thigh. 

You felt a sort of regret for him as you turned to take in the proper view of his nude form lying elegantly in your bed of disheveled clothes, wishing to know what this meant for him… but you weren't going to ask, letting him bask in release— whatever kind it was. You reached for his pendant, twirling the chain between your fingers and observing the discoloration of the metal cross. Without even opening an eye, he took your attention away from it with a touch, making you hold his hand against his chest instead. 

"I-" You eventually break the silence but pause, unsure what excerpt you should say. It gets his attention, eyes lifting to look into yours. You muster a smile. "I'm glad you're back," you say softly, simply. Despite the circumstances, despite what it meant, despite what it's already done to you, you wanted to add, but his own bittersweet smile already knew what you meant. 

"Me too," he whispered and brought your hand up from his chest to kiss your knuckles. "Me too, my dear." 

[walterfriendly]

I have 198 high-concept CD-R-length mixes but because I can't afford Spotify premium anymore and my precious iPod playlists only appear when I'm plugged into Winamp, it's down with mixes! Up with albums! These will be today's soundtrack!

[lizzyiii]

Hey girl hey. Hope you are still alive and life is treating you well. Just checking in.

you're so sweet for this omg. so ive graduated from high school, have this whole summer, but I can't really enjoy it since a broke girl's got to work. got my very first job and it's sooo draining, but I've got to get that bag

Sevenmas

pairing | aemond x wife!reader

word count | 9.2k words

summary | amid the haunting ruins of harrenhal, aemond's pregnant wife senses the looming threat of alys rivers, a witch whose presence fuels her nightmares and aemond's growing distance.

determined to protect her husband and unborn child, she delves into the secrets of warding magic, reclaiming her bond with aemond as she invites him back into her bed and vows to stand against the witch’s dark influence.

tags | 18+ (MDNI), smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pregnancy, magic, fluff, soft aemond, hubby aemond

a/n | it's summer, the heat is evident, yet I've only been at work or home. I needdd to leave my house!

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

My Dearest Babe,

It has been a full moon since your father and I arrived at these dreary halls of Harrenhal. It is bleak here, cold and damp, and the walls seem to hold the whispers of the dead.

I have not known a single night’s rest since we set foot in this cursed place. My sleep grew all the more restless when your father saw fit to move me into a separate chamber.

Harrenhal weighs heavily upon him. It has changed him in ways I cannot yet understand. He walks the halls as if hunted, and I see the shadows of his unrest in his eyes.

Each night, his dreams twist into dark things—visions that wrench him from sleep, leaving him gasping as though clawing his way back to wakefulness. He grows ever more volatile, as if the very stones of Harrenhal press upon his mind, threatening to drive him to madness.

One night, he woke from a nightmare so violent, I feared for him. I reached out to calm him, but he struck out, not knowing it was I. I do not hold it against him—he was deep within whatever horror plagued him.

But he looked upon the bruise on my wrist with such anguish, fearing for my health and yours. It was then he resolved to put me in another room, to shield us both from his torments.

Yet, my sleep has only worsened since he made this change. This keep holds no comfort, only shadows and sighs, and I feel that something - someone - wicked watches us, waiting.

The sixth day of Sevenmas dawned in Harrenhal, a day to honor the Crone, she who carried the lantern of wisdom and foresight. How you longed for that guidance now, caught in the maze of cold stone walls and shadows that seemed to stretch into eternity.

The ancient keep, with its crumbling towers and halls seeped in ghosts of past horrors, gnawed at your spirit with every passing hour.

The days bled together, each as gray and listless as the last. Time itself felt suspended, and there was little to fill it but your prayers to the Seven and the slow, meticulous pull of thread and needle.

Embroidery was meant to calm the mind, but here it became another way for your thoughts to spiral into dark corners. How could you not let them when the halls echoed with whispers not your own and the air felt thick, laden with something unseen yet suffocating?

Your husband, Aemond, the prince with a fire in his blood and the shadow of the conqueror in his step, had become a stranger cloaked in duty.

Since Rhaenyra had laid siege to King's Landing, his days were consumed with strategy, flame-bright eyes scanning maps and murmuring with commanders until dawn kissed the horizon.

You would catch glimpses of him, his presence fierce and distant, a sword poised to strike. And still, there was one tether left—he would always return to break his fast with you, no matter the hour, as if the morning meal was a sacred pact he refused to break.

This shared ritual was a brief light in the gloom, a moment where his brow would smooth, and he would offer a small nod, as if to say, I am still here.

Yet even then, the weight of Harrenhal seemed to press upon him, creasing the corner of his eye and stealing the little warmth from his voice.

You wished for the strength of the Crone’s wisdom, to find words that could soothe whatever haunted him, whatever pulled him into those long, silent stretches where he barely met your gaze.

And so, with the sun’s first pale rays stretching over the stone battlements, you whispered a prayer to the Crone. Let me see what he cannot. Let me guard us in ways unseen.

There was another shadow cast over your time at Harrenhal, one that gnawed at your peace like a hound at a bone. Within the first week of your arrival, an attempt on Aemond’s life had been made, a sloppy affair that left more questions than answers.

Yet the mere notion of betrayal and blood sharpened Aemond’s already fierce nature into something perilously close to madness.

In his rage and paranoia, he swept through Harrenhal like a storm, burning and executing every male Strong—lords and bastards alike, sparing none.

The aftermath left the keep haunted by its own silence, populated mostly by women and children who dared not cross his path. Yet among the survivors, there was one who set your skin crawling like no other: Alys Rivers, the bastard daughter of Lionel Strong.

Her gaze, dark and knowing, seemed to pierce through you whenever it drifted your way. The keep’s old women, those who lingered in the kitchens and halls, were full of whispers, speaking in hushed tones about Alys and the tales that clung to her like a shroud.

They claimed she was a wet nurse with no babes of her own, that her cradle stayed empty because she offered her children to dark gods, drawing power from their sacrifices.

The word witch passed between toothless mouths with reverence and fear, a name that conjured images of blood and whispered spells in the dead of night.

You would catch Alys watching Aemond from the shadowed corners of the great hall, her green eyes glistening like the polished scales of a serpent.

There was something about the way she looked at him, a gaze that lingered too long, with a subtle curl to her lips that suggested she saw beyond what others did. Each time, a cold knot formed in your stomach, winding tighter with each day.

Aemond, for his part, seemed oblivious—or perhaps unwilling—to acknowledge her attention. He stalked the halls of Harrenhal like a restless dragon, his eyes always aflame with thoughts of war and vengeance.

But you, kept to the fringes and left with little to occupy your time, had learned to listen. You had overheard more than once the old wives’ tales, how the stones of Harrenhal bore witness to strange sights in the dark of night.

The morning light struggled to filter through the narrow, soot-streaked windows of Harrenhal’s great hall, casting long, somber shadows across the cold stone floor.

You sat at the grand table, an expanse of dark oak that seemed almost too vast with just the two of you seated at its head.

The hall’s emptiness swallowed the small noises of clinking silver and the rustle of fabric, leaving only the low crackle of a distant fire to break the silence.

You glanced at Aemond, his face severe and sharp as ever, eyes narrowed and distant as he picked at the bread before him. His hair, pale as moonlight, spilled over his shoulders, catching the dim glow of morning like polished silver.

You traced the line of his jaw with your gaze, noting the tautness there, the slight twitch that spoke of restless thoughts.

In truth, you did not know this man well—your husband, your prince, and yet a stranger in so many ways.

It had only been moons since you first met, and within days, the marriage vows were spoken, the ink on the alliance barely dry before you found yourself bound to him in name and in fate.

Your father’s fleet had been your dowry, a formidable power that the Greens could not afford to spurn. You understood your role, the politics and power that tethered you to Aemond, but understanding him was another matter entirely.

His silences were as deep and dark as the Blackwater, and he carried an anger that smoldered beneath his skin, an unquenchable flame that whispered of vengeance and old wounds.

But despite the cold armor of his demeanor, Aemond had never raised his voice nor his hand to you. He moved with a kind of carefulness in your presence, a restraint that bordered on gentleness.

He treated you with a respect that was rare among men of power, where wives were often little more than pawns on a board.

And though it was likely due to the child you carried beneath your heart, it kindled a small warmth within you to think that he had not left you behind when he marched to Harrenhal.

Instead, he had commanded that you come with him, a choice that puzzled you even as it comforted you.

Harrenhal was a desolate place, steeped in old, cracked stone and a history that groaned beneath every step. You despised it, with its drafty halls and the air that always seemed to taste of ashes.

Yet sitting here, across from Aemond as the thin light etched sharp lines across his face, you felt a reluctant flicker of gratitude.

The silence between you was not companionable, but it was not cruel either. It was a space where the two of you existed, tethered by duty and an unspoken understanding.

Your gaze lifted from your untouched plate to meet his. “You barely ate anything,” you ventured softly, the words almost swallowed by the great hall’s vastness.

Aemond’s eye flickered to you, just a moment of acknowledgment, before drifting back to the distant, unfocused point beyond the hall’s great hearth. “I have much on my mind,” he replied, his voice low and guarded, as always.

You lowered your gaze, the golden glint of your cup catching the flicker of the fire as you turned it in your hands. “Today is the day of the Crone,” you murmured, the soft words drifting into the vast emptiness of the hall.

Aemond’s eye settled on you again, this time with a sharper intensity, as if he were trying to read the thoughts that played behind your eyes. The violet of his gaze, stark and unyielding, seemed to see through flesh and bone.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks but pushed on, lifting your head with a tentative, almost sheepish smile.

“I have been holding small celebratory suppers in my chambers for each of the Seven,” you said, the words trembling on the cusp of hope. “Perhaps you would join me tonight?”

Aemond’s expression remained inscrutable, carved from the same marble as the gods whose names you spoke. He was silent, his lips pressed into a thin line as he measured the request. You held your breath, bracing for the sting of rejection, but after a moment, he inclined his head with a slow, deliberate nod.

“I shall see if I am free to attend later, wife,” he replied, each syllable precise, as if spoken under a watchful eye.

A smile unfurled across your face, a small, fragile bloom that brightened the somber air. You nodded, your gratitude silent but deeply felt, and returned your attention to the meal before you.

The hall fell back into its familiar hush, but the silence seemed gentler, softened by the promise—no matter how uncertain—that he might sit with you as the evening drew near.

Throughout the day, you moved with a purpose that had been absent for some time. Excitement flickered within you, casting a rare warmth over the bleakness of Harrenhal’s cold stone walls.

You spent more time preparing yourself than you had in weeks, choosing a gown of deep violet, the color rich and regal, one you knew would match Aemond’s eye.

Your hands worked carefully as you braided your hair, fingers weaving strands with practiced precision. You wound the braids into a half-up style, securing them with thin silver pins, and threaded small pearls between the coils, their soft luster catching the waning light that seeped through the chamber’s narrow window slits.

As the sun dipped lower, you prepared the chamber for supper, eager to cast away the dreariness of Harrenhal’s stone embrace. The table, though small, was set with care.

You placed a modest arrangement of primroses at its center, their pale petals lending a touch of softness to the somber room.

Candles, thick and tapered, were placed with a meticulous eye, their wicks waiting to be lit and offer a warm glow that would banish the shadows lurking in the corners.

Tonight was meant to honor the Crone, a day of wisdom and reflection, yet you could not help but hope for something more—a chance to share a moment, however fleeting, with the man you called husband.

The hours had been long since you’d known any touch of intimacy, any whisper of companionship. The prospect of Aemond joining you, even for a brief supper, was enough to make your heart beat with anticipation.

