#they are still sitting in the corridor around a long table

[aventurineswife]

May I please request Aven playing with his twin babies??? (I always imagine him having boy and girl twins)

Like, imagine their tiny hands trying to grab his expensive trinkets and use them as teething toys (idk what they're called LOL) 💖💖

“Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart”

Summary: Aventurine finds himself caught in the simplest yet most precious game of them all: fatherhood. As he watches his twin babies playfully fight for his trinkets, he is overcome by a rare sense of joy and love and forgets his usual guarded ways. The twins bring out this part of him, an element of play which he has kept hidden for so long, reminding him that the gamble may not always be about wealth or power but about love and family and sometimes just the little things in life.

Tags: Dad!Aventurine, Family, Parenthood, Humor, Mischief, Love, Emotional Vulnerability, Joy.

A/N: searched it up and it's called teething toys (for babies), so you're correct! Don't worry :3

Aventurine had always been a man of risk—whether it was navigating the volatile corridors of power or placing a bet on an impossible con. But today, the stakes were far more personal, and far more precious.

He sat on a plush velvet armchair in the lavish sitting room of his estate, his usually composed features softened by a rare, unguarded smile. His children—his twin babies—played at his feet. The boy with his bright eyes and unruly hair laughed as he reached out for the small trinket that rested on the low table in front of his father. The girl, her dark eyes twinkling mischievously, was already doing her best to grab at the same piece of jewelry, her chubby fingers curling around the delicate gold chain.

They get him with a teasing, affectionate smile, the careful mask slipping in their presence. Aventurine thought himself a strategist: one reads the room and predicts the next move. This game of life has changed, though, when it comes to these two; his heart runs in an uncharted course.

"Ah, no, no," he crooned softly, reaching down to pull the gold necklace from their jaws, "That's not for you to chew on."

The boy whimpered softly, his huge eyes looking up at his father, while the girl beamed up at him as if plotting her next move. It was as if they were already working together—hard not to laugh at this. He had a feeling of something between alarm and endearment at the mischievous streak that mirrored his own.

"You two are already scheming," he said to himself, shaking his head. His eyes remained on their small hands, still reaching for anything they could grab. The girl grabbed the chip coin, clutching it in her chubby little fist. Aventurine's heart fluttered at how such small hands could hold such weight in his life.

"You know," he started, settling back in the chair as he absently fidgeted with his bracelet, "your parent would have a fit if they saw you two playing with my trinkets. They're far too expensive for you to be using them as teething toys."

But the two of them did not give up. The boy, not wanting to lose, managed to tug at a delicate gold ring on his father's wrist with a surprising strength in those baby fingers.

With a theatrical sigh, Aventurine carefully took off the ring, his voice playful yet firm. "If you keep this up, you'll ruin my reputation as the greatest gambler in the universe," he teased. "People will hear about the time I lost my ring to a toddler."

The twins giggled in perfect synchrony, their little voices harmonizing in the most innocent way yet having in their expressions mischief written. Perfect, the gamble paid off in the most wonderful of ways—though Aventurine would never admit how much a gamble fatherhood was truly.

As the boy squirmed closer now to pull at his father's choker, Aventurine couldn't resist. His usual wariness was forgotten in the glow of the moment, and he let them have their play. For the universe held no treasures to rival the joy he felt in their company.

"You little thieves," Aventurine laughed, hoisting the girl up onto his lap, her face breaking out into a grin that was at once his charm and her parent's warmth. The boy crawled up to his side, reaching for his father's face, as if trying to claim him entirely.

Aventurine’s heart fluttered again—this time, he didn’t even try to stop it. He was theirs, every last bit of him. And for once, he didn’t need to calculate the cost of that connection.

For this gamble, there was no risk at all.

[iwashie]

𝐇𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 | 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝

🩸​ synopsis: At a party at the Hellsing mansion, you manage to satisfy your curiosity about the vampire that Integra keeps under lock and key.

🩸​ wc: + warnings: 5k- MDNI, NSFW content, f!reader, cunnilingus fingering, piv, crying, bites and marks, rough sex, breeding/creampie, 20+ characters. (also on ao3 and playlist )

Integra already had too many problems in her house, those fucking pigs demanding a party at her house, to have you, a successful woman and friend pestering her with your curiosity about the vampire she kept in the basement, for the safety of humans like you. You looked at her with your beady eyes shining, pouting and clasped your hands together, almost lying down on her desk.

She stared at you and sighed heavily, calling for a man who soon entered the room. “Take her to him and tell him not to break her. I want her back up here in one piece.”

The man nodded and you, alternating your gaze between the man and Integra, still surprised that she let you know her toy, hugged her and jumped out of the room before she changed her mind. You followed the tall man, probably a human, through the huge, endless corridors of the Hellsing mansion, both muted, just the clatter of your shoes against the stone floor and a few corner glances the man gave you as you two got lower and lower.

You were anxious. You felt your heart pounding in your throat and your sweaty hands trembling with each step you took, reaching the end of a dark corridor. The man stopped in front of a metal door and opened the various locks, opening the door and entering with you. You blinked a few times, trying to get used to the darkness of the place, just a small light illuminating a piece of that basement. You couldn’t see it, but something was there, the presence so strong in the air, pulling you deeper into the darkness.

“What do mere humans do here?” A loud and thick voice in a mocking tone echoed through the place, startling you, and suddenly a powerful light was present in the place, illuminating what seemed to be a room, a basement, and really a prison.

“Integra sent the human. She wants her whole up there and warned you not to break her.” The voice of the man behind you made you turn to see him walking away and closing the door, leaving you alone with the creature, laughing loudly.

You were alone with what would be the vampire of Integra; Now there was no turning back. All that was left for you to do was to continue until the end. You turned around again and saw the figure of a tall man in a red coat and hat, long black hair covering half of his face adorned by orange glasses and running down his shoulders, his hands crossed over his bent knees, the posture as if he were an emperor; The man smirked, showing his fangs, and you shivered, still amazed by the presence of that handsome man, a warmth spreading through your body along with the tingling and agitation of curiosity.

“What do you want down here in this beautiful, secluded basement next to a deadly creature while a safe, humane party takes place up there?” The voice echoed again through the stone walls, seeming to hit your entire body, making you vibrate from head to toe, still staring at that man. “Integra doesn’t send snacks...”

You felt a shiver run down your spine as you saw the man’s smile widen as he lowered his head and stared at you over his glasses, reddish-orange eyes stuck on your figure. You swallowed hard and took a step forward, heading close to him; you knew that Integra’s pet would not attack without its owner’s orders. “Integra just let me solve my doubts about the vampire she keeps down here. That’s all...” You looked at the place, little decorated, just a coffin, the chair he occupied and a table with a bottle and glass filled with a strong red liquid, blood.

“No bed...” You whispered, approaching the coffin and inspecting the object. The man kept sitting in the same pose, letting you wander around his place, but you felt his eyes on you somehow.

The creature let out a laugh, making heat spread through your body as his deep voice sounded so close to your ear, making you turn around and see that he was still in the chair. “Vampires don’t sleep, human.”

“Never? Interesting, but this was already expected.” You said, walking back near him, your white dress swaying as you wandered around, stopping in front of the creature at a safe distance. “You don’t look like a vampire, you look like a normal three-five-year-old man...”

“And what exactly vampires should look like?” The man asked before bringing the glass to his lips and putting it back down without making a sound. You squinted at him, noticing that he was motionless, no sign of breathing. “Like deadly monsters showing their fangs to anyone and attacking all humans?"

You shrugged. “Maybe. Your reddened eyes prove you are not just any handsome man.” You noticed his eyes became redder and when he took his glasses out, showing them in full, you lost yourself in the intensity of the red, letting babbling escape. “Powers... Do you have powers?”

You heard the man laugh quietly and before you knew it, you were in the doorway, about to hit the metal. You startled, looking back at where you had been minutes before and now you were here. The man, still sitting, smiled and raised his gloved hands. “What do you think, human?” Before you could answer, the man got up and disappeared from your sight, appearing on your right side and disappeared as soon as you turned around, disappearing from the room completely.

“I recognize your smell, human. You were already countless times here in the mansion. You’re a friend of Integra, one of her few friends. I thank you for that, but you shouldn’t abuse her friendship or play detective with her pet. It can be dangerous, human.”

His voice echoed through the room, but he was nowhere to be found, making you run your eyes over the empty place, your breathing quickening and a mix of sensations growing inside you. You were alert when you heard him say the word you had thought of. Could he...?

“Oh yes. I read thoughts. I know exactly what you came down here to do.” You felt his voice in the back of your neck and turned around, finding nothing. The creature, showing itself to be really a vampire, fascinated you with that. It was amazing how he was all over the place, but he wasn’t. You were vibrating, your mind racing in a million thoughts. “I admit, you are a brave human and... very curious for a mere mortal.”

The creature was sitting back in the chair, and you approached in quick steps, pausing as you noticed the creepy, almost predatory smile on its lips. “Many say that I am not like other women. Integra also thinks so, so we are friends.” The creature nodded and didn’t take its reddened eyes away from you. Those eyes seemed to pull you closer, alternating your gaze between the vampire’s eyes and mouth.

“Alucard.” The man, Alucard, answered the question, asked inside your head. You pulled back a bit when you heard his voice echoing inside your head, answering several questions you had in the most animalistic way possible. He was amused by watching you widen your eyes and falter your steps when given detailed information about the taste of blood and how it killed and fed.

You swallowed, thinking about the question he asked inside your head. No, you wouldn’t give up now, right now that you were so close to solving your doubts about the creature.

Alucard laughed loudly and changed his position in the chair, his red eyes watching you intently, as if you were his prey. “You still don’t leave, do you?”

You nodded weakly, torn between approaching or staying at the distance you were possibly safe. You felt your body react strangely, your insides screamed to run out of that place, that that man in front of you could tear you apart in the blink of an eye, but that was electrifying, that fear coursing through your veins, your body trembling in alert and the form of a creature feared by all, capable of anything not humanly possible.... You were tempted to go all the way.

“My main doubt, Alucard, as you already know, is whether vampires have blood circulation or not, whether they can sustain an erection...” You began, letting the rest of the sentence die in the air, getting lost in the violent images that appeared in your mind; images of Alucard fighting and killing.

You got lost inside your own head, bothered by those images and the amount of blood that flooded your head. You came back to reality when you heard the loud laughter, trying to focus the blurry vision on the man standing in front of you, very close to you. You were no longer distant from him; you were too close, in front of the small table, stuck between him and the table. You saw him rise, his body covering yours as he took off his hat and lowered himself to the level of your face, making you cringe.

“I smell fear and... horniness.” Alucard pinned you against the small table, his arms caging you as he brought his face closer to yours. “Are you horny, human?”

You swallowed, squinting and trying to control your breathing, almost moaning when you heard his voice so close to your ear. “I don’t deny that the idea of knowing how you are-“

“Having sex with a vampire?” He corrected your speech, creating more space for him between your legs.

“Yeah, have sex with a vampire. With you, in this case, is extremely exciting.” You ended the sentence with a little sly smile, which did not go unnoticed by the vampire. You closed your eyes, throwing your head back when he brushed his nose against your neck.

“I can kill you...” He whispered against your warm skin, humming as he felt your pulse racing beneath his lips.

You sighed heavily, tilting your head to give him more space and feel the icy lips playing with your neck. “Still want you…”

Alucard laughed softly against your skin, the warm air chilling you and making your corset-breasted chest rise and fall quickly, drawing the attention of the bright red eyes as he pulled away from you.

“Humans really are such fascinating creatures.” The red eyes circled every corner of your face, searching for something other than the expression of pleasure mixed with longing, but he found nothing.

Alucard smiled widely, showing the row of white teeth and the pointed fangs that at any moment could carve your body open, and skirted your swollen lips with his gloved thumb, playing with you.

“Don’t forget that it was you who wished for this, dear.” Alucard hummed, still playing with your lips, and you nodded quickly, sliding the tip of your tongue down his finger. “Great. It’s been a long time since I’ve had such an interesting human companion.”

You had to rest your hands on the small table so as not to fall backwards when Alucard advanced on you, pinning your neck with one hand and with the other pulling your exposed thigh through the dress, squeezing the flesh with desire.

“Oh, my God..” You moaned heavily against his mouth, feeling electricity run through your body and focus in the middle of your spread legs to accommodate Alucard’s enormous figure.

“God, no, dear. Me.” Alucard kissed you in a hurry, pressing your lips to move the way he wanted and forcing his tongue in, earning a muffled moan as he explored your mouth and pulled you closer to him.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him on top of you; the two almost lying on the table as you kissed each other eagerly.

Alucard’s gloved hands explored your body, squeezing and scratching every corner of exposed skin for him to take advantage of and mark the way he wanted.

He let out a grumble when you bit and sucked on his lower lip, returning to kiss you with desire, feeling the strong taste of iron from the blood he had drunk earlier. Neither of you stopped the kiss, exploring each other’s mouths and tongues, swallowing saliva and muffled moans.

You moaned loudly against his mouth as you felt his bulge pressing against your intimacy, pressing your legs against his waist and rubbing against him. “Alucard...”

He smiled against your swollen lips and went down, tracing wet kisses down your neck until he reached the neckline of the dress, sucking a part of one of your breasts that went up and down quickly. You trapped a hand on his long, black strands, pressing him against the warm skin that was mistreated with bites and hickeys, making you moan and roll against his waist for more contact.

Alucard ran his hands around your body over the dress and kneaded your breasts, happy with the way they molded themselves in his caresses. He tore your dress, freeing your marked breasts and went back to delighting in you.

“Ngh... Alucard... slowly...” You grumbled, pulling his strands away from your sensitive body, but it was useless since he had much more strength and continued to suck one breast, rotating his large tongue through the areola and distributing bites throughout the region. “Alucard, please... Ah!”

Alucard moved away slightly, making you grumble at the lack of contact and half-open your eyes, finding him staring at you coldly with those red ruby eyes and his mouth glistening with saliva. He continued squeezing your breasts, admiring the teeth marks he left and moved closer to your face, brushing his nose against yours. “You asked for it, human.”

Those words, almost a threat, should make you want to run away, have extreme fear, but it only excited you more, sending horniness directly to your already wet pussy. You arched your back as you felt Alucard’s mouth back on your body, intensifying the bites and hickeys.

It was painful, and you writhed underneath him, grabbing and pulling what you could of him away, but you also wanted more of that feeling, rubbing against his pelvic and feeling the bulge forming. You moaned loudly, squeezing around nothing and feeling how wet you were.

Alucard stopped, satisfied with mistreating your breasts and pulled away to face you, almost lying over the table, red, panting and marked by him. He smiled sadistically and slid his hands through the folds of your dress, uttering a grumble as he found your thighs and caressed them.

You grunted as you felt his gloved hands rising near the place you needed Alucard most, and shuddered as he ran his thumbs lightly over your intimacy.

“You smell aroused, human...” He hummed, inhaling more of your scent near your neck and ran his tongue over the area while his hands remained under your dress, playing with the insides of your legs. “I wonder what your taste will be, human. Will it be as good as your sly moans calling me as you rub against me?”

You hang your head back, biting your lower lip as you felt his big toe pressing your clitoris over the fabric and rolling over for more sensation.

“So needy...” Alucard blew into your ear and laughed softly as you grabbed his arms and held back your moans. “Do you want me that much, human?”

You pulled your head away from his lips, fighting the urge to receive more caresses, and rested your head on your shoulders, staring at the red eyes that devoured you. You smiled languidly and even though you knew you were entering much more dangerous terrain, but couldn’t help it, you said, “Why don’t you find out how much I need you and what I taste like by eating me, huh?”

Alucard laughed out loud, incredulity and interest growing inside him, and showed his white teeth shining in the low light of the room, approached your mouth and whispered against it. “You don’t know the danger you’re in by not controlling this sassy human mouth.”

You were about to make another sassy comment, but Alucard’s large hands, held around your waist, pulled you sharply to the edge of the table, forcing you to lie down on the small surface while he lifted the layers of fabric until it exposed your bottom.

Alucard hissed at the sight of the thin, wet piece that covered your pussy. You felt embarrassed by the exposure and closed your legs, causing Alucard to click his tongue in disapproval and spread your legs again tightly, his gloved hands squeezing the soft insides.

“You’d better keep those legs wide open...” Alucard kept his bright red eyes locked in yours as he slowly took off your panties, sliding his hands down the sides of your thighs. The white fangs shone in the crooked smile that formed when he saw your pussy waiting to receive his attention.

You heard your heart pounding in your ears, and Alucard listened too, utterly glad that he was the reason you were so nervous; scared and horny simultaneously. The way your warm blood ran through your veins made Alucard control himself so as not to get into trouble for Integra.

“Alucard...” You drove your head back, squeezing your fingers on the edge of the table as he ran two gloved fingers through your folds, opening them up and spreading your liquid all over your pussy. Your quickening breathing and muffled mumbling escaped as he increased the caress, circling your bud with his thumb and two fingers at your entrance. “Alu-Ngh!”

Alucard laughed out loud as he felt you squeezing the tips of both fingers inside you, trying to get more of those long, nimble fingers. He withdrew his fingers and moved his hand up towards your mouth. It took you a while to understand what he wanted, but you bit the tip of the glove, holding it and he pulled his hand out, showing the large hand marked at the top; You wanted to know what that symbol was, but he probably wouldn’t tell.

You saw Alucard kneel, his hands clasping your legs apart, closing in on your pussy, throbbing and dripping wet for attention. “Keep your legs open and make good use of this little mouth, human. No one will listen to you here....”

That feeling of dread ran down your spine, stopping at the base of your back and dissolved into a loud moan as you felt Alucard breathing against your pussy and his tongue licking from bottom to top, circling and sucking your clit in slow movements, repeating the action all again.

“Ah! Alu-Ngh!” You shuddered as you felt him bury his face in you, the tip of his nose brushing against your clit as he stuck his long tongue inside you, working in quick back-and-forth motions. “Alucard! Oh! Fuck... Ah!”

Alucard smiled and rubbed his face against your wet pussy, diving two fingers inside you and working them together with his tongue, making you grab the table with one hand and bring the other to his black strands, pulling his face against you as you rolled on his face, increasing the pleasure.

Your loud moans echoed in the small room along with the wet noises of Alucard’s mouth sucking and licking your pussy, moaning against you, adding sensations to the pleasure you felt.

“Alucard... Oh! I... Ngh...” You squeezed your legs around his head, feeling that you were close to cumming in his mouth, which swallowed your liquid with pleasure, but he stopped sucking you at the same moment he parted your legs with force.

You grumbled in protest, panting and red, your spread legs shaking under his grip and your pussy gushing liquid that ran down your ass and dirtying the table as much as you smeared his shiny face.

“Splendid, human.” His hoarse voice echoed, and you shivered, trying to keep your eyes open to appreciate the figure of the vampire approaching. “As tasty as blood. Perfect.”

He brushed his moist lips with your liquid against yours and pulled away before you kissed him, following behind his lips, being stopped by the hand on your throat, squeezing lightly.

“Alucard, please...” You whispered with your eyes closed, feeling the pressure of his hand on your throat and his waist rubbing against you, the bulge of his pants fitted to your pussy, sending pleasure all over your body. “Please...”

“Hmm?” Alucard had fun with you, driving you crazy just to hear you beg. “Please, what human?”

You grabbed his shoulders, digging your nails into the thick red coat and rolled against him, synchronizing the waist movements. “I need you...”

“Use your mouth decently, human.” You went up one hand to his cheek, caressing the cold skin and slid the other into the bulge of his pants, squeezing and rubbing, making him suck his breath.

“I want you to fuck me, Alucard.” You saw the flaming ruby red eyes and the sadistic smile widening.

“Your wish is my command.” Alucard unzipped and his hurried hands slid down the pants he was wearing, unleashing what you wanted so much.

You stopped for a while, amazed at that; a big hard cock of a vampire. You alternated your gaze between Alucard’s cock and eyes, not knowing what to do with the information.

“Why so surprised? Isn’t that what you wanted, human?” Alucard took your hand and took it to his own cock. “You can play it at will.”

You looked at him and his cock, moistening your lips and started masturbating him, feeling the weight, the softness and the warmth. You had so many questions simultaneously that you wanted that enormous cock inside your mouth, inside you fucking you.

“Are you not dead?” Alucard laughed out loud, the laughter vibrating inside him and on the walls of that room. You looked up, still working your hands on the hot, throbbing cock. “How is it possible?”

“Don’t worry that little head too much, human.” Alucard now understood why Integra let you wander around his room; You were just as curious as she was at the beginning of their alliance. You really were a very curious friend.

“I’m dead. I’ve died three times, but I’m not completely dead...” Alucard fit in between your legs, making you rub his cock in your pussy, both moaning with the sensation. You fitted the head of his cock to your entrance and intertwined your legs around his waist when you felt the tightness of his gigantic hands on your waist and his voice in your ear. “I’ll show you how dead I am.”

You moaned loudly, hanging your head back, your hands squeezing Alucard’s shoulders, feeling his big, thick cock making room inside your hot, small insides. You felt him spreading through your body, your stomach tightening as he settled completely inside you. You blinked bewildered, your open mouth stammering, drawing a laugh from Alucard, who was waiting for you to get used to it.

“Alucard... You are so big.. hot...” You sighed against his face, feeling Alucard heavy, hot, big inside you, shaping your pussy into the shape of his monster cock. “You’re so alive...”

Alucard let out a sneer, pulling you by the waist until he pressed you against him, going deeper inside you, making you moan, squinting in pleasure. “You don’t know how much, human...”

Alucard moved calmly, dragging his cock out and inside you, feeling every spasm of your pussy, squeezing and sucking him, wanting more than he was giving you. You whimpered, pressing against him, feeling empty every time he left and completely full when he entered, opening you in the middle and crawling through your gummy walls until you reached your cervix, making you sob the moan.

“Alucard... More... I want more...” You sighed softly, barely feeling your strength as he played with you, testing how far you could take in that mess, feeling him filling you to the last.

“I’ve barely begun to appreciate you, human.” Alucard mocked you, and even with your eyes closed, you knew he smiled. He was controlling himself not to increase the pace, thrusting deep inside you, taking out every kind of sound and reaction that your human body could make to feed his animalistic side. You had no idea how much he wanted to fuck you like an animal, put you on all fours and thrust his cock hard and fast, going deeper and deeper inside you, molding your pussy into his shape for you to never forget. “You have no idea how long I haven’t felt a human warmth squeezing me, molding itself around me, moaning my name, and delighting themselves with my fuck...”

“I’m going to enjoy every second of this, human.” Alucard’s voice and laughter echoed in your head with the wet noises of your pussy swallowing his cock and the moans you both let out for some time. You couldn’t remember how many times Alucard had you in that, begging him to go faster and deeper as you were close to cumming and felt his lips on every part of your body, but he would stop when you were near the apex and start all over again, going slower and slower.

“Alucard... Ngh... Ah...” Your voice came out hoarse and flawed, barely able to keep up with the immense pleasure your body felt when Alucard was fucking you slowly, widening your soaked pussy and playing with your swollen clitoris, both red and begging for relief. You felt Alucard enjoying every reaction you had, his body shaking as you melted into pleasure and whimpering, completely messed up by him. “Alu-Ah.. Alucard... Please...”

Alucard brought his face closer to yours, rubbing himself against your sweaty red skin, slowly going in and out of you, almost falling off the table, and held your waist forcing you to feel him pulsing inside you, his cock getting heavier and heavier and inside you, seeming to consume himself with you. “Hmm? What did you say, human?”

You shuddered as you felt Alucard’s tongue licking from your throat to your mouth, forcing his long tongue into the cavity and exploring it, savoring your moans and the salty taste of tears streaming down your rosy cheeks. You grabbed the back of his head, pulling the long black strands and kissed him with the same intensity, as if you were bewitched by that vampire, awakening from the deep stupor that was minutes ago and rubbing against him, going at the pace you so badly needed.

You were panting when you parted, noticing that the vampire didn’t need air as much as you did. He could go on for hours and have you completely destroyed... You shivered and involuntarily squeezed Alucard’s cock when you finally assimilated the words he had spoken long ago before he started that. Having those flaming ruby eyes focused fully on you as Alucard’s smile grew, feeding on the fear that settled inside you.

“What did you want, human?” Alucard’s thick voice echoed throughout the room, making you tremble more and you felt helpless, small and humanly fragile in front of the immense vampire on top of you. “What’s wrong? Did the cat eat your tongue, or did you finally realize the situation you’re in?”

You were panting, your exposed and marked chest rising and falling rapidly, your hands trembling on the vampire’s body, who was amused by the growing fear inside you. You were sure that the color of his eyes was more vivid than when you entered that room, just like when he gave you a brief sample of his powers.... Alucard was using his powers on you.

You swallowed, throat trembling as much as the rest of you, drawing Alucard’s watchful eyes to the region, watching him take a deep breath as he smiled more... almost like an animal. You took a deep breath and brought your trembling hands to the vampire’s cold chin, squeezing and bringing him closer to you. You were so scared of everything here, but the incredible feeling of having Alucard inside you, pulsing as hot and alive as you, was greater than the desire to give up, screaming for help. “Don’t use your powers on me, vampire. I know very well what I want.” Alucard raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by you and waiting for your response.

“I want you to let me cum with your cock inside me and cum too, filling me to the brim...” You ran your eyes over the vampire’s expressionless face. Your heart pounded in your chest as you waited for the vampire’s reaction.

Alucard smiled widely, his eyes softening, returning to the red of before, his face seeming to glow as if it were an angel in your grip. “As you wish, human...” He whispered in your ear, slowly pulling away and slid out of you, making you sigh heavily and squeeze around nothing, all your liquid running down your red, swollen pussy, missing Alucard’s big, thick cock.

He slid you off the table calmly and gently, still smiling in that angelic way, and turned you with your back to him, his figure standing out as he slid his hands down your sides and stopped at your waist with a firm grip. You were anxious, feeling his hands pull the fabric up, exposing your ass and trembling legs.

He was so calm as he took off your sweaty dress; the piece ending up in some corner of the dark room, and lined up back in your entrance, pinning you against his stone body, running his hands up your body and cradling your breasts as rubbed his face against your neck. You clasped your hands on the edge of the table, waiting nervously for his actions, his calmness making you more frightened than when he looked like an animal.

You held your breath as you felt him inhale your scent and shivered at his words. “Don’t break, human. Integra wants you back up there.” You froze as you listened to his words, remembering them coming out of Integra’s mouth and the man who brought you here.

Alucard penetrated you hard, taking your breath out and pushing you against the table, going in and out of you the way you begged so much before having you squint and open your mouth, calling loudly for the vampire, who smiled sadistically again. One hand of Alucard’s went up to your neck, tilting your head to the side and lightly squeezing the region and the other slid into your belly, pressing where the head of his cock appeared on your belly, making you moan sly and wince in his grip.

“Do you feel me here?” He pressed more on your belly, making you roll your eyes in pleasure and soften against him, feeling his cock going deep and hitting all the points that made you see stars and squeeze around him. “Oh, honey, you don’t know how good you are, squeezing me like that and melting with my touches... Your blood boiling in your veins, so inviting...” Alucard rubbed his nose on your neck, giving a wet kiss to the region.

You could barely register what he said, lost in the pleasure that flooded your body with the deep and quick thrusts, making your stomach turn and you whimper loudly, wanting much more. “Alucard.. Ngh! Ah! Alu-Ah!” You wrapped a hand around his hand on your belly, digging your nails into the cold skin, feeling your legs tremble as that warmth in your belly tightened.

“Alucard, I’m going-Ngh! I...” Alucard grumbled against your neck, still going in and out of you hard and fast, having you jump into his arms. “I’m going to cum... please... Alucard...!”

His bottle and glass of blood fell off the table, breaking as it shattered on the floor as soon as you were bent on top of the hard surface, standing on tiptoe to keep up with the rhythm of Alucard’s thrusts, hitting deeper and deeper, pushing you to the limit of the pleasure you felt. You swayed by the small table with Alucard’s brutality inside you, scratching at the wood while squinting and mumbling a few words and moans, tightening tighter and tighter around him, trying to trap the cock inside you.

Alucard laughed loudly, feeling you squeezing and sucking him more and more, your thighs shaking violently and little toes curling. “Greedy...”

“Alucard... Alucard, please...” You gasped in a moan as you felt his hand on your clit, playing with the nerve at the same intensity he thrusted into you, making you scream and cum on his cock, your liquid gushing between his thrusts, dirtying his cock and clothes.