Time stretched on, heavy and unyielding, as you sat alone at the small table in your chambers, a solitary figure in a room filled with muted light. The food before you, once steaming and fragrant, had grown cold, the sheen of oil on the meats congealing in the chill air.

The candles you had lit earlier had burned down to stubs, their light dwindling as shadows crept up the walls.

The fire in the hearth, once crackling with warmth, had reduced itself to a bed of glowing embers, the last vestiges of heat sputtering as they surrendered to the draft that snaked through the stones.

Your heart, which had quickened with hope earlier in the day, now felt leaden with disappointment. The silence pressed in around you, each passing moment a reminder that Aemond would not come. The anticipation that had kept your spirits aloft now left a hollow ache in its absence.

Pushing your untouched plate away, you rose from the table, your movements deliberate as anger stirred in your chest. It was not the hot, reckless kind, but the slow-burning indignation that came when expectation was met with silence.

You wrapped your cloak around your shoulders and slipped into the dim corridor, determined to find him, to seek an answer rather than stew in this quiet, stinging rejection.

Harrenhal’s halls were a maze of stone and shadow, empty and vast, with only the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the cold. The castle held a thousand whispered secrets, and tonight, it seemed eager to keep its prince among them.

You turned corners and climbed staircases, the flicker of dying torches casting your shadow long against the walls, until the familiar paths grew strange and your resolve wavered.

Finally, as you entered a lesser hall that stretched toward a wing of old chambers, you spotted movement—a maidservant carrying linens, her head bent as if afraid to be seen. Relief mixed with frustration as you quickened your step.

“Excuse me,” you called out, your voice sharper than intended.

The servant started, nearly dropping her burden before bowing her head hastily, eyes fixed to the floor. It was a common sight in Harrenhal, the way they kept their gaze averted in your presence.

Word of your husband’s fierce reputation as Prince Regent and Kinslayer had traveled swiftly, and it seemed they feared that to slight you was to invite his wrath upon them.

With a lifted chin and a tone that brooked no disobedience, you asked, “Where is my husband?”

Before the maid could stammer out an answer, another voice cut through the dim hallway—a voice that chilled the blood in your veins and haunted your sleep with its whispers.

“I fear the prince is still occupied in the council chamber, my lady,” said Alys Rivers, her tone smooth and deceptively courteous, like the edge of a blade.

You turned slowly, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were dark, unreadable, but a knowing smirk pulled at her lips as she regarded you, taking in the sight of your tense shoulders, the protective way your hand drifted instinctively to your rounded stomach.

There was no warmth in her expression, only the sly amusement of a cat toying with a bird that dared to stray too far from its nest.

Your nostrils flared, and you straightened your back, eyes narrowing as you corrected her in a low, simmering murmur, “Princess.”

Alys tilted her head, feigning surprise, though her eyes betrayed nothing but a cold mirth. “Pardon me,” she said, her gaze sliding deliberately to your abdomen before flicking back up to meet yours, daring you to react.

“I am not your lady,” you hissed, “I am your princess.”

With a final, steely glare, you turned on your heel, the folds of your violet gown sweeping the floor as you made your way back through the shadowed hallways, heart pounding beneath your ribs.

The silence of Harrenhal enveloped you once more, and you did not pause until you reached the safety of your chambers, locking the door behind you and pressing your back against the cool, unyielding wood.

The echo of Alys’s smirk lingered in your mind, but you would not let her see your fear. Not tonight. Not ever.

A scream ripped from your throat, raw and primal, as the pain surged through you, tearing its way up your spine and scattering your senses. It felt as though your very body was being split apart, the agony sharper and deeper than any blade.

“Keep pushing, my princess; the babe is almost here,” urged the midwife, her voice steady but relentless.

You clenched your jaw, wanting to curse her, to scream at her to hold her tongue, but the pain stole all words from you, leaving you breathless and shaking.

It was a torment that came in relentless waves, each cresting higher than the last, only to drag you under when you thought you could surface for air. The burning, the stretching—unbearable, blinding.

“I cannot,” you sobbed, tears mingling with the sweat that drenched your brow. “Please… I can't,” you pleaded, your voice broken and desperate.

The pain surged again, stealing the air from your lungs, and then you felt it—a firm, familiar hand pressed gently to your cheek. Through the haze of pain, you turned your head, and your vision cleared just enough to see the sharp lines of Aemond’s face.

His single violet eye was intent, fierce, a rare expression of vulnerability breaking through his stoic mask. Relief, so profound it was nearly painful, swelled in your chest.

“Aemond,” you gasped, his name a lifeline, an anchor in the storm.

Husbands were not meant to be present for the birth, tradition forbade it. But he was there, and you did not care for any rule or rite that would keep him away.

“Just a few more pushes, my love,” he murmured, his voice low, a thread of steel woven through the gentleness.

You nodded weakly, mustering what remained of your strength. A deep groan escaped you as you pushed once more, the room spinning around you. The midwife’s voice rose above the roaring in your ears.

“The babe is crowning, my lady.”

But the tone was wrong. Too familiar, too cold. Alarm jolted you to consciousness, and you struggled to prop yourself on trembling elbows. Your eyes darted to the space at the foot of the birthing bed, and dread coiled tight in your gut.

There, in the dim light of the chamber, knelt Alys Rivers. Her dark hair framed eyes as green and sharp as glass, eyes that glimmered with a knowing, malevolent gleam. A smile curled at the corners of her lips as she met your gaze.

“No, no!” you screamed, panic twisting your voice. “Get away from me!”

With a surge of fear-driven strength, you tried to kick her away, your limbs thrashing wildly, but Aemond’s hands clamped down on you, firm and unyielding. “Calm yourself,” he commanded, his voice cool, steady as stone.

Alys turned her gaze up to him, a shadow of mock sympathy curving her lips. “You must choose, my prince,” she intoned, each word dripping with false solemnity. “The babe, or your wife.”

A sob wrenched from your chest as you felt your breath come in sharp, shallow gasps. “No. No!” The pain was drowned beneath the torrent of fear that flooded you.

Desperately, you looked up at Aemond, seeking the warmth, the fierce protection that once resided in his eye. But what you found was a gaze distant and unreadable, as though he stood apart, watching from some cold, unreachable place. His jaw tightened. “Save the babe.”

Time seemed to fracture around you. His words, so final, crashed over you like a wave of ice. Your eyes widened, disbelieving, as rough handmaids or shadows, you could not tell—pressed you back, holding you firm as you struggled.

“Let me go! Let me go!” you screamed, your voice raw with betrayal and terror, limbs straining against the iron grip that pinned you.

Pain cleaved through you, and you felt the weight of the babe shift within. But your focus broke as Alys moved, no longer at the foot of the bed but gliding closer, the flicker of torchlight catching on the edge of a cruel, glinting blade.

The chamber seemed to darken around her, the faint cries of the midwives fading into an ominous silence. And all you could see were those green eyes, bearing down on you like a curse whispered in the dark.

You jolted upright, heart pounding and breath ragged, the remnants of your nightmare clinging to your skin like a shroud. A trembling hand reached up to brush the tears from your cheeks, the dampness proof of the terror that had gripped you in sleep.

Your eyes drifted down, catching the soft curve of your swollen belly under the covers, rising and falling with your shallow breaths. A shaky sigh escaped your lips, a bitter mix of relief and unease.

The babe was still safe within you—at least for now. You pressed your palm over it, as if to reassure yourself of its presence.

Beyond the thin light filtering through the shuttered window, the sky remained cloaked in the indigo of night.

The stillness told you it was not yet dawn, that liminal time when dreams and waking often blurred. But sleep would not find you again; not after that vision, nor for many nights to come, you were sure.

The memory of Aemond's cold, detached gaze as he spoke words that sealed your fate in your dream clung to you. It pierced deeper than any blade, a wound festering with fear and doubt.

Yet you forced yourself to swallow the sharp sting of betrayal, directing your thoughts toward another source of your unease—Alys Rivers.

The whispers, the eyes that followed, the dark air that seemed to shift when she was near. Your fears, your husband’s torment, the sense of something wicked gnawing at Harrenhal’s bones—it all traced back to her.

Resolve steeled your spine. You pushed back the covers and rose, the weight of your pregnancy making the motion slower, more deliberate.

Wrapping yourself in a heavy fur cloak, you reached for the candelabra on the nightstand. Its small flame sputtered in protest before catching steady, casting long shadows that danced upon the walls.

The corridors of Harrenhal, once alive with whispered conversations and the hurried footfalls of servants, now loomed around you in cold, watchful silence. The draft that crept through the ancient stones nipped at your cheeks and sent a shiver down your spine.

Clutching the fur tighter against your body, you moved forward, the warm light in your grasp flickering as it met the draft.

The silence was thick, broken only by the soft rustle of your cloak and the creak of old floorboards beneath your weight.

At last, you reached the great doors of the library, their dark wood carved with sigils long forgotten and gnarled from centuries of use. Setting the candelabra down, you pushed against one of the doors, muscles straining with the effort.

It groaned open, the sound reverberating through the stillness and sending a cold gust rushing past you. Picking up the candelabra, you stepped inside and let the heavy door drift shut behind you with a thud.

The scent of old parchment and dust surrounded you, familiar and oddly comforting. Shelves stretched high, towering sentinels filled with the stories of old and the wisdom of those long gone.

On other nights, you would have lost yourself in the tales that wove through these tomes—myths and sagas that spoke of courage and triumph. But tonight, solace was not what you sought.

You moved through the rows with purpose, eyes scanning the spines until they found those few volumes that hinted at the arcane.

The lore of witches, their dark arts, the means by which they could twist men’s dreams and cloud their minds—it all lay within reach, hidden among dusty pages that no one dared speak of.

You placed the candelabra down, its light casting a golden glow that flickered across the cracked leather and faded titles.

With trembling hands, you opened the first book, its binding stiff with age. The parchment crackled as you turned the pages, your eyes drinking in the inked words.

If there was any way to guard yourself, to protect Aemond from the shadows that had seeped into your lives, you would find it here. No longer would you be haunted by that witch’s knowing gaze or the dread that coiled tight in your belly.

With each turn of the page, the flickering glow of the candelabra cast dancing shapes upon the stone walls, warding off the chill that seeped through Harrenhal’s blackened stones.

The words spoke of charms and tokens, of age-old rituals whispered by the smallfolk who feared the unseen.

Marking doors with protective sigils or crosses to ward off malevolent forces. The purifying strength of salt, said to bar dark spirits and their ilk. Rowan wood, revered for its protective properties, best used when tied with crimson thread to seal its potency.

The hours crept by, measured by the slow guttering of candle wax. You read, forgetting the passage of time as the nightmare’s claws loosened their grip on your heart.

Knowledge was your weapon now, and you wielded it with the silent promise that neither you nor Aemond would fall victim to powers unknown.

The day’s first light spilled through the high, narrow windows, a pale and hesitant glow that bled into the room and painted the bookshelves in muted gold.

It was the day of the Stranger, seldom celebrated, yet you paid it no heed. Lost in the pages, you missed the bells that tolled the hour and forgot the warmth of your usual morning meal shared with Aemond.

When at last you closed the final volume, a resolve settled in your chest, resolute and unyielding. You would need these items—symbols of protection—and that meant venturing beyond the castle’s shadowed halls and out into the market.

The fur-lined cloak wrapped snug around you, guarding against the bitter drafts that swept through the corridors as you made your way back to your chambers.

As you reached the windows, a rare sight unfolded before your eyes—snow, soft and unrelenting, blanketing the bleak spires of Harrenhal.

Snow was a rarity in King’s Landing, seldom seen during your girlhood there. For a moment, untouched by fear or doubt, you felt the stir of childish wonder rise within you.

Three knights of the Kingsguard, their white cloaks pristine even in the snow, flanked you as you ventured to the market. The square bustled despite the cold, vendors calling out their wares with voices hoarse from the chill. Your list of protective items, hastily scrawled in the early hours, guided your every step.

Surprisingly, the rowan wood was easy to find, its branches bundled tightly with red thread as per custom.

Charms of polished crystal and talismans wrought from iron and bronze were procured with little effort, their sellers eager to part with them for a handful of silver stags.

The murmured blessings from the old crones at their stalls made the hair on the back of your neck prickle, but you pressed on, their eyes shadowed with both reverence and suspicion.

By the time the sun began its descent, casting a gilded glow over the snow-draped stones of Harrenhal, your arms were laden with your newfound protections. You returned to your chambers with purpose, setting to work immediately.

With meticulous care, you bound the red thread around the twigs of rowan wood and placed them above each entrance.

Salt, precious and fine, was spread across the thresholds, each grain catching the firelight like scattered stars.

With charcoal from your writing desk, you etched intricate symbols—wards against dark magics—onto the cold, unyielding stone walls.

But it was not just your own safety you sought to secure. For Aemond, you had combed the market for a piece both practical and protective. After much haggling, you procured a leather eyepatch, supple and black, unmarred by wear.

Returning to your chamber, you carefully stitched shards of black tourmaline into its edge, each piece glinting with a subtle, protective gleam. Your needlework was steady, each pull of the thread imbued with silent prayers.

Lost in your task, you barely noted the soft knock at your door or the maidservant who entered, setting a tray of supper on the table near the hearth.

The aroma of roasted fowl and warm bread wafted through the chamber, but your focus remained fixed.

As you worked by the fire's glow, the shadows that had haunted your waking hours seemed to lessen, replaced by the steady rhythm of thread and needle, and the quiet resolve that this time, you would be ready.

You were so absorbed in your needlework, fingers deftly stitching the dark crystals onto a supple leather patch, that the sudden clearing of a throat startled you. Your gaze snapped up, eyes wide with surprise as they met the cool, familiar face of Aemond Targaryen.

“Husband,” you said, breathless as you hastily hid the finished eye patch beneath a velvet pillow. Rising to your feet, you inclined your head, though your heart thudded with residual tension.

He stood tall and imposing in the dim glow, the silver-white of his hair catching the light like a crown. For a moment, the room felt smaller, as if the walls themselves pressed in with the weight of his presence.

“What brings you here?” you asked, voice touched with confusion and a hint of sharpness. Exhaustion dulled your sense of propriety, leaving the question more pointed than intended.

Aemond’s lone violet eye narrowed, an unreadable glimmer within its depths. “To have supper with you,” he replied, as if such a thing were the most natural answer in the realm.

Your eyes flickered to the table, where two silver plates now sat, the steam rising lazily from the dishes set by the silent servant moments before.

You pressed your lips into a thin line and sighed, murmuring, “I believe my invitation was for yesterday.”

A shadow of regret crossed his face, so brief that another might have missed it, but you saw. As you moved past him to take your seat, you caught the soft murmur that slipped from his lips, “I deserved that.”

Aemond followed and took his place across from you, the creak of the chair echoing in the quiet chamber. For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearthfire. His gaze settled on you, sharp and searching.

“I have not seen you at all today,” he said at last, the words carrying a hint of something that might have been longing, tempered by pride.

Your eyes dropped to your hands, fingers fiddling absently with the edge of your gown. Remorse pricked at your heart—you had broken your shared morning ritual, the one part of the day reserved just for the two of you.

“I was very busy,” you replied softly, the excuse feeling thin on your tongue.

Aemond’s expression remained unreadable as he tilted his head slightly. “I heard. Visits to the market square,” he said.

You hesitated, holding back the details of the charms, the salt, the ancient warding sigils you had traced with trembling hands. He would only deem you foolish or worse, mad.

“I needed fresh air.”

His eye narrowed, a flicker of displeasure passing over his sharp features. “It is too dangerous for one in your condition to wander beyond these walls,” he said, the admonishment clear, though his tone held an undercurrent of concern.

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with defiance. “That is why I took three of your White Cloaks,” you retorted, the fire in your voice matching the spark in his eye.

For a heartbeat, the tension crackled between you, the weight of unsaid words pressing down like a heavy cloak. Then, Aemond’s lips quirked, almost imperceptibly, as if some silent battle had been waged and resolved within him.

“Good,” he said at last, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You are no fool, wife.”

The tautness in the room eased, and though unspoken, an accord was reached.

Aemond leaned forward, and placed a carved wooden box on the table between you. “I’ve brought you something,” he said, his voice a measured calm, yet there was an undercurrent of something softer. “An apology for last night.”

Your brows knit together, skepticism clear in your eyes. “My forgiveness cannot be bought with trinkets, husband,” you said, your tone edged with defiance. Yet even as you spoke, curiosity stirred within you.

One of his silver brows arched at your remark, and a small smile ghosted his lips. “Let us see if it is worthy,” you murmured, reluctant to give ground but unable to hide the intrigue that tugged at you.

With a careful hand, Aemond lifted the lid of the box, revealing a necklace of silver and sapphire. The deep blue stone glimmered like the sea under moonlight, capturing the room’s faint candle glow.

Your breath stilled for a moment, eyes tracing the intricate work of the silver links, each carved to mimic dragon scales.

Your fingertips brushed over the gem, the cool surface grounding you as warmth bloomed in your chest. Unbidden, a soft smile tugged at your lips, an expression so rare that even you felt its presence.

“Thank you, husband,” you whispered, your voice softened by genuine gratitude.

Aemond’s face shifted, pride flickering across his sharp features. There was something triumphant in his half-smirk that you could not allow him to savor unchallenged. You rose from your seat, skirts rustling as you moved.

“I, too, have a gift for you,” you said, your tone now light with a note of playfulness.

“Oh?” he replied, one silver eyebrow lifting in surprise, though the glint in his lone violet eye revealed his interest.

“Mm,” you hummed, stepping to the chaise where a small cushion lay. Your fingers slipped beneath it, retrieving the item hidden there. Turning back to him, a touch of shyness colored your expression, a rare sight that softened the lines of your face.

With both hands, you presented him with an eye patch, the black leather supple and embroidered with fine strands of broken tourmaline crystals, catching the dim light with a subtle shimmer.

Aemond took it, surprise giving way to careful scrutiny. His fingers traced the delicate work, the weight of the crystals and their arrangement thoughtful.

“Black tourmaline,” you said quietly, watching his gaze flick between you and the patch. “It is said to have powerful protective qualities.”

You hesitated, unwilling to speak of how it was also believed to ward against dark energies and unseen dangers—of how it might shield him from threats both known and hidden.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Aemond’s mouth quirked into a faint smile, rare and genuine. “Thank you, wife. 'Tis a very thoughtful gift,” he said, voice low and sincere.

A moment passed, and you froze in silent shock as Aemond reached up to remove the eye patch he wore. Of course, you had seen what lay beneath—the striking sapphire set into the hollow of his missing eye—but Aemond was never keen on showing it.

In King’s Landing, he would only take it off moments before sleep and replace it the moment he awoke.

Before he could put on the new eye patch, you placed a hand over his arm. “You know you don’t have to wear it around me, yes? I have no issue with it, and you should not either.”

Aemond stared at you for a long moment, his nostrils flaring slightly. For a heartbeat, you feared you had overstepped, but then he nodded, leaving both eye patches on the table.

A small, victorious smile touched your lips as you felt the weight of this unspoken understanding between you. “Allow me to have the maids bring us some dessert,” you said, the tension lifting.

Aemond nodded, his gaze lingering on you as you turned to the doors.

Stepping into the corridor, you quickly found a maid and requested something sweet to be brought to your chambers. When you returned, your heart faltered at the sight before you. Aemond stood at your desk, his tall frame hunched slightly as he leaned over an open book—your journal.

Panic surged within you, and you strode forward, slamming the book shut with a sharp motion. “What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice sharper than intended, eyes wide with both shock and alarm.

Aemond straightened, holding the closed journal in his hand. His expression was unreadable, though his eye bore into you with quiet intensity. “What is this?” he asked evenly, tilting the book slightly for emphasis.

“My private journal,” you answered quickly, reaching for it, but he lifted it just out of your grasp, his superior height giving him the advantage. “Give it back, husband. It is mine.”

Aemond’s voice was steady but carried an undertone of something raw, almost fragile. “Then why,” he began, his eye fixed on you, ignoring your protests, “do you write to our babe?” There was an ache in his tone, a depth of emotion he hadn’t yet voiced.

The question caught you unprepared, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your skirts, and your shoulders sagged as you avoided his penetrating gaze. “In case,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips.

“In case of what?” he pressed, his voice low and edged with a demand for understanding.

His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could uncover your secrets by sheer will. Unable to face him, you closed your eyes and let out a shaky sigh. “In case I’m not there,” you admitted at last, the words barely audible, like a confession carried on the wind.

Aemond’s brows drew together, confusion shadowing his features. “What do you mean if you’re not—” He stopped mid-sentence, his breath catching as realization dawned. The tension in his posture shifted, his shoulders falling ever so slightly. “…There.”

His sharp features softened, a rare vulnerability settling over his face. “Women do survive the childbed,” he murmured, his voice gentler now, as though he feared the weight of his words might shatter you.

“Not every time,” you countered, your tone edged with resignation. “And there’s also… that choice.” Your voice broke on the last word, and you felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint crackling of the fire. Then, with a tenderness that made your heart ache, Aemond reached out and cupped your cheek.

His touch was warm, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as he tilted your face toward him, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“There can be more babes,” he said softly, his words a promise etched with fierce determination, “but there is only one you.”

His eye, a storm of violet and sapphire, held yours with such intensity that you felt as though he was laying his very soul bare. A tear escaped and traced down your cheek, but Aemond caught it with his thumb, his touch steady, grounding you in the moment.

“I would not choose otherwise,” he said firmly, the weight of his vow lingering in the air between you. “Not for all the heirs in the realm.”

Your lips trembled as you whispered, “You swear?”

“I swear it,” he replied, his voice low and resolute. “I will not lose my wife.”

The ache in your chest eased slightly, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like a shield. You placed your hand over his, pressing it gently against your cheek.

With a soft breath, you tilted your head upward, letting your lips meet his in a gentle caress. The kiss was tender at first, a quiet exchange of affection that carried the weight of your unspoken fears and his unyielding promise.

Aemond responded eagerly, his lips pressing more firmly against yours as his hand slid from your cheek to cradle the nape of your neck.

His other hand found your waist, gripping you firmly as he pulled you closer, as if the mere thought of distance was unbearable. His tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entrance, and you granted it willingly.

As his tongue met yours, the kiss deepened, a slow, fervent dance that sent warmth coursing through your veins. A soft moan escaped your lips, and you felt his grip on your waist tighten in response, his fingers digging into the fabric of your gown.

Your hands moved up his chest, tracing the hard planes of muscle beneath his tunic, before curling into the fabric as if to anchor yourself.

The world around you faded, leaving only the press of his body against yours, the taste of him on your lips, and the heat that built between you like the fire crackling in the hearth.

When the kiss broke, it was with a reluctance that lingered in the air between you. Your breaths came in shallow pants as you gazed up at him through hooded lashes, the corners of your lips curving into a teasing smile.