“That’s right. Good girl, cum on my cock.” Alucard’s calm, sultry voice guided you through your orgasm while he was still playing with your body, overstimulating you; your body barely holding on. Alucard slid a hand up on your back, shivering you, and tangled in your messy strands, pulling your head and spine back up. He leaned up to your ear and whispered, “Pussy so good... I’m going to fuck this pussy until I fill you with my cum. Do you want me to fill you with my cum, human?”

You nodded as you could, tired, overstimulated and eager to have the reason that took you to that basement and let yourself be fucked by that creature. You, still curious and barely formulating thoughts and sentences, babbled one of your countless doubts about the vampire. “Can you-Ngh! Ah, fuck… Get someone pregnant... Oh! Alucard!”

Alucard raised an eyebrow, surprised by your questioning because he really didn’t know, had never tried this. His sadistic smile widened, showing the row of pointed teeth, and continued to move in that animal rhythm, almost making you pass out. “Why don’t we figure this out together now?”

Alucard scraped the fangs on your neck, taking out a trickle of blood and licked the liquid, delighting in the taste and came inside you after a deep thrust, lost in pleasure, almost reaching the kingdom of heaven that was forbidden to him in the first life, having you folded for him on the table and moaning loudly, shivering and filled with the hot liquid flowing inside your pussy. He let go of you like a doll and came out of you, watching you shudder violently and his thick cum leak out of your hole, run down your thighs, the table and dripping on the floor.

Alucard whistled loudly and smiled when he saw the scene, completely satisfied with what he had done.

You blinked strongly, trying to stay awake and normalize your breathing, feeling your whole body on fire and throb in pain. You felt Alucard’s hands lifting you carefully and turning you towards him, the ruby red eyes flaming as he brushed off the hair stuck to your face by sweat and caressed your face with his long cold fingers, you smiled minimally at him, letting yourself soften in the vampire’s embrace, which remained impeccable.

You saw him pull his pants down to his ankles and sit in his chair, pulling you by the hand to the middle of his legs, kneeling in front of him, noticing his still hard, throbbing and dirty cock at the base with your cum. You looked up at the vampire’s face, seeing him smile sadistically and bring you closer to his cock with one hand and the back of your neck. “Our party only ends when I say so, human.”

@iwashie 2024, please do not translate, modify or republish my works

[marchessa]

X

[d1stalker]

Origin [Logan Howlett]

Summary: Two people, one shared past, and decades apart.

Warnings: fem!reader, angst, fluff, longing, things get bad before they get better! WC: 14k - MASTERLIST

A/N: there are plot points that are inspired by Logan's origin story (thank u marvelwiki), but they are so non-canon compliant its funny so don't call me out tyyy 😙

----

Before he was known as Logan, or as Wolverine, he was James. 

Your James. 

—

It’s quiet in the Howlett estate, the kind of stillness that only comes when everyone has long retired for the night. But while the rest of the mansion sleeps, you remain wide awake. Dressed in your nightgown and nestled under the blankets, you glance at the small, brass pocketwatch resting on your bedside table. The hands read 10:22 PM. Any minute now, you think to yourself. 

Then, like clockwork, you hear it—a faint knock on your door. Three slow, deliberate taps, followed by two quick ones. The secret signal never fails to make you smile. You spring from the bed, feet softly padding across the floor as you hurry to the door. You open it as quietly as possible, your grin widening the moment you see who’s waiting on the other side.

James.

He stands there, dark tousled hair and that familiar mischievous smile that always manages to light up the dim hallway. You’ve known him your entire life, growing up together under the roof of the Howlett estate. Your parents, both loyal servants to the Howlett family, were fortunate enough to be granted permission raise you alongside their son.

From the moment you could walk, you and James were inseparable, sharing countless adventures in the woods, running across the estate’s gardens, and whispering secrets to one another under moonlit skies.

"About time," you whisper, teasing him with a playful glint in your eyes. "You really know how to keep a lady waiting, don’t you?"

A soft snort escapes his lips as he grabs your hand, pulling you gently into the hallway. "My deepest apologies, M’lady," he replies with mock formality, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "I had to... attend to urgent business in the necessary."

You snicker, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Ah, I see. Was it a fulfilling experience, sir Howlett?"

He glances over his shoulder, rolling his eyes with exaggerated exasperation, though you catch the small smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t respond, but his silence confirms everything. It was.

The rest of the trip is quiet, the two of you moving stealthily through the darkened corridors, careful not to disturb anyone or draw unwanted attention. After all, your mother would certainly disapprove of such late-night rendezvous. It is improper, she would say.

But what choice did you have? The day offered no time for moments like this. You were busy training to take over as the next chief maid, learning the endless routines of the household, while James spent his time with his family or other highborn friends. It was only after hours, when the mansion finally settled, that the two of you could steal away for these secret meetings.

Finally, you reach the gardens. The crisp night air greets you as you slip away from any prying eyes. There’s a familiar sense of peace here, among the fragrant flowers and the towering trees that shield you from the world. James leads you to your usual spot, a stone bench tucked beneath the shadow of the hedges. Wordlessly, he slips off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders before taking a dramatic bow.

"To keep you warm, M’lady," he says softly.

"Hush, James," you laugh, finding his antics endearing. 

You’re grateful, especially as the cool night air nips at your exposed skin. The nightgown, while comfortable, offers little protection against the chill. You pull his jacket tighter around yourself, then pat the empty spot next to you, gesturing to him to sit, to which he does.

“How was your day?" you prompt.

James sighs, leaning back on the bench, his hand casually resting behind you as he stares up at the sky. "Same old, same old," he starts, a familiar twinge of annoyance creeping into his voice. "You know how it is. Dinners with my parents, listenin’ to old men talk about businesses I'll never care about, trying not to fall asleep while they drone on about investments or land expansions. It’s all so posh."

You stifle a giggle, nudging him playfully with your elbow. "Posh? You sound like you're living the dream."

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "If by 'dream,' you mean sitting there pretending to care while wonderin’ how quickly I can escape to see you, then yeah, it's an absolute dream," he quips sarcastically.

Sniggering, you bring your hand up to your forehead, acting distressed. "Oh, how tragic. The poor Lord James Howlett, trapped in a world of lavish dinners and fancy wine. Whatever will you do?"

"Mock me all you want, but it’s unbearable," he groans, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I hate it. All the stuffy clothes, the fake smiles, the way everyone acts like they're better than everyone else." He pauses for a moment, then glances sideways at you. "You're the only real thing here."

The sincerity in his words makes your heart flutter, and you’re suddenly grateful for the darkness hiding the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. Looking away, you try to play it off. "Well, if that’s the case, I guess I should charge you for my company," you tease coyly.

He lets out a huff of amusement, shaking his head. "I'll pay whatever price you want.”

There's a pause as you both sit in comfortable silence. Just then, a soft breeze sweeps through the garden, catching the edges of your nightgown and fanning it up slightly. Before you can even react, he swiftly moves his jacket from your shoulders to your lap, covering your legs. His hand lingers, making sure you're covered before he hastily wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you close against him.

The warmth from his body contrasts with the cool air, and you can't help but laugh softly at his sudden behaviour. "Wow, you really are a gentleman, James."

He tenses slightly, his grip on your shoulder loosening as he looks away, clearly flustered. "I—I just didn’t want you to get cold," he mumbles, his usual confidence faltering.

You smile at how shy he suddenly seems, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Thank you. It’s sweet."

For a brief second, he says nothing, but you can feel the way his heartbeat picks up just a little. Then, almost too quietly, he mutters, "I’d do anythin’ for you."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you tilt your head to look up at him. But you can’t respond, because he clears his throat, looking down at you with a small, sheepish smile. "What about you? Any exciting adventures in the life of a future chief maid?"

Grinning, you recognize his attempt to shift the conversation, and decide to let it go for now. "Oh, you know, the usual. A thrilling day of dusting, folding linens, and trying not to spill tea on your mother’s favourite rug."

He chuckles, pulling you a little closer. "Sounds way more exciting than my day."

You hum in acknowledgement, letting the moment linger. Neither of you speak for a bit, just relishing being in each other’s presence. 

"So, do tell," you say after a while, breaking the silence, "if you could get away from all the fancy dinners and boring conversations, what would you do?"

He smiles slightly, his gaze still fixed on the star-filled sky. "I’d leave. Go far away from here, maybe somewhere quiet. Live in the countryside, where no one cares about wealth or titles." His eyes drop to meet yours. "Maybe you’d come with me."

You laugh gently. "And who would take care of your family if we both ran off?"

Shrugging, his expression grows more serious. "They don’t need me. They need someone who’ll do what they want—someone to follow in their footsteps. That’s never been me."

There’s a weight in his words, and you feel a pang of sympathy for him. You’re about to respond, to tell him you understand more than he realizes, when—

BANG.

Your body stiffens instantly, heart beginning to pound in your chest as you straighten up, eyes wide.

"What the hell was that?" James asks sharply. He turns to you, his face mirroring the confusion and unease you're feeling.

Shaking your head, you swallow the lump that’s forming in your throat. "It sounded like a gunshot."

The two of you stare at each other for a beat, then, right when you’re going to speak again, you hear it—his mother’s scream. It’s high-pitched, panicked, and it sends a jolt of fear through you both.

"Help!" she shrieks from inside the mansion. "James, help!"

Without a word, you bolt to your feet, the peaceful night forgotten as you rush back inside. Your heart is racing as your bare feet fly across the grass, nightgown fluttering behind you. James is ahead of you, moving fast, his expression shifting from confusion to pure fear.

As you reach the back entrance, your mind races with possibilities, none of them good. You burst through the door into the hallway, your breathing laboured from the sudden sprint. Something is terribly wrong.

"Mother!" He calls, his voice sharp with panic as he leads the way toward the main staircase. You follow close behind, anxiety coiling tight in your chest.

Once you get to the bottom of the stairs, you hear footsteps—heavy, hurried—and then you see her. Mrs. Howlett, wide-eyed and pale, comes hurrying down from the upper floor, clutching the banister for support. Her hands are trembling.

"James!" she cries. "Your father—he’s been shot!"

The boy beside you freezes, face going white. "What?" he breathes, disbelief etched into every syllable.

"He—he was in his study, and I—I heard the gunfire. I—I don’t know what happened. I don’t know who—" Her voice breaks, and tears stream down her face as she struggles to speak. "We need to get help!"

He doesn’t waste another second, taking off up the stairs, his long strides making quick work of the distance. You trail after him. How could this happen? Who could’ve done this?

When you reach the second floor, you see the study door slightly ajar, light spilling out into the dark hallway. James' hand wavers over the doorknob for only a moment before pushing the it open wide.

Inside, the scene is worse than you imagined.

There, slumped over his desk, is Mr. Howlett. His once pristine office now looks chaotic—papers scattered, a window broken, and blood, so much blood. A crimson stain is spreading across his shirt.

"Father," James chokes out, rushing to his side, his hands shaking as he reaches for him.

You stand paralyzed for a moment, the sight rendering you speechless, but then the adrenaline kicks in, and you move further into the room. Your mind is screaming at you to do something, anything, but all you can do is watch as James desperately tries to wake his father, calling his name again and again.

Trying to make sense of the horrific scene, your attention is dragged away by the sound of footsteps shuffling behind you. Thomas Logan, the groundskeeper, stumbles in, his movements clumsy, his face twisted with drunkenness. His bloodshot eyes are manic, and in his trembling hand, he’s clutching a gun—the same one that must have been used to end Mr. Howlett’s life.

"Thomas!" Mrs. Howlett yelps. "What are you doing?"

James turns sharply, still kneeling beside his father’s body, his expression hardening immediately. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Thomas lets out a low, slurred laugh, staggering further into the room. His eyes flick between you, James, and Mrs. Howlett, but his focus remains hazy. "I’ve had enough of this, enough of all of it," he mutters, waving the gun in the air. "Your precious mother thought she could keep the truth from you. But it’s time you knew the truth, boy."

"What truth?" The younger man demands harshly.

Swaying on his feet, he points the gun directly at James, his finger twitching dangerously on the trigger. "I’m not just the groundskeeper, you idiot," he snarls venomously, "I’m your damn father."

It’s as if the room has been put on pause. You feel the air leave your lungs, your mind scrambling to make sense of what you just heard. Glancing at your friend, you see the disbelief wash over his features, his eyes widening with shock, denial.

"No," he whispers, shaking his head, backing away slightly. "You're lying. You’re drunk."

But the older man just laughs, the sound hollow and bitter. "You think John Howlett was your father? That man never wanted you! He raised you because he had to, not because you were his. You’re mine, boy. My flesh and blood,” he jerks his head in the direction of Mrs. Howlett. “Go ahead, ask your mama."

You hear Mrs. Howlett begin to blubber in the background at the accusation, but your attention is solely on the boy in front of you.

Betrayal is written all over his face.

His breath quickens, and his hands clench into fists at his sides. You want to reach out to him, concern puling you forward, but then he lets out a scream—a sound so full of pain that you stop in your tracks.

"James!" you cry, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. His eyes squeeze shut, and his body convulses, as though something inside him is tearing him apart from the inside out.

The sickening sound of skin breaking fills your ears, and bone claws shoot out from his knuckles. They gleam in the dim light of the room, sharp and lethal. The sight of them is nauseating, but you’re unable to look away as James blinks, gazing down at his hands, dumbfounded.

"What—" he rasps, his chest heaving. "What’s happening to me?"

“What the hell is this?” Thomas sneers in disgust.  He stumbles, reaching for the wall to steady himself. “Figures... Of course my son’s a freak.”

“You were always a fuck-up,” he continues in his drunken rage. “Useless, soft... a disappointment from the start. Just like your mother. Look at you now, boy.”

“I’m not your boy,” James snarls through gritted teeth, rage building inside him. His eyes flash dangerously. It’s as if something inside him has snapped, some deep, instinctual part of him that has been lying dormant, waiting for this very moment.

“You’re right. You’re no son of mine. Just a goddamn mistake. Should’ve left you in the dirt with your—"

Before he can finish, a roar rips from James’s throat. So raw, so animalistic, you get goosebumps. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, and then, with terrifying speed, he lunges.

In an instant, his claws sink deep into Thomas’s chest with a thunk. The force of the blow sends the older man crashing back, disbelief and agony seizing his face as blood sprays across the room, spattering the walls and floor. His body thrashes, his hands weakly grasping at his son’s wrists, but there’s no strength left in him. 

A gurgling gasp bubbles from his throat, and then it's over. He collapses to the ground, lifeless, as James stands over him, claws retreating back into his skin. 

"James!" Mrs. Howlett screams, her voice piercing. "What have you done?!"

You don’t know how to react. You can’t process it, can’t breathe. All you know is that you need to get out of here—get James out of here, away from this nightmare before it consumes him. Without thinking, you rush to his side, grabbing his bloodied hand.

"We have to go!" you say urgently.

His eyes dart to you, frantic and unfocused but he doesn’t resist as you pull him toward the door. His mother's cries echo behind you, but you can’t stop, can’t look back.

You run—both of you—through the hallways, out the back door, and into the dark of night. The wind whips around you, stinging your face, but you don’t stop. You run until your legs burn, until you’ve entered the surrounding forest, and the Howlett estate is nothing but a distant shadow behind you. 

All the while, James’s hand stays locked in yours.

Branches scratch everywhere, at your arms, your face, and the underbrush tugs at your clothes as if trying to hold you back, but you push on. Only after the first light of dawn begins to creep in, does the exhaustion hit. Bodies aching and bruised, the two of you collapse beside a small stream. 

You’re on your back, catching you breath, when you tilt to your head to look over at your friend. He’s sitting down, with his hands out in front of him, leering at them. He struggles for air, his breaths coming in short, panicked bursts, and his clothes are torn, stained with blood—his father’s blood, Thomas’ blood. 

His claws are long retracted, but the scars of where they came out of his skin are there, fresh. 

"James," you whisper, but he doesn’t respond. Slowly, you crawl over to his side, pain flaring with each movement. When you reach him, you sit on your knees, looking up at him, trying to meet his gaze. You repeat his name, more firmly this time.

He finally looks at you, but he’s broken. His lips tremble as he opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a choked, almost inaudible, "What did I do?"

Your heart aches for him. Reaching out, you gently take one of his bloodied hands in yours, and as soon as your skin touches his, he flinches, pulling back slightly. "I killed him." he whispers, more to himself than anything. “I—I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t mean to!"

"Hey, listen to me," you say. "You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known this would happen."

"I killed him," he repeats. "I killed Thomas. I—" He glances down at his hands, at the scars along his knuckles, and his expression crumples completely. “He was my father.”

You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to fix this, but you know you have to try, so you wrap your arms around him. At first, he stiffens, but then he collapses to the ground, pulling you down with him. You land on top, your chest pressed against his as the weight of your bodies crashes into the soft earth. He squeezes you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, his face buried in your shoulder as his breath comes in short, broken sobs.

"I didn’t mean to do it," he repeats, the words muffled against your skin. "Something just changed inside me. What am I? What am I turning into?"

“Hush," you whisper, moving one of your hands to brush his hair. "Look at me. Just breathe, okay? You’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together, I promise."

His arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer. It’s overwhelming, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you let him hold you as tightly as he needs, your fingers gently stroking the back of his head, trying to console him in any way you can.

"I’m a monster," he whimpers. "What if I hurt you, too?"

"You won’t," you affirm, lips brushing against his ear as you whisper. "You’re not a monster. This… this thing that happened, it doesn’t change who you are. You’re still you."

Beneath you, his body shakes, overcome by emotion he holds onto you. Your forehead is pressed to against his, your breath mingling with his while you continue to whisper reassurances, telling him over and over that it’s going to be okay, that he’s not alone.

Minutes pass, maybe longer—you lose track of time as you lie there together. Gradually, his cries begin to quiet, his breathing slowing as the storm inside him starts to subside. His grip on you loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go fully, still cradling you in his arms.

Shifting, you raise your head to look at him. His eyes are red, his face pale, but he’s calmer. You start to pull yourself off of him, but as you're standing up, he grasps your hand again, and he looks at you with a tired, grateful expression, squeezing it gently as if to say everything he can’t put into words yet.

Then, you continue. Hand in hand, you move deeper into the forest. And finally, after a few more hours, you notice something in the distance. Through the trees, there are rooftops, small and clustered together, their chimneys trailing thin lines of smoke into the evening sky.

“A town,” you whisper, the first word you’ve spoken in hours.

He follows your gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sight of the small mining town nestled in the valley.

In it, the people’s faces are etched with lines of hard labour and even harder lives, but still, you know you’ll be safe there. 

—

Initially, it’s difficult—this new life you and James have carved out is a far cry from the comforts of the Howlett estate. The town you’ve settled in is rough and unpolished. You both share a modest shack on the outskirts, a place that feels foreign and strange, but over time, it starts to become home.

He finds work in the mines almost immediately. The foreman takes one look at him, his broad shoulders and strong arms, and practically shoves a shovel in his hand without asking any questions. The job is tough, but it suits him. 

Every evening, he comes back to you covered in soot and dirt, his hands rough and calloused, his face lined with exhaustion. You can see the toll the work takes on him, how his body aches, but there’s something else too—a measure of peace that wasn’t there before. It’s as if he’s found a way to silence the chaos inside him, at least for a little while.

It’s not long before everyone in town begins to call him Logan, a name he offers with indifference when asked.

A new identity. 

Logan is a man who works hard, who keeps to himself, who doesn’t ask for anything more than a paycheck at the end of the week. 

Logan is a man who doesn’t need anyone, who can survive on his own. 

To you, he’s still James. 

In the quiet moments, when it’s just the two of you, he lets down the walls, lets you see through the façade. And when you whisper his name—James—he closes his eyes as if that one word alone soothes something deep in his soul.

After weeks of watching him silently carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, you offer him a rag to wipe his face as he sits down at the small table you’ve cobbled together from scraps. He takes it without a word, rubbing at the grime on his skin.

“You don’t have to do this forever, you know,” you say softly, leaning against the table as he tosses the rag aside. "There’s more to life than breaking your back underground."

He glances at you. "It’s all I’m good for now."

"You’re good for more than that," you reply walking up to him, reaching for his hand. He lets you take it, like he always does. "You can’t let what happened define you."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he gives your hand a small squeeze, his eyes drifting to the floor as he mumbles, "What’s inside me… it’s different. You don’t know what it’s like."

You don’t argue. How could you?

The changes in him, the way his strength has grown, how his senses have sharpened, it all impacts him. He can hear things no one else can, smell the rain long before it falls, and even in complete darkness, he sees as clearly as if it were day. His powers are evolving, changing him.

But you know, deep down, that the man sitting in front of you is your friend—your James—no matter what he’s become.

You’ve seen him wrestle with the fear of what he might turn into, the fear of losing control, but you also see the man who leans into your touch, who lets you bandage his hands after long days in the mines, who presses his forehead to yours when the nights grow too heavy with silence.

And as your time together in the town goes by, there is a shift.

It starts with small things—a lingering glance, a brush of your fingers as you pass each other in the kitchen, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

Then, it moves to bigger gestures. When you’d pack him his lunch fo the day, you slip in a small piece of parchment with a heart hastily drawn on it, or at night time, instead of falling asleep backs turned toward each other, awkwardly trying to ignore whatever tension is brewing, you fall asleep in his arms, and wake up the same way.

It gets to a point where you can neither of you can deny it. 

You’ve fallen in love.

—

It’s late, and you’re sitting by the fire outside the small cabin, waiting for him to return from one of his now-frequent disappearances into the woods. You used to worry about where he went, afraid he was distancing himself from you, so one night you followed him. What you found took your breath away—him, sitting out on a ledge, with some wild animals surrounding him. There was something in him that they must have recognized, a mutual respect that seemed to transcend anything human.

Since then, you’ve let him go without asking questions, trusting that those nights in the woods bring him the peace he can’t find anywhere else. But tonight, when he returns, he’s different. He doesn’t just brush past you to head inside. Instead, he sits beside you by the fire.

You turn to him, about to ask if everything’s alright, but the words catch in your throat when his hand cups your jaw. His grip is gentle, hesitant, as if he’s afraid to break the moment, but in his eyes, you find a longing, a yearning, that mirrors your own. 

His thumb brushes over your cheek, and for the first time in a long time, there’s no hesitation in his movements. Your heart stutters, and when he pulls you closer, you let him. His lips meet yours, careful at first, but as you kiss him back, you feel the stress drain from his body. 

The kiss deepens, slow, tender, and everything you’ve ever wanted.

—

The next few years are a kind of peaceful bliss you never expected. With each passing day, you and Logan seem to fall deeper into each other, the bond you share growing stronger, more intimate, like you’ve finally found the rhythm of the life you were always meant to have together.

Mornings are your favourite. He always wakes up first, moving quietly so as not to wake you, and he’s gotten into the habit of making you breakfast. You always sneak out of bed and snake your arms around him from behind, pressing your face into his back as he grumbles about you not getting enough sleep. “You’re always up too early,” he’d say. 

“I like being up with you,” you’d mumble in response, and he’ll turn around, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his eyes soft and full of that quiet, steady love he’s never really put into words. And then he’d kiss you like he has all the time in the world, even if he has to head over to the mines. 

On your days off from your job at the pub, you’ll spend hours together, finding little ways to enjoy the simplicity of your life. He will sometimes take you out to the woods behind the house, where you’d walk the trails together. He points out the different wildlife, the plants you don’t recognize, and you tease him about being a mountain man. He’d smirk, giving you that low, raspy chuckle that never fails to make your heart seize in your chest, and tug you closer to his side.

In the evenings, oftentimes, you sit together while you knit, something that started as a hobby but quickly became one of your preferred pastimes. He always pretends to be uninterested, but he’ll watch you anyway. “You’re getting good at that,” he’d say gruffly. 

“Want me to make you a sweater?” You smirk, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he’d grumble, but you can tell he’s secretly pleased at the idea.

The town itself becomes part of your life together, too. You’ve made friends with the locals, joining a small knitting club. If he has time, Logan drops by the pub on your shifts just to check in, sitting at the bar with a beer and watching you work. When your gazes connect very now and then, he gives you that look—the one that says he’s proud of you, that he’s content.

“We’ve got a good thing here,” he murmurs one night, holding you close. 

“Yeah,” you agree softly, kissing his cheek. “We really do.”

But, all good things must come to an end. 

The mining town, though small and isolated, isn’t immune to the tensions that fester beneath the surface. Harsh conditions, grueling work, and the endless grind wear people down, turning frustration into anger, and anger into violence. Fights break out often, especially in the saloon after a long day when men try to drown their sorrows in whiskey. You both have learned to keep your distance from such skirmishes, knowing nothing good ever comes from getting involved.

Still, one night, as you return home from your evening shift at the pub, you hear the unmistakable sounds of a brawl breaking out in the middle of the street. Shouts reverberate through the cold air, followed by the crash of breaking glass. Your heart races as you recognize the deep, guttural growl cutting through the noise—a sound you know all too well.

On impulse, you rush toward the commotion, dread pooling in your stomach. You know this won’t end well. Not here. Not for him.

When you reach the scene, your worst fears are confirmed. He stands in the centre of the chaos, fists clenched at his sides. Two men circle him, their faces twisted with drunken aggression, goading him. The small crowd that’s gathered seems almost entertained, too caught up in the spectacle to understand the true danger festering.

“James!” you shout, trying to get his attention, but to no avail.

One of the men—a burly miner you’ve seen around town a few times, always looking for trouble—lunges forward, his fist swinging. The punch connects with your man’s jaw, hard enough to stagger him back, but instead of falling, you see something shift in Logan’s expression. His eyes darken, his jaw tightens. Then, his claws slowly begin sliding out of his knuckles.

The crowd gasps, and the laughter dies immediately.

“Don’t come any closer,” he growls, his voice low and full of warning. His chest heaves as he struggles to keep control, but you can see the fire burning behind his eyes. He’s on the edge, teetering dangerously close to losing himself.

But the miner, too drunk and furious to notice or care, spits on the ground. “Freak!” he slurs, venom lacing every word. “You think you scare me?”

He charges at Logan again, fists swinging recklessly. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you scream for him to stop. But it’s too late. Logan tries to pull back, to stop what’s about to happen, but the man is too close, too fast.

Everything slows down, the world moving in fractured seconds. Claws slice through the air, meeting flesh with a sickening thud. The miner gasps, his eyes widening in shock as he stumbles, clutching at his chest where the claws have sunk deep. Blood blooms around his hands, staining the dirt beneath his feet.

And suddenly, you’re thrust back into the past. You see James as he was all those years ago, his claws dripping with blood after killing Thomas. The memory crashes into you—the look of fear on his face, the horror in his eyes, the way he stumbled back, realizing what he’d done.

Just like now.

Logan’s eyes go wide, his expression mirroring that same devastation. He steps back, staring at the miner who crumples to the ground, gasping for breath. What follows is a deafening silence, the air thick with shock and disbelief. The townspeople that had been so eager for a show now stand frozen, eyes wide, faces pale.

The man gasps one last breath, then goes still.

Logan stares at the body at his feet, his claws still extended, still dripping with the man’s blood. His chest heaves, his breath shallow, and he mutters under his breath, barely audible, "Oh god… Not again."

You rush to his side, grabbing his arm in desperation. "Come on, let’s go home."

He doesn’t move. He’s locked in place, staring at the man he’s just killed. His hands tremble, the claws still out, and you can see the raw pain in his eyes as the reality of what’s just happened sinks in.

"I didn’t mean to," he whispers again, his voice cracking. "I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…"

—

That night, while you're sleeping, Logan makes his decision.

And when you wake up the next day, the space beside you is cold.

The shack feels too quiet, too still. 

All you can do is stare at the empty spot in your bed. You tell yourself that maybe he’s outside, chopping wood or he’s already left for work. But deep down, you know. 

Throwing on your boots, you don’t bother to change out of your nightclothes, and rush outside. His name is the first thing out of your mouth, sharp and desperate. "James! Logan!" Your voice barrels through the small yard, bouncing off the trees and fading into the cool morning air. 

There’s no answer.

Panic grips you as you search the familiar places—around the shack, the small trail he likes to take into the woods, by the creek where he often spends time when he needs to clear his head. There’s no sign of him.

No footprints, no lingering scent. Nothing.

The townspeople stare as you move through the streets. They know what happened. They saw the claws, the blood. And now, they see you—a reminder of the violence that tore through their quiet lives. But you don’t care about their judgment right now. You’re too focused looking for him, too frantic to worry about the whispers that follow in your wake.

"Have you seen him?" you ask one of the miners who had once shared a drink with him, but he shakes his head and pulls away from you, muttering something under his breath. Everybody keeps their distance, their faces closed off, avoiding your gaze. 

By the time the sun climbs higher in the sky, the truth settles in your chest like a heavy stone. He left. You wander the streets a little longer, until exhaustion finally forces you back to the shack.

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even leave a note. The man who you shared your life with, who you fell in love with, is gone—and he isn’t coming back.

In the days that follow, everything changes. The people who once greeted you with a nod or a smile now avert their eyes when you walk by. They speak in hushed tones, voices thick with suspicion and disdain. 

Nobody cares that you had nothing to do with what happened in the street that night. To them, you’re guilty by association.

It starts slowly, but the gossip spreads like wildfire. Saying thinks like: you knew what Logan was all along, that you hid his secret, allowed him to kill their men. Their anger turns to you, and before long, you become the pariah—cut off, unwelcome, the person responsible for the death of one of their own.

The day they decide to exile you is gray and heavy, the sky thick with the promise of rain. No one has the decency to say it to your face. Instead, you wake to a note slipped under your door, the word leave scrawled across it in angry, uneven letters.

You pack what little belongings you have—a few clothes, some keepsakes from the life you left behind at the Howlett estate—and sling a small bag over your shoulder. Then, you walk away without looking back.

Stretching out before you is a desolate, abandoned looking road. Your legs ache with every step, your feet blistering inside your boots, but you don’t stop. The memories of Logan, the town, the life you tried to build together swirl in your mind.

The sound of a a horse whinnying pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to see a carriage approaching. The coachman—a man with kind eyes and a weathered face—slows as he pulls alongside you. His voice soft and cautious as he asks, "Need a ride?"

Nodding, you’re too exhausted to respond with words, and climb into the passenger seat. He doesn’t ask many questions, sensing perhaps that you’re a soul in need of silence more than conversation. He drives in quiet companionship, the horses' feet against the dirt the only sound breaking the stillness.

He takes you to the nearest town, dropping you off with a quiet wish for better days ahead. You thank him and give him a few coins. You’re standing on the edge of a new beginning, unsure of where to go next but knowing, with painful certainty, that the past is behind you now.

—

In this new place, you slowly begin to rebuild what you’ve lost. It isn’t easy—there are nights when the loneliness threatens to swallow you whole and days when the weight of losing your best friend feels too much to bear. Still, you find work at a small shop, rent a modest room in the quieter part of town, and painstakingly, you carve out a new existence. 

Though no matter how hard you try to move forward, he’s always there. A shadow, lingering in the corners of your mind. You can’t forget him—the way he looked at you with those intense, searching eyes, the way he held you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, the way he left without a word. Your entire childhood, your early adulthood, revolved around him. He was the best part of your life. Every moment spent with him was cherished, imprinted in your memory like a brand you can’t erase.

Nights are the hardest. When the world is quiet, and it’s just you and your thoughts, that’s when the ache becomes unbearable. Each night, your mind drifts back to him. You tell yourself it wasn’t his fault—he must have believed he was protecting you by leaving. 

Maybe he thought you would hate him for killing another man with his claws, for unleashing the violence he tried so hard to contain. Maybe he thought you could never forgive him.

But the more you think about it, the more you realize: if he truly believed that, then he didn’t know you at all.

And that hurts. A lot.

You start to feel like him in some ways, burdened by secrets and anger with nowhere to go. More often than not, you slip out of the town in your nightgown and into the nearby forest, hoping the solitude will offer some kind of peace. It doesn’t, not really, but it’s better than suffocating in your room, choking on memories of what was and what could have been.

—

A year passes since the night he left, and you find yourself standing among the trees once again, lost in thought. It’s not fair—none of it is. You lost everything, and for what? Because you loved him? Because you could look past his mutation?

All of the emotions you’ve done a decent job at managing bubble to the surface, a torrent of grief and rage with nowhere to go. Mindlessly, you draw back your fist and slam it into the trunk of a nearby tree. The impact shoots a sharp pain through your arm, but it’s fleeting, drowned out by the rush of anger. You pull back to punch the tree again, harder this time, desperate for some kind of release.

But the tree doesn’t just splinter. It explodes. 

The force of your punch obliterates the trunk, sending shards of wood flying in all directions. You stagger back, staring at the destruction, stunned. What was just a tall, beautiful arbor is now reduced to nothing but rubble, the strength of your blow far beyond anything a normal person could achieve.

Your breath hitches when it dawns on you. You’re standing in the middle of the forest, surrounded by the evidence of your newfound power. You aren’t just grieving the loss of Logan anymore; you’re discovering that you are, just like him, a mutant.

Except, unlike him, you’re alone.

He’s not here to hold you, to help you make sense of what’s happening. He’s not here to run away with you like you once ran away with him. You have no one to share this terrifying revelation with. You have only yourself.

Looking down at your trembling hands, the faint ache in your knuckles nothing compared to the pain in your chest. It’s as if your heart is breaking all over again.

If you had known—if you had discovered this power when he was still with you—would things have been different? Would he have taken you with him? Would you still be together?

You can’t stop the questions, can’t silence the what-ifs that plague you.

Finally, the dam breaks, and you cry.

Pressing your fists against your eyes, you try to stifle the sobs, but it’s no use. The grief crashes over you in waves as the life you tried to build together all plays out in your mind like some twisted, unending loop.

—

The days bleed into one another.

Each is marked by the slow, steady march of time. You continue to live, to survive, but the discovery of your mutant powers changes everything, setting you on a path you had never imagined.

You learn that you can channel energy through your body, whether that be your emotions, or external, and then amplify it for your own gain. It’s a power that protects you, that makes you feel invincible, but the more you use it, the more distant you become from the life you once knew. 

And then there’s the other side of your mutation—the ability to heal others by absorbing their injuries. 

The first time you did it, it was an accident. 

You were closing up shop, and as you walked along the cobblestone roads, you saw a man lying face down. Instinctively, you quickened your pace, and crouched down beside him. Was he drunk? Dead? Gently, almost hesitantly, you reached out, placing your hand on his back with the faint hope that he was simply unconscious. Your intention was simple—just to check if he was breathing, to see if he would stir at your touch.

But the moment your fingers brushed his coat, a violent surge of pain exploded in your mind, like a thunderclap within your skull. The agony was so sudden, so sharp, that it nearly knocked you off your feet. 

It was more than pain—it was as though the man’s suffering had become yours, pulling you into his darkness. Your vision blurred, and for an instant, you could feel it. Blood. Hot and sticky, trickling down your forehead in a slow, steady stream. You raised a trembling hand to wipe it away, expecting to feel the warmth of it on your fingertips.

But there was nothing. No blood. No wound.

Just the phantom sensation of pain that wasn’t your own.

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the pain vanished. You blinked, gasping for air, trying to steady yourself. When you looked down at the man again, he was stirring, groaning softly. His eyes fluttered open, and he sat up, as if waking from a long sleep. He looked up at you, confused but grateful, oblivious to the power you had just unleashed.

It feels like a curse, the pain of others transferring to you in ways that leave you gasping for breath. But over time, you learn to control it, to take on only as much as you can handle, and to let the rest fade away.

You never stay too long in one place. Town after town, you move, always careful to keep your powers hidden. The people you encounter are kind enough, but you never allow yourself to get close. You can’t afford to—not when the memory of him still haunts you, his absence a constant ache in your heart. 

What if they leave you too?

Every now and then, there are some nights of passion with a stranger, but you never find another lover, never allow yourself to even consider it. 

As the years slip by, and you move through life like a ghost, always on the fringes, never fully there. In the beginning, you don’t notice it—time is something you stopped paying attention to long ago. But then, one day, nearly ten years after he left, you catch sight of yourself in a mirror.

Your reflection stares back at you, unchanged, unmarked by the years that have passed. It’s as if time has forgotten you, leaving you suspended in a state of perpetual youth. This knowledge—that you could live indefinitely—fills you with a sense of purpose you haven’t felt in years.

So, when the First World War breaks out, you volunteer as a nurse, determined to use your abilities to save as many lives as you can. The troops who come to you are broken, their bodies ravaged by the horrors of war. You take their pain into yourself, healing them with a touch, until there is nothing left but faint scars—a reminder of what they have survived.

It’s during the Second World War that you first hear the rumours. Injured men speak in hushed tones of a man they saw—a soldier who seemed invincible, fighting with a ferocity that borders on the inhuman. They talk of claws—long, sharp claws that can cut through anything, and a healing ability that allows him to shrug off injuries that would kill anyone else.

Could it be him? Could he still be out there, after all these years?

You dismiss the thought almost as quickly as it comes. It can’t be. He would be dead by now, just like everyone else from your past. 

He is gone, and you are alone—that’s the truth you’ve come to accept.

—

Somewhere along the way, you meet Charles Xavier. You don’t know how, but he knows you. He knows you’re a mutant—how you helped in the war. And he wants you to join his team.

You’ve spent so long on your own, relying on your powers to survive, that the idea of joining a team feels foreign, almost impossible. But there’s something in his eyes, something in the way he speaks of his vision for the future, that resonates with you. This isn’t just about survival—it’s about making a difference, about using your powers to protect those who can’t protect themselves. 

And, perhaps, it’s also about finding closure.

Maybe you can help mutants who struggle with their identity, like he did. Maybe this time, you can stop them from running away from themselves, the way you wish you could have stopped him.

So you agree.

And when you arrive at the mansion, you’re introduced to the others who will become your teammates—Jean Grey, Scott Summers, Hank McCoy, and Ororo Munroe.

The early days are challenging. Learning to work as a team, to trust one another, isn’t easy, especially for you, after so many years of solitude. But a camaraderie that develops between all of you, and it feels right. You’re no longer just a group of shunned mutants—you’re a family, united by a common goal.

—

This mission is supposed to be simple—investigate a remote facility rumoured to have ties to illegal mutant experimentation. Charles had briefed the team before sending you out, warning that there might be danger but nothing you couldn’t handle as a group. You’ve faced threats before, so when you arrive at the facility, it’s with the usual caution but no real alarm.

The structure looks forsaken at first glance, the exterior covered in years of grime, windows cracked and dark. But as you all approach, something feels wrong. There’s an energy in the air, a hum of activity beneath the surface. You can sense it, and by the looks of the others, they feel it too.

“We should be careful,” Scott mutters lowly as his hand hovers near his visor.

Jean furrows her brows. “I’m sensing...something. There are people here. This place isn’t empty”

Your stomach twists, and once the team cautiously makes its way deeper into the facility, you start to hear it—the muffled sounds of machinery, the low hum of voices, and then...a scream.

You freeze.

You’ve heard that scream before, in the dead of night, in memories you’ve tried to bury.

James.

Without thinking, you push forward, your body moving on instinct as you race toward the source of the sound. The others call after you, but their voices fade into the background as panic claws at your chest.

The scream grows louder, more desperate, until you burst into a large chamber. And there, in the center of the room, suspended in a tank of bubbling liquid, he is.

His body is thrashing against the restraints that bind him, wires and tubes connected to his skin. Machines whir around him, injecting something into his body—something molten, silvery. 

A team of scientists in lab coats and armed guards surround the tank, all of them focused on the cruel procedure unfolding before your eyes.

You can barely breathe. The sight of him, after all these years—being tortured like this is too much. Pain and rage surge through you, and before you realize what’s happening, you’re moving again.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you scream.

The guards whirl toward you, but you’re already on them. The first one goes down with a single blow, your fist connecting with his chest and sending him flying into the wall. You barely register his body crumpling to the floor before you move on to the next. 

Behind you, Jean and Scott rush in, their powers flashing as they help subdue the remaining guards, but your focus is on the man in the tank, whose eyes are squeezed shut in pain, body convulsing. You can’t think straight—you can only feel the overwhelming need to make this stop, to save him before the experiment finishes. 

But it’s too late.

In a roar of destruction, he breaks free from the tank, glass and metal exploding outward in every direction. His eyes are wild, erratic, his mind lost to the pain and the transformation—he’s a force of nature now. A whirlwind of violence and fury.

You try to reach him, but Jean steps forward, her eyes glowing as she raises a hand. “I’m sorry,” she strains. Her telekinetic force slams into him, knocking him off his feet, and his body crumples to the ground, unconscious, the rage finally quieted.

Standing there, panting, your hands are shaking as you stare at his still form. You’re overwhelmed—by the sight of him after so many years, by the pain of seeing him like this, by the fear that you might lose him before you even got him back.

Scott places a hand on your shoulder, his voice gentle. “We need to get him out of here.”

You nod, unable to speak, and together, the team lifts Logan’s unconscious body and carries him out of the facility. The entire time, you keep your eyes on him, terrified that if you look away for even a second, he’ll disappear. When you finally make it back to the jet, Jean lays him on a stretcher, her powers keeping him sedated for the trip back to the X-Mansion. You sit beside him, your hand hovering just above his, too afraid to touch, too afraid to hope.

The jet lifts off, and your mind races with a thousand questions. 

How did he end up here? Why did they do this to him? 

But above all, one thought consumes you: He’s alive.

After all these years, after all the heartache and loss, Logan—James—is still here.

—

He remains unconscious for three days, his body healing from the horrific procedure he endured. You barely leave his side, watching over him as if your presence alone could somehow anchor him back to himself. His breathing is steady, but his face—it’s both exactly the same and entirely foreign to you. He looks like the man you’ve known and loved, but it’s what is on the inside that worries you.

You swallow hard, your gaze tracing the familiar lines on his skin. Where are you, James? you think. Are you still in there?

Jean had done a body scan soon after you brought him back to the mansion, and the results confirmed your worst fears: they’ve bound adamantium to his bones and buried his personality underneath the most powerful brainwashing you’ve ever heard of.

It’s devastating. Whatever relief you’d felt—if any at all—at finding him alive is now eclipsed by the crushing reality of what he’s become.

The day he is scheduled to wake, Charles calls a meeting. The team gathers in the briefing room, and you sit quietly in your chair, replaying everything that led up to this moment.

Following a seemingly endless stretch of silence from you, Charles clears his throat. “If you’re ready, perhaps you could tell us more about your history with him. It might help us understand what we’re dealing with.”

A deep breath fills your lungs as your hands clutch the table’s edge tightly. Talking about him, about everything you’ve been through together, feels like peeling at old wounds that never really healed. But you know it’s necessary. If anyone is going to help him, they need to know the truth.

“I met Logan—James, as I used to call him—over a hundred years ago, when I was very young” you begin, and you can see the surprise ripple through the room at the admission of your age. “We grew up together. My parents were servants at the Howlett estate, and I spent most of my childhood by his side. He was my best friend… and eventually, he became so much more.” Your voice cracks, and you pause for a moment, collecting yourself.

“After a tragedy involving his family, we ran away together. We lived in a small mining town for years, trying to find some semblance of a life, but things fell apart. He left, and I—I spent years trying to forget him, but I never could. He was—is—everything to me."

Jean leans forward. “I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you,” she says softly. “But you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that when he wakes up… he may not be the man you remember, and not just because of how much time passed.”

You look up at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She hesitates, exchanging a glance with Charles before continuing. “The brainwashing they used on him wasn’t just designed to make him forget. It was meant to strip away his sense of self entirely. His mind was… broken down, piece by piece. What you saw back at the facility—his rage, his lack of control—that’s what’s left of him right now.”

Hank speaks next. “We’ll do everything we can to help him, but Jean’s right. You need to be ready for the possibility that he won’t recognize you. He might not even recognize himself.”

Nodding slowly, your heart sinks further and further with each word. 

“We have tools, ways to work through the brainwashing,” he continues, “but it will take time. And patience.”

“Time,” you echo quietly. “I’ve already waited so long.”

Ororo reaches across the table, her hand hovering near yours. “I know this is overwhelming. But you don’t have to do this alone. We’re here to help.”

“I need to see him,” you whisper, your voice firmer than before. “When he wakes up, I need to be there.”

Charles nods gently. “Of course.”

—

When he finally stirs, it’s not a gentle awakening. His whole body jerks, his head whipping around in wild confusion. His breaths come in sharp, uneven gasps, and his eyes dart frantically across the room, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, and just as his eyes finally land on you, he freezes.

And for a long moment, neither of you speak.

There’s a lump in your throat, and you wait with a bated breath for some flicker of recognition in his eyes, some sign that he remembers you—that he knows you.

But it never comes.

Instead, his gaze narrows, studying you. “Where the hell am I?” he grunts. “And who are you?”

It hurts more than you expected. You knew this might happen—Jean and Charles had warned you—and you thought you had prepared yourself, but it doesn’t make hearing it any easier. 

He doesn’t remember you. 

“Just take it easy,” you manage to say softly. “You’ve been through a lot, James.”

His eyes flicker with confusion as he shifts in the bed, wincing at the movement. "James?" he questions.

You quickly correct yourself. "Logan."

His hand instinctively goes to his chest, fingers brushing against his side as if testing for wounds that aren’t there anymore. “What is this place?” he asks again. 

“You’re at the X-Mansion,” you explain. “You were... rescued. We brought you here to heal.”

“Rescued.” he repeats dryly. “From what?”

You hesitate, unsure how much to tell him. How do you explain everything—the horrors of Weapon X, the brutal experiments, the torture that nearly destroyed him? You can’t even bring yourself to speak the full truth, not yet. 

“You were taken,” you say carefully. “By people who wanted to use you for something terrible. But we got to you before they could. You’re safe now.”

Logan lets out a short, bitter laugh, though there’s no humour in it. “Safe,” he mutters, his voice low and sarcastic. “Right.” He rubs a hand across his face.

“Why do I feel like I’m missing somethin’?” he mutters, his irritation growing. “Like... like there’s something important I should remember.”

Swallowing hard, your heart twists at his words. He is missing something. But you won’t tell him that now. He’s already grappling with so much, and the last thing he needs is the weight of your shared past thrust upon him before he’s ready.

“Don’t worry about it.” Your voice is gentle, coaxing. “It’s... normal to feel confused right now.”

Frowning, he runs a hand through his hair. “Like I’m supposed to believe that.”

“I know it’s hard to understand,” you say softly. “But it’ll get better. You’ll remember in time.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as if he’s searching for answers that aren’t there. After a moment, he sighs, his eyes returning to yours. “Alright. Who are you, really?” he asks. “Why do I feel like I should know you?”

Because we grew up together. 

Because we were everything to each other. 

Because you were the one person I never stopped loving. 

“Just focus on resting,” you say, forcing a soft smile. 

He studies you briefly, as if trying to figure out whether or not to trust you. Then finally, he nods, thought you can tell he’s still wary “Yeah... okay.”

The awkward silence returns. 

“I should go,” you murmur, standing abruptly. The chair scrapes against the floor, the sound jarring in the quiet room. “You need rest.”

He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t ask you to stay. He just watches as you turn toward the door, and leave.

Your chest tightens painfully as you walk out of the room, the familiar ache of loss settling in once more. It’s worse this time, though—worse because he’s alive, and yet, in every way that matters, he’s gone.

You leave the room in a daze, your mind swirling with a storm of emotions. Your feet carry you down the hall, and before you realize what’s happening, you find yourself in the washroom. 

The moment the door clicks shut, your stomach lurches. You barely make it a toilet before you’re retching. Tears sting your eyes, and you brace yourself against the cold porcelain, gasping for breath as your body shakes with sobs.

Standing up and flushing, you walk over to the sink, and press your forehead against the mirror. How did it come to this? You found him, after all these years, but the person in that bed isn’t the Logan—it isn’t the James—you once knew. 

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you try to pull yourself together. It's not the time to breakdown, you think, and after splashing some water on your face, you turn toward the exit.

Pushing open the door, you’re met with the familiar gaze of Ororo. She stands in the hallway, her white hair cascading down her shoulders, her eyes filled with something that feels like both understanding and pity.

Your eyes widen, caught off guard, not expecting to see anyone, least of all her.

“I saw you come in here,” she whispers empathetically, “but thought you might need a moment.”

You pause, trying to blink away the redness in your eyes, trying to pretend you’re stronger than you feel. But she sees through it. She always has.

“I’m fine,” you say, the words slipping out automatically.

Stepping closer, her gaze softens as she studies your face. “No,” she disagrees, “you’re not.”

The vulnerability you’ve been trying to keep at bay rushes forward again, threatening to swallow you whole. You open your mouth to argue, to brush it off, but the moment you meet her eyes, the words die in your throat. The pity, the compassion—it’s too much.

Silently, she reaches out, her hand resting lightly on your arm. It’s a small gesture, but it feels grounding.

“I saw him,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “He doesn’t remember me.”

“I know,” she says quietly. “I’m so sorry.” 

—

The next few days are a blur. You keep yourself busy—too busy—hoping that constant movement will keep the gnawing ache at bay. If you let yourself stop, if you let yourself think about what’s happened, the hurt would consume you, so you don’t stop.

Most of your time is spent in your room or the garden, taking refuge in the places where you can hide from everything, everyone.

Sometimes, you train, pushing your body past its limits in a desperate attempt to silence your thoughts. Every hit you land, every punch you throw, never feels like enough.

It’s easier this way, you tell yourself. Easier to avoid him, to pretend he never came back into your life. Because the alternative—watching him live here, knowing he doesn’t remember you, doesn’t understand what you once shared—that’s too painful.

You’d rather pretend he’s still a memory than face the reality that the man you love is here, but not really.

When you walk through the mansion, you see him from afar. You can’t help but notice how he’s begun to soften around the others, how the confused man who woke up in that bed is slowly adjusting to life at the mansion. He has daily appointments with Charles, who you imagine is sifting through his mind, doing his very best to retrieve something, anything.

While there is still a distance in his eyes, still a guarded edge to him, but you can see the small shifts—the way he listens when someone speaks, the faintest hint of a smile when Hank tries to crack a joke.

And sometimes, your eyes meet.

From across the room, you’ll catch him watching you. In those moments, your heart skips a beat, wondering if there’s a reason why he’s zeroed in on you specifically, but then he looks away, and it passes. You never approach him, never ask him how he’s feeling or if he’s starting to remember anything. You’re too afraid of the answer.

One night, you sit in the garden, letting the soft breeze play with your hair, eyes closed. 

“Mind if I sit here?”

The voice startles you, pulling you from your thoughts. Your eyelids flutter, and as you turn, your heart jolts upon seeing Logan standing at above you. And momentarily, it’s like you’re teenagers again—sneaking out at night into the gardens to talk. 

“Sure,” you nod, gently patting the space beside you, as you always did. 

He steps closer and sits down, though not without leaving a small space between the two of you. “I’ve been seeing you around,” he says after a beat.. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze focused on the flowers in front of him. “But... you’ve been avoidin’ me, haven’t you?”

A small laugh escapes you, bitter and self-deprecating. “You noticed, huh?”

“Yeah, not much gets past me. Even that one guy’s attempts at being a leader.”

Despite yourself, you snort. “Scott?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “He’s too easy. Guy looks like a human stoplight with those stupid glasses.”

You bite back a snicker, feeling like a teenager again. The banter, the lighthearted teasing—it makes it seem like maybe, just maybe, there’s still something left of the man you knew.

He turns his head slightly, his expression growing more serious. “You know, I’ve been trying to figure it out,” he says, quieter now. “Why it feels like something’s missing. Every time I see you... I know you’re related to it.”

Shifting a little to look at him, you take in the way his facial hair is a little bit more kempt, how he still has his hair tufts. You miss him, and he’s right here with you. 

“I... thought it would be easier,” you admit, staring down at your hands. “For both of us. If I kept my distance. I didn’t want to add to your stress.”

Frowning, his brows furrow as he processes your words. “Add to it? How?”

“Because you don’t remember me,” you say softly. “And I didn’t want to be a reminder of something you can’t recall.”

He stares at you for a long moment. Then, “you’re right. I don’t remember everything,” he says slowly, “but I know there’s something about you.”

You nod, your throat tight, but you don’t push him. You know it’s only a matter of time before the pieces fall into place. “You’ll remember,” you whisper. “I know it.”

He grunts. “I don’t want you to keep your distance.”

“I won’t. Not anymore.” The idea of him wanting to spend more time with you, fills you with joy.

—

For the next few weeks, it becomes a quiet routine—the nightly conversations in the garden. It’s like slipping into an old rhythm, the two of you always finding a way to gravitate toward each other once the sun goes down. You talk about small things, but it's never too heavy. Sometimes he teases you, and you tease him back, exchanging sarcastic quips. Nothing and everything has changed at the same time.

You’ve started training together too, spending more and more time together each day. It’s almost as if there’s a magnet between you that not even time could weaken.

This night, you’re in the gym together on the sparring mat. It’s the usual scenario playing out—dodging, blocking, throwing punches. He’s fast and strong. And it means a lot to see you see him finally embrace his mutant powers and use them, rather than try to hide and run. 

You’re both breathing hard, the exertion pushing your bodies to their limits. You land a solid kick to his side, and he grunts, stepping back for a moment. Without warning, his claws extend, and your gaze locks in on them.

Of course you know about the adamantium, but seeing it like this, so up close, it’s different. 

“What?” Logan asks, noticing your sudden stillness. His brow furrows, and he glances down at his claws, as if he’s only just realizing they’re out. “What are you staring at?”

“Does it hurt?” you question, clearing your throat. “When they come out?”

He tilts his head, his gaze flicking between you and his claws. “Everytime” he sighs. “But not as much as the old ones.”

Your eyes snap up from his claws to meet his. “... What?” you ask. The old ones?

“They were bone,” he continues, “Hurt like a bitch.”

Your heart starts pounding in your chest. Could this be it? Could he be remembering?

Stepping closer, your voice trembles slightly as you push for more. “What else do you remember?”

His eyes widen, and then he blinks, his stare glazing over for a second, like he’s trying to chase down a memory that’s just out of reach.

“I… I don’t know,” he admits with a bit of frustration. His claws retract, his hand flexing unconsciously as he stares at the empty space where the blades once were. “It’s all bits and pieces. I get these flashes, but nothing sticks. Charles said... he said the barriers in my mind are comin’ down, but it’s slow. Like finding a damn needle in a haystack.”

But the fact that he remembers even a sliver, is enough to fill you with hope.

—

This continues, the small fragments of memories coming back to him. They come unexpectedly, at random times in the day. It’s never anything big, never the full flood of memories you’re hoping for, but each time it happens, it feels like another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

You suggest a walk one afternoon. The mansion has felt a little too closed in lately, and you think maybe the fresh air might help clear his mind. Together, you wander along a little pathway that connects the mansion to a nearby river, the sound of the water in the distance a soothing backdrop as you walk side by side. He’s quiet, more so than usual, and as you glance at him, you notice his expression has grown distant.

“Logan?” you ask softly, nudging his arm. “What’s on your mind?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. His brow is furrowed, like he’s trying to fit together pieces of a puzzle, his thoughts distant, swirling. “I remember…” he starts, his voice quiet, as if he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

Your fingers begin to twitch at your side. Every time he remembers something, it feels like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if he’ll fall into the past, if this will be the moment he remembers it all.

“A cabin,” he says finally, his voice rough but certain. “There was a shack. In a small town. I used to stay there.”

You nod, urging him to continue, anticipated building within your chest. “Go on.”

“It was small. Cold most of the time. But I don’t think I cared.” He lets a chuckle. “I liked it. Felt... peaceful.”

You can’t help but smile a little at the memories he’s bringing up. His steps falter, and he stops in the middle of the path, turning to look at you. “Mining,” he mutters, as if the word itself is triggering something. “I remember mining.”

“That’s good,” you say. ‘I’m happy for you.”

—

The memories keep coming.

You’re in the mansion, passing through one of the long hallways together on your way to eat, when he suddenly stops, his hand reaching out to steady himself against the wall. You turn, concern flooding through you. “Are you okay? What is it?”

He frowns, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to force something into focus. “There was a girl.”

“A girl?” you repeat, not wanting to push him but unable to stop the question from spilling out.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “In a big house—like a mansion, I think. We'd play together. She was... she was always following me around. Always gettin’ into trouble.”

You know exactly who he’s talking about.

“Do you remember her name?” 

Shaking his head, you can see the frustration etched onto his face. “No. But she must have been important, I can feel it.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you try to hold yourself together. It was me, you want to say. That little girl was me.

“It’s okay,” you say instead, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. “You’ll remember. You’re already so close.”

He looks at you then, his eyes searching yours for something—answers, reassurance. Once a few seconds pass, he sighs and shakes his head.

“I don’t know how you put up with this,” he grumbles lowly. “With me.”