“My love,” you purred, your voice sultry and laced with affection, “you’ve left me wanting… again.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened, the stormy hue of his violet eye smoldering with barely restrained desire. “Have I now?” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Then it seems I must remedy that, wife.”

You guided his hands lower, to the swell of your belly, then further down to the hem of your nightgown. “Will you show me how much you desire me?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper. “Make me forget everything but the feel of you inside me...”

A low growl rumbled in Aemond's throat as his hands moved beneath your gown, fingers tracing the curves of your swollen belly before dipping lower to find the damp heat of your core.

“You have no idea how often I dreamt of this,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “Of burying myself deep within you, feeling your walls clench around me...”

With a swift motion, he lifted the hem of your nightgown and pulled it over your head, throwing it aside, revealing your naked form.

His gaze devoured every inch of you, from the full breasts that rose and fell with each ragged breath, to the soft, rounded hips and the glistening folds of your sex.

“Tell me what you want, my queen,” he commanded, his voice husky with desire.

A shiver ran through you at Aemond's bold appraisal, your nipples hardening into tight peaks as his hungry gaze seared your skin. You reached for the fastenings of his breeches, your fingers fumbling with urgency to free his straining erection.

“I want you,” you murmured, your voice low, thick with a desire that lingered like a soft melody in the air. Your eyes never left his, the depth of your longing laid bare in the way your breath hitched.

Aemond’s violet gaze darkened, the flicker of a smirk ghosting his lips. His head tilted ever so slightly, a predator’s grace, as though savoring your words before acting upon them.

You took a step back, your movements slow and deliberate, your footsteps light against the floor as you inched toward the bed. The flicker of the firelight cast a warm glow across the room, the shadows dancing across the carved posts of the bed.

As you reached its edge, you let yourself fall gracefully onto the soft mattress, your body sinking into the luxurious furs and silks. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you gazed at him through lowered lashes, a sly smile curving your lips.

“You beckon me so boldly,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvet drawl, the faintest edge of amusement laced within it. “Have a care, wife, for I am not a man to resist such temptation.”

Aemond watched, transfixed, as you sank onto the bed, the mattress creaking under your weight. His cock throbbed in time with his racing heart, the tip already glistening with precum.

He shed his clothes the rest of the way, letting them fall carelessly to the floor as he stalked towards you, muscles rippling with each step. By the time he reached the bed, he was fully erect, his shaft jutting proudly from a nest of silver curls.

Lying beside you, he reached out to cup your breast, thumbing the sensitive peak before leaning in to capture your mouth in another searing kiss.

His free hand trailed over your round stomach, pausing to tease the edge of your slit before delving deeper, fingers probing your slick folds.

“You're so wet for me already.”

You gasped into the kiss as Aemond's fingers found your entrance, your hips bucking instinctively to meet his touch. “Please,” you whimpered, breaking away from his mouth to gaze up at him with pleading eyes. “I need you inside me. Fill me up, make me yours again.”

As if sensing your desperation, Aemond positioned himself between your thighs, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at your opening. With a deep groan, he thrust forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke.

You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure-pain crashed over you. It took a moment for your body to adjust, to relax and welcome the thick length filling you so completely.

Aemond's breath hitched as he bottomed out inside you, your velvety walls gripping him like a vice. For a moment, he simply savored the exquisite sensation, reveling in the tight heat enveloping his throbbing cock.

Then, with a slow, deliberate withdrawal, he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a relentless pace.

The bed frame creaked ominously beneath the force of his thrusts, but Aemond paid it no mind, lost in the primal rhythm of rutting his mate.

“Yes, just like that,” he growled, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. “Take my cock, my queen.”

You wrapped your legs around Aemond's waist, heels digging into his firm behind as he pounded into you with wild abandon.

Each brutal thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins, your inner walls fluttering wildly around his pistoning shaft.

“Aemond!” You wailed, your nails raking down his back as you met his ferocious pace.

The obscene slap of flesh against flesh filled the room, punctuated by my wanton cries and Aemond's guttural grunts. You could feel the pressure building within you, coiling tighter and tighter like a spring ready to snap.

Suddenly, you were hurtling over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name as your cunt clenched rhythmically around him, milking his cock for all it was worth.

Aemond's eye rolled back in his head as your velvet sheath spasmed around him, your climax triggering his own. With a hoarse groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came undone, his seed erupting in thick, pulsing jets.

He continued to thrust through the aftershocks, prolonging your shared bliss until he was spent, collapsing beside you with a grunt. For a long moment, the two of you lay entwined, chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath.

The chamber was awash with the warmth of the firelight and the quiet hum of your contentment. As you lay entwined, your bodies barely a breath apart, your gaze lingered on Aemond’s face.

His sharp features, so often hardened by duty and war, were softened now, his violet eye fixed on you with a tenderness rarely seen.

Your noses brushed lightly, a quiet intimacy, as his hand rested possessively over your waist while yours splayed across his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart.

Almost as if drawn by a spell, he leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to your lips, a gesture so gentle it felt like a whispered promise. When he pulled away, he settled back onto the pillow beside you, his arm still wrapped protectively around you.

You shifted, nestling closer, your head finding solace in the crook of his neck. Your hand lay over his heart, its steady rise and fall a soothing cadence that began to lull you into slumber.

His breathing slowed, each exhale a soft brush against your hair, and soon, the quiet comfort of his presence drew you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

But the peace did not last.

You jolted awake, startled by the sudden thrashing of Aemond’s body beside you. His face, so serene moments ago, was now contorted in anguish, his brow slick with sweat.

His breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, and his hands clenched the sheets as if warding off some unseen terror.

Your heart clenched at the sight. He had spoken little of his nightmares, but you knew they haunted him—a torment born of battles fought, losses endured, and burdens carried.

Pushing yourself up, you moved with as much haste as your swollen belly would allow, the weight of your pregnancy slowing you only slightly.

Grabbing the robe draped over the chair, you wrapped it around yourself, its soft fabric barely warding off the chill of the room as you padded toward the small table where you had placed your new goods.

Your hands rummaged through the items with purpose, your fingers finally curling around a small vial. You held it up, peering at its contents even in the dim light. The faint, familiar scent already began to calm your racing heart.

Lavender oil.

You returned to the bed, the vial clutched firmly in your grasp. As you sat beside him, Aemond's thrashing began to subside, though his breaths were still ragged, and his jaw clenched tightly.

Carefully, you uncorked the vial, the soothing aroma of lavender wafting into the room. You poured a small amount onto your hands, warming the oil between your palms before leaning over him.

With gentle, deliberate movements, you began to anoint his temples, your touch light yet firm as you traced small, calming circles.

The oil left a faint sheen on his skin, its scent filling the space between you. "Aemond," you whispered softly, your voice low and steady, a tether pulling him back from the depths of his nightmare.

His breathing began to slow, the tension in his body easing under your ministrations. You moved to his wrists, massaging the oil into his pulse points, your hands steady despite the ache blooming in your lower back.

“You are safe,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear. “I am here.”

You whispered a silent prayer under your breath, invoking the gods for protection and peace. Your gaze stayed fixed on him, your heart clenching as you watched his features begin to soften, the tension melting away.

You held your breath, waiting. When his form finally stilled, his breathing evening out, you let out a soft sigh of relief. The lavender and your quiet vigil had worked.

Exhaustion weighed heavily upon you, and you slid back into bed beside him, pulling the covers over the both of you. But just as you were about to lay your head against Aemond’s chest, you froze.

A chill ran down your spine, and the hairs on your arms stood on end as an inexplicable sensation swept over you.

You were being watched.

Your eyes darted to the chamber doors, which you now noticed were slightly ajar. Beyond them, barely visible in the darkness, you caught the faint glimmer of glowing green eyes.

Your heart raced, a primal fear coursing through you. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with an unseen presence.

But you steadied yourself, your breathing slowing as you reminded yourself of the protections you had set in place earlier that day.

You had taken every precaution, warding the chamber with runes and incantations, ensuring that no ill intent could cross its threshold. Alys Rivers might wield her strange gifts, but she would not claim Aemond—not without a fight.

With a courage you hadn’t known you possessed, you tightened your arms around Aemond’s sleeping form, drawing strength from the warmth of his body against yours. Lifting your chin, you stared directly into the glowing eyes, refusing to show weakness.

“I won’t let you have him,” you whispered fiercely, your voice a low, steady vow. “Not without a fight, witch.”

For a moment, the air seemed to hold its breath. The green eyes lingered for a moment longer, unblinking and cold, before retreating into the darkness.

Only when the oppressive feeling lifted did you allow yourself to exhale. A trembling sigh escaped your lips as you lowered your head, nestling into Aemond’s chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear, became a soothing rhythm, lulling you out of your fear.

As the night enveloped you once more, you clung to him, your resolve unshaken. Whatever forces sought to disturb your peace, you would face them.

For Aemond, for your babe, for the family you were building together—you would fight.

Hope You Enjoyed!

[s6daz]

♰ sevika x f!reader ִ⊹ ࣪ ˖

cw: reconciliation, sevika opening up a little to you, sfw/fluff, sevika letting herself be loved, a lot of love and lesbians being happy, prostitute!reader

note: i had another writing about this, but I decided to make it less sad because lesbians deserve to be happy... still if you want me to publish the other ending (angst) let me know!, by the way this is not corrected...

status: fixed

part one here!

days passed since sevika did not appear again, but her presence left a void that seemed to fill every corner of your life. the lights of the brothel, the constant murmuring, the horrible smell of cigarettes: everything was still there, but you were still trapped in a darkness that did not want to disappear.

one night, while you were waiting for your next client and the wind was blowing through the poorly closed windows with a soft rain that marked a constant rhythm on the glass, the resounding footsteps that you knew well began to sound and nervously you turned towards the door, you could see sevika enters, soaked, with her hair stuck to her face and her eyes lit up looking for something you couldn't guess.

sevika quickly closed the door, she looked at you with slight anguish, silence filled the room and you could see that she was trying to find the right words to break the tension.

"i shouldn't have left like that" she finally spoke in a low voice, as if the whole world could break if she raised her voice "and i shouldn't have said what i said either"

disbelief paralyzed you, but not in the way you expected. you felt upset and frustrated, her sudden appearance after days of being without any sign of her only made you feel smaller and weaker, you didn't know whether to yell at her or collapse in front of her.

"why are you doing this sevika? you go, you come back and you leave me with more questions than answers. if this didn't mean anything to you, why come back?"

"because i'm a mess" she admitted, trying not to look you in the eye with her voice full of honesty that she rarely showed. "because i have never felt this and you are the only thing that matters to me but... also the only thing that scares me"

her words hung in the air like a truth too heavy to go away. sevika’s honesty was like an open wound and although it hurt, it was also what you had been searching for.

"so... don't run away, don't make it more complicated. i'm not asking you to be perfect, sevika. i'm not either... i just want to be something else in your life, something more than a sex worker" you said taking a step towards her.

she looked up at you and for the first time you saw something different in her eyes: vulnerability. it was like she was torn between her instinct to escape or her desire to stay.

"i don't know how to do this" she whispered softly, "i'm afraid i'm not what you're looking for," she admitted so quickly that maybe in another situation you would have been surprised, but here you could only feel happy that he was saying what she thinks and feels, even if it's a little.

you took a deep breath, allowing her words to hang in the air for a few seconds before answering. you didn't want to rush, you didn't want to invalidate her vulnerability with an impulsive response.

“sevika…” you whispered, searching her eyes. “you don’t have to be someone else with me. all i want is you, just the way you are.”

for a moment, sevika looked at you doubtfully as if trying to decide whether she was capable of taking the step she so feared. and then, as if something inside her gave way, she took your hand.