“Because I know you,” you whisper back. 

To have a chance at another lifetime with him, you’d put up with anything. 

—

He’s busy with Jean and Charles this morning, the duo having started to work together last week, trying to finally break down the wall stopping Logan from recovering his memories. With nothing else to occupy you, you’ve retreated to the mansion’s library, seeking solace in the endless rows of books. The familiar smell of paper and ink is comforting, and for a while, you manage to lose yourself in the words on the page. 

You’re curled up in one of the oversized armchairs, a book resting in your lap, when your ears pick up the sound of heavy footsteps—fast, purposeful, ringing out through the mansion’s quiet halls.

Concern rises in your chest. Those footsteps aren’t casual; someone is rushing, and you’ve been around long enough to know that in here, that usually means something’s wrong.

Setting the book down on the small table beside you, you stand and head toward the entrance of the library. The sound grows louder, the footsteps coming closer, and just as you reach the doorway, you collide with a solid wall of muscle.

"Ho—holy sh—" you gasp, stumbling back, startled. Your hands fly to steady yourself, and you look up, wide-eyed, to see Logan standing there. "Logan, you scared m—"

“James.”

You still. 

"What?" you whisper, your mind racing as you stare at him. His face is different—not just the usual irritated-by-himself expression he’s been wearing lately, but something else. There’s a certainty in his eyes, relief and maybe even—

“My name is James,” he repeats. “I was born in Alberta. We grew up together. I... I killed my father.” His voice falters slightly at that, but he pushes through, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “You were the little girl in the mansion. You’ve always been there. And I—” His eyes brim with emotion. “I love you.”

The words slam into you, leaving you breathless. You can feel the blood drain from your face, your heart jumping so hard it feels like it might burst. “You... you remember?” You’re barely able to get the words out.

Logan—James—stares at you. “I remember everything.”

A sob escapes your throat, and you throw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as the floodgates open. His arms come around you immediately, holding you tight, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m so damn sorry. I should have never left. I should have gone back to find you.”

You shake your head, tears soaking into his shirt. “It doesn’t matter,” your voice breaks. “None of that matters anymore. We’re together now. That’s all I care about.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that won’t stop falling. There’s so much love—so much everything—in his eyes, your knees nearly buckle. All you do is hold on to him, as tightly as you can, afraid that if you let go, this moment will slip away.

But it won’t, because he’s really here, he remembers, and he still loves you.

For what feels like hours, you stand there in the hallway, wrapped in each other’s arms. Eventually, you take a small step back, unwrapping your arms and instead grabbing his hands, squeezing them. “We have a lot to talk about.”

He squeezes your hands back in return. “Yeah, we do.”

—

You sniffle, wiping away the last of your tears as you lie in bed with him, pressed so close it feels like you’re trying to merge into one person. His warmth surrounds you, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist, hands drawing small circles. It’s like all the years apart never happened, like you’re finally back where you’re meant to be.

“So, what made it all come back to you?” you ask softly, your voice a bit hoarsefrom all the crying you’ve done in the last hour.

James takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. “I guess having two strong telepaths diggin’ around in your mind will do the trick,” he responds. “Shit was brutal, but... worth it.”

Tilting his head down, he presses a small kiss to your temple. If even possible, you nestle yourself further into his hold. 

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” you whisper. “All those years... I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Same for me. Thought I lost you too,” James murmurs, his hand running gently up and down your back. “After I left the cabin, I tried to forget. Tried to convince myself you were better off without me, but...” He trails off. “I was wrong—a coward. I shouldn’t have been runnin’ away. Especially from you.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his. “What did you do all those years? Where did you go?”

He lets out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes. “I wandered. For a long time, I didn’t stay in one place. Fought when I had to, drank when I couldn’t forget. Got into a lot of trouble.” He grimaces slightly. 

You frown. “What kind of trouble?”

“The kind where people like me aren’t supposed to be walking free,” he remarks bitterly. “I gave into the monster I thought I was.”

His words sink in, and you can feel the toll those years took on him, the way they left him scarred, not just physically, but emotionally. “It must have been so hard,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “Living like that, without... anyone.”

Leaning into your touch, “Yeah,” he admits. “It was. But... I didn’t know how to live any other way. Not after everything that happened.”

There’s a long pause, the two of you lying there, bodies tangled together as you both process the weight of what’s been lost and what’s been found. Then, he kisses the inside of your hand, looking at you with a faint, curious smile.

“What about you?” he asks softly, tugging you closer. “When did you... ya know, find out you were a mutant?”

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. You’ve never really talked about that part of your life to anyone, at least not in detail. 

“I didn’t know for about a year,” you begin. “After you left, I was... lost. And then one day... I punched a tree.”

James raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. “A tree?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the seriousness of the memory. “Yeah. I was angry—angry at everything. And when I punched it... the damn thing exploded.”

He stares at you for a moment, processing your words. Then, a slow, amused grin spreads across his face. “Exploded, huh? Guess that’s one way to find out you’re not normal.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly subtle.”

His smile fades slightly. “What did you do after that?”

Taking a deep breath, you let the memories of those early days as a mutant flood back. “I tried to keep it hidden for a while. Didn’t really know what to do with it. But then... the wars started.”

Eyes narrowing, his expression changes instantly. “The wars?”

Nodding, you continue. “Yeah, the First and Second. I volunteered as a nurse. I figured if I could use my powers to help people, then maybe I could make up for everything I lost. I moved station to station, healing soldiers. I couldn’t save everyone, but I tried.”

He’s momentarily quiet, gaze never leaving yours, even as he processes what you’re telling him. Then, slowly, his features shift into disbelief.

“You were on the frontlines?” His voice low, almost incredulous. He reaches out to brush a few strands of hair out of your face. 

“Yeah. I wanted to make a difference.”

Letting out a sharp breath, James sits up slightly in bed as he stares at you. “Holy shit,” he mutters. “I fought in those wars, too. In the trenches.”

You’re speechless, and the realization washes over you slowly. The whisperings you’d heard from the troops, the rumours you’d chalked up to be nothing more than drunken tales, suddenly come flooding back. A man who couldn’t be killed, who healed from every injury, who fought with claws that could tear through anything.

It was him.

It was always him.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “So it was true…all those rumours about the man who couldn’t die... that was you.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Guess it was.”

All those years, all those battles... and you were both there, so close, yet so far apart. 

“We were so close,” you say, moving forward in to give him a kiss. “And we didn’t even know it.”

He kisses you back, his grip on you tightening. Then, when you pull away, he sighs, leaning back against the headboard. “It’s all so different now,” he begins gruffly. “You’re not the little maid in training anymore, runnin’ around that mansion, worried about getting caught”

You smile faintly at the memories of your younger selves, the girl you used to be, and the boy who was so much more to you than just a young lord. 

“And you’re not sir James Howlett or whatever—Lord—anymore” you tease. “You’ve come a long way from the boy who used to sulk in the garden because he had to attend another dinner party.”

He lets out a noise that sounds like a mix between a huff and a laugh “Yeah,” he agrees. “That feels like a lifetime ago. And in a way, I guess it was.”

While neither of you are the same people you once were, in this moment, you can feel that connection—the one that has always been there.

“I’ve thought about you every day,” he speaks up again. “All those years.”

“James…”

“I love you,” he confesses. “And I’ve loved you my whole life. Before we ran away, after I left, even after I thought you were gone... I couldn’t forget. Didn’t want to.” He sucks in a harsh breath, grabbing your hand once more. “I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed. We could’ve figured it out together, but I was so... so damn scared. I thought if I stayed, I’d only hurt you.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes again. “You did what you thought was right,” you whisper, intertwining your fingers. “You were scared, and so was I.”

“I wish I could take it all back,” he says, regret bleeding into his tone. “I wish I could’ve been there for you... We could’ve had so many more years together.”

“We have time now,” you say softly, assuring him. “We have all the time in the world to make up for it.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but rather he edges forward, brushing his lips softly against yours. “I love you,” he murmurs before closing the gap completely, kissing you passionately.

You smile against his lips, because while he may be known as logan, or Wolverine, he’s still James.

Your James. 

----

A/N: I'm going to have to either write some crazy smut or excessive fluff now because this took it out of me LOL also I hope none of you got confused with the name switching! Thank you so much for reading <3

[peachysunrize]

Insolent wench ⥃ Prince Regent!Aemond

Summary: when he finds the master of whispers’ daughter in the council room in the dead of the night playing with the marble ball he gave to Aegon earlier, the dragon in him is ready to burn or succumb to her.

Pairing: prince regent!Aemond Targaryen x Larys Strong’s daughter reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Dark content -> manipulation & blackmail! Dark!reader even a bit of dubcon, virginity loss, virgin!reader, degrading, rough sex, spanking, pussy slapping, breeding, fingering, porn with little plot, ehem using the ball as a toy, Larys’ daughter has zero description, English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 3.07k+

A/n: thank you @namelesslosers for giving me this dynamic idea & thank you @sylasthegrim for beta reading this for me🥹 Happy rough fucking with Aemond everyone🤭 Reblogs & comments are most appreciated!💕 also I was too lazy to make an aesthetic moodboard for my fic lol

He lurks in the corridors of the Keep that lead to the Small Council room. It has become his little secret, a routine he has always longed to have, and now, after months of yearning, he finally has it.

The halls are silent, and the sound of every step he takes echoes within the walls. Aemond walks with Blackfyre attached to his hip, the heavy weight of the Valyrian steel makes him smirk. Truly, he has never felt an emotion so deeply rooted inside him that makes the hair on his nape rouse, but now being the regent and the protector of the realm does it for him.

He stops for a moment when he finds the door to the council’s room ajar, the flickering of the candlelight visible from outside. He has never encountered anyone at such an hour, everyone has to be abed, except for the guards who are the ones that aren’t found anywhere near this room.

He takes a cautious step towards the door, hearing the sound of a low humming coming from inside. He reaches for Aegon’s dagger, fingers wrapping around the hilt as he pushes the door open slowly, his good eye skimming the room only to find someone’s back to him, leaning over the table and playing with his marble ball.

“A fine night, is it not, my Prince Regent?” you ask him, your back still to him as you fidget with the ball on the table, walking towards the King’s chair with a sway in your hips.

“What is your business here, Lady Strong?” he asks, letting go of the dagger before he locks his hands behind his back, walking towards his previous seat at the end of the marble desk.

He watches you closely, his good eye following your every move as you sit down on his chair at the head of the table, rolling the ball between your fingers as you look up from the ball to him slowly.

“I am disheartened by your words to my father,” you say, leaning back on the chair while your thumb rubs over the smooth surface of the marble ball in your hand, “he has served the King and your grace faithfully.”

Aemond doesn’t move from his spot, staring solely at your fingers as they rub and caress what belongs to him. He listens carefully, though he is not sure what good it might come out of conversing with a lady like you at such an hour.

“Your father sought power when he already had more than he deserved,” he replies, taking prolonged steps towards you, stopping at Tyland Lannister’s empty chair, “my council is no place for cunning rats like him.”

You chuckle, leaning your head on the back of the chair with a smirk tugging on the corner of your mouth, and it irritates Aemond to no end to see you finding such immense joy in tormenting him—even though you have not really started yet.

You were always such a strange lady to him; so much like your father in the sense that you stopped at nothing to obtain what you wanted".He has heard tales of your rebellious nature in the court, always listening and bothering the royals with your remarks, but they have failed to tell him about your blinding beauty.

“I thought you were ruling in your brother’s stead while he recovers, my prince,” you say, pushing the ball until it starts rolling towards where Aemond stands, “allegedly, this is his council, not yours.”

“Yet your father assumed he’d be my Hand, not my brother’s,” he moves the ball on the table as he walks towards Orwyle’s seat, his gaze never leaving yours, “it does make me wonder how hungry both he and you are for the attention of the royals, my lady.”

“Oh, you have mistaken my motives, your grace,” you stand up, stepping on the opposite side of him, matching his pace as he rounds the table with confidence until he’s standing behind the King’s chair, “I am not here to seek power or the attention of the royals, no. I am here to tell you that sometimes you need to think before you utter some words; ugly rats like my father as you said, tend to thrive on them, best is to learn how to say those words without causing a problem.”

“Mind your tongue, little girl,” Aemond spits out the words, closing his fingers around the ball tightly before he strides towards you purposefully with a tinge of fury in his steps.

“Not little, my prince,” you match his tone, standing where you are until he is right in front of you, the purple of his eye now fully gone as darkness seeps through his iris, “certainly older than you. I reckon you like older women, given your rendezvous to the brothel and all.”

His hand comes up to grip your jaw, squishing your cheeks harshly as he looms over you, his face inches away from yours as his nostrils flare in anger.

“Watch yourself, insolent wench. You are in no position to drag my name in the dirt. Your father tried, and look where he is now—called a Toad by me, dismissed as my Hand and ready to fetch Otto Hightower like a dog,” he says through gritted teeth, his nails digging into your face as he leans closer, his hot breath hitting your lips.

“Your name is already filthy by your own hands. You and Larys Strong have more in common than you think; both kinslayers—“ he cuts you off by spinning you away from him, pushing you down on the table roughly by his large palm on your back.

“Filthy whores like you should be executed in the muddy streets of Flea Bottom and their heads parading around the city on a spike,” he presses himself against your back, his crotch rubbing against your skirt, “Lucky for you, I know how to treat girls like you.”

“I assumed His Grace took no pleasure in taking whores,” you laugh with a jab in your tone at him, “I would love to see how you treat them though. Your brother is the one with tales of his masterful bedding, not you.”

“Tormenting me at the hour of the wolf has severe consequences which I will deliver to you accordingly, Strong,” he groans against your ear, reaching for his dagger to tear through the fabric of your dress, the remaining layers falling on the floor with ease. “Punishment or not, you will learn you shall never wake the dragon for you will burn and the only thing that will remain is your ashes.”

Your small clothes join your ruined dress on the floor, leaving you bare and dripping to the Prince Regent’s eye, devouring the sight of your flesh like a man starved.

The moan that slips from your lips when you feel something cold against your heated cunt is shameless, just like the sound a whore in the Street of Silk would make. 

Aemond starts rubbing your buzzing pearl with the marble ball between his fingers, his breathless laugh against the shell of your ear only makes the feeling of the coldness against your most vulnerable part much stronger.

“You were playing with my property, now I shall use it to make you a property of mine as well,” he whispers, his teeth sinking in the flesh of your neck as he moves the ball faster, your juices flowing down on the cold stone in his hand.

You realize you have awakened the beast within him as he quickens his movements, one hand pinning you to the table and the other rubbing the bundle of nerves furiously, tightening the knot in your core. You fist your hands, nails digging into your palm as your breathing turns into panting.

“It is in your blood it seems, to enjoy having the attention of someone who can easily snap your neck in half,” he mumbles more to himself than you, pleased with how shaky you have become, “you see, insolent wenches like you should be put in their place. How fortunate you are to be under my care.”

As soon as you feel your breaking point, he takes away the ball from your cunt, making you whine and arch your back in protest. He chuckles darkly, bringing the ball to your lips before he orders you to suck and clean the ball off your juices.

“My Prince—“

“Go on, you tart, show your prince how much of a power-hungry slut you are, maybe I will reconsider naming your father as my Hand.”

You comply, licking your nectar off the cold marble, humming at the taste. Aemond knows these games, at least he knew them with the little education he had in the brothels, but you? You are a different kind of lady, a master in disguise. It irritates and arouses him to no end.

Aemond lets go of the stone, bringing his palm down on your arsecheek roughly, making you yelp in surprise. He repeats his action, slapping your backside one more on the same spot he did a few seconds ago. 

You whine in pain and unbelievable pleasure as the sting of his hand spreads through your flesh, a deep primal desire rushing to your aching pussy. He looks down to find you wetter than before, and the sight makes him almost lose his self-restraint, almost.

You wrap your hand around the ball tightly, crying out when you feel the impact of another spank not on your bottom but on your cunt. The pain mixes with an undeniably overwhelming pleasure that has you biting your lip, not wishing to give him the satisfaction. He senses it anyway and hears the muffled scream as he lands another slap on your swollen folds with a sinister smile. 

“I wonder if your father knows of your whereabouts, his daughter ready to be turned into his future king’s whore,” he brings two of his fingers to his mouth, covering them with his spit before he reaches down to play with your pussy, no patience left in him as he thrusts his fingers inside you, groaning at the feel of your warmth.

You do not have the chance to tell him about your maidenhead, and with how fast he is moving his fingers, you can no longer think of it as an issue — your plans are falling into the right path.

Your mind has turned into a mush with how luscious his fingers feel inside you, not a foreign feeling but his fingers are much longer and thicker than you and reach deeper inside you, having you moaning and clawing the table.

“It only takes a few fingers to have your mouth shut, Lady Strong. I wonder what you’d do when I have my cock deep in your cunt,” he leans down to lick at your cheek, his fingers moving faster as he presses his bulge to your thigh. This time, he doesn’t pull away and keeps his pace up, curving his digits to hit your sweet spot rapidly, bringing you closer to your high. 

“My prince, please—“

“That’s it, Strong, give it to me,” he groans out the words, resting his forehead on the side of your face. He hums as soon as you start shaking and tightening around his fingers, gushing your wetness on him.

He doesn’t kiss you, no, he just licks over your lips as you moan and part them in pure delight, seeing stars as your peak rocks your body forward. 

“Fuck it, I need to be buried inside you, seeing for myself how the real blood of Strongs feels like,” he says, biting your cheek as he pulls his fingers out, wiping them on the red handprint on your bottom before reaching for his doublet, unbuttoning it and pulling his linen undershirt out of his leather pants. His fingers unlace his trousers quickly, pushing them and his breeches down enough for his cock to spring free.

He aligns his leaking tip with your soaked entrance, filling you to the hilt with one swift snap of his slim hips. Aemond groans, your wet pulsating walls enveloping his length in a delicious way that not even Sylvie has made him feel.

His hands make a home on your hips as soon as he starts thrusting his cock at a fast bruising pace, not letting you adjust to how his girth stretches your walls more than you thought you’d expect. Your maidenhead is now gone, you can feel his tip licking at the head of your womb, nudging it with each snap of his hips to yours.

Aemond cannot take his eye off of the way his cock disappears inside you, coated with your essence and wetness as he fucks you with abandon, his brain foggy with a desire he has only felt while burning his brother and killing his nephew—you are special in his eye, you awaken the dragon within him, insolent wench as he so likes to call you.

Your hands grow clammy, and the ball falls from your grasp with Aemond’s rough hammering, rolling on the table until it falls on the floor, making a loud uncomfortable noise that matches your unladylike moans and gasps in pleasure.

“You can’t even hold a fucking ball in your hands, Strong. Is your father as weak as you? Will he succumb to me the way you have with just a cock inside your tight pretty cunt?”

It is you who has succumbed to me, you think to yourself as coherent as your thoughts can get without the feeling of him overwhelming your senses. You nod mindlessly, thinking of how he has fallen into your trap so easily.

He comes hard, his hip bones pushing your plush thighs to the rough edges of the council’s table, filling you to the brim with his royal seed. Aemond’s head is thrown back, groaning at your name as his cock twitches inside you, the final ropes of his warm cum painting your walls.

“What have you done?” you ask shakily, faking terror as you try to push him away from you, 

“what— how could you, my prince?”

“What?” he asks dumbfounded, pulling his now softened cock out of you, looking at you with his mind now sharper than before, “what are you saying, my lady?”

“Which lord will now take me as his bride? I am—may the Seven help me— I am tainted! I-I cannot find a husband, m-my maidenhead!”

“You…” Aemond’s voice falters, “you were… you were still a maiden?”

“I was! How crude you have to be to sully my name like a- like the whores you visit? I cannot believe you—“

“Wait!” he tries to reach for you, his lips parted in sheer surprise and terror as you push away from him, nearly dropping on his knees, “My Lady, we should have a word—“

“No!” You fix your dress as best as you could, shaking your head as you run away from him, opening the doors without even looking at him, leaving him shocked and confused with his soft dick out, looking like a deer caught by the hunters.

With so little sleep, Aemond walks through the same hallways he took last night, waltzing inside the small council with a pulsating heart. His eye finds Larys alone in the room, humming as he plays with the marble ball you — his daughter — were playing with last night.

“My Prince Regent,” Lord Larys stands up and bows, “what a lovely day, do you not think so?”

“Lovely morrow indeed,” Aemond says, sitting at the head of the table, glaring at Larys who rolls his marble ball from side to side, “state your mind or leave me.”

“My daughter, Your Grace,” Larys sighs, a ghost of a smirk finding its way onto his face, “she was… in a not-so-pleasant state for her status when she sought me out.”

“What of her?” Aemond tries to remain unbothered, but he knows there is a scheme going on that his intelligence could not pick up on last night.

“She said you forced yourself upon her,” Larys drops the ball on the floor as he locks his hand on the table, his eyes meeting Aemond’s, glaring at him with newfound confidence, “that no Lord will take her now, that you have tainted and impured my daughter!”

“I assure you, my good Lord, that is a lie. Your daughter was the one who made me do it—“ he tries to reason with him, but Larys has none of it.

“So you admit that you yielded to your desires and took my daughter’s innocence! How wild, how disgusting! To know I wished to be in your council—“

“‘Mind your tongue, Lord Larys. I do not care if you are to leave the Keep, but you will not talk to me as if I’m lesser than I was before!” Aemond’s voice booms through the room, slamming his fist on the table as he stands up.

“You are a lesser man, Prince Aemond. A man who gave into his desires and used his power over a helpless noble woman…”

“What is it you wish for me to do? I have not forced myself upon your daughter, she partook in the act willingly if not more enthusiastically than me.” Aemond’s breathing changes and his knuckles turn white as he tries to stop himself from doing something he would surely regret.

“She was crying in my arms last night—“

“Name it and it is yours!” Aemond yells at him, walking to grab Larys by his collar, “You want me to name you my Hand? I will. But in return, you shall keep your mouth shut.”

“You are in no position to tell me what to do, my prince,” Larys calms down a bit, knowing the plan he and you have made has been done perfectly, “you will make me your Hand, and you will marry my daughter in a fortnight.”

“Not acceptable! We will lose Baratheons’ support!” Aemond shoves Larys back on his seat before he starts pacing, “You are my Hand from now on, and I will arrange a good match for your daughter.”

“No, she will be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, or I will taint your reputation the way you have done to my daughter.” 

Rest assured, Larys Strong’s only child married the former Prince Regent and now the King in a fortnight with a lavish feast thrown for her.

[please-destroy]

Chin Up

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

.

When you first met Natasha, she had blue hair. 

She was awkward, limbs growing faster than she knew what to do with. Still skinny enough to be drowned by a band t-shirt that needed the sleeves rolled up. 

You were the new kid at school. You were even more awkward.

On your first day, you saw her sitting alone at lunch. The cafeteria was overwhelmingly busy, seats at every other table were being fought over. You tried to keep your chin up as you walked the length of Natasha’s otherwise empty table, sliding onto the stool across from her. 

Natasha’s head snapped up from her book at your arrival. It was a beaten up paperback, spine folded back on itself. 

‘Any good?’ You asked cheerfully, if a little desperately. Just one friend. That’s all you needed. The other children made wide berths around you in the corridors, as if you were more alien than stranger. 

Natasha seemed frustrated by your inquiry. She closed her book quickly and stuffed it back in her bag.  She stared down at her half eaten peanut butter sandwich, purposefully avoiding your nervous smile.

You didn’t know what you’d done wrong.

‘Sorry.’ You muttered, heat flaming your cheeks.

You started to bounce your leg anxiously under the table. You picked at your own sandwich. You weren’t hungry, but you didn’t want to look even weirder than you already were. 

A lump caught in your throat as you looked across the rest of the cafeteria. You felt jealous of the easy banter between the other large groups of students. You wished that it could be you. That you could fit in, just this once. 

‘Sometimes they steal my books.’ Natasha said unexpectedly. Her voice was carefully even. She tightened her loose grip on the strap of her backpack.

You glanced back out at the sea of students. Their playful banter had a mocking edge to it that you hadn’t noticed before.

‘That sucks.’ You answered fiercely. 

Natasha rolled her eyes casually, taking another bite of her sandwich and retrieving her book again. You took a deep breath, settled by her returned nonchalance.

You felt hungrier and refocused on your lunch. As you ate, you zeroed in on a group of girls across the room. They were laughing as they ripped pages slowly from another beaten up book. Your mouth opened in shock.

‘They’re the worst.’ Natasha spoke up again, casually following your gaze. Her tone was dismissive. 

You didn’t speak. You stared at your fingers as they twisted together atop the laminate table. Anxiety rolled through you.

So far, none of these kids seemed to like you. You weren't even sure that you wanted them to. The next few years of education stretched before you ominously. 

Suddenly, you felt a plastic wrapper graze your forearm. You startled and looked up. Natasha pushed the chocolate bar across the table with her fingertips.

‘My mom always packs two.’ She informed you with a shy shrug. 

One of the kids at this school liked you.

You smiled again.

‘I like your blue hair.’ You blurted as you took the chocolate bar. 

Natasha’s cheeks tinged pink. You caught the way she lifted her chin up when she next met your eyes. 

‘Thanks.’ She mumbled, awkwardly offering out her hand to shake. ‘My name’s Natasha.’ 

.

Natasha was your first friend. For a long time, she was your only one. 

Then, one day she was no one at all. 

.

You didn’t see her again until 2012. 

.

When your best friend had first gone missing, the stories that swarmed the neighbourhood were unbelievable.

There had been no warning from the family. No phone number, no forwarding address. 

The first rumour was that loan sharks were after Natasha’s Dad. 

Then, men in suits came knocking on the neighbours’ doors. The rumours shifted to something more criminal; money laundering, fraud. 

Bullies at school laughed at you. The joke was that you’d somehow scared off the second weirdest kid in school. You grieved Natasha’s disappearance alone.

You sat through classes silently, dreaming up a hundred reasons to justify why Natasha might leave you behind in a place like this.

Nothing could have been more far-fetched than the truth. 

A super spy.

You were watching the live news broadcast when New York was attacked. Everyone was. 

You stared at raw footage of an alien race invading the planet. Nothing could be more shocking, you thought. And then, you saw the Avengers.

Natasha did not look the same. 

No more awkward and gangly; no more blue hair. 

It was the familiar tilt of her chin as she stared up at a passing spacecraft that jolted your memory.

You knelt in front of your TV, trying to get closer to the impossible picture. 

Two days later, the city officials held a large press conference. It was hosted on the first floor of the new Stark Tower. Steve Rogers and Tony Stark were in attendance.

Tony Stark called her ‘Red’ off-handedly.

That’s what gave you the idea.

There was nothing else you could think to do anyway. Natasha Romanoff had the shortest Wikipedia entry you’d ever seen.

You addressed a letter to Stark Tower in the hopes it might reach her. It was beyond a long shot, but you had to try. 

It was hard to explain the national feeling of adrenaline that lingered after the attack. It almost seemed like sure fate that Natasha would reply. Aliens were real and Earth had won. Impossible odds were being beaten all the time.

It was not that easy. It took six months for you to hear a response. 

Your phone buzzed in the middle of the night with a text. 

Despite the late hour, the message was carefully constructed. 

You used to be able to read Natasha’s nervousness a mile off. When her Dad called her home early. When the teacher called her out for exceptional work in class. When you asked her favourite Christmas present and she stumbled over the answer.

‘Thanks for reaching out.’ She began, formal with her friendliness. ‘I do remember you and I appreciated your letter. We should catch up soon.’

The text sounded distant, but you felt certain that she wouldn't have sent it if she hadn’t wanted a response.

You tried to picture the woman that you’d seen on television, but all you could think of was the blue haired girl.

Despite everything that had happened. Natasha was still Natasha.

You called her. 

She answered after two rings. Vindication rippled over your skin, you were right.

‘Hi.’ Natasha breathed out.

Her voice rasped unfamiliarly.

Your heart twisted as you heard all the years that had passed. 

Natasha Romanoff was an adult now. 

‘I’ve missed you so much.’ You told her before you had time to think.

You heard her muted surprise in shallow breaths.

‘I missed you too.’ She murmured after a moment. There was a pang of emotion in her voice, you could feel it down the phone. ‘You were my best friend.’

Your stomach swooped strangely at her words.

You tried to play off the feeling. You sighed with mock dramatics.

‘Now you prefer the Hulk right?’ You teased.

‘Oh yes.’ Natasha hummed, picking up the easy pattern of your teenage conversations. ‘He’s much better company.’