"i don't promise to be easy" her murmured, her voice low and hoarse.

"i don't need you to be" you replied, holding his hand tenderly, bringing it to the corner of your lips and leaving a soft kiss. "i just need you to stay with me..."

and for the first time, sevika was able to get a weight off her shoulders, always tense as if they carried the weight of the world, seemed to relax as she released a sigh that seemed to contain years of silences and burdens. without saying another word she sat down with you on the bed, letting himself fall gently.

with a shy gesture, but full of intention, her took your face in her hands, caressing your cheeks with her thumbs while she looked at you with a mixture of vulnerability and devotion. her lips sought yours, meeting them in a slow kiss, full of contained emotion.

you got closer, regardless of the trail of rain that left her wet clothes, your fingers slid down his arm until they rested on her chest, feeling the beating of her heart, strong and sincere. sevika responded by wrapping her arm around your waist, pulling you closer to her, as if in that hug she found the peace she had sought for so long.

the kisses and caresses became warmer, not out of urgency, but out of a mutual desire to comfort each other and feel close. there were no words, but they were not necessary either. at that moment, they both knew that the void in their hearts was beginning to be filled and that was enough.

[callme-holly]

could you maybe please do some scenarios for (y/n) comforting sodapop, Dallas, ponyboy, and Johnny if you want please. also could you please make the reader fem please and thank you

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠 [𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧, 𝐒𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐩 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬, 𝐏𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐝𝐞.]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - im a little behind on requets but im getting there! i've got my final exam of this week tomorrow and then i'll be a lot speedier, i promise. asks are still open for requests!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 1.6k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - mentions of fighting, getting jumped and small injury detail

Dallas Winston -  The room is quiet as you card your fingers through Dallas’ hair, the greaser’s head resting against your thigh. His eyes are closed, and there's a nasty bruise blossoming on his cheekbone, accompanied by a few bloodied scrapes that he refuses to let you clean. There’s dried blood crusted beneath his nose, which you wipe away gently with the pad of your thumb, humming softly under your breath as he breathes out a low, soft groan.  “You alright?” Your tone is barely above a whisper as you tug at the ends of his mussy locks, pushing them back from his face. He blinks once or twice, his eyelashes fanning against his cheeks, and his expression is a little less pained than it was just minutes ago.  “Yeah,” he murmurs after a moment, “fine.” He shifts a little bit so that his head is now more firmly planted upon your lap, and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer in a half embrace. You reach down between the two of you and retrieve the ice pack that is sitting forgotten beside you, pressing it against his swollen cheek once more.  He makes a disgruntled noise but doesn't open his eyes again.  “Sorry 'bout this.” His voice is rough, strained from the exertion: “Y' shouldn't have to take care of me all the damn time.” The words fall heavy between the two of you as he speaks, and you smile softly, shaking your head. “It ain't too much trouble, really.” You rub small circles against his bicep, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. “And besides...” your voice drops to an almost conspiratorial murmur, “I like taking care of you. It makes me feel better when I know you're not lying dead in a ditch somewhere.”  He gives you a lopsided grin at that, eyes still closed. “You've got so much faith in me, doll.”  Your smile widens, feeling something twist inside of you. You take his hand, squeezing it gently before pressing a quick kiss to his busted-up knuckles. “Whatever.” 

Sodapop Curtis -  A small sigh leaves your lips as Soda buries his face in your chest, arms wrapped tightly around your middle, tears cascading down his cheeks as he struggles for air.  It pains you to see him like this, his usual bright smile replaced with a look of pure anguish, silent sobs racking his body. You rub slow circles against his back, mumbling soft words of reassurance into his ear as he clings to your shirt. “I don’t understand,” he gasps, his voice thick with emotion. “Why can't they just get along? They never used to be like this. A shudder runs through him, and you tighten your hold on him, rocking him a bit back and forth as he cries. “Shh, Soda, hey, you need to breathe,” you murmur soothingly, combing your fingers through his hair. “You’re gonna make yourself sick.” You press a soft kiss to the top of his head, hushing him quietly as his cries gradually abate.  “I just want them to get along.” Soda whispers brokenly, burying his face against your collarbones. “I'm tired of being made to pick sides. I don't wanna be in the middle all the time.” You hum sympathetically, shifting slightly so that you can wrap both arms around him and pull him as close as physically possible. Soda melts into your touch, relaxing fully against you. You can tell he's exhausted, both emotionally and physically.  "I hate it.” He sounds miserable. “All they do is yell at each other. Darry is way too hard on Pony, and Pony's trying his hardest, but he can only take so much–" Soda stops abruptly, his breath hitched in his throat as another sob tears from him, wracking his body. His grip tightens around your middle and your heart clenches painfully at the sight.  “I just want things to go back to normal.” You give a slow nod, closing your eyes. “I know, I know. It'll be okay.” You press another gentle kiss to his temple and run your hands slowly up and down his spine, trying to offer as much comfort as you can. He relaxes under your touch, melting further into you as he tries to take deep, steady breaths, struggling to control himself.  You tilt his chin up so that he's looking at you once more, running your thumb over his cheek. “I love you, you know” “Mm,” he hums, blinking rapidly to rid his vision of the last remnants of tears. His eyes meet yours, and even though his gaze is glassy and filled with sadness and pain, his expression is soft and tender. “Love you too.”

Ponyboy Curtis -  You're sitting in the lot, your jacket pulled tightly around you, when you hear the sound of approaching footsteps. You stiffen and turn sharply, expecting to see a group of drunken socs or the odd greaser looking for trouble, only to come face to face with none other than Ponyboy Curtis. He has tears streaming down his cheeks, his hair mused as he all but throws himself at you, shoulders shaking and chest heaving. You don’t speak a word as you pull him into your arms, rubbing your hands over his shoulders in an attempt to calm him. His head comes to rest on your shoulder, one fist clutching the front of your sweater as tight as possible, the other hanging uselessly by his side. For several moments, he sits in silence, letting you hold him while he finally manages to collect himself. Then he pulls back, wiping furiously at his face. “Sorry…” You don’t miss the way he averts his gaze from you as he speaks, refusing to make eye contact. “Didn't mean to bother you; I just—”  You shake your head, interrupting him. “There’s no reason for you to apologise.” You pause, considering for a long moment before continuing. “What's up?”  He exhales shakily, then hesitantly meets your gaze again. “I—Darry yelled at me again. He got real mad this time.” His voice cracks, and you pull him close once more. You know Darry’s been harder on him as of late, expecting too much of a boy Pony’s age. You know he means well, but you also know the toll it’s been taking on the younger Curtis brother and how difficult these past few weeks have been for him.  “Sometimes I don't think Darry likes me very much.” You can hear the vulnerability in his tone, unable to miss how broken he appears. He's not crying anymore; if anything, he looks a little embarrassed and ashamed. You frown, brushing his damp bangs from his forehead. “Don't be ridiculous.” Your tone is firm, determined to keep him from ever getting caught up in that dark spiral. “He cares about you a whole lot.” “He's got a funny way of showin' it.” Pony grumbles softly, and you can't help but laugh at his bluntness, wrapping your arms tighter around him. “I wish he'd be nicer. I really don't like all the fighting we do.” “I know. But it'll get easier.” You look down at him. “If you want, I can go talk some sense into him.” That earns you a smile as Ponyboy nods, squeezing you a little tighter. “Good luck. I doubt he’ll listen.” You press a quick kiss to his forehead, smiling softly. “I’ll try my best.”

Johnny Cade -  Arms circle around your waist, gripping onto you tightly as you comb your fingers through his tangled, and still heavily greased, hair. Johnny’s head rests in your lap, eyes squeezed shut as he tries desperately to fall into some sort of relaxed state, but he just can't seem to find the will within himself to do so. You watch him silently, running a finger absently along his jawline, taking in the bruises and cuts littering his face and arms. He looks worn thin and broken; his cheeks are tear-stained and hollowed by exhaustion. His breathing remains unsteady and uneven, his skin pale, and you can't help but reach out and brush the pad of your thumb across the faint lines beneath his eyes, your brow furrowing deeply. He flinches slightly but doesn’t open his eyes, his breath hitching. “Sorry,” You whisper, going back to smoothing your hand over his hair. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”  Johnny lets out a soft sigh, leaning his forehead against your stomach. “S' okay…” He shifts a little closer to you, reaching for your hand and lacing your fingers together. “...just glad yer here.” You bite your lower lip, tracing patterns into the back of his hand with your thumb, pressing soft kisses against his forehead as you let him snuggle closer, relishing in the simple closeness of it all. It eases your nerves knowing he's safe with you and calms the storm raging inside of you. Your mind wanders back to earlier, the images of him lying, half-dead, in that field flashing unbidden through your mind.   It takes a lot to make Johnny Cade cry, but the second you had knelt down beside him and pulled him into your arms while the gang huddled about you, his composure had completely crumbled. Sobs had wracked his body, shaking his entire frame, and you could do nothing but hold him until he had finally calmed down. And now, here he was, curled up into your embrace, clinging to you like a lifeline. Every little noise made him jump, every sudden movement made his muscles tense, and your heart ached for him. You wanted so badly to make everything better, but there was nothing you could do. All you could do was stay there, holding him as he cried, wishing that there was something you could do besides sit by and whisper softly to him. But, you know, right now, just you being there is enough for him.

𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬!!

[itsswritten]

Threads of Hazel

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings: Angst, blood, gore, injuries, hints of death.

Summary: A mating bond can connect those who have not even met, but can it save them too?

All that welcomed you was the cold, splodges of darkness filtering in your distorted vision.

Time seemed to stretch and contract in the void, a dizzying whirl of uncertainty. How long had it been? Weeks? Months? Perhaps even longer.

No one was coming.

Why had you dared to hope? 

It was that gentle hazel glow that danced behind closed eyelids that had stirred within you. A glimmer of something that felt worthy of holding onto. Something to believe in.

But it must have been a trick of the mind, a cruel illusion born from the depths of insanity. 

No one was coming. No one ever would.

Maybe it was time to give up.

Time to surrender to the abyss, to let go of the tenuous thread that bound you to consciousness. As you teetered on the edge of oblivion, a fleeting sensation brushed against your senses, a whisper of familiarity.

You could smell it, faint and distant yet unmistakable. 

Night-chilled mist and cedar. 

It was that scent again. But like a wisp of smoke on the wind, it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving your senses grasping at shadows in the void.

Another wicked false sense of hope. Your mind must be creating delusions as it comes close to its end.

No one was coming.

It was time to let go.

***

This was the last location. And then they’d go home. 

Finally.

Azriel straightened his posture, rolling back his shoulders with a weary sigh. His wings unfurled and then tucked in against his back. He felt anchored, weighed down, by the silent burdens he was carrying. Even his shadows were slumped against him, as if they were also affected by his fatigue.

Azriel was utterly exhausted.

Despite Cassian's concerned pleas for him to stay behind and rest, Azriel couldn't bring himself to heed them. The ache in his bones and the weight of exhaustion pulling at his limbs were nothing compared to the thought of letting Feyre and his brother face this mission alone. 

He was Spymaster of the Night Court, he would fulfil his duties regardless of his own welfare. Regardless of the demons that weighed on him.

But these demons of his, had been plaguing him for months. Clear in the dark offset look of his gaze, and the purple shadows that sat beneath his eyes– he was a tormented soul. 

The aftermath of the war had etched its scars deep into Azriel. It was a sensation he was all too familiar with, the fallout of anguish and slaughter, had always defined his life. But in recent months, his demons seemed to be haunting him more fiercely than usual, their whispers echoing in the silence of the night.