You talked for twenty minutes, mixing nostalgia with light inquiries about her new life. 

Before the call ended, Natasha invited you to visit her in New York.

It was an easy answer to give. 

When you hung up the phone, you held it close to your chest for a moment. The room was beginning to grow light with the dawn outside.

.

Natasha was not an awkward teenager anymore. 

She waited for you in the entrance of Stark Tower, dressed casually in leggings and a hoodie. 

It was unnerving. She was almost familiar to you. 

Your eyes met as you entered through the glass front doors. 

Natasha hugged herself, playing with the grey fabric of her hoodie.

You remembered the nervous gesture. You wondered if she still had the habit, or if she’d just remembered it because of you.

You sensed her uncertainty as you got closer. You opened your arms for a hug and she looked grateful for the direction. 

She fit perfectly. 

Your eyes filled with tears as her arms tightened around you. 

When Natasha pulled away, she gave you a confused look. 

You shook your head, swallowing down the lump in your throat. 

‘I always hoped you were okay.’ You mumbled, wiping your cheeks, embarrassed at how quickly you’d gotten emotional. ‘Fuck, I’m so glad you’re alive.’

Natasha’s eyes shuttered with a sudden blankness. She tried to shake it away too. 

‘No-one’s ever said that to me before.’ She murmured under her breath, before leading you back to the Tower’s elevators.

You pondered her words during the silent elevator ride. Natasha’s life was clearly full of danger. She was on the front line of extra-terrestrial defence. She’d fought monsters on live tv. 

You thought of the fake American Mom and Dad you’d been introduced to. You thought of the little sister, who had seemed so devoted to Natasha. 

Now no one was waiting for Natasha to come home safe. 

In the elevator you took her hand, squeezing it gently.

Natasha looked at you, eyes crinkling with simple happiness. She squeezed back. 

‘Red hair suits you.’ You commented. ‘But, I preferred the blue.’

Natasha rolled her eyes with mock exasperation. The elevator doors opened. 

.

The space was obviously built to be a common area, but it was empty now. 

Natasha led you right through the middle of it. 

You entered her room, following behind her. You stopped in the doorway, trying to take it in.

As a teenager, Natasha’s bedroom had been wall-to-wall with bright posters. In contrast, this room seemed almost clinically blank. A single piece of understated art hung on the far away wall. The bedspread was pristine white, like a hotel.

Your eyes clung to the only piece of personality in the room. A stack of CDs and a CD player lay on the hardwood floor, next to the largest window you’d ever seen. You recognised the top CD’s cover art immediately; Nevermind by Nirvana.

You looked at Natasha in surprise. It had been her favourite album when you’d last known her. 

Natasha met your gaze readily. There was a glint of defiance in the tilt of her chin. 

‘Oh, so you still have good taste.’ You grinned.

There was a pause. Natasha’s lip twitched with the start of a smile. Then, she hugged herself again.

‘I loved those songs.’ Natasha whispered, and her sudden fragility startled you. ‘It was the best time.’

Her eyes were careful, but you felt the emotion hiding in them. You moved forward again, hugging her instinctively.

‘The best time.’ You agreed quietly.

You spent the afternoon listening to the album, then another one, then another. The CDs were well played. Sometimes the disc would catch for a moment, but the song would always persevere.

You didn’t feel the need to talk. 

Natasha sprawled out on her bed, head cupped in her hands as she faced you. You sat on the windowsill next to the music, leaning your head against the side and watching her in return. 

You exchanged smiles back and forth. You exchanged memories of the songs with just a twitch of an eyebrow or the quirk of a lip. 

Natasha’s finger tapped at the side of her jaw absentmindedly. 

Eventually, time moved on. When one album finished playing, Natasha swung her legs over the side of her bed and stretched casually. You didn’t believe the nonchalance for a second, sure that such a smooth gesture must take forethought. 

‘Dinner?’ She asked and you nodded with a smile, ready and terrified to meet her roommates.

Captain America offered you a bowl of pasta.

The weirdest day of your life only got weirder. The other Avengers were sitting around watching a large flat-screen television. Natasha picked her feet up as she stepped around their legs, heading to the furthest away sofa. 

You followed behind her, muttering quiet hellos in answer to the openly curious stares of Iron Man, Hawkeye and Dr. Banner.

Natasha tucked her legs underneath her as she sat in the far corner of the sofa. 

Automatically, you followed a habit that had been established years before. You threw yourself casually into the space directly next to her. Your fork snuck over to her bowl of pasta, stealing a piece. You tasted it and grinned.

‘Yours is always better.’ You complained, watching as Natasha stuck her tongue out in response. 

You only remembered your audience when Tony Stark cleared his throat.

‘Did she tell you that she’s a ruthless assassin.’ He stated loudly, receiving a not-so-subtle elbow jab from Captain America.

‘What?’ Tony retorted, rubbing his side pointedly. ‘She’s never brought a date home before. And there must be a reason she’s called the Black Widow.’ 

You watched Natasha from the corner of your eye; the sudden embarrassment spilling over her face. The shame that lingered for a split second.

‘Not all names are literal.’ You answered bitingly, feeling an old defensive urge flaring. There had been enough bullies going after Natasha when you were at school. ‘We don’t call you Micro-Penis Man, do we?’

Hawkeye snorted with laughter, Dr. Banner’s lip twitched. 

‘Clever.’ Tony drawled sarcastically. 

You ignored him, turning back to Natasha instead. Her expression was unreadable as she searched your face. You didn’t know what she was looking for. 

You sat in silence for the rest of your meal, watching the generic movie on screen instead of engaging in more awkward conversation. More than once though, you felt the curious stares of the others lingering on you.

.

As soon as you’d both finished eating, Natasha led you back to her room. This time, the air inside felt different. You caught the loosening of her shoulders, her subtle relief at returning to her own space. She threw her hoodie on top of her bedspread.

You glanced back around the room, realising abruptly that the minimal design wasn’t meant to feel clinical. It was more reminiscent of a spa. 

You caught Natasha’s attention and gave her an encouraging smile.

‘Nice digs.’ You commented, raising your eyebrows.

Natasha laughed once, voice so much richer than you remembered. She ran her fingers through her hair. Your eyes caught on the muscles flexing in her bare arm. 

‘It’ll do.’ She shrugged teasingly. ‘It’s nicer than Ohio.’

You sniffed dramatically. ‘Less alien attacks in Ohio.’

‘Just Russian infiltration.’ Natasha countered dryly. A tension shivered through you as she finally acknowledged the unspoken. The childhood friendship that had brought you here and the lie at the centre of it. 

A burning sadness bubbled up inside you. You could taste it burning your throat. Your eyes pricked suddenly with tears. 

Natasha stared at you with confusion and something akin to fear. 

You moved toward her, watching as she resisted an urge to step further back. You took her hands in yours. You blinked and for a moment, her hair was blue.

‘I’m going to say this wrong.’ You explained ruefully, holding her wide eyed attention. Her palms were warm, soft and familiar. 

‘I’m on your side.’ You promised clumsily. ‘Even if you decide to join the aliens. Even if you don’t want it. You didn’t stop being my best friend.’

You waited for an evaluating stare, a moment of hesitation. 

Instead, you felt the soft push of Natasha’s head pressing against your shoulder. Her body moved flush against yours. Your arms slid around her back. You felt the curve of her spine beneath her clothes. The thud of her heart, hidden within a ribcage.

‘There’s a spare room ready.’ Natasha murmured at last, words muffled. ‘But maybe you can just stay in here.’

Natasha held her chin high as she took a step back, regarding you expectantly. 

A wide smile broke out on your face. 

‘A sleepover? On a school night?’ You teased, enjoying the way your acceptance brightened Natasha’s countenance too. 

.

You changed into your pyjamas in Natasha’s ensuite bathroom. You brushed your teeth and stared at yourself for a few minutes in her large mirror. 

You wondered how different you must look to her now. If she noticed all the traces of growing up laid out on your skin. 

Natasha was beginning to feel eternal. 

You left the bathroom and froze almost immediately in your tracks. 

Natasha was standing beside her bed, putting on her pyjama top. It was halfway over her head and her bare back faced you. 

You couldn’t stop your sharp intake of breath. 

Scars littered her soft curves.

Harsh, deep welts that hurt to look at. Her skin was mottled in places, coated with different shades of injury. Some scars were older, but others seemed painfully new. 

They criss-crossed into a brutal painting, brushstrokes feverishly ripped across her skin. 

A sharp sense of outrage was already burning through you. A need to fix what had already been done. 

Natasha had already pulled her top down calmly, turning to face you with steady resolve. 

‘I’m not ashamed of them.’ She said with simple directness. 

Natasha kept her chin up as you walked closer to her. You noticed the slight tremble in her jaw when you were inches from her. She held her arms still at her side and you wondered if she was resisting the urge to hug herself. Defensiveness rippled through her. A readiness to hold onto her dignity.

You had seen that stance many times before, in the high school cafeteria. 

For the first time, you realised that Natasha did not remember you like you remembered her. She could not recall the simplicity of teenage drama and stupid crushes. 

A lifetime of trauma sat between you. There was no before or after with Natasha. She’d had scars long before she’d had blue hair.

There were no words for your new understanding. Your chest squeezed with something like love or sadness.

‘I know.’ You answered her at last. You shrugged helplessly. ‘I just wish I’d been around.’

You touched Natasha’s face without thinking, a careful stroke along her cheek. Your fingers reached her hair and you touched a piece of it reverently. When you looked back to her face, Natasha’s eyes were closed. 

Your kiss was feather light. Your lips barely brushed hers. The taste of her stained your mouth anyway. You felt yourself reorientate like a compass finding North. 

Natasha’s eyes fluttered open, her smile was shy. You still saw the fear lingering at the edge of everything. You chose not to mind it. 

.

You slept in the same bed that night. Natasha held your arm lightly between her own. 

Her even breaths lulled you with their gentle rhythm. Loose strands of her hair tickled your clavicle. 

You stared at the ceiling and thought about intimacy. About love and friendship. 

The lingering tattoo of Natasha on your lips was spreading through your veins now.

At 3am, an alarm sounded.

Sudden and pounding, it echoed from the ceiling. A droning tempo that had you scrambling to your feet.

Natasha grabbed your arm tiredly, halting your sleepy confusion

‘Avengers alarm.’ She informed you, her voice crisp and clear. You felt like you’d barely blinked before a dressed Natasha Romanoff was walking out the door. 

All the words you wanted to say were still on your tongue. 

.

Seven hours. 

Seven hours spent pacing the common room. Watching an unhelpful news broadcast and hoping the building’s AI system might finally tell you something useful. 

Seven hours imagining the worst. Seven hours praying for her to come home. 

.

When the elevator doors opened at last, you were beside yourself. 

‘Thank God.’ You muttered as you hurried forward, pulling Natasha into a tight hug. You breathed her in. ‘Thank God.’ You repeated, more for yourself than for her.

When you let her go, Natasha took a moment to look at you properly. 

‘You waited.’ Natasha commented slowly, her gaze never wavering. 

You nodded silently, a lump caught in your throat. You couldn’t understand her expression. You didn’t have time to think

Her hand touched your waist. With one finger she reached over, tilting your chin towards her.

She licked her lips, full of intention. 

Her mouth pressed softly against yours. 

You were a compass and she was North.

.

When you fell in love with Natasha, she had red hair.

[honey-tongued-devil]

↠The last drop tour

| Part 1 | | Part 2 | | Part 3 |

This tour is designed to provide those who need it with a complete map of the Last Drop, as well as to help me (and anyone reading my fanfiction, Everytime it Rains) clearly envision the spaces while reading. This tour is incredibly detailed, and I’ll explain both the location and what you’re looking at. Let’s just say I’ll be your personal tour guide! Enjoy!

↠FIRST PART, THE BAR

Let’s start with the entrance! The door is massive, asymmetrical in true Zaun style, made of stained glass and steel. To the right of the door is the Last Drop’s electric meter, while on the left stands the iconic, battered jukebox. In these photos, it looks especially worse for wear because they were taken after the fight between Vi and Sevika.

And we can finally turn around to take in the Last Drop in its entirety! For accuracy, I’ve included both a screenshot from “Jinx Fixes Everything” and an image from Nikolai Lebedev’s ArtStation portfolio.

There are about four fairly large round tables scattered across the central area of the room. The floor is herringbone wood, and the lighting is spread out. While I didn’t take the photos myself, the LED lights are dispersed across the ceiling. On the second floor, you can still spot a yellowish-greenish sign featuring the Last Drop’s symbol, and the “columns” are adorned with blue lights.

If you’re looking for warm lighting, the yellow neon lights and the ones behind the bar are switched on; the cooler lights are positioned along the side walls of the venue.

Before moving on to show you what’s around the main rectangle, I’d like to point out that the staircase to the left of the bar leads to the upper floor. Next to it is a small corridor that takes you to arcade machines and the pool table seen in several scenes.

"What’s on the sides of the rectangle? What do you mean?"

Yeah, I wasn’t sure how else to describe it, but while the public and chaotic section where people dance is the central rectangle, to the right and left of that area are two booths on each side. These booths have fixed tables and heavy curtains that can be closed to ensure maximum privacy.

This is where customers strike deals—we see it in Act 1 when the two Bilgewater pirates threaten Huck. Since the Last Drop came under Silco’s control, the first booth now displays pictures of him (and two other chembarons, though theirs are small and insignificant), commemorating the venue’s inauguration.

So, if you’re looking for privacy, this is the perfect spot.

But follow me—before I take you to Silco’s office, I’ll bring you to another place I’m sure none of you expected to see. Through the door to the right of the bar, there’s a small flat area, perfect for storing spare drinks, followed by a long staircase leading down. But first, we need to grab the key. Silco cared deeply about keeping this place intact, so it’s been locked up the entire time. In the meantime, take a look at the bar!

The key is nailed to one of the planks of the bar—it was necessary to stop here to retrieve it. But let’s not dawdle, down we go!

I know you’d never have guessed, but Silco was an extremely sentimental person. He decided not to touch the little room where Vander and his kids used to live. Instead, he locked it up and let it remain "sacred" in its own way. The room is very small and packed with stuff, so it’s hard to move around. You’ll have to settle for a quick glimpse. Let me jog your memory by reminding you that when Vander talks to Vi and sends Mylo and Claggor out of the room, the staircase Claggor sits on is the same one we just came down.

What do you say—shall we head back up? Taking the staircase on the left side of the bar, we arrive at the upper floor! At first glance, it’s just a mezzanine, as it aligns with the "public" rectangle of the bar below. To the left of the stairs, we have Silco’s office, which I’ll show you in detail another time. Over there, where you now see the barrels, is where, in my story, there’s a door leading to the upstairs area—currently Vander and the kids’ home. That door gets covered during event nights to prevent any troublemakers from wandering into their house. On the right, we have the DJ’s console and more tables for those who’d rather enjoy their drinks in peace than join the dance floor.

The reason I suggest you take a break and grab a drink before entering Silco's office is that there's really a lot to see. Here you’ll find my Masterlist, which includes both Part 1 and Part 2 of the tour.

[p0orbaby]

if you’re still doing blurbs could you do one with alexia where she’s dating a doctor who has a very busy schedule, and alexia has a concussion in the training and gors to the hospital, and alexia sends a message to reader telling about it but r doesn’t see and when shes going to take care of the next patient it’s alexia? lmao or maybe alexia and r have a daughter and her daughter gets injured and shes the next patient and r goes feral about it idk

i changed the injury but i hope you still like it !

-

The shift is hell, as usual. You’re striding through corridors, flicking through paperwork and half-listening to one of the interns ramble about a patient they’re struggling to diagnose. Something about abdominal pain and “maybe a foreign object ingestion?” You nod distractedly, mentally filing it under deal with later.

“Just send them for imaging,” you say, not breaking your stride. “And next time, don’t say ‘foreign object’ like you’re narrating a true crime documentary. It’s unsettling”

The intern stammers out a response, but you’re already waving them off. “You’ll be fine. Go. Be great or something.” Another day, another long list of problems, it seems. You let yourself drift into autopilot, the professional rhythm of your job taking over as you stride towards the cubicle and pull back the curtain.

“Hi, I’m Dr Putellas,” you begin, still not looking up. “What seems to be—”

“¿Estás bromeando?”

You freeze. Your grip on the clipboard tightens, and your heart drops into your stomach because that voice, that exasperated, honey-warm, decidedly unimpressed voice, belongs to your wife.

Your injured wife, apparently.

“Alexia?” you blurt, snapping your head up to find her sitting on the exam table, her left leg stretched out in front of her, an ice pack balanced precariously on her knee.

She doesn’t look happy.

“Hola, cariño,” she says, dry as dust. “Fancy seeing you here”

For a moment, all you can do is stare, caught between disbelief and irritation. “What—what happened? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I did call you,” she replies, gesturing to her phone sitting next to her on the table. “Several times. Apparently, you’re very busy and important”

Your stomach twists with guilt as you instinctively check your phone. Sure enough, three missed calls from Alexia. You curse under your breath, shoving it back into your pocket and stepping closer.

“Are you okay?” you ask, switching instantly from doctor mode to wife mode. “What happened? Is it bad? Why didn’t someone—”

“Relax, doctor,” Alexia interrupts, lifting her free hand to stop your avalanche of questions. “It’s not that bad. Just a tackle gone wrong at training”

You glance at the ice pack, then at her knee, which looks swollen but not grotesque. “Define ‘not that bad.’ Can you move it?”

Alexia sighs like you’re overreacting and flexes her leg a little, wincing but managing. “See? It’s fine. Probably just a sprain”

“Sprains don’t feel fine,” you mutter, already pulling on gloves and grabbing your supplies. You kneel down, gently pressing around her knee, watching her face for any reaction.

“Your hands are cold,” she says, the corner of her mouth twitching like she’s trying not to smile.

“Your knee is swollen,” you counter.

“Touché”

You’re quiet for a moment, focused on the task. The swelling isn’t as bad as you feared, but it’s enough to set off every alarm in your mind. You sit back on your heels, exhaling slowly.

“You need imaging,” you say firmly. “Just to be safe”

“Of course I do,” she replies, her tone light but her eyes softening. “Because I’m married to the most thorough doctor in this hospital”

“Don’t flirt with me right now,” you say, though your lips twitch in a betrayed smile. “You scared me”

Her expression softens further, and she reaches out, brushing her fingers against your cheek. “Lo siento, mi amor. I didn’t mean to”

You close your eyes briefly, leaning into her touch. Then, with a deep breath, you stand up, trying to refocus.

“Alright,” you say briskly, grabbing the chart again. “Let’s get you x-rayed and figure out what’s going on. And after that, you’re resting. No arguing.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Alexia says, her smile turning mischievous. “But I might need some help resting”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Careful, Putellas. I can still make you wait for a nurse”

“Please.” She gestures around dramatically. “You’d never leave me at the mercy of hospital food”

“Not unless you keep up that attitude,” you mutter, but your heart is already lighter.

You press a quick kiss to her temple before heading for the door. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere”

“Where would I go?” she calls after you, gesturing to her knee.

[elikajinnie]

hiii I LOVED ur ni-ki hogwarts au and I wanted to request more for ni-ki in hogwarts au if that’s okay 😭😭?? I love ur writing, it’s really immersive and I’ll definitely look forward to many more of ur writings 😭🫶

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘽𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙮 𝙊𝙛 𝙎𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙄𝙘𝙚 - N.R

AHH THANK UU!! I was quite unsure if you wanted part 2 from the previous one, but nahh i will give you all a new scenario :) (Big thanks to bestie @starf4lls for the help for this one!! Ily! <3 (thanks for buying me hogwarts legacy, will never forget it)

P: Slytherin!Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Teasing

Synopsis: When you transfer to Hogwarts from Ilvermorny, you quickly catch the attention of Nishimura Ni-ki, a charming Slytherin.

masterlist

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The Great Hall was abuzz with excitement. Students filled the long, wooden tables. The Sorting Hat had just finished placing the last of the first years into their respective houses, when Professor Dumbledore stood up from his ornate chair at the staff table. He raised a hand, and the hall fell silent.

“Congratulations to all our new first years,” Dumbledore began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room. “We are thrilled to have you join our Hogwarts family. But tonight, we have another special announcement. This year, we have the pleasure of welcoming a new student from one of our neighboring schools, Ilvermorny. Please join me in extending a warm welcome to Y/N.”

The massive doors at the back of the hall creaked open, and all eyes turned to see you entering, flanked by the ever-grumpy caretaker, Filch. Your plain robes set you apart from the others, and you couldn’t help but gaze around in wonder at the majestic hall, the floating candles, and the enchanted ceiling.

As you made your way to the front, the murmur of whispers followed you, a mix of curiosity and excitement. Filch gestured towards a stool where the Sorting Hat sat waiting. “Please, take a seat, Miss,” he said gruffly. You nodded, smiling nervously, and perched on the stool as Professor McGonagall approached with the Sorting Hat.

She placed the hat gently on your head, and you felt it settle over your eyes. For a moment, there was only silence, and then a voice echoed in your mind. “Ah, a transfer from Ilvermorny…interesting. Where to put you, where to put you?”

After what felt like an eternity but was merely seconds, the hat declared your house. The table erupted in cheers, and you made your way over, greeted by friendly faces and welcoming smiles.

You didn’t notice the pair of piercing eyes from the Slytherin table, watching your every move. The gaze was intense, like a predator sizing up its prey. As you took your seat among your new housemates, you felt a shiver run down your spine, unaware that someone had taken a particular interest in you from the moment you stepped into the Great Hall.

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Life at Hogwarts had turned out to be both thrilling and challenging, but you adapted quickly. The first few weeks had been a whirlwind of lessons, new faces, and navigating the sprawling castle. At first glance, you might have appeared aloof, often lost in thought or daydreaming as you strolled through the corridors or took your seat in class. But in truth, you weren’t lost at all. You excelled in your studies, quickly mastering spells and absorbing knowledge at a pace that even impressed your professors. You built a tight-knit group of friends, mostly from your house but with a few from other houses as well.

Still, there were odd moments when you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you. A tingling awareness would prick at the back of your neck as you walked to class or studied in the library. Yet, every time you turned to look, no one seemed to be paying you any special attention. You’d shake it off, wondering if you were just imagining things, and continue on with your day.

But today, during Charms class, that lingering feeling returned. You were sitting near the front, dutifully taking notes as Professor Flitwick explained a particularly tricky spell. As you wrote, you felt it again—that unmistakable sensation of being watched. This time, instead of turning your head sharply, you let your eyes slowly drift upward, keeping your head down and posture casual.

That’s when you saw him.

Sitting in the back row, partially obscured by a few of his Slytherin housemates, was a strikingly handsome boy. His black hair fell over the left side of his face, casting a shadow over one eye, but the other was locked on you with an intense focus that sent a shiver down your spine. He didn’t look away when you noticed him. In fact, he seemed amused by the fact that you had caught him staring. He tilted his head slightly, and for a brief moment, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. His gaze was dark, calculating, but there was something exhilarating about having it fixed on you.

You blinked, heart racing, and quickly averted your gaze back to your notes, trying to focus on the lesson. But the curiosity gnawed at you, distracting you from the spells and incantations. With a soft hum, you scribbled a quick note in the corner of your notebook: Who’s the dark-haired Slytherin on the last row to the left?

You slid the notebook toward one of your Ravenclaw friends sitting beside you, a clever boy named Adrian. He glanced down, read your note, then discreetly lifted his gaze to the back of the class. His eyes landed on the boy before he quickly scribbled a response and slid the notebook back to you.

That’s Nishimura Riki, but he goes by Ni-ki.

You read the note and nodded lightly, casting another glance toward the back of the room. Ni-ki was still watching you, his eyes meeting yours as soon as you looked up. This time, you didn’t look away so quickly. Instead, you absently caressed the feather of your quill, feeling a rush of anticipation as his gaze lingered.

Ni-ki, huh? You thought to yourself, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

When class ended, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. As the other students filed out of the room, you packed your things, trying to act as though your thoughts weren’t entirely preoccupied with the tall, dark-haired Slytherin.

You slipped your notebook into your bag and slung it over your shoulder. Heading for the door, you kept your gaze ahead, your heart still racing slightly from the earlier encounter. As you stepped through the doorway and into the hallway, you turned to glance back, almost instinctively.

And that’s when you bumped into something solid—someone solid.

Startled, you looked up, and your breath caught in your throat as your eyes met his. It was Ni-ki, standing impossibly close, his tall frame towering over you. His presence was even more imposing now that he was right in front of you, and for a moment, you were struck speechless.

“Oh—sorry!” you blurted out, feeling your cheeks warm as you took a small step back.

Ni-ki didn’t move, but the hint of a smirk played at his lips, the same one you had seen earlier in class. “Don’t apologize, it’s okay,” he said, his voice smooth, rich with an underlying confidence that made your pulse quicken.

Up close, he was even more striking than you had realized. His sharp eyes were intense, framed by dark lashes that gave him an almost mysterious air. His lips, full and soft, curled slightly as he observed you, and his skin was flawless and smooth.

You blinked, trying to collect yourself, but being this close to him had thrown you off balance. He watched you for a moment longer, his gaze unwavering, as if he was reading something in you that no one else had ever seen.

“Hey you’re from Ilvermorny, right?” he asked, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts.

You nodded, a little too quickly. “Yeah, and you're… Ni-ki?” you replied, your voice coming out steadier than you expected.

“Exactly,” he said, flashing a charming smile that made your heart skip a beat.

Just then, you remembered something. “Actually, it’s Y/n,” you corrected him gently, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

His grin widened, and he leaned in slightly, the distance between you diminishing even more. “I know,” he said playfully, his tone teasing. “But I think ‘Ilvermorny’ suits you better. It has a nice ring to it.”

Your cheeks flushed at the nickname, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re really going to call me that, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “It’s perfect, and it’ll remind everyone that you’re something special. Plus, it’s a good conversation starter.”

“Fine,” you conceded, a smirk playing on your lips. “But only if you promise to call me by my real name sometimes too.”

“Deal,” he said, his voice smooth and confident. “But for now, I think Ilvermorny has a nice charm to it, don’t you?”

Before you could think of how to respond, he took a small step back, giving you some space but not breaking eye contact. “I’ll see you around, Ilvermorny,” Ni-ki said, his voice smooth as ever, as he turned and began walking away, his pace unhurried.

You stood there for a moment, watching him as he disappeared down the hall. The encounter left you feeling oddly exhilarated, your heart still pounding in your chest.

As you turned to head back to your common room, one thought echoed in your mind: Ni-ki is definitely someone to keep an eye on.

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Over the next few weeks, you started noticing Ni-ki’s presence more and more. It wasn’t just in passing glances during classes anymore—he seemed to be everywhere. Whether you were heading to the library, walking down the hallway, or grabbing lunch in the Great Hall, he always found a way to cross your path. And every time, he’d stop to talk, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

At first, it was subtle. He’d give a casual “Hey, Ilvermorny” as he passed by, his eyes locking onto yours for just a second longer than necessary. Then it became more frequent. You’d feel a tap on your shoulder in the corridors, turning to find him leaning casually against the wall, looking at you with that same half-smirk that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

He wasn’t just talking, either. He started doing little things, almost without you realizing it at first. If you were carrying a stack of books that looked too heavy, he’d take them from you with a simple, “Here, let me get that.” Once, when you were balancing your bag and a few loose scrolls of parchment after class, he slid the bag off your shoulder before you even had time to protest. “I’ll carry it,” he said smoothly, his voice leaving no room for argument. And he did, walking beside you as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t just about being helpful either. Ni-ki had a way of complimenting you that felt almost too effortless. “You look nice today,” he’d say, his voice low and smooth as he passed by, sending a shiver down your spine. Or sometimes, when you were deep in thought or stressing over an assignment, he’d lean in close and say something like, “You’re always so focused. It’s kind of impressive.” And his words stuck with you longer than you liked to admit.

The candies were a nice touch too. Out of nowhere, he started bringing you small treats from Hogsmeade—tiny, colorful sweets that were your favorite. He never made a big deal of it, just handed them to you with a casual, “Thought you might like these,” before walking off like it was no big deal. But every time you opened your hand to find another sweet, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, wondering just how closely he was paying attention.

Yet, there was another side to Ni-ki. You started to notice the way his eyes would darken slightly whenever another guy approached you. If a boy from your house stopped to talk with you, asking about class or inviting you to study in the library, Ni-ki’s gaze would turn sharp, though he never said a word. He didn’t have to. His presence was enough to make the others hesitate, sensing the unspoken tension.

And when you’d turn back to Ni-ki, giving him your full attention again, his expression would shift instantly—back to that smug, satisfied look, as though he’d won some unspoken battle. You found it oddly cute, the way he seemed so sure of himself, yet always with that hint of playful arrogance.

One afternoon, while you were walking out of Potions class, a Gryffindor boy from your year had caught up to you, asking about a spell you’d used during the lesson. You were explaining it when you felt that familiar gaze on you. A quick glance over your shoulder confirmed what you already knew—Ni-ki, standing not too far away, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, his expression unreadable but his eyes locked on you and the boy next to you.

As soon as the Gryffindor left, Ni-ki was there, falling into step beside you. “You sure have a lot of people interested in what you have to say,” he commented, his voice smooth, but there was a teasing edge to it.

You shrugged, smiling. “Maybe I’m just that interesting.”

Ni-ki smirked, his eyes gleaming. “Oh, I already know that.” He glanced down at you, his gaze lingering in a way that made your heart skip. “But it’s nice when you remember who’s been paying attention the longest.”

He didn’t wait for you to respond, just continued walking beside you, carrying your bag without a second thought, like he always did now. You couldn’t help but find it adorable how Ni-ki never seemed to let any other guy linger too long in your space. And the way he always seemed so smug when you gave him your attention? It made you smile, even if you tried to hide it.

Ni-ki was becoming a constant presence in your life, and though he never said it outright, it was clear that he was staking his claim, in his own subtle, confident way. And somehow, you didn’t mind it at all. In fact, you found yourself looking forward to those moments more than you would ever admit.

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It was a crisp, sunny Saturday morning when Ni-ki approached you with that familiar confident smile, his dark eyes gleaming with excitement. He found you in the hallway, casually leaning against the wall as though he hadn’t sought you out deliberately, though by now, you knew better. He always had a reason for being wherever you were.

“Ilvermorny,” he said, his voice smooth as ever, “you coming to the Quidditch match today?”

You looked up from your book, raising an eyebrow. “You really expect me to cheer for Quidditch?”

He chuckled softly, his eyes narrowing in that mischievous way that made your heart race. “Maybe. Or maybe I just want you there, cheering for me.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. Ni-ki was relentless, and somehow, you found yourself agreeing despite the obvious conflict of interest. “Alright, I’ll come,” you said, pretending to be reluctant. “But don’t expect me to be super hyped.”

He smirked, clearly pleased. “We’ll see about that.”

Later that afternoon, you found yourself seated in the stands, wrapped in your house scarf, surrounded by your friends who were all eager to cheer. Despite their enthusiasm, your eyes kept straying to the Slytherin side of the pitch, where Ni-ki and his teammates were preparing for the match.

As Madam Hooch gathered both teams in the center of the field to go over the rules, you saw Ni-ki’s head turn, his eyes scanning the crowd. You could tell he was looking for someone—looking for you. When his gaze finally found you in the stands, his expression brightened instantly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He raised an eyebrow, the unspoken question in his eyes clear: You’re really here?

You smiled and waved at him, feeling the warmth spread through your chest despite the cool breeze. Ni-ki's smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with that same smug confidence, as if knowing you were watching had just made his day. He nodded once, then turned back to the game with renewed energy.

The whistle blew, and the game began.

From the moment the Quaffle was released, Ni-ki was in his element. He moved with a grace and agility that made it impossible to tear your eyes away from him. He darted through the air with incredible speed, dodging Bludgers and weaving around the other players with ease. As a Chaser, he was relentless, racking up goal after goal for Slytherin. Every time he scored, the crowd would erupt, but you couldn’t help but feel like his victories were just as much for you as they were for his team.

It wasn’t long before your friends started to notice your divided attention. “Who are you actually cheering for?” one of them teased, nudging you with a playful grin. “Your eyes have been on the Slytherin side for most of the match.”

You laughed, trying to play it off, but there was no denying it. “Maybe I’m just appreciating good Quidditch,” you replied, but the look in your eyes gave you away.

As the game went on, Ni-ki continued to dominate, his skill on full display. And every now and then, between plays, you’d catch him glancing toward the stands, searching for you again. Each time, his smirk would reappear, as if knowing you were watching him gave him even more confidence. You’d wave or give him a small nod, and he’d flash that cocky smile before diving back into the game with even more intensity.

Your friends started giving you a few suspicious looks, but they were too absorbed in the match to question it too much. And besides, it was hard not to be impressed by Ni-ki’s performance—he was a natural on the pitch, and it was clear that he knew it.

By the time the match ended, Slytherin had won, and Ni-ki was at the center of the victory celebration, his teammates patting him on the back and cheering his name. But even in the midst of the chaos, his eyes sought yours once again. And when he found you, standing and clapping in the stands, he shot you a triumphant look, his smirk more self-satisfied than ever.

You couldn’t help but smile back, shaking your head at how effortlessly he had won both the match and your attention.

As the crowd began to disperse, Ni-ki flew toward the stands, clearly intent on finding you. Your heart sped up as he approached, his hair slightly tousled from the wind and the exertion of the game, but his sharp eyes still gleaming with that playful arrogance.

“So,” he said when he finally reached you, his voice low and teasing, “did I live up to your expectations?”

You crossed your arms, pretending to think it over. “I suppose you weren’t terrible.”

He chuckled, leaning in just slightly, his eyes locked on yours. “I saw you cheering for me,” he said softly, the teasing lilt in his voice sending a thrill through you. “You couldn’t hide it, Y/N.”

You blushed but held his gaze. “Maybe you earned it,” you replied, trying to sound casual despite the butterflies swirling in your stomach.

Ni-ki’s smirk deepened, and he straightened up, clearly pleased with himself. “Good,” he said, his tone soft but confident. “Because I expect you to be at every game from now on.”

You laughed, shaking your head, but there was no denying the excitement building inside you. “We’ll see,” you said playfully, though you already knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away.

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Before you knew it, you had developed a little crush on Ni-ki. It crept up on you quietly, sneaking into your thoughts during class and fluttering in your stomach whenever he came around. And as your feelings deepened, you started to tease him back whenever you had the chance, finding joy in turning the tables on the boy who had so effortlessly captured your attention.

You quickly learned that bantering with him was just as entertaining as watching him play Quidditch. Ni-ki would lean down, getting uncomfortably close, pretending not to hear you whenever you asked him something in a crowded corridor. He would arch an eyebrow, a teasing smile dancing on his lips as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks from the closeness. You could see how much he enjoyed it, but what made it even more satisfying was the way a faint pink hue would tint his cheeks when he turned his head, as if he was trying to laugh off the effect you had on him.

One afternoon, as you sat together in the courtyard, discussing your assignments, you decided it was time to give him a taste of his own medicine. Ni-ki was animatedly explaining something, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke. You feigned interest, letting your gaze drift as you formulated your plan.

When he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to that low, teasing tone, you took the opportunity. With a sudden tug, you grabbed his tie, pulling him down to your level. “What did you say?” you asked, your tone innocent, even as you played with the soft fabric in your hands.

Ni-ki’s eyes widened in surprise, a mixture of awe and disbelief flickering across his face. For a split second, he seemed completely speechless, caught off guard by your boldness. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he registered what had just happened. But then, as if recalling himself, he looked away, trying to appear stern but failing miserably. You caught the slight tremor in his voice when he responded, though. “You know, you’re really pushing your luck, Ilvermorny.”

You only smiled, relishing the moment as you leaned in slightly, maintaining the playful banter. “Am I? I thought you liked it when I paid attention to you,” you shot back, your heart racing at the playful challenge in your tone.

His gaze flickered back to yours, surprise still evident in his features. But then he huffed, a smile breaking through the façade. “You’re really something else, you know?” he said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

His reaction was everything you had hoped for, the way he looked at you with a mixture of admiration and amusement, his voice softening as he spoke. It was as if you had pulled back a layer, revealing a side of him that he didn’t often show to others.

“Maybe I am,” you teased, the corners of your mouth curling into a smirk. “But that’s what keeps you coming back, isn’t it?”

Ni-ki chuckled, leaning back just a fraction, his expression smug once more. “You really think you’re that special, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face. “I’m just saying, you wouldn’t want anyone else getting this kind of attention, would you?”

His smirk faltered for just a moment, a look of genuine thought crossing his features before he leaned closer again, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “No, I wouldn’t. But I wouldn’t tell anyone that. They might get jealous.”

The way he said it made you feel giddy, a combination of excitement and nervousness swirling in your stomach.

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As the weeks went by, you and Ni-ki fell into a comfortable rhythm, filled with playful banter and flirtation that seemed to grow bolder with each interaction. It became a part of your daily routine, whether you were in class, studying in the library, or wandering the Hogwarts grounds.

One chilly afternoon, you and Ni-ki decided to take a walk around the Black Lake, the air crisp and refreshing. The leaves had started to change colors, and the scenery was breathtaking. As you strolled along the water’s edge, the conversation flowed easily, with both of you exchanging light-hearted jabs.

“Bet I could skip this stone further than you,” Ni-ki challenged, picking up a smooth rock and tossing it expertly across the surface. It skipped three times before sinking.

“Please, that was barely a throw,” you laughed, picking up a stone of your own. You focused on your technique, channeling all the concentration you could muster. With a flick of your wrist, the stone flew across the water, skipping six times before finally disappearing. You turned to him triumphantly. “How’s that for a throw?”

Ni-ki feigned a dramatic gasp, placing a hand on his chest. “I am in the presence of a stone-skipping champion,” he said with a smirk, his dark eyes gleaming mischievously.

“Don’t get too cocky; you’ll never beat me,” you teased back, reveling in the thrill of competition.

Another afternoon, you found yourself in the library studying for an upcoming exam. As you sat at a table, trying to focus, you felt Ni-ki slide into the seat next to you. “Mind if I join?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Sure, as long as you’re quiet,” you replied, but you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I can be quiet,” he said dramatically, pressing a finger to his lips. “But only if you promise to let me steal some of your notes later.”

“Nice try,” you said, shaking your head. “You’ll have to earn those.”

For the next few minutes, you both pretended to study, though you were acutely aware of the way he kept glancing over at you, a playful smile lurking on his lips. Finally, unable to hold back any longer, you looked up. “What’s so funny?”

Ni-ki leaned in closer, his voice low. “I just can’t believe you’re actually studying. It’s not like you need to, with how smart you are.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Are you trying to butter me up for my notes?”

“Maybe,” he replied, a teasing glint in his eye. “Or maybe I just genuinely enjoy watching you work. It’s kind of cute.”

You felt your heart flutter, and you struggled to maintain your composure. “Cute, huh? That’s not exactly the word I’d use to describe my study habits.”

“No, but it’s definitely how I’d describe you,” he said, his tone sincere now.

You could feel the warmth creeping into your cheeks again, but instead of shying away, you leaned in slightly, enjoying the closeness. “Flattery will get you nowhere, you know.”

Ni-ki chuckled softly. “Oh, I know.”

As the days turned into weeks, you found countless moments to continue your playful interactions. Whether it was competing over who could create the best potion in Professor Snape's class or seeing who could guess the most spells correctly in Charms, your friendship flourished, and the teasing evolved into something deeper.

One evening, as you both wandered through the castle after dinner, Ni-ki grabbed your wrist gently, stopping you. “Hey, I have a question for you,” he said, his tone suddenly serious.

You looked up, curiosity piqued. “What is it?”

He hesitated for a moment, searching your eyes as if weighing his words. “What’s your favorite thing about Hogwarts?”

You thought for a moment, your heart racing slightly. “I’d have to say… the magic. It’s all around us, in everything we do. But you know what? The people make it even better.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting into one of playful suspicion. “Are you talking about me?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

“Good choice,” he replied, smirking. “Because I was going to say my favorite thing is how you make it feel less lonely here.”

You stopped, surprised by his sincerity, and for a moment, the teasing atmosphere dissipated, replaced by something more profound. But before you could respond, he playfully nudged you with his shoulder, breaking the tension. “But really, we both know I’m the best part of your Hogwarts experience.”

“Full of yourself, aren’t you?” you replied, shaking your head, but you couldn’t help the smile spreading across your face.

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As you sat in the bustling Great Hall, the chatter of students mingling with the clinking of cutlery filled the air. Plates were piled high with food, laughter echoed around you, and you were enjoying the lively atmosphere when a flurry of movement caught your eye. The owlery was busy today; several owls swooped in and out, delivering letters and packages to their respective owners.

You watched as your owl flew in front of you, dropping a letter and a small, beautifully wrapped gift. Your heart skipped a beat as you caught them both expertly, the soft rustle of parchment against your fingertips bringing a sense of nostalgia. You recognized the wrapping immediately—it was covered in shimmering blue paper, a telltale sign of a certain someone from Ilvermorny.

You scrunched your nose in distaste, knowing exactly who had sent it. A gift from Harrison, who had developed a notorious reputation for his over-the-top romantic gestures. You set the gift aside, hoping to forget about it for now, and turned your attention to the letter.

Unfolding it, you smiled as you recognized the handwriting of your friends back at Ilvermorny. As you read through the familiar banter and inside jokes, a warm feeling spread through you. Each message carried a piece of home, reminiscing about shared memories and moments.

The letter read:

Dear Y/N, We miss you like crazy! It’s just not the same without you here, especially during the big Quidditch matches. Everyone keeps asking where you are, and we have to remind them that you’re off being a star at Hogwarts. We can’t wait to hear all about your adventures, so make sure to write back! P.S. Harrison still hasn’t gotten over you. You know how he is with those ridiculous gifts. We tried to tell him to stop, but he thinks you’ll finally notice him this way. Good luck!

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at the antics of your friends. Just then, one of your housemates, Clara, leaned over, pointing her turkey leg at the gift you had set aside. “Aren’t you going to open that?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“No,” you replied, glancing at the box with mild annoyance.

“Oh well, don’t mind if I do,” she declared, snatching the present before you could stop her.

“Wait, Clara—!” you started, but it was too late. She ripped open the wrapping, revealing a heart-shaped chocolate box adorned with a delicate ribbon.

“Ooh!” she exclaimed, her excitement palpable. “This looks amazing!”

“I wouldn’t eat those if I were you.”

“Why not?” she asked, tilting her head in confusion as she pried the box open, the rich smell of chocolate wafting toward you.

“They probably have Amortentia in them,” you replied matter-of-factly, your expression serious.

Clara raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but skeptical. “How do you know?”

You leaned in, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “Because the guy who sent that has put the potion in the treats before. I wouldn’t trust it if I were you.”

She paused, glancing at the chocolates, a flicker of doubt crossing her features. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you said, crossing your arms.

You watched as Clara set the box down, a look of mild disgust replacing her earlier enthusiasm. “Thanks for the heads up,” she said, chuckling nervously. “I was really going to eat one of those.”

“No problem,” you said, feeling a sense of satisfaction at having saved her from a potentially embarrassing situation. “Harrison’s just trying too hard to win me over.”

“Sounds like he’s got it bad,” Clara commented, glancing at the letter in your hands. “What else did your friends say?”

You chuckled, holding the letter up. “Just the usual. They miss me, and they’re trying to keep me updated on the drama back home. It’s nice to hear from them.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

It started gradually—first a few letters, then more frequent parcels from Harrison, each one wrapped with a level of detail that made it clear he was still determined to win you over. Every time an owl dropped something in front of you, your frustration grew. You had hoped that your move to Hogwarts would finally make him understand that you weren’t interested, but apparently, Harrison hadn’t taken the hint. Not after countless rejections, nor after the awkward conversations where you’d tried to make it clear that you weren’t interested in him romantically.

Now, each letter and gift felt like a weight, dragging your mood down. Every time a package arrived, your heart sank. Today, in the courtyard, the annoyance had finally reached a boiling point.

Another letter had come—this time with a box of enchanted roses that sang love songs in annoying, high-pitched voices. You barely glanced at it before casting Incendio, watching the parchment curl and burn in your hand, the flames crackling as they consumed the letter. You stood there, arms crossed, muttering under your breath about how thick-headed Harrison must be.

"Another one, huh?" came a voice behind you.

You turned around quickly, startled by the voice, and found yourself face-to-face with Ni-ki. He stood there with his usual air of confidence, but you could tell something was different—there was a glint of concern in his eyes as he glanced at the charred remains of the letter in your hand.

"You’ve been doing that a lot lately," Ni-ki said, his voice low as he nodded toward the ashes. "Who keeps sending you these?"

You sighed, running a hand through your hair in frustration. "It’s from this guy, Harrison," you admitted. "He went to Ilvermorny with me. He’s been… persistent. Really persistent. I thought moving to Hogwarts would make him stop, but he just doesn’t seem to get it."

Ni-ki’s expression shifted from casual curiosity to something more serious as he stepped closer. "How long has this been going on?"

"Years," you confessed, your voice quieter now. "He’s been sending letters and gifts for a while. I’ve turned him down so many times, but he just doesn’t listen. I thought leaving would be enough, but clearly, he doesn’t know how to take a hint."

For a moment, Ni-ki was quiet. His usual playful smirk was gone, replaced by a hard, focused look. His sharp eyes darkened with a seriousness you weren’t used to seeing from him. “That’s not okay,” he said, his voice firm. “Has he ever done anything else besides sending letters and gifts?”

You shook your head. “No, just… this. It’s annoying more than anything. But it’s getting worse. Every time I think it’s over, he sends something else, and it’s like I can’t escape it.”

Ni-ki clenched his jaw, his hands tightening at his sides. "And you don’t want anything to do with him?"

"Not at all," you answered without hesitation. "I’ve told him that so many times, but he’s just… I don’t know. Stubborn? Or maybe he just doesn’t care. It’s like he thinks if he keeps trying, I’ll suddenly change my mind."

Ni-ki’s eyes narrowed, his protective instinct kicking in. "He’s harassing you, Y/N. That’s not stubbornness—that’s ignoring your boundaries. You shouldn’t have to deal with that."

You blinked, taken aback by the intensity in his voice. You’d always seen Ni-ki as playful, and maybe a bit smug, but seeing him like this—serious and genuinely concerned—threw you off guard.

"It’s fine, Ni-ki. I’ve handled it so far," you tried to reassure him, though even as you said it, you felt the weight of the situation settling on your shoulders.

Ni-ki shook his head, stepping closer until he was standing right in front of you. He was tall, and the way he looked down at you with those serious, sharp eyes made your heart race. “It’s not fine, and you shouldn’t have to deal with it alone. He’s not respecting your space, and that’s a problem.”

His protectiveness was unexpected but comforting. You felt a wave of relief wash over you, realizing that you didn’t have to keep brushing it off as something small.

“Listen,” Ni-ki continued, his voice softening but still laced with a steely edge. “If he keeps this up, you need to tell someone—McGonagall, Dumbledore, anyone. But I’ll also make sure he doesn’t bother you anymore.”

You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. “And how exactly are you going to do that?”

Ni-ki smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes this time. “Let’s just say I have my ways. If he keeps trying to reach you, he’ll have me to deal with. And trust me, he won’t want that.”

You laughed lightly, though a part of you believed him. Ni-ki had always been protective, even in his teasing ways, but this felt different. He wasn’t joking—he was genuinely upset at the thought of someone bothering you. And in that moment, you realized that Ni-ki wasn’t just teasing or flirting anymore. He cared about you deeply, enough to step in and make sure you were safe.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, feeling a little overwhelmed by how much his concern meant to you. “I appreciate it.”

Ni-ki reached out, gently taking your hand in his. “You’re not alone in this, okay? If you ever need anything—anything at all—you come to me.”

You squeezed his hand, feeling a warmth spread through you. “I will.”

With one last look at the ashes of the letter on the ground, Ni-ki nodded resolutely. “Good. Because I’m not letting this Harrison guy get away with thinking he can mess with you.”

You had no idea what Ni-ki had planned after learning about Harrison’s persistent harassment. In fact, Ni-ki had been hard at work behind the scenes, determined to send a message that Harrison would finally understand.

It started with Ni-ki reaching out to your old friends from Ilvermorny. He’d always been clever, resourceful even, and after hearing everything from you, he had a plan in mind. A letter from him had made its way to your Ilvermorny friends, explaining the situation and his idea. To his surprise—and relief—they didn’t hesitate to help. They were as fed up with Harrison as you had been, and they quickly agreed to assist Ni-ki in making sure Harrison knew it was over for good.

But there was one particular evening that made Ni-ki’s plan easier to execute—though you had no idea how much you’d helped.

That night, you’d been studying in the library, trying to cram for an upcoming exam. But the weight of everything, the sleepless nights, and the stress of school had caught up with you. Without much thought, your head had gently rested on your open book, and soon after, you’d fallen fast asleep, your arms crossed on the desk.

Ni-ki had been lucky to find you in that state. He had wandered into the library to check on you, noticing you hadn’t been around for a while. When he saw you peacefully asleep, your face resting on the book, a small smile spread across his face. He didn’t hesitate to quietly grab a blanket, gently placing it over your shoulders. His movements were careful, not wanting to wake you, and for a moment, he simply stood there, watching as you slept soundly.

His next move had been far more mischievous.

With a grin, Ni-ki pulled out his wand and, with a quick flick, summoned his camera from his bag. He moved in closer, leaning down beside you. His face hovered right next to yours, his lips gently brushing your cheek as he kissed you softly, snapping a picture at that very moment.

It was perfect. The picture showed Ni-ki as he kissed your cheek while you slept, completely unaware. And it was exactly what he needed to complete his plan.

Without a second thought, Ni-ki sent the photo, along with a very threatening letter, straight to Harrison. The letter was brief but left no room for misinterpretation:

Harrison, She isn’t interested and never will be. Stop sending letters, gifts, or anything else. This is your final warning. From here on out, she’s got someone looking after her. Do yourself a favor and back off, or things will get ugly.

The message was crystal clear, especially with the attached photo showing Ni-ki close to you, practically staking his claim. He knew it would rile Harrison up, but that was the point. There was no room left for Harrison to misinterpret anything now.

And after that, to your great relief, Harrison’s letters and gifts stopped. You thought, maybe, he had finally understood that you weren’t interested and had backed off. You hadn’t given much more thought to it, just grateful that the ordeal was finally over.

It wasn’t until you found yourself in the owlery one quiet afternoon that you learned the full truth. A letter had arrived from one of your friends at Ilvermorny. You smiled, opening it with excitement, eager to hear from them. But as you read the letter, your eyes widened in shock.

Dear Y/N, Hey! We heard about what Ni-ki did. That guy really knows how to handle things, huh? Harrison needed that wake-up call, and we were more than happy to help Ni-ki out. We're so glad you're not getting any more of those creepy letters. You deserve to enjoy your time at Hogwarts without that hanging over you. By the way, you looked adorable in that photo he sent. Ni-ki’s a keeper, just saying! Take care, and write back soon! Love, your friends.

You stared at the letter, your mouth slightly open in disbelief. Ni-ki had done what?

As you stood there, shocked, two photos slipped out of the envelope and fluttered to the ground. Bending down, you picked them up and examined the first one. It was a picture of Harrison sulking in class, his shoulders slouched and his expression defeated. You breathed out a sigh of relief—he had finally gotten the message. But when you turned your attention to the second picture, your heart skipped a beat.

The photo showed Ni-ki in the library, leaning down and kissing your cheek while you were fast asleep. Your fingers instinctively went to your cheek, where he had kissed you.

"Oh," you whispered to yourself, still processing the moment.

"Hey, Ilvermorny!" a familiar voice called from behind you.

You jumped, startled, and quickly turned to see Ni-ki standing at the entrance of the Owlery, a relaxed smile on his face. He must have just arrived, but his sharp eyes immediately noticed your expression—and the photos you were holding. As he approached, he raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

"What’ve you got there?" he asked, though the smirk on his face told you he already knew.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Your mind was still reeling from the image of him kissing your cheek. Ni-ki glanced down at the photos in your hand and chuckled.

"Guess he finally realized," Ni-ki said with a grin, nodding toward the first picture of Harrison. Then his gaze shifted to the second one, and his smirk softened into something more playful. "Ah, so you saw that one too, huh?"

You stood there, frozen for a second, your heart racing. "You… you kissed me while I was asleep?"

Ni-ki chuckled, scratching the back of his neck casually. "Couldn’t resist. You looked too cute, and, well… I figured Harrison needed a clear message." He winked, his tone teasing, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity in his words.

"And what if I had woken up?" you asked, trying to sound stern but failing as a smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

"Then I would’ve played it off and told you it was a dream," Ni-ki replied smoothly, his smirk growing wider. "But you didn’t wake up, so… I guess you’ll have to take my word for it."

You shook your head, half-amused and half-exasperated. "You're unbelievable."

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked, stepping closer until he was right in front of you, his gaze warm but mischievous.

"No," you admitted quietly, unable to keep from smiling. "It's not."

Ni-ki’s eyes sparkled, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The air between you felt charged, like something unspoken was hanging in the balance.

"So," he said after a beat, his voice softening. "No more letters from him, huh?"

"Yeah, no more letters," you confirmed, feeling the weight of that relief settle in. "Thanks to you."

Ni-ki shrugged, his grin turning softer. "I told you I’d handle it. And honestly? I’d do it again."

"Well," you said, trying to keep your voice steady, "Next time you want to kiss me, maybe let me be awake for it?"

Ni-ki’s eyes widened in surprise at your bold comment, clearly caught off guard. His usual confident smirk faltered as he stared at you, the realization of your words settling in. Slowly, a blush crept up his neck, spreading to his cheeks and even the tips of his ears. You watched in amusement as the typically smug Slytherin boy, always so composed and quick with his teasing remarks, suddenly found himself at a loss for words.

Sensing his flustered state, you decided to push further. With a mischievous smile, you reached out and grabbed his green tie, giving it a gentle tug. He didn’t resist, allowing you to pull him down until his face was close to yours again. The tie twisted around your hand as you toyed with it.

You glanced up at him, your other hand moving to brush his dark hair aside, revealing more of his sharp, handsome features. His breath hitched slightly at your touch, his eyes locked on yours, completely entranced. His gaze softened, and you could swear that if hearts could literally appear in someone’s eyes, they would be in Ni-ki’s right now. He was utterly, completely captivated by you.

"You know," you began, your voice teasing as you let your hand slide down from his hair to his broad chest, your fingers lightly tracing the fabric of his robes, "for someone who's always teasing me, you sure do get quiet when the tables are turned."

Ni-ki swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to maintain some semblance of composure. But the blush deepened on his face, and his mouth opened as if he wanted to respond, only for no words to come out. You could feel the tension between you two building, his gaze never leaving your lips as he remained perfectly still, letting you take the lead.

"You look so cute like this," you murmured, your voice low and teasing as you leaned in just slightly, your lips hovering near his ear, "I didn’t think I’d ever see you blush, Ni-ki."

His breath hitched again, and you noticed his hands twitch at his sides, clearly resisting the urge to pull you closer. He was melting at your every word, at your every touch. You could feel it in the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the world he cared to focus on right now.

"I—" Ni-ki finally tried to speak, but his voice came out shakier than you’d ever heard it. His usual cocky demeanor was completely gone, replaced by a boy who was hopelessly wrapped around your finger.

"What’s the matter, Ni-ki? Cat got your tongue?" you teased, your grin growing wider.

Ni-ki let out a shaky breath, finally regaining enough of his composure to smirk, albeit weakly. "You really like testing me, don’t you?" he murmured, his voice low and rough, though the blush on his face betrayed just how affected he still was.

You shrugged innocently, your hand still resting against his chest. "Maybe. You make it so easy."

He let out a soft laugh, finally reaching up to gently take hold of your hand that had been toying with his tie. He brought it to his lips, brushing a soft kiss against your knuckles, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I think you’re the one who’s going to be trouble," he said, his voice soft but filled with warmth, his blush still faint on his cheeks as he smiled at you. "But I wouldn’t have it any other way."

He then leaned in even closer, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. Your breath hitched, and almost instinctively, you bit down on your bottom lip, unsure of where this was heading. The playful banter that had filled the air moments ago dissolved into something much heavier, more intense.

Ni-ki's eyes lingered on your lips, and for a brief moment, the entire world seemed to fall away. The distant hoots of owls and the rustling of wings around you faded into silence, leaving only the sound of your breathing and his. His proximity sent a thrill through you, and you swallowed hard, suddenly feeling nervous under his intense gaze.

"Please..." Ni-ki whispered, his voice low and breathy, barely audible but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You blinked up at him, feeling your chest tighten with anticipation. "Yes," you murmured, the word slipping out without a second thought.