For months, Azriel had been plagued by a recurring dream, a nightmare he assumed. Because as much as he tried he couldn’t recall the details. Each time he would wake from the depths of his sleep, finding himself drenched in a clammy sheen of sweat, his chest heaving attempting to draw in air as though a claw was clenched around his lungs. 

But that is all that would linger.

A feeling, no memory of what had caused this reaction within him. No clue as to why his body shivered in fear when he woke. 

It was a maddening cycle, the dream hovering just beyond the edges of his consciousness. Clearly haunting in nature and yet elusive. Each day felt like a puzzle with a missing piece, the memory of something crucial lurking just beyond reach.

So close, and yet not close enough. And it was driving him mad.

In a desperate attempt to break free from that grip, he tried avoiding sleep altogether. Yet, that feeling persisted. A restless energy coursing beneath his skin. It was relentless, a constant reminder– that he was forgetting something of importance.

And that feeling terrified him. Azriel had always known most, metalicus with his gathering of intel and information. Skilled in deciphering most people and their thoughts. But his own mind had him at a loss. He was no Spymaster of his own consciousness, simply a male who couldn’t sleep because of a nightmare.

Feyre, Cassian and Azriel had embarked on the final leg of their scouting mission. Despite the passing of time since the war's end, new pockets of Hybern loyalists still cropped up. The three of them were tasked with weeding out any lingering enemies. They had arrived at the last location Azriel’s intel had unearthed. A manor house on the skirts of the borders, had whispered rumours to be a base for some Hybern stragglers.

Derelict and crumbling, the building seemed to sag under the weight of its own deterioration, its once-majestic features now reduced to a skeletal framework of crumbling stone and splintered wood. The scars of fire marred its surface, meaning any valuable pieces of information that might have once resided within its walls had long since been burnt. Nothing but charred remnants and ash laid in their wake.

They had been too late, but they still had to check nonetheless. 

"All clear from up above," Cassian announced, his voice cutting through the silence as he landed beside Feyre, who had just reentered what remained of the foyer. She had meticulously scouted the left wing of the building, while Azriel had taken the right.

"Clear here too," Feyre confirmed with a nod, her eyes scanning the dimly lit space for any signs of danger.

Azriel soon joined them. His part of the search had also yielded no immediate threats. Cassian stood beside his brother, kicking some burnt debris with his foot while mumbling that it was a shame Hybern’s men had burnt this place. That it was such a waste. But Azriel wasn’t listening. 

Running his rough hand down his face, he let out a heavy sigh. A very clear tell that he was not okay. Something Azriel never showed. But he could feel it again, under his skin. Pinching at him. Something faint in this chest, weighed and sliced, only to subside to a dull ache.

He felt uneasy, as he had for months but there was something about this place that had shaken a deepness within his gut. Even his shadows fluttered nervously around him.

Maybe he would need to see Madja when he got home. Or maybe even relinquish his pride, and ask Rhys for help.

“Let’s get this checked over quickly, and then head home. It’s been a long mission,” Feyre spoke softly, offering both males encouraging smiles as she gestured towards the back of the building. 

Feyre’s eyes settled on Azriel, giving him a reassuring look. For a moment Azriel almost let her in, he had noticed the concerned looks and touches his family had given him. Growing more and more these recent weeks. Instead though, he nodded softly following the pair into the back room. 

They descended down grand stairs, into the lower levels of the house. Each step he took echoed through the empty remnants of the building, every move feeling heavier and weightier. They were hit with a chill when they reached the bottom. In the absence of natural light, Feyre conjured small orbs of illumination, casting soft, flickering light that bobbed across the dark space. The feeble glow revealed crumbling walls and decaying remnants of furniture, similar to what they had seen upstairs. 

The air was heavy with the scent of decay and mildew, but there was something metallic that lingered.

Blood.

They could smell blood. And there was something else too. Perfumy and chemical.

Faebane. 

Tensions rose as they all hesitated on their weapons, Azriel’s fingers gingerly hovering over Truth Teller as they stepped deeper within the space. Azriel's shadows flickered and swirled around him, their movements erratic and unsettling. They sensed something lurking in the darkness, something that sent a shiver down his spine.

There was this haunting apprehension washing over Azriel as if he had been here before. He couldn’t quite place it, couldn’t quite pinpoint why he didn’t feel like a stranger in this room.

As though he had been here many times before and yet this was still his first time here. That gnawing began deep in his gut again as his fingers gripped at his dagger.

He heard Feyre gasp loudly, before his eyes quickly scanned to see what her light had revealed. 

A figure, barely recognisable in the dim light, hung limply from chains fastened to the wall, body gaunt and ravaged by torture. Steel rods protruded from flesh, each one coated in the deadly poison of faebane, its sickly scent permeating the air.

Feyre's hands flew to her mouth in horror, her eyes wide with disbelief and revulsion. "Is she..." her voice trailed off, unable to voice the question that hung in her mind. She had to stop herself from gagging, as the contents of her stomach threatened to spill up her throat.

Even Cassian, veteran of countless battles and witness to nearly every injury imaginable, could not conceal the grimace that tugged at his lips. They all took a moment to absorb the sight before them, Azriel remaining motionless as he processed the scene. The sensation from earlier still persisted, but now intensifying as Azriel's gaze fell upon the steel rod protruding from the body's chest, a sharp pang jolting through his own.

Azriel staggered, overcome by a sudden wave of agony that seized him, breaths ragged and uneven. Feyre moved swiftly to his side, her hand offering comfort as she implored about his well-being, but his attention was elsewhere.

He wasn’t listening to Feyre, he was listening to his shadows.

Alive.

They were pulsating beside him, waiting for his orders, waiting to be released, begging to be released.

Azriel clutched his chest, mustering his strength to stand straighter, the pain subsiding for now as he took a hesitant step closer, 

Alive, alive, alive.

They whispered frantically this time, their urgency desperate.

Then Azriel saw it. The faint rise and fall of your chest, the subtle rhythm of your heartbeat still persisting against all odds.

Azriel's breath caught in his throat, his mind struggling to process the sight before him.

How? How were you still alive?

He wasn't the only one to notice. Cassian, wasted no time in springing into action, his voice commanding as he instructed them to release you from your chains, to get you the urgent help you needed. Both Feyre and Cassian, mentally calling to Rhys to be ready with Madja.

But Azriel was frozen in place, his senses honed in on the fragile thread of life that still clung to you. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched, his chest constricting with an overwhelming emotion.

He remembered. 

The sight before him wasn’t new. No, he had seen this. Seen you before. Felt this way every night for months. 

It was you whom he had been forgetting when he woke, the haunting echo of your desperate pleas vibrating in his mind. As he watched your body slump to the floor, freed from the chains that had bound you, Azriel struggled to push back the flood of visions that threatened to overwhelm him.

Visions of you, screaming, pleading for someone to help you.

Begging him to come save you.

How could he have forgotten? Your cries had pierced through the darkness, reaching out to him night after night.

A plea for salvation had rippled down the thread that seemed to connect you.

That thread.

That power that had subconsciously been connecting you both for months began to hum. Louder and brighter than anything Azriel had ever felt before.

It was a realisation, a confirmation to what he had been feeling for all that time. The golden warmth finally settled under his bones, consuming all his senses.

The mating bond.

You were his mate.

Something that was supposed to be so cherished, felt incredibly bittersweet as he watched your near dead form be pulled into Cassian’s arms.

He could feel your pain seeping through the bond, in fact that is what he had been feeling all those weeks. Your suffering leaking its way down to Azriel. Your pleas reaching him in the depths of his sleep.

He had a mate, finally.

And yet when he pulled gently on that faint thread that linked you to him, he could feel it fading.

Maybe he was too late.

***

A bright white light filled your vision, its touch lining your body slowly.

It was time. You were ready.

But just as you were on the brink of surrender, a golden warmth surged forth, wrapping around you like a protective shield. It tugged at you, pulling you back, refusing to let you go.

Not now, not yet. It spoke.

You resisted, clinging stubbornly to the edge of oblivion, but the pull of that hazel glow was undeniable.

Let me go. It hurts. I want to leave. Your soul cried towards the glow.

The hazel glow called out to you with a familiarity that stirred something deep within your soul.

I won’t let you go. Not now, not now that I have you. 

You couldn’t understand. You heard no voice, yet you felt every word.

I need you to fight, for yourself, for me, fight harder than you ever have done and I promise, after this, you will never have to fight again.

Why those words had some sway over you, you weren’t sure. But when your senses filled with that comforting scent you had smelt every night for the past months. It tethered you, anchoring you in the physical realm once more.

You could smell it again, night-chilled air and cedar.

You would hold onto it one last time.

***

Agonising screams filled the air as you writhed in pain on the makeshift table. Your body contorting, fingers clawing desperately at the gaping wound in your chest. Even in the dim light, Azriel could see the blood, thick and crimson oozing through your fingers as you had lurched up when Cassian had pulled the poison coated rod from your chest.

They had managed to remove some while you were unconscious, but the pain of this one, deep in your chest, had yanked you awake. How you were still alive none of them understood. Your injuries and body filled with enough faebane to kill a dozen fae. 

Your vision was still distorted. Just one of the injuries that ravaged your body. Only blurry shapes and figures filled your sight, and the lack of that sense only added to your fear. You couldn’t see who you were with, and although they didn’t sound like your captors, you didn’t know them. Didn’t trust them, and they were hurting you.

Even if they repeatedly told you they were helping you, their touch just brought more pain.

Madja flitted around Cassian, her hands hovering over the faebane-drenched wounds in a futile attempt to heal. Azriel stood at the head of the table, crouched down close as he firmly held one of your arms down. His shadows fidgeted uneasily around him, reflecting his inner turmoil. He had witnessed countless horrors in his life, some inflicted upon himself, but seeing his mate in such agony was a new level of torment. 

Feeling the pain trickling down the bond was tearing him apart.

“Stop, stop. Please…” Your plea was raw, your voice strained and hoarse from the agony that wracked your body. Azriel shuddered at your tone, your voice an echo of the nightmares that had haunted him for endless nights. 

He remembered it all now.

Each night, stumbling through darkness, trying to follow that golden bond to you. To your calls for him. And each time, he tried to figure out where you were, how to get to you, how to save you only to forget everything when he woke. His memory of you slipping through his fingers like sand. 

“Rhys, there must be something you can do,” he pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation as he looked over your pained expression.

Feyre had diligently wiped the blood from your face, revealing slashes across your eyes. Remarkably, Madja seemed optimistic about their healing potential, though it was contingent upon your survival. He could feel your fear rippling down the bond, how frightened and in pain you were.

“Azriel…my power, I can’t penetrate her mind. The faebane has saturated her body, creating an impenetrable barrier,” Rhys responded. “I’m sorry brother…I’m truly sorry.”

Azriel couldn’t contain the small whispered sob that escaped him, his hand flying to his mouth to stifle the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

When Cassian had carried you from that dark basement, Azriel had acted on instinct, snatching you carefully from his brother's arms and holding you close. He whispered into your ear, a litany of apologies for not finding you sooner, for the pain you endured. He begged you to fight, to hold on for him. And had clung to that faint glimmer of hope as he returned to the safety of the River House.

Rhys had prepared a table for Madja to work on, but neither of them had anticipated the extent of your injuries.

Azriel had laid you on the table, still unconscious as he nervously watched Rhys and Madja try their best. Cassian and Feyre joining them moments later to help. 

It was then they had all realised.