That was all it took.

In an instant, Ni-ki’s hand came up to cradle your cheek, his fingers soft and warm against your skin. Then, before you could process it, his lips were on yours, soft yet firm, capturing you in a kiss that sent a shock of electricity through your entire body. The world seemed to stop for that moment as you melted into him, your heart racing as if it could burst from your chest.

His other hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and you responded instinctively, letting go of his tie and slipping your arms around his neck. The kiss deepened, slow and intoxicating, like it was something the two of you had been waiting for all along.

Ni-ki kissed you as though he’d been holding back for ages, his lips moving gently against yours, exploring, savoring. The intensity of the moment took your breath away, and you found yourself completely lost in him, every sense heightened as his scent, his warmth, and the soft press of his lips consumed you.

When he finally pulled away, you both stood there, faces inches apart, breathing heavily, neither of you speaking right away. His forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"That was…" Ni-ki began, but he trailed off, his voice catching slightly.

"Yeah," you whispered, not needing him to finish. You knew exactly what he meant.

He brushed his thumb lightly across your cheek, his gaze lingering on your lips once more before he smiled—a small, genuine smile that made your heart flutter.

"I’ve been wanting to do that for a while," Ni-ki admitted, his voice low and rough with emotion.

You smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Me too."

He chuckled softly, his eyes lighting up with that familiar playful glint. "Guess I should thank Harrison for pushing me to finally make a move, huh?"

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help laughing along with him. "Yeah, maybe. But don’t tell him that."

Ni-ki grinned, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly. "Trust me, I won’t."

Just then, a loud hoot echoed through the Owlery, breaking the enchanting atmosphere between you and Ni-ki. You both turned around to see your snow-white owl, Yuki, perched on a wooden beam above you, her feathers fluffed up as if she were trying to make herself appear larger.

The way she stared at you both, with those big, knowing eyes, made you feel like she was judging the situation. You swore that if an owl could look smug, Yuki would have been the picture of it.

Ni-ki chuckled softly, breaking the tension as he glanced at your owl. "I think she approves," he said, a grin spreading across his face as he straightened up, brushing off the lingering awkwardness.

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a laugh as you crossed your arms, looking up at Yuki. "Oh, don’t you start too," you said, feigning exasperation. "I already have enough pressure without you acting like my guardian."

Yuki hooted again, her head tilting slightly, as if she understood every word. It was almost as if she was telling you to go for it, to embrace the moment with Ni-ki.

“Seriously, though,” Ni-ki said, taking a step back, still chuckling at your owl’s antics. “Is she always this judgmental?”

You nodded, still laughing. “Every time I try to have a moment, she swoops in. It’s like she’s a personal bodyguard or something.”

“Maybe she just knows you deserve the best,” Ni-ki teased, a hint of admiration in his voice as he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “I think she’s just trying to make sure I’m good enough for you.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Well, she has pretty high standards, so you better step up your game, Ni-ki.”

He smirked, the playful spark returning to his eyes. “Challenge accepted. I’m up for anything if it means keeping her happy.”

“Good luck with that,” you replied, shaking your head playfully. “She’s not easily impressed.”

Just then, Yuki fluttered down from her perch and landed on your shoulder, nuzzling her head against your cheek. You laughed at her affectionate gesture, and Ni-ki watched the interaction, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Looks like you have a wingwoman,” he said, his gaze shifting between you and the owl.

You smiled, feeling a little shy under his gaze. “Or a winged guardian,” you corrected, running your fingers gently over Yuki’s soft feathers. “Either way, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sneak around with her watching.”

“Good,” Ni-ki replied, stepping closer again, his gaze earnest. “I’d rather have her around to keep an eye on things anyway.”

You felt your heart flutter at his words, the earlier tension bubbling back up between you two, even with Yuki perched there. The way he looked at you now, a mixture of admiration and mischief.

“Looks like you’ll have to share me with Yuki,” you teased, nudging Ni-ki playfully with your shoulder.

He laughed, the sound warm and inviting. “I don’t mind sharing, as long as I get my time with you too.”

[kykyonthemoon]

Rain On The Way Home

Zayne takes you home after an argument between the two of you.

ಇ. Zayne x Reader/MC

ಇ. Tags & warnings: since there's a bit spicy at the end I shall put 16+, MDNI here, fluff, short and sweet, kiss and make up, making out, argument, hurt/comfort, established relationship, character might be a bit ooc idk.

ಇ. Word count: ~1k9

ಇ. Based on a request by YNhi.

ಇ. Masterlist ♡ Request a fic

Your lips were pursed tightly. Hands placed on your thighs were clenched so tightly that you could feel the nails digging into your skin. You did your hardest to keep back the tears that threatened to fall, but failed. Warm drops dripped on the back of your hands, and you brushed them away as soon as you noticed a familiar figure approaching from afar.

Zayne opened the car door and sat in the driver's seat. He did not glance at you or say anything. You turned entirely to face the window, observing the soft drizzle fall outside. All you wanted to do was kick the car door open, run out into the rain and scream your lungs out.

The atmosphere between the two of you had never been this stuffy. You could have left alone, but because your body was injured and your emotions were all over the place, you lacked the strength to oppose Zayne's decision. So you let him do anything he wanted. Perhaps that was best for both.

Just a second ago, you fought to reject him and ended up sitting here with bitterness in your heart, allowing him to take you home, allowing him to control you like a puppet again.

The third time you had been hospitalized in one short month, you had also reached Zayne's limit.

People at the hospital claimed that when Dr. Zayne was upset, he became quite frightening. They thought he would explode and anyone unlucky enough to get in his way would suffer. On the contrary, Zayne's rage was like a blizzard on the horizon. You might believe it would not find you, but when it did, no matter where you hid, you would never be secure. 

And that day, for the first time ever, Doctor Zayne was seen losing his usual composure.

His lengthy and fast steps resembled racing through long and busy corridors. The hospital room door opened in such a way that it was about to come off its hinges. Zayne's face solidified. Without a word, he confiscated your medical documents and commanded everyone to go, in such a frightening manner that the nurse caring for you had to shiver from the cold after leaving.

Zayne looked at the documents and then at the wound on your shoulder. It was treated in time but remained painful. The injury had left you quite weak, but after nearly a day of medical care, what distressed you the most was Zayne's attitude.

Before he could say anything, you spoke up and explained:

“It was just an incident… It wasn't like I took the initiative to accept this mission. It's just that there were no other Hunters closer to the attack area than I was…”

“That's why, despite the fact that you hadn't completely recovered and were resting, you hurried to the scene, dismissing your prior injuries. Dismissing your doctor's orders?"

One corner of the file in Zayne's hand was so tight that it became wrinkled when he let go and threw it hard on the nearby table. He turned his back on you and looked out the window. One hand on his hip, the other hand to bury his face. He acted as if he was trying his best to retain the last bit of composure. 

"I'm fine." You said. "I honestly felt no discomfort. I have been able to move properly for a week now. Staying at home constantly is boring. I needed to stretch a little so I could get back to work quickly."

Zayne slowly turned around to look at you. He was still standing in the corner of the room, and you noticed the window glass behind him starting to freeze. 

“You were bored? If you feel bored, call your friends. If you feel bored, go shopping or hang out where you like to go. You were bored so you decided to jump right into a group of Wanderers?"

“Zayne…” You grimaced. “I don't like you this way… You… are acting so strange…”

“Do you think I'd like to see you lying here? Do you think I'd like to see you being carried to the hospital?"

"I'm sorry…" You murmured. You knew it was you to blame for not listening to him and instead running to the scene of the attack. But you were conscious of your own strength and wanted to fulfill the commitment you made when you decided to become a Hunter.

"You've said sorry for the third time this month." Zayne responded. His face was rigid, yet his fists were clasped firmly. "I've heard enough."

"Oh, just quit it!" You abruptly raised your voice. "I told you I didn't like you acting this way. As a Hunter, it's normal for me to get hurt!"

Zayne opened his eyes wide. He was astonished by your response. He stayed silent so you could pour out your feelings.

“I am capable of taking care of myself! I don't like being told what to eat or drink. I don't like being told what time I must  go to bed. Or being compelled to stay at home even though I have completely recovered and ready to battle! I'm not a child for you to order around, or tell me to do this and that!”

“You're saying, I'm too controlling over you?”

“I…” You halted. It seemed that was true. Even while you knew Zayne had good intentions and genuinely cared for you, you were unable to avoid feeling as if he was in charge of every part of your life, controlling every meal and sleep. 

"Understood."

Silence permeated the hospital room for a long moment. Zayne gazed at you as if he was considering something, then he started to pack up your clothes and belongings that remained in the room.

“What are you doing?” 

Zayne responded: “I don't want to be the one who controls you. You will be discharged from the hospital and free to do as you please.”

“What do you mean by that?” Free? It sounded like he did not care about you anymore. It sounded like he was going to give you your freedom back by not getting involved in anything related to you anymore.

“I will not force you to stay here. No one can do that. In roughly ten minutes, someone will come and take you to my car. I only ask you to do this for me once more.”

Having said that, Zayne turned and left. The door closed behind his broad back and you swore you were about to cry right from that moment.

The nurse came to inform you that Dr. Zayne had directly requested your discharge from the hospital. They let you go since your situation was not too serious and they believed Zayne would care for you discreetly at home. Zayne waited for you in the parking lot. He unlocked the door for you to enter first and returned to fetch a few more medical supplies before driving you home.  

All along the way, you kept wondering if you had made a big mistake. You were exceptionally disrespectful and became frustrated with Zayne for no reason. However, he did not give in to you as he always did. Confused, you simply wanted to lie down on your pleasant mattress at home and weep loudly. However, as the car came to a halt in front of your flat, Zayne refused to let you get out.

You turned to look at him. He looked exhausted and miserable. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, then your eyes met for a moment. You were the first to break that connection.

"I'm home now. Can I leave yet? Or do I still have to wait for your permission?"

"Just stay a little more." Zayne's deep voice rang out. He was considerably more relaxed now than he had been previously. "I'm sorry…"

That was the first time you had heard an apology from him. How strange! Usually, you were the one making trouble, and Zayne was the one who looked after you. You were the one who said sorry. Hearing those words coming out of his mouth made you feel so odd.

“I'm sorry if I become too controlling and that makes you feel uncomfortable.”

You were astonished for a second. You still wanted to weep, but your emotions had settled down considerably.

Zayne slipped his hand down from the steering wheel to seize yours and turned it over. He said:

“When I saw you almost unconscious from the poison, being carried into the hospital room, my heart seemed to stop beating. That is not something I want to see at all.”

Zayne's eyes were quite sorrowful. You subconsciously imagined that if you switched roles and the injured person was him, you definitely would not be able to remain calm in such a situation.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” Zayne continued. “But I still want to help you do that and protect you. In my own way.”

After he finished speaking, there was a moment of calmness. The street lights were illuminated, and the rain stopped pouring. You softly clutched his hand.

“I'm sorry too, because what I said was not true… I didn't mean to call you a dictator who controls this relationship…”

You smiled at him. The corners of Zayne's lips also loosened somewhat. He took your hand and tenderly pressed a kiss on.

“I'm really okay.” You added. “The doctor also said that the poison from the Wanderers had been purified. I don't feel too much pain anymore."

Zayne gave a slight nod. He understood this from the moment he read your record. That was why he boldly asked for you to be discharged from the hospital. Even though he was upset, your safety would come first in any case.

"You said you were fine?" Zayne inquired out of the blue. "How do you prove it then?"

You exhaled. After all, he still had reservations about your ability to care for yourself. You leaned in to offer him a passionate kiss. The resentment in your heart melted away in his warmth.

As your lips withdrew from Zayne's, he whispered:

"Good enough. However, in the future, if there is an issue between us, or if you are dissatisfied with something I do,... can I trust you to talk to me directly about it?"

You gave a modest nod. Zayne kissed you, deep. He caressed you but only so gently, as if afraid that you would melt into rain bubbles if he became too greedy. A while later, perhaps since your head was hazy from the injury, you had no clue how you ended up sitting on top of Zayne in the driver's seat, your lips locked with him while your hands constantly touching his flesh underneath the shirt. His delicate but searing kisses fell on your shoulder, around the bandaged area that had just been revealed to his sight as he pulled your shirt down. He kissed your wounds, new and old. He asked softly, would you feel pain if he touched them? And you replied that there was only pain if he did not do so.

Rain began pouring again; it might last all night long. How convenient, since he did not intend to let you get out of the car in such a condition.

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Sleepless Nights

Thomas Shelby x Pregnant Wife Reader

Summary: Thomas cares for his wife.

Wordcount: 2.3k

Warnings:

soft Thomas!, kissing, soft talk, lovely husband things.

Thomas prowls the grand corridors of Arrow House with a mixture of determination and unease. The mansion is a labyrinth of opulence, each corner dripping with the wealth he’s fought tooth and nail to secure. Yet, tonight, none of that matters. His mind is solely focused on one thing—finding his pregnant wife.

The house, with its vast rooms and endless hallways, feels both protective and suffocating. The heavy silence is broken only by the distant ticking of an antique clock, a stark reminder of time slipping away. Thomas’s polished shoes echo on the marble floors as he moves through the dimly lit spaces, his keen eyes scanning every shadow and crevice. The opulent decor, a testament to his success, now seems to mock him with its cold grandeur. He enters the library, where shelves upon shelves of leather-bound books line the walls, their spines gleaming in the faint light. The room smells of old paper and cigarette a sanctuary for his restless mind on many nights. But tonight, it offers no solace. He moves on, his pace quickening, his heartbeat mirroring his urgency.

As he strides through the dining hall, the long table stands like an island in the middle of the room, set for a feast that never seems to be eaten. The chandelier above it sparkles, casting prismatic reflections around the room, but Thomas’s eyes are unseeing. He is a man on a mission, driven by an anxiety he rarely allows himself to feel.

Finally, he reaches the living room, a vast space dominated by an enormous fireplace. The flames within flicker and dance, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. And there she is. His wife, his beacon in the storm of his life, sitting on the couch in an awkward yet somehow comfortable position. The sight of her instantly softens his stern expression, though worry still shadows his features. She’s nestled into the corner of the couch, her swollen belly making her position look ungainly to anyone else, but Thomas knows better. He sees the way her hand rests protectively over her stomach, the way her eyes are half-closed in a state of meditative calm. She’s wearing a loose, flowing nightgown that accentuates her maternal glow, the fabric cascading around her like a gentle waterfall.

“Love,” Thomas says softly, his voice a gravelly whisper that cuts through the silence. “Y’alright there?” His thick Birmingham accent adds a rough edge to the tender words, a contrast that defines him so well.

She looks up, her eyes meeting his with a tired but loving gaze. “Tommy,” she replies, a small smile curving her lips. “Just needed a moment. The baby’s been restless tonight.”

Thomas nods, understanding immediately. He crosses the room in a few strides, his presence a mix of power and protectiveness. He sits beside her, the couch dipping slightly under his weight. Gently, he places a hand over hers, feeling the life within her. It’s a moment of connection, grounding him in a way few things can.

“Been lookin’ for you,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning her face for any signs of discomfort. “Worried me, y’know.”

She chuckles softly, the sound like music to his ears. “I’m fine, Tommy. Just... needed to be alone for a bit.”

Thomas’s eyes soften further, the hard lines of his face easing as he takes in her serene expression. “Y’should rest more, love. Don’t want you overexertin’ y’self.” His voice is firm yet gentle, the protective husband surfacing through the tough gangster exterior.

She nods, leaning her head back against the couch and closing her eyes. “I know. It’s just... there’s so much to do. So much to prepare for.”

Thomas sighs, his hand moving to gently caress her cheek. “Leave it to me. I’ll handle everythin’. You just focus on our little one, yeah?”

He could see the strain in her eyes, the toll the pregnancy was taking on her. His heart ached for her, wishing he could take away her discomfort. "I wish I could do more," he said softly, his voice tinged with regret.

She smiled again, squeezing his hand. "You're here, Tommy. That's enough."

But it wasn't enough for him. He wanted to do more, to alleviate her pain in any way he could. His mind raced, trying to think of something, anything, that might help. Then she spoke again, her voice hesitant.

“Tommy, Ada said if it gets too heavy, you can lift my belly a bit with your hands. It might help.”

Tommy's brow furrowed as he processed her words. It was a simple gesture, yet one that could provide her with some relief. He looked into her eyes, seeing the vulnerability there, and he knew he had to try. "Alright, love," he said, his voice firm with determination. "Let's give it a go."

He moved closer, positioning himself in front of her. His hands, rough and calloused from years of hard work, gently interlaced under her belly. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the fabric of her dress, the gentle rise and fall of her breath. Slowly, he lifted, supporting the weight of their child. She let out a sigh of relief, her body relaxing into his touch.

"Better?" he asked, his voice soft.

She nodded, her eyes closing once more. "So much better. Thank you, Tommy."

He held her there, his strong arms supporting her, providing the comfort she so desperately needed. In that moment, all the worries and burdens of their world faded away, leaving only the two of them. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to simply be present, to cherish the moment.

"You're incredible, you know that?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Strongest woman I know."

She smiled, a soft blush creeping into her cheeks. "I have to be, married to you."

He chuckled, the sound low and rough. "Yeah, I suppose you do." His gaze softened as he looked at her, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings. "But I wouldn't change a thing. Not a bloody thing."

They stayed like that for a while, the silence between them comfortable and reassuring. Tommy's thoughts drifted to their future, to the life they were building together. It was a life filled with uncertainty and danger, but it was theirs. And as long as they had each other, he knew they could face anything. Eventually, he shifted, carefully lowering his hands and easing her back into a more comfortable position. He smiles, before cupping her face; his hands calloused from years of work, are surprisingly gentle as they cup her cheeks. He brushes a few stray strands of hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ear with a care that belies his hardened exterior. The feel of her skin under his fingertips is a reminder of all that he has fought for, and all that he stands to lose.

“Love,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, thick with his Birmingham accent. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” The words are simple, but they carry a weight of sincerity that is unmistakable.

She looks up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and fatigue. Pregnancy has been both a blessing and a challenge, but in this moment, with Thomas so close, she feels a sense of peace. He leans in, closing the small distance between them, and presses his lips to hers. The kiss is intense, filled with a passion that speaks volumes of his devotion. It’s not just a kiss; it’s a promise, a silent vow that he will always be there for her.

His hands move from her face to her shoulders, sliding down her arms and resting on her swollen belly. He can feel the life growing inside her, their child, the future of the Shelby legacy. The thought fills him with a fierce protectiveness, a determination to shield them both from the dangers of his world. He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“You’ve got to know,” he whispers, his voice husky with emotion, “I’d do anything for you. Anythin’ to keep you safe.” His words are punctuated by the gentle movement of his hands, caressing her belly as if to reassure both her and their child of his unwavering commitment.

Thomas stirred from sleep, his body instantly alert despite the lingering remnants of exhaustion. The warmth of the morning sun filtered through the heavy drapes, casting faint, golden lines across the bed where he lay. His hand reached instinctively to the other side, expecting to feel the familiar form of his wife beside him. The cool, empty sheets met his touch instead, sending a wave of unease through him. He sat up abruptly, the fine sheen of cold sweat on his forehead catching the light. He ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing it back from his face as his sharp blue eyes scanned the room.

The clock on the mantel ticked softly, marking the time as just past nine in the morning. Thomas swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the chill of the wooden floor against his bare feet grounding him. He rose to his full height, stretching out the tension in his muscles. He was dressed only in his boxers, the morning air cool against his skin. The bedroom was silent, save for the sounds that nature produced in the waking hours of the morning.

His mind raced through possibilities as he left the bedroom, each step measured and deliberate. The house was vast, and his wife could be anywhere, but his instinct told him to check the usual places first. The corridor outside their bedroom was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn against the morning light. Thomas moved with purpose, his eyes darting to each doorway as he passed. He checked the nursery, but it was empty save for the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through the window. The sitting room was similarly deserted, the furniture untouched and the air still.

Thomas’s worry deepened with each empty room. He descended the grand staircase, his hand trailing along the polished banister. The ground floor was no different – the study, the drawing room, all empty. He paused at the doorway to the dining room, listening intently. The faintest clink of cutlery reached his ears, a sound so subtle it could easily have been missed. Relief washed over him, but he kept his composure as he moved toward the kitchen, the source of the noise.

The kitchen was a contrast to the rest of the house – warm, filled with the rich aroma of freshly baked bread and other culinary delights. The sight that greeted Thomas made him pause in the doorway. His wife was at the counter, her back to him, completely absorbed in her task. She was preparing her favorite pregnancy craving, a look of contentment on her face as she worked. Her hair was loosely tied back, and she had her loose, flowing nightgown, made of soft, breathable fabric, was adorned with delicate lace and ribbon trims. He had it made especially for her.

A soft chuckle escaped Thomas’s lips, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Hungry, eh? For whatever you're eatin' at what... nine in the mornin'..." His voice was low, the thick Birmingham accent adding a familiar roughness to his words.

She turns to him, a small smile playing on her lips. Her eyes are bright, despite the early hour, and there's a certain glow about her that he finds both endearing and reassuring. "Well... I originally woke up because I had to throw up... but then it wore off and I just sat there for a bit before I actually did throw up..." she explains, her voice trailing off as she takes another bite.

He crosses the room to her, his worry giving way to a tender affection. He reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch gentle and careful. "You alright now?" he asks, his voice softening. "You and the little one?"

She nods, placing the bowl on the counter. "Yes, we're fine. Just one of those mornings."

Thomas wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close. He can feel the slight swell of her belly against his skin, a constant reminder of the new life growing inside her. "You should've woken me," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She laughs softly, resting her head against his chest. "You need your rest too, Tommy. Besides, it’s nothing I can’t handle."

He holds her for a moment longer, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. The kitchen, with its warm morning light and the comforting presence of his wife, feels like a sanctuary. A stark contrast to the chaos and violence that often defines his life outside these walls. He pulls back slightly, looking down at her with a mixture of love and concern. "If you need anythin', you come get me. Don’t try to be too strong on your own."

She nods, understanding the depth of his worry. "I will, I promise."

They both stood there looking at each other.

"Any plans for today?" he asks, breaking the comfortable silence.

She looks up at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I was thinking of organizing the nursery a bit more. And maybe take a walk in the garden if the weather holds."

He nods, appreciating her simple plans. "Sounds good. I’ve got a meeting later, but I’ll be back by lunch. We can go for that walk together."

She smiles, the idea pleasing her. "I’d like that."

Author’s Notes:

Credit for the smol sparkle divider: CafeKitsune

[bitterrfruit]

[he's in a meeting]

A quick horny ramble about your boss failing to control himself. here's [part 2] for you horny, horny freaks (affectionate) Executive John Price x EA f!Reader 18+ mdni - ~1k words

Does that pen taste good? 

It’s the sixth time you’ve stuck it in your mouth in the last minute. 

John watches you through the shimmering glass of the conference room, his spinning leather seat perfectly situated; he can see you where you sit at your desk through the gap in the corridor, just the right angle to see you cross one of your nylon-sheathed legs over the other. Watches the sling-back of your kitten heel slip loose as you buck your foot, wiggling it in boredom, kicking the leg of your desk with the pointed toe. 

You lavish that pen. He’s almost jealous of it. Your gentle teeth bite down on the clicker, he sees you run it back and forth in strokes over your bottom lip. Glossy with balm and spit, the soft pink flesh of your lip pillows out around where you push the plastic in. 

He adjusts himself in his seat, leaning back to stretch out the tension knotting in his abdominals. Turns his head back towards the conference table at regular intervals to ensure he appears appropriately attentive, avoiding comment from his fellow executives that he looks distracted. 

They drone on about the merger, about surplus, about transition plans and communication bottlenecks. They’ll ask him for his input as their senior, he’ll make a noncommittal comment and defer to somebody else to elaborate. 

And he’ll look back at you. 

You lean over your desk and the waistband of your pencil skirt cuts into the arch of your spine, the grey pinstripe material strains over the mouthwatering swell of your ass. The seams look weak. Wouldn’t take much to tear it apart.  

Fuck, he wants to tear it to shreds. 

He’d have to, the fabric is too firm, too tight to be rucked up to your hips; no, he’d grab it by the hem and rip it apart by the stitches. He’d roll down your stockings, peel them from your legs, and use them to bind together your winsome hands. He’d hold your little head against the wood veneer of your desk, he’d knock over the jar that holds all of your pens with the force in his thrusts as he stuffs you full. 

He can hear you mewling in your sweetly surprised voice; Please, Mr Price. That hurts, Mr Price. Harder, Mr Price. 

Gritting teeth, he hopes his colleagues pay no mind to the bulging veins that throb in his temples. To the tendons in the back of his hands wrenching under his skin as they clench into fists. He bounces his knee, some effort at somatic distraction, to keep the blood flowing anywhere else but his cock. 

He knew hiring you was a terrible idea. He saw you waiting outside his office before your interview, and immediately knew it would be cruel of him to subject you to being his subordinate. You were impish and clever during that interview, took everything he threw at you and sucked on it thoughtfully, presented it back to him as hard candy. 

When you left with that saunter, so confident you had gotten the job - he decided then and there that he couldn’t have you as his executive assistant. Because in that short thirty minutes you had invaded every crevice of his mind, you lingered on his tongue long after you left. It took every synapse of his brain to forcibly prevent his body from enacting what it so ravenously wanted to, from tearing you out of your seat and breaking you in half over his desk. 

But, to his dismay, the decision had been taken from his grip. He offered one positive statement about you, and that was that - human resources declared your resume the strongest, your attitude the keenest, and you were hired without much fanfare. 

He insisted your desk be far from his, out of sight and mind; but even still, every morning, he could smell your perfume where it lingered by the coffee machine, could hear your cloying giggles from across the expansive office. 

He had scolded you, once, dragged you into his office in sight of all of your murmuring colleagues. He told you that you were too distractible, too easily turned away from your tasks by things more interesting. He said that if you didn’t like doing what you were told, then this wasn’t the place for you. 

But, no, you simply gave him a sweet and eager smile. This is the place for me, Mr Price. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. 

His cock turned to steel at your desperate apology, at your sycophantic enthusiasm - and that was the last time he scolded you. 

If he were a better man, he would have fucked his fist in a cubicle to the image of you, shot ropes of his pent-up come into some single ply toilet paper and flushed it away, over and done with. 

But he has let it build, has let the pressure mount within his welded seams such that he threatens to erupt like a steam boiler. 

Your tongue juts out only slightly, you lick the tip of your painted finger to help you turn the page of the folder you sift through, and your lip catches in your teeth. 

“‘Scuse me for a minute,” is all he says, it comes out of his throat ragged and strained, and he pushes himself up from the conference table. 

Follow a few murmurs of either dispute or acceptance - they fall on deaf ears, as he shoves open the swinging glass door and marches down the short corridor. 

The footsteps of his leather oxfords are loud despite being muted by the dense, flat carpet - they alert you to his approach, and you tug the wet pen from your lips when you swivel around to look at him. 

You squeak, already fearing admonishment, “Mr-”

“A word,” he grunts, a succinct order, gesturing with a hand for you to follow him. 

Letting out his tie just a bit, he bites down hard on nothing. 

“Oh - yes, of course,” you oblige with a stammer, pushing yourself to stand and smoothing out the creases in your little skirt with flat palms. “Am I in trouble?”

Huffing impatiently, eyes dark, he gives you a single and rigid nod.

“You might be.”

[hidden-poet]

Poison: part 2

Summary: Coriolanus always hated Sejanus Plinth. He had everything that Coriolanus should of had; money, influence, and you.

Warnings: Coryo being de-lu-lu, unrequited love, Reader insert, dark!Coriolanus snow, unedited, dead dove to not eat

Word count: 15,053

Part 1 here

Part 3 coming.

Coriolaus wakes early the next morning and races to the Citadel to drop off Dr Gauls homework. 

He carried his anxiety about Dr Gauls potential comments along with him to his session with Lucy-Grey. 

He struggled to sit still, twirling his pen around and around in his hand. It was not how he wanted to present himself to Lucy-gray. 

What he wanted was her trust, her loyalty, her obedience. Things that would be hard to gain if he gave off a school-boy impression. 

Instead he forced his nails into the palm of his hand under the table, and tried to focus on Lucy-Gray as she spoke. 

“I am sorry about your friend”, she offered. 

“Thank you”, he returned. 

“That other girl. Was she okay? The guards whisked you away so fast. I couldn’t see-”. 

Something about her asking about you made Coriolanus irritated. 

He supposed it was just the image it brought back. The sheer shock upon your face, the fear that he wouldn’t get to you in time. 

“She’s fine”, he interrupted. His pen began twirling in his hand again. 

He wished he could have seen you this morning to check on you. You most likely woke up in the arms of Sejanus. He wouldn’t check on you like he should. His first words would have been complaints about the games. 

He shouldn’t be here really. Who choses mentoring a boy sure to die rather than taking care of you at home. Coriolanus bet he made no protest when you got ready for school. 

If it had been Coriolanus, as it should be, he would have ensured you stayed home in bed. He wouldn’t have left your side after yesterday. He wouldn’t have even let you be there yesterday. 

First Sejanus causes the wound, and then he isn’t man enough to take care of you properly. How sweet it will be, the day you finally belong to Coriolanus Snow. 

“I need you to sing in these interviews. It’s your last chance to win people over. I can’t send you gifts in the area without their money”, he states. 

“Maybe a guitar could persuade me. Maybe”, Lucy-gray offers. 

“Snow. Dovecote” Dean highbottom calls. 

Coriolanus whips around to see Peacekeepers waiting for them by the door. 

He could piece the clues together to come to the conclusion that Dr Gaul had called them. 

Clemmie on the other hand waited until they were climbing the Citadel steps to ask her obvious question. 

“She can’t actually have expected us to write that report. Could she? I was crying for hours last night”. 

Corionaus sighs. If Clemmie had kept her mouth shut he would have been next to you. You’d be nervous and in need of comfort, no matter how tough you talked.

“We did write it. I handed it in this morning”, he states. 

This time Clemmie sighed, “Great, give me the highlights”. 

Coriolanus obliged her if only to keep his mind focused. His bullet points took him up the entry stairs and through the doorway to Dr Gauls lab.

The lab exceeded coriolanus horrific expectations. 

It was cold and the large space only housed a long corridor of strange creatures in glass cabinets. 

Coriolanus taps the casing of a fish-type creature only to see if it moves. 

Its eyes shoot open only for a second before falling back into a drugged sleepy state. 

What exactly was Dr Gaul doing? What were these things? For what purpose could they be used for? 

“Mr Snow. Ms Dovecote. Come and see my new babies”. Dr Gaul's voice boomed in the empty space.

Coriolaus left the fish, following Clemmie as Dr Gaul led them to a new section and over to a large tank of colorful serpents. 

The rainbow moved within the glass in perfect sync. It was hard to tell where one snake started and another ended. 

“Is there a point to the color?”Clemmie asked. 

Dr Gaul scoffs at her as she ascends the stairs to the top of the glass cage.

“There’s a point to everything, Ms Dovecote, or nothing at all”, Dr Gauls answers. 

She spins to face the children, and rests against the side of the enclosure. 

“I must say I was expecting Miss y/n, in your place Ms Dovecott”. 

“As I said, Dr Gaul, Coriolanus and I do all our assignments together”, Clemmie defended. 

“Which is exactly why I was expecting the other one”. Dr Gauls eyes flick to Coriolanus, “exactly, which part did you write Miss Dovecott?”. 

Coriolanus tries to pull Clemmie out of the hole she was in but Clemmie talks over top of him.

“There was-”.

“I was inspired by Coriolanus, of course. But the sponsorships, and the gifts in the arena. They were all mine”, she cut him off. 

“Clemmie”, he warns. Dr Gaul already knew she played no part. Lying to her would only aggravate her sadistic tenancies. 

Dr Gual takes the bait. Crossing her hands in an almost gleeful manner she addresses Clemmie. 

“So it’s your sweaty handwriting on that page? Very impressive, Miss Dovecote”, Dr Gauls fawns. 

Coriolanus knew it was a tease. He anticipated the come down and the potential consequences of her lie. 

“Unfortunately’, Dr Gaul continues, “My assistant mistook it for trash and lined the shelf of this very terrarium with it”. 

Dr Gaul slides back the hatch to show the students the paper that was trapped between the snakes. 

“Retrieve it for us, won't you? So we might all consider your inspired ideas”, Dr Gaul smiles. 

Coriolanus hand twitched. He imagines you in Clemmies place now. How close he would have pulled you. How his own hands would latch themselves over yours and shield them against your chest. 

He wondered if he should do the same for Clemmie. She was an old friend, and her grades helped him to the top. 

Still he only stood back and watched. Half-Curious as to what would happen. 

The snakes couldn't be poisonous. Dr Gaul wouldn’t play with a students life. Especially a student from a high status family like Clemmie’s. 

Maybe. Coriolanus thinks back to the weird, mutated animals that lined the hallway. There was really no telling what Dr Gaul was capable of. 

“Don’t worry. My little predators are perfectly docile with those they can trust. So if they’re used to your scent, if you’ve handled their food, for example, or if they have inhaled the sweat of your palm on a page..they’ll leave you alone. If not, You’d be on your own, little girl”. 

Coriolanus knew from her words that Dr Gaul words were a threat. Those Snakes would harm Clemmie. 

Yet she reached her hand into the enclosure. 

“Clemmie!” Coriolanus grits. 

He is ignored to her own peril. 

As soon as her hand brushes against the edge of the page, a Snake lashes out and strikes the flesh that proposes to retrieve the paper. 

Clemmie screams upon impact. Trying desperately to shake the snake from her hand, she loses balance and topples off the stand. 

“Clemmie! No, no!” Coriolanus attempts to catch her as she falls, but Dr Gaul hinders him by pulling him back by his arm. 

She lands with a heavy thud on her back. Gasps fill the air as she tires to regain her breath. 

Already she looked pale. The skin on her hand turned a pale green color, and her eyes refused to blink or look anywhere else but directly in front of her. 

“You asked about the colors, Ms Dovecott.  I want my enemies to see a rainbow of destruction engulfing the world. I am not above using spectacle to create a little terror. A strategy your classmate here articulated very well in his proposal”. 

Coriolanus watches as two peacekeepers and assistant come running over. The assistant administered a large needle which helped Clemmie regain her breath but not her composition. 

The Peacekeepers then, without care, began to drag Clemmie across the floor and out a near door. 

Coriolanus was left alone with Dr Gaul who turned her attention to him. 

“I wonder if y/n would have chosen the same decision?”, she questioned. 

“Will she die?” Coriolanus asked in a hard tone. More than Dr Gaul mentioning you, he hated the image of you lying in Clemmies place. 

Dr Gaul shrugs her shoulders as if it didn’t really matter. 

“The pleasure of breaking ground in one’s research is one gets to find out”, she dismissed. 

She smirks as she turns back to the enclosure. Her hand reaches in and she begins to play with her pet snakes. 

“You don’t like me talking about her do you?”, Dr Gaul picks up a loose piece of paper and thrusts it at Coriolanus, “for a boy who came up with these proposals, you sure do wear your heart on your sleeve”. 

The paper crumbles in Coriolanus' grip. He looks at it to avoid eye contact with Dr Gaul. 

“What would Miss y/n think if she saw them? They’re good, these proposals. I am planning to implement as many as possible”. 

This causes Coriolanus to look up at Dr Gaul. If you knew, you were sure to never forgive him. 

“Don’t worry” Dr Gaul said, as if she could read his mind, “I’ll take credit for this one. Miss y/n is yet to realize her place in this world”. 

Dr Gaul closes the hatch to the snakes enclosure, turning her body towards Coriolanus. 

“And who is to be beside her, wouldn’t you say?”, she taunts. 

Coriolanus straightens up, dropping the ruined paper to the ground. 

“Y/n isn’t part of this conversation”, Coriolanus snaps.

Dr Gaul grins at him in response, stepping closer so she could talk quieter but still be heard. 

“We both want a new world, Mr Snow. My only question is how far are you willing to go to get it?’

She doesn’t let him answer. Seemingly, now bored of the conversation. 

“Now run along, you have an arena to promote and it’s time for my milk and crackers”, she dismisses. 

He takes the chance to leave. Storming down the steps and back along the hallway as fast as he could. 

Coriolanus tries to keep himself from running out of the Citadel. He nearly stumbles over his feet trying to get out as quick as he can. 

Turning behind him every so often to make sure no one was following him. 

The whole scene plays in his mind again and again. 

He was glad it wasn’t you in the end. You were already so traumatized after yesterday, it was a relief to not have to put you through that ordeal. 

The walk through of the arena was not for another hour. He had time to check on you. 

He was sure you were at school. Your parents wouldn’t let Sejanus into the house, and you wouldn’t have left Sejanus after yesterday. There was little chance you would have stayed at the Plinths. A smaller chance of Sejanus forcing you to as he should have. 

Suddenly, Sejanus’ lack of care turned out to be a good thing. 

Sejanus would be with his mentor getting ready for the tour. Which meant Coriolanus could see you without company. 

He knew your class schedule well. He liked the knowledge while he was in one class, he knew which one you were in. 

So he knew where to go and wait until the bell rang. 

A group of people rushed out of the classroom before you. You were the only one walking alone so you were easy to spot. 

You almost walk past him but he grabs your wrist and pulls you out of the line of people to a quiet staircase. 

“Coriolanus?” you question. 

You don’t fight him as he pulls you against the wall and stands in front of you like a shield. 

The people who walk past eye the scene but make nothing of it. 

“Coriolanus, are you okay?” you question. 

He couldn’t tell you about Clemmie and Dr Gaul but he was also so desperate for comfort. 

“Is it Arachne?” you ask. He nods his head ‘yes’ although his mind was far from it. 

You put your hand that was free from the weight of your books on his shoulder. 

“It’s not your fault’’, you console. 

“I just wish I could have done more”, he lied. 

He had thought little about Arachne since last night. But she was once again bringing you closer to him.

You shake your head, a sad expression pulls across your face and he instantly regrets his lie. Yesterday was traumatic to you, he shouldn't have played it up just for some sympathy. 

“No” you repeat, “what happened was no one's fault but her own”.

He wanted to make the argument that perhaps the fault lies with no one else but the tribute, but it would open a conversation he did not want to have. 

Instead he reaches up and places his hand on your elbow that had reached out to him.  

“Are you okay?” he asks. It should have been his first question.

“I am fine” you say. 

Your hand drops from his shoulder and he is forced to put his hand on the brick wall next to your hip. 

The position wedged you in a corner. With his tall frame towering over you and now his arm blocking you in. It felt as if you were trapped. 

“You should talk to someone. Arachne was your friend”, you state.

You shuffle slightly forward to hint to him that he was too close but he remains stagnant in his place. 

“Arachne was not my friend”, he deflects. 

You never liked her which meant Coriolanus never liked her. 

“You're my friend. Arachne was just someone I grew up with. I hardly knew her”, Coriolanus tried a softer tone as his previous speech came off harder than intended. 

He offered a kind smile that you did not return. 

“I’ve been worried about you all day” he breathes. 

His hand moves to your hip, and you are quick to push it off. 

“Coriolanus you are acting strange, perhaps you should go see the school doctor. No one would blame you if you chose to drop out of mentoring after yesterday”. 

Strange you called it. Not a man desperately in love. But a mad man that needs to be taken away. 

This causes him to take a step back away from you. His eyes go down to the ground but shoot back up at you. Mentoring. In a haste he checks his watch. 

He was supposed to be at the Arena in fifteen minutes but he is twenty minutes away. 

He groans, cursing the length of the Citadel from here, and cursing your late class.

 “I have to leave”, he says, “i just came to make sure you were okay”. 

“I am”, you acknowledge. 

He steps forward again, placing his hands on your shoulder blades and pulling you forward into his chest. 

You stumble into him, timidly raising your hands to pat his lower back. 

“Forget your last class, you should go home”, he begs. 

He feels you push back against him so he lets you go and takes a step back. 

“You should worry more about yourself. You look so pale”. 

When you reach out to touch his forehead, he leans into your touch. Loving the way your little warm hand felt. 

He knew it didn’t mean anything. You were kind. He could have been anyone and you would have done the same thing. 

Still he allows himself a second of pretend that it meant more. 

“I have to go”, he says again, “Just promise me that you’ll go home”.

“Sure, Coriolanus”, you amuse. 

It was enough to hear it. He didn’t need to believe it. 

With a final smile, he reaches up to touch your elbow once more and leaves you in the dark corner. 

His run to the arena would have been easier for him if he had any fuel to burn.

His breakfast of a single potato did not provide enough energy to make the distance, yet he pushed himself further than his body wanted him to. 

It paid off when he reached the arena just in time for walk-in. 

He filed in next to Lucy-Grey seconds before the doors opened. 

“I didn’t think you were going to make it”, lucy-Grey admits. 

“We’re going to win this” Coriolanus vows, “Together”. 

The arena is dark. An ominous red glow from the ticket vendor invites them in. 

The camera crew are already there, pointing their large frames in the faces of the tributes. 

Lucy-Grey smiles at it, before it pans to a Solomon looking Sejanus walking behind his tribute.

When the shutters open, the streaming light startles Lucy-Grey who pulls back against Coriolanus. 

He steadies her, looking around for possible strategies. 

“Please” Lucy-Grey grabs his arm to turn him towards her, “Please, Coriolanus, don’t let me die in here tomorrow”.

Before he can answer he is knocked off his feet by a large explosion. He feels heavy gusts of wind from three other directions meaning there was no safe direction he could turn too. 

Lucy-Grey lands beside him, and he scrambles to help her to her feet. 

The dust is heavy and clouds them. He could feel lucy-gray in his grasp but could only faintly see her.  The screams and commotion make it impossible to hear what she is trying to say. 

Another loud explosion tore the roof down over them. 

He releases Lucy-gray so they could both run for cover. 

Days of the war spring to his memory. The rebels were back to finish him off. 

The force of the explosion knocked him off balance and onto the floor. 

He could see peoples feet as they scramble past but none stop to help him. 

A louder, cracking noise spoke of his bigger issue and he turns to see a large pailing coming down towards him. 

Knowing he wouldn't have enough time to get to his feet, he began to crawl as fast as he could. 

It wasn’t fast enough. The hot metal pailing pins his shoulder to the ground. He could smell his own flesh burning as he lay trapped. 

Was this how it ended? He regrets not kissing you today. He had always been reserved. Afraid of your rejection. But he should have just took. Now he’ll die without ever getting to taste you. 

Through the smoke he could see Lucy-Grays boots come into view. 

“Help me” he begs. He still had so much to do. 

She looks to be bending down to assist when she is interrupted by Marcus flying across towards the open door. 

“Leave him” he demands, “He wouldn’t save you”. 

Marcus doesn’t stick around for her decision. Running to his freedom just across the room. 

It was true, if it come down to it Coriolanus would save himself. But Lucy-Gray needed him to survive. She would only get caught in the Capitol and then thrown in the area without a mentor. 

She must have realized that too because she bent back down to lift the burning metal off Coriolanus. She didn’t have to lift it far for Coriolanus to roll out from under it.

He is panting heavily he realizes, and is unable to move his shoulder.When Peacekeeper came to take lucy-gray away. Coriolanus couldn’t even rise from the floor to stop them. 

He throws out his good hand in an attempt to do something. But the searing pain in his shoulder and his cloudy head hindered him from being able to help. 

The last image he could see was her looking down at her burnt hands before it all went black. 

His pounding headache woke him to the sight of you by his bed. 

He didn’t believe it. He had to be dead. 

His hand lashes out to take a hold of your wrist. You felt real. 

Your reaction seemed real. A startled look of surprise and discomfort. 

“Woah, Corio, take it slow”, the voice of Tigres calls to him. 

He looks away from your face to see Tigres sitting in the chair next to you. 

“What?” Coriolanus questioned, “What happened?”. 

He lets go of your wrist only so he could rise from the bed. The ache in his shoulder becoming more apparent as he moved. 

“It was a rebel bombing. They must have been planning it for months. Four tributes were killed”. 

Coriolanus almost scowls hearing his voice. 

Sejanus sat in a chair positioned on the other side of the bed. You hadn’t come to him in his hour of need. You were merely tagging along with your boyfriend. 

“Everyone is terrified, Corio” Tigres explains, “Fliex Ravenstill is on life support”. 

“The rebels released a message. They said they want to tear down the symbol of the Hunger Games. Marcus got out. He’s the only one. Peacekeepers are hunting him in the streets but at least he has a better chance out there than he would tomorrow”, Sejanus gravely mutters. 

“Tomorrow?” Coriolanus expounds, “They’re not still going ahead with the Games?”

“We can’t look weak in front of the enemy,” you spat, “Everything is going ahead as scheduled. I don’t even know if Lucy-Gray will be able to play tonight”.

“The interviews”, Coriolanus guessed, still hazy. 

He pulls himself up out of bed, holding out his arm for you to help his rise. 

You do, automatically, hooking his good arm over your shoulder and wrapping your arm across his waist to keep him up. 

‘‘You shouldn’t get out of bed”, you criticize him. 

Normally he wouldn’t ignore you, but the interviews started fifty minutes ago. 

Sejanus rises to in order to assist Coriolanus as he shuffles forward, but Coriolanus barks another order at him. 

“Sejanus, turn the Tv to the interviews”. 

Like a good dog, he obeys. Leaving another man hanging onto his girlfriend. 

“Careful, Corio” Tigres directs. 

Coriolanus takes tigres arm as he couldn’t lift his shoulder so all his weight wasn’t passed on to you. 

The Tv turns just in time to watch Lucy-gray come out with a guitar, and a big smile. 

Sejanus makes his way over to you, offering to take your place as Coriolanus’ anchor. 

He is quick to speak for you. Stating that the change would topple him to the floor. 

Sejanus relents and takes his place beside you. You made no complaints so Coriolanus’ weight couldn’t have been hurting you. 

Coriolanus had missed the opening introduction due to Sejanus, but was now focused enough as Lucy-Gray went into her song. 

“Where did she get the guitar?” Coriolanus asks. He had been too busy to organize her one before the bombing. 

“I brought it for her”, you answer, “i went to see if she was okay after the bombing and she said she needed a guitar for her interview. Said she’ll feel naked without it”. 

“Thank you. That was very kind”, Coriolanus commended softly. 

Coriolanus always knew someday that you and him would make a great team.

Your eyes are trained on Lucy-gray, and Coriolanus followed suit. 

She sang about a boy back home and a betrayal. Was that what she was referring to when she said it was complicated back home. Will she fight with everything she had in her or does she secretly hope that she will die just to spite her past lover. 

It was additional stress Coriolanus could have lived without. 

“The poor girl” you mutter with tears rolling down your face. 

Coriolanus squeezes your shoulders in comfort. 

‘She’ll be okay” he promises. He would ensure it for his own survival and your personal satisfaction now that you and his tribute were friendly. 

“Thank you for being here”, he says looking down at you, before turning his sights to Tigres, “All of you”. 

“It’s what friends do”, Sejanus answers. The only person Coriolanus was not speaking to. 

“I don’t think you should be standing”, you say, trying to turn Coriolanus back to bed. 

He allows you to lead him there where you tuck him back into bed. 

You ruin the moment by going straight back into Sejanus’ arms once Coriolanus has settled. 

“We’ll leave you to rest” Sejanus states. 

He looked too unhappy for a man who held you in his arms. 

“Goodnight” he bids, ‘and y/n, thank you for helping Lucy-Gray tonight”.

Her performance wouldn't have been half as moving with the soft, sad melody accompanying it. 

“Good luck, Coriolanus. I hope she wins”, you remark. 

With the Plinth prize and the love of his life on the line; lucy-gray was going to be the 10th annual winner of the Hunger Games. 

Coriolanus just had to figure out how to give her a competitive edge. 

He visited the zoo later that night after scouting out the new arena. With four tributes already dead and the new tunnels revealed, the bombing may have been the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

“Lucy-gray!” he calls softly, “Lucy-gray!”

He can hear the pounding of her footsteps as they come closer. He checks for Guards and woken tributes as she made unnecessary noise. None were aroused so he remained in his spot. 

“You’re alive!” She exclaims as she nears the fence. 

“Those bombs have changed everything”, he wastes no time to explain his purpose here, “They blew the walls out. So that means you can escape up into the stands. Theres a hole down in the floor, it leads down to some tunnels. You can escape there, I tried it.So the moment you hear that bell ring, you run as fast as you can for that hole and find a palace to hide down below alone”. 

‘Alone? No, jessups my friend”, she argues. 

He shakes his head ‘no’. 

“The moment that bell rings, you can’t trust anyone. Not even jessup. Just lay low down there until its safe to come out”, he demands. 

Couldn't she see that she was risking not only her own life, but his, with her undying loyalty. 

“Thank you. You and y/n have been so nice to me. I don’t know what I would have done without you both”, Lucy-Grey declares, “I don’t know how i’ll ever pay you back for your kindness”. 

“You can win”, Coriolanus orders, “you winning will be life changing for y/n and I. We can finally live the life we want to live. When you win, you’ll win for all of us”. 

‘I’ll try, but-” she begins but never finishes as Coriolanus cuts her off. 

“Theres no ‘buts’. Theres no other option”, he asserts. 

Lucy-Gray begins to cry from the pressure of it all. 

“Hey”, he whispers in sympathy. 

“I am sorry. I am more hopeful in the day light but when it gets to night”, she whimpers. 

“It’s okay” he consoles, reaching for his handkerchief in his pocket. The same one he used to wipe your tears, he now used to wipe the tears of Lucy-gray. 

“We are going to win, Lucy-Gray. I promise.”.

“Y/n, real lucky to have a friend like you” Lucy-gray comments. 

He knew that. Who else would be willing to risk everything for your happiness. It didn’t even bother him that Lucy-gray referred to him as your friend. 

All that matters is that someone else realizes the depth of his love. 

“I am very lucky to have her”. He breaths. He was cautious to say too much.

“Look, that song, I need to know that you are serious about winning”, he demands. 

“That song? That was just pay back, that’s all”, she defenders, “my old boyfriend Billy taupe was cheating on me with the mayor's daughter. She got crazy jealous, had her pa read my name out on stage, and now everyone will know what they did to me”.

The look upon her face told him that she was serious, so he reached into his breast pocket to pull out his most prized possession. 

“Here” he shoves the compact into Lucy’s-Grays hand.

“I can’t” she resists, “It’s too fine”

He clasps his hands over hers to stop her passing it back. 

“It’s not a gift. It’s a loan. His large hands wrap entirely around Lucy-Gray’s little fingers. 

“Whats in here, don’t touch it. Don’t even breathe it in because small amounts can be deadly”. 

He could faintly see Lucy-gray staring back at him in the dark. Her big brown eyes caught the lighting of the Zoo and shined back at him. 

“I have seen what war does to people, okay?”, he lectures, “I’ve seen it, and there will come a time when you need this, when you need to act. We all do things we’re not proud of to survive.”

Unexpectedly she brings her head forward to bars in an attempt to kiss him. He lowers his head slightly to dissuade her. 

The last thing he needed was word getting back to you through a Tribute pretending to be asleep, or just his poor luck to have a Capitol citizen decide to visit the Zoo at the exact moment of weakness. 

“I am sorry”, she gasps, “you said it was complicated with y/n, and y/n said she was with Sejanus so I”. 

She doesn’t finish her sentence, too embarrassed. 

Coriolanus shakes it off like it was nothing, in an attempt to ease her. 

“It’s fine. I just”, Coriolanus wasn’t sure what to say. 

You were with Sejanus. There was no real reason why he couldn’t kiss lucy-gray. 

It was mis-guided loyalty to a woman who kissed another man. Sometimes right in front of Coriolanus. 

Still it didn’t feel right. He wanted you to be the only person he kissed. 

“It’s”, Coriolanus begins. 

“Complicated”, Lucy-Gray finishes. 

Coriolanus moves closer, bringing his head as far as he could to the bars.

“We’re gonna win this Lucy-Gray. We’re gonna win this together. I’m going to get you home, back to the Covery, okay? I promise”. 

Coriolanus looks at his victor. His dog in the race. He’s bet it all on her, and he’ll be damned if she was going to let him down.

The morning of the Games, Coriolanus couldn’t even eat his cabbage soup that Tigres had worked so hard to prepare. 

He kisses Grandma’am and Tigress goodbye before beginning his long journey to school. 

There would be cameras and crowds of people. He had to look composed, but inside he felt the most scared he had ever been. 

The feeling eased seeing you across the auditorium. 

Your hair was down, and your uniform looked freshly pressed. Sejanus held you by the waist as you spoke to him, and you rested your hands on top of his. 

It didn’t matter you were here for Coriolanus just as much as you were for Sejanus. His tribute wasn’t even participating. If anything you had come to support Coriolanus and Lucy-Gray. 

“Coryo!” Sejanus called for him as he approached the mentors chairs. 

Sejanus lets go of you, which is something Coriolanus would never do, to place a hand on Coriolanus shoulder. 

“Hey” Coriolanus greets. His eyes remain on you and how you smile at him. 

“How you doing?  You alright?” Sejanus asks. 

“Better”, Coriolanus dismisses. 

He sees a photographer approaching from the corner of his eye, and takes the opportunity to take a step back to invite you between Sejanus and himself. 

With a hand on your lower back, he propels you forward. The hand remains as you shuffle next to him. 

“Over here please!”, the man with the large camera calls. 

Coriolanus smiles at the camera, and he hoped you were too. The flash blinds him, and your smiles fades too fast to be certain it ever was really there. 

“How are you this morning?”, Coriolanus asks softly. 

“Not about to be forced to fight to the death”, you snap.

You don’t look at him as you speak as you often choose not to do. 

“Here we go. Here we go, everyone, come on”, Lucky flickerman diverts people back to their seats, before Coriolanus has the opportunity to comfort you.

Sejanus' large hand goes to the back of your neck, and he leans down to whisper in your ear. 

“Wait for me over there?” he asks, flicking his head to the nearest bleacher to his seat. 

It was the furthest from Coriolanus’ seat, but you nod in agreement and move to his direction. 

Coriolanus is ushered into his own seat. He has to crane his neck to look at you sitting on the end of the bleacher all by yourself. He hates to see you as a social out-cast. 

“Five, four, three, two”, the music signals the start of Lucky Flickerman's introduction. 

Coriolanus ignores him mostly. Turning in his chair to watch you engrossed in the large television in front of you. 

Your hands grip the seat underneath you. He would give anything to be able to comfort you. 

He wanted to tell you that it was all going to be okay. If he sat you where he wanted, he would have been able to hold your hand, but Sejanus had put distance between you and him, so he would have to watch from afar. 

Suddenly you gasp, bring your hand up to your mouth with a frightened expression. 

Coriolanus turns back to the screens to see what could have caused such a reaction. 

They had found Marcus and left him strung up and half-alive in the arena. It was cruel even for Coriolanus. 

You shouldn’t have had to see that. Coriolanus wished he could have protected you from it. A district boy taught a lesson, at the expense of your poor, soft heart. 

You’ll be crying about it for weeks with only Sejanus for consolation. 

Coriolanus wasn’t sure who would be comforting who with the way Sejanus jumped from his chair. 

As soon as he is out of it, the chair was flying across the room. Only stopping when it hits the force of the wall. 

“You’re monsters! All of you!” He screams to the audience. 

He storms past Lucky flickerman who begins the countdown to the Games as if Sejanus had never existed at all. 

Coriolanus gets up, rushing over to you as you rise to follow Sejanus. 

He manages to catch your arm just as you make it to the exit way. 

The scene was out of the line of camera-shot. Past the first three rows of seats, and hidden by the depth of the stands. 

Coriolanus felt hidden enough to not let go of your arm, despite you struggling against him. 

You turn back to see how had stopped you with an angry expression, but it doesn’t soften when you see it’s him. 

“Don’t”, he begs. He wanted you to stay and support him. 

It didn’t matter if you knew it or not, but you were his biggest comfort, and that’s what he needed as he watched Lucy-Gray fight for his life. 

You don’t listen to him, tugging your arm out of his grip and chasing after Sejanus without looking back. 

Coriolanus watches as you go with a heavy breath.

‘And they’re off!” Lucky announces. 

Coriolanus turns to watch Lucy-Gray run from her mark.

“Run”, he demands softly. He takes a few steps forward but is halted when Lucy-Gray remains in the same spot, looking around. 

“What are you doing? Run” he groans. 

He staggers back to his seat, gripping the plastic back tightly in his hand. 

His eyes shut when Lucy-Gray narrowly avoids a strike from Reaper.  

Why won’t anyone ever listen to him, he wondered. 

A district 2 kid gets slaughtered which gains the Cameras full attention. When it pans back to a field shot, Lucy-Gray