He was fussing over you, whispering frantically and his shadows had been skittishly tracing over your body and injuries. So unlike the usual calm and collected Spymaster.

Rhys had pieced it together first. Simply stating She’s your mate into Azriel’s mind. Although it was clear by the heartbreaking expressions on his family's faces, they were all aware of the significance you held.

Azriel felt helpless, he couldn’t lessen your anguish, couldn’t heal you, couldn’t do anything.

Your sobbing started again, while you writhed under their strong hands. Pleading for release. Instead, they responded with reassurances and hushed whispers, and there was one voice in particular that washed over you in a familiarity you didn’t understand.

You fought against them, resisting their attempts to restrain you, but they were stronger. Another wave of agony rippled through you as they worked to remove one of the steel bars embedded within your flesh.

“Focus, Shadowsinger,” Madja's voice cut through the turmoil, her gaze landing on him firmly.

“The best course of action is to remove these rods and then attempt to drain the faebane from her system. Her resilience is remarkable, but she won’t survive much longer without intervention.” Madja was speaking directly to Azriel now, he took a second to look down at you crying on the table. Cassian and Rhys holding you down, while they calculated removing the next impalement. 

Madja continued, “If you want to help her, comfort her, support her.” The instructions were clear.

Feyre spoke then, glancing between your pained form and then to Azriel. “Use the bond Az, she needs you.”

With hesitation, Azriel’s rough hand found yours. Holding it tightly. Grooves and lines were etched into his weathered skin, speaking of his own past battles. Instinctively you wanted to recoil from the stranger's touch, but as you felt another pull on your torso you clutched down on his hand tightly. Another sob racking through you.

You felt him close to you now, his presence enveloping you as his warm breath brushed across your face. He was close to you. But you couldn’t make out who he was. Only a blurred version of a male with tan skin and dark hair. His other hand grazed your cheek, offering you a comfort you hadn’t felt in months. 

“I need you to fight just a little longer,” the voice was deep and warm, there was something about it or maybe it was the words he had chosen that felt familiar. 

“It hurts..” you whispered, another sob leaving your lips.

"I know, I know it does...but not much longer, okay? And then you can rest, I promise," he reassured you, igniting a flicker of hope within you despite the overwhelming pain.

Then Azriel pulled gently on the bond sending ripples of reassurance and comfort down the link. So much that he hoped to drown any pain out you were feeling.

You felt that golden warmth fill your chest, that same feeling that had pulled you from the white abyss many times before.

"It's you..." Your voice choked with emotion, the realisation dawning upon you.

Azriel stood there, uncertain of how to respond, but he watched as you turned toward him, your brows furrowed in concentration. Though your vision remained distorted, blurred colours danced before you, and amidst the haze of black and deep tan, you saw it—the faint glimmer of hazel.

"You came for me..."

"Always..." Azriel's voice cracked with emotion, his unwavering commitment laid bare.

With the last of the rods removed, your body bled profusely. Madja urged caution, while Feyre urgently advocated to cauterise the wounds. But with this amount of faebane, they grappled with the best course of action. Their voices melding in a flurry of noise.

A soft, sad smile graced your lips, your hand reaching out to touch the figure before you, feeling the contours of his cheek beneath your fingertips.

Blood began to fill your mouth, the red liquid seeping through your smile. The bitter taste staining your words. Azriel began to shake his head, clinging to that fading bond with all his strength. With a pained slowness, he felt your hand slip from his cheek, leaving a blood-stained print upon his skin.

"You were real..." Your voice was barely a whisper now, breaths shallow. "My thread of hazel."

a/n: ngl I don't love this lol, doesn't feel like my best work but sometimes it's better posted than perfect! I had originally planned for this to be longer, but writers slump has me in a chokehold so this is all I managed! Anywho, hope you enjoyed the angst! <3 - Lottie Forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria

[cr4yolaas]

second best — iwaizumi hajime

part 2 here !

notes: based off of second best by laufey <3 hope u enjoy!

tags: fluff → angst, timeskip, insecurity / jealousy (reader), losing feelings (iwaizumi), swearing, best friend oikawa, arguments / yelling, iwaizumi is mean and delusional

it was a tuesday. school had ended a handful of hours ago, and you had no homework. the sun was setting quicker than it regularly did, coating your bedroom in a warm gold and casting rays of light upon your shoulders. hajime sat beside you, his laptop propped up on your table.

he bit his nails frantically (a habit you had always scolded him for) and repeatedly reloaded the page. “why won’t it just load…” he groaned, his brows furrowed and a scowl embedded on his lips. albeit his angered expression, he was more frightened than anything. that you knew.

“be patient, haji. you’re gonna break the keys,” you quipped, despite being just as anxious as him.

a new screen appeared with the eighty ninth refresh. in bold letters, congratulations! splayed itself onto hajime’s laptop, followed by an unnecessarily long message detailing his next steps. before you could react, the boy had thrown himself onto you, his arms tightening around your frame as he sobbed uncontrollably. his joy radiated.

“you- you did it!” you exclaimed, returning his hug. you nearly laughed at his face — tear-soaked, distraught, a far cry from the stoicism he wore. “i’m so proud of you, haji.”

he stumbled over his words as he struggled to regain his composure. the amalgamation of emotion was evident on his features; glee engraved itself on his cheeks, shock poured out of his eyes, excitement spilled from the cracks between his teeth. not once did he let go of you, as if fearful that he would face a different reality if he did so. “i know i’m going to be super far away, but- but promise me you’ll wait for me. please.” hajime held both of your hands in his. “i’ll make you proud, and then i’ll come back. okay?”

you beamed at him. “okay. i promise.”

hajime’s head rested on your shoulder, his grip on his store-bought onigiri loose — a tell-tale sign of his exhaustion.

the large LED clock on the wall read 5 am. he had stressed that he get to the airport as early as possible, seemingly prepared for the journey, and yet, here he lay, slumped against a plastic chair.

you took the food out of his hand and packed it into his carry-on, careful not to disturb his rest. he arose regardless. “shit,” he mumbled, clearly riddled with sleep. “what time is it?”

“you still have two hours until your flight, hajime,” you laughed. “relax. i wouldn’t let you be late.”

he muttered a lighthearted insult that didn’t quite make sense and leaned against you once more. a warm silence washed over you both before he spoke again. “i’m scared,” he whispered.

you didn’t look at him, in fear that you would get too emotional. instead, you fidgeted with his hand, your thumb ghosting over his calloused skin. “scared of what?”

“everything.”

“you know that’s not an answer, dumbass.”

he sighed. “i’m going to be leaving you all alone. not just you, but everyone i know. everything i know. and, who knows — what if things don’t go as planned?”

you hummed softly before responding, “that’s how growth is, haji. if you stay here, it’s unlikely that you’ll reach anything new. but if you go there — the college you’ve been dreaming about for ages — you’ll find new heights to reach. and i’ll be here for all of it. well, not physically, but you understand.”

hajime began to tremble against you. muffled cries escaped his lips, his grip on your hand tightening as the announcement for him to depart rung over the speakers. “i’m sorry, my love. i’ll come back for you, pinky promise.”

you finally looked at him — a mistake on your part. his anguish made your heart ache, and you began to mirror him almost instantly.

you helped him stand up and carry his bags to the line before placing a delicate kiss to his lips. “be safe, ha-“

hajime pulled you towards him and pressed his lips to yours, however, with far more desperation. the thud of his bag against the floor seemed to echo as his hands gripped your sides. he pulled away, his face comically tearful, before muttering an “i love you” against your forehead.

you waved him off as he boarded the plane, your heart sinking to the depths of your lungs, restricting your ability to breathe as you started to sob into your arms.

“so, this is my dorm…” a deep voice rung out from your phone. “all of my roommates are out right now, so i have the whole place to myself. anyways, look- i brought some of our polaroids and hung them above my desk.” hajime flipped his camera and slowly panned it across his wall, demonstrating various photographs hanging from a shelf.

“it’s super cute, haji. what else is there?”

he continued to show you around the living area and the kitchen, his excitement evident despite your inability to actually see his face.

while it was the midst of a bright afternoon where he was, sleep was creeping up on you, as you had stayed up late into the night to wait for this call. it had been several months since he had officially begun classes at UCI, but adjusting was reasonably difficult, giving him no time to sufficiently update you. but now, he had carved a little space into his schedule to “spend time with you” (as he called it).

“oh, by the way — i ran into ushijima wakatoshi here, y’know, the really tall one from shiratorizawa. it was pretty interesting. i didn’t really expect to see him there.” he continued to ramble on while you listened as intently as you could with your phone propped up on your table. your eyes were growing heavier, the words fading in and out. hajime’s exclamation roused you from your near slumber. “wait, it’s super late there right now, isn’t it? i’m so sorry, baby, i completely forgot. you’re probably really tired. umm, i’m not sure if i have time to call you tomorrow, but i’ll try my best.”

you mumbled softly, “it’s alright, i think i’m busy tomorrow anyways. i’ll see you soon.”

hajime smiled. “yes, i’ll see you soon.”

over the next couple of months, hajime had made time to keep in contact with you — between classes, during his part-time job, as he ate dinner — he was always sure to integrate you into his schedule.

you would be lying if you said you weren’t a little anxious.

oikawa laid across your bedroom floor, his glare etching holes into the ceiling. “he’s head-over-heels for you. i’m being serious! he has absolutely no reason to cheat, or anything of the sort. and if he did, i’d beat him up, obviously.” he spoke dramatically, as if what he was stating was common sense. and yet, you still found yourself worrisome.

“i guess, but- i’m sure it’s exhausting for him. he already works hard enough, so i can’t imagine how it is trying to balance his life over there with our relationship.” the brunette groaned at your fretting and launched himself up, his face now pointed towards yours.

his brows were tightly knit as he ranted, “if you were him, you would do anything you could to keep the relationship alive, wouldn’t you? because you’re so painstakingly, heartbreakingly, devastatingly in love with him, right? well, i’m telling you that’s what he’s doing right now! get your head on straight. you two were like, meant to be! so enough of your yapping!” despite his feigned anger, oikawa couldn’t wrap his head around your insecurities. did you not see how smitten hajime was? how, when your name was so much as mentioned in conversation, he became the liveliest person in the room, akin to a child talking about their favorite show? none of that changed, regardless of the distance. he wished you realized that.

you frowned. “sorry, i just- ugh.” you groaned into your palms, exasperated with your own worries. “it’s so stupid. i feel so stupid.”

your friend’s demeanor switched, and instead of aggressively reassuring you, he rubbed a gentle hand over your back. “he’s so, so, so in love with you. i promise.”

a month after that interaction, oikawa asked you to hang out with him — supposedly, the plan was to watch a movie since “no one else wanted to watch it with him,” and eat right after. however, this was not the road to the theater.

“tell me where we’re going, or i’m going to call the police on you for kidnapping me,” you half-joked.

“no!! it’s a surprise — and if i were really kidnapping you, would i let you keep your phone?”

feeding into your concerns, oikawa pulled into the airport parking lot, his movement growing increasingly frantic. “hurry!” he shouted at you while pulling you through the crowd.

at last, he stopped before a gate, the bold arrivals sign hanging above you both. “just wait,” he spoke, his eagerness clear.

as if on cue, a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around you both, rendering you short-breathed. “haji?” you spoke on instinct.

“i- i’m home. i’m home, guys.” he beamed up at both of you with a smile that you had longed to see for what felt like centuries. oikawa was cast to the side as hajime threw himself onto you, seemingly unaware of the click of his friend’s camera from just a few feet away. “i missed you so much, baby, you don’t understand.” he peppered kisses across your face, painting you with a longing so heavy it weighed your whole body down.

“i missed you too, haji.”

oikawa drove you both to your apartment before leaving a gift for hajime and a smile for you. the moon sung into the wind and left you shivering, resulting in your boyfriend ushering you into the house.

“i didn’t prepare anything, i’m sorry,” you ranted. “oikawa didn’t tell me — he told me we were going to the movies. what a liar. i was kind of excited for it too.”

hajime laughed before walking around your home. he seemed to inspect every corner with a heart full of love and a face drenched with yearning, his dried fingertips ghosting over the furniture. “it’s so cozy in here. when did you move in?”

you hummed while looking into the pantry. “after my first year, they allowed me to live off campus. it’s really convenient. i’d say it’s like, a five minute walk to the station?” as you rambled, hajime wrapped his arms around you once more. “hey, i’m making you dinner. you didn’t eat yet, right?” he shook his head against your neck.

“i really, really, missed you,” he whispered against your skin before pulling away. “what are you making?”

you smiled up at him, a sight he had been waiting to see in person. “your favorite, of course.”

hajime told you he’d be over for the next month, as he was on spring break. the first week was spent celebrating with his friends and family — to begin, a party with his former team spent at a local restaurant.

“so,” oikawa begun, his face dusted pink as he held a bottle in his hand. “what have you been up to while you left us, iwa-chan?” the nickname made the man grimace, the memories it carried making him cringe. nonetheless, he continued.

“well, i’ve been training under this one trainer i’ve always looked up to. he’s taught me quite a bit, and i’m learning a lot every day. he works with the university’s varsity team, which is super awesome, and he used to play here in japan,” hajime ranted. “and i even met ushiwaka — super crazy, i know. it was like he was following me. oh, and- i’ve also met a few people there from my classes there that are super cool. look.” he pulled out his phone and showed a picture to the table, featuring him amongst a small group of friends. within them, one stood out the most. matsukawa was the first to call it out.

“holy shit, who’s that? the one on the right? she’s so pretty,” he spoke with slurred words, his face burning up with alcohol. the rest of the table leaned in to get a good view, murmurs of agreement ringing about. hajime looked beside him to see you stagnant, a slight furrow to your brow and an uncomfortable expression etched onto your face. he thumbed your hand under the table as if to provide you with solace.

“she’s in the same major as me, and she also came from japan. we met during class, and she introduced me to her friend group. it’s pretty cool, though — supposedly, she’s an understudy for an international team’s trainer,” he explained, noises of awe washing over the group. your face only grew more bitter.

you knew it was foolish to be jealous over something so minuscule. he was allowed to have friends — you weren’t so selfish as to rob him of that. but knowing that he was in the presence of someone so much greater than you made your head ache more than you had hoped. seeing him praise her so openly was akin to him piercing your ribcage. it was childish. you dared not to express such feelings to him.

when you got home, hajime splayed himself onto your bed without changing, his hand subconsciously gripping onto the hem of your sleeve as he drifted into sleep. you did not close your eyes as swiftly.

instead, you sat up, tracing the features on your boyfriend’s face and observing each intricacy. you did not want to lose this — to lose him. to think of such a thing frightened you; to experience it would be far worse. but would you blame him, if he chose the lustrous world across the sea over the dull life you presented to him?

you decided that you wouldn’t, for you knew the answer deep down.

“hajime,” you began. you poked at your food apprehensively. “you’re leaving next week, right?”

he swallowed a large bite before responding, “mm, yeah, possibly.”

“possibly?”

“well- you know the girl from my group at college? the one i showed you all at the dinner table. she’s been offered to attend an actual game with the coach that’s training her and asked if i wanted to come along. i think it’s a super great opportunity,” he explained with a careless tone about him. contrary to that, you were coated with dread.

your movements halted altogether. “…yes, that’s a wonderful opportunity hajime! it’s just-“ you stumbled over your speech, fearful of saying the wrong thing. you promised yourself not to be childish, and yet, you longed to be selfish just a little longer. “can you really not stay any longer?”

hajime sighed, and your chest ached with guilt. “i could, but- you know this is a chance that doesn’t come by very often, if at all. this could be the step that brings me to where i need to be.”

you picked at the skin of your fingers under the table. he was right. you knew he was. but it hurt to witness it; to witness him willingly choose another thing over you.

your greed got the best of you. “haji, you told me to wait for you. i waited for so, so long. but it feels like- it just feels like all that waiting was for nothing. it feels like you’re slipping out of my fingers already.” he groaned softly, just barely enough for you to hear, and ran a hear through his hair. “i’m sorry, i know it’s selfish, but can’t you just- why not stay a little longer? please?”

he carried his dishes to the sink, a heavy air hanging around him. “if you know it’s selfish, why do you keep pushing for it? you know this is something beyond important to me. i worked so hard to get here, to get so close to my dream. i don’t understand why i should turn down something that could very well be the turning point.”

you followed suit, desperate to mend the conversation you started. he was growing irritated, and it terrified you. you wished not to say anything too abrasive, but he seemingly did not have that restraint. “i’m not telling you to turn it down, haji. i just want to spend a little more time with you before i can’t have you for another- i don’t know, another year? maybe more? i- i’m sorry, i just-“

“stop. just- stop. i know you’re upset, but i need you to understand that i’d be even more upset if i missed this opportunity. why don’t you get it?”

“i do get it, i promise, but-“

“then act like it! because to me, it just seems like you don’t want me to go at all! if it were any other person than her who invited me, you wouldn’t have said anything! but because you’re so goddamned selfish, you keep fighting to keep me here, even though you’re the one who told me going overseas was the best thing i could do for myself! you- fuck! you told me this was how i’d reach new heights. and i’m showing you that i’m getting there, and i’m trying so hard to become someone you can be proud of, that everyone can be proud of, and it just feels like you’re shutting all of that down!” white-hot tears were flowing from his eyes as he yelled, his consciousness not picking up on your protective stance and your own tear-drenched cheeks and the apologies spilling from your lips. “fuck- i’m gonna pack my shit now. i’m sorry i yelled, but i’m leaving tomorrow. goodnight.”

you could not process him leaving for the bedroom door behind you, and you could not process the shutting of the door and the shuffling of his belongings. all you could do was fall to the floor and curl in on yourself, ashamed for creating the commotion you swore not to stir.

when you awoke the next morning, the other side of the bed was cold and folded neatly. the house was empty.

you stumbled out into the kitchen, looking around for any remnant of hajime — a note, a picture, a gift, anything, only to turn up empty-handed and instead bearing a pained heart. “haji?” you mumbled into the air with a watery voice. “haji, where are you?”

your body knew of his whereabouts before your mind did, causing you to kneel to the ground and sob. your whimpers were reminiscent of a dog crying for its owner, or a child whining for its parent.

he had left without so much as a goodbye. perhaps if you had been less demanding, less adamant that he stay just a little bit longer with you, he would have kissed you at his departure or left you something to remember him with. but the house was empty, just as it was before he arrived.

on the morning of his departure, long before the sun had crawled up onto the horizon, hajime went to oikawa’s place. he knocked on the door thrice before a disheveled man let him in. hajime apologized for his intrusion.

“why do you have your bags? why are you leaving so soon?” oikawa interrogated his friend before he could speak.

the other man scratched the back of his neck. “well, uh, i’m leaving early. that girl from my college, she offered to bring me with her to a training experience with her coach. i really wanna go.”

“what?” oikawa exclaimed dramatically, his eyes bulging out of his head. “did you- did you even explain this to them? what did they say?”

“i think i worded it wrong… they didn’t take very, uh, kindly to it, i guess. well- no, wait, they did, but i think i responded wrong. i just- i don’t know.”

the brunette scoffed before pacing around the living room with a burst of energy. “god, reasonably so! if i were them, hearing that you were ditching me for the person you haven’t stopped talking about this whole damn visit, i’d be furious! are you- are you insane?”

hajime shot up from his seat defensively. he looked at his friend with exasperation. “look, do you realize how important this is to me? why wouldn’t i go?” in response, oikawa stopped in his pacing. he rubbed his forehead in irritation, his gaze fixated to the floor.

“iwaizumi,” he spoke sternly. the formal tone brought the man to a halt. “you have to be honest with yourself. you haven’t seen your lover in like, forever, and you’re leaving them behind once again for a girl who just so happens to have connections-“

“connections that could get me places!”

“shut up! let me finish!” oikawa slammed his hands onto the table. “you have been lying to them this whole trip. they have been so kind as to wait for you, no matter how long it’d take. they stayed up night after night to call you and make sure you were doing well, to make sure you had eaten, to make sure you were still there. but you come here, and to me, it seems that all you want is what’s over there. i know these goals are important to you, and that you want to achieve them more anything. but have you never considered that maybe, just maybe, your own partner has been longing for you just as much?”

hajime could only scoff, so blinded by his aspirations that he could not bear to absorb oikawa’s words. “it’s selfish.”

“then maybe you should just leave. it’d be far more heartbreaking for them to stick with someone who can’t even appreciate them to an equal degree.”

weeks after his disappearance, hajime had yet to speak to you. he no longer called nor texted. evidently, you were an obstacle to his desires.

however, after a drunk night spent with oikawa, you received a text from his contact — one you couldn’t bear to delete.

can we call?

you scrambled up from the couch, oikawa jolting at your action. “what? what is it?” he peered over at the message, and in an instant, dread displayed itself onto his face. “are you gonna answer?”

you knew it’d be stupid to do so — he had left you without a word for dreams that were greater than you, and left you to pick up the pieces of a relationship that had consumed your very being for so long. but it was undeniably tempting.

after long deliberation, you nodded and opened the notification. oikawa watched anxiously.

“hello? this is, um- is this-”

“yes. it’s me,” you answered shakily. silently, you put the call on speaker.

“oh, great! i mean, uh- okay, hold on.” you could hear him breathe in before speaking again. “i know it was horribly wrong of me to leave without any contact. i just wanted to apologize for that, for everything. for not giving you what you deserved and needed at the time. i just- can we just talk for a bit?”

you slumped back onto the couch and oikawa followed after you. you weren’t in the right state of mind — the copious amount of alcohol you drank clouded your functionality, and yet, you knew that this chance wouldn’t ever come by again — it was foolish. “of course,” you responded. “how have you been?”

you both listened half-intently as he rambled on about his current life — how he was now working with a new coach, how he was getting closer to graduating, how he was planning on going to the japan national team as soon as he got the chance. he failed to leave out the mention of his girlfriend — his new girlfriend — thus exposing him and leaving you distraught.

stupidly, you were not angry. he seemed so excited; he was building a life that seemed to be getting better every day. who were you to oppose that? oikawa shook his head disapprovingly at your lack of response.

“anyways, um, how are you?” hajime asked. he sounded so youthful — it hurt far more than it should have.

you struggled to swallow your tears as you spoke. “i- i’m doing okay. i just, uh, got a new job, ‘nd i- sorry, i’m-“

his concern hurt more than anything. “are you alright? is everything okay?”

“i’m sorry, it’s- it’s really late here right now, and i’m exhausted. can we, um- can we speak another time?” you sniffled through your words, desperately hanging onto the last bits of a conversation you knew you were not strong enough to withstand.

“oh, okay, sure. sorry to bother you so late in the night. and, um, i… i’m sorry. for everything. really, i am. uh, sleep well.” he hung up before you could say anything more, leaving you to sob in oikawa’s arms as he unleashed a handful of tears himself, as if sharing your anguish.

to you, iwaizumi hajime was everything. to him, you were too far behind to keep up — you were his second best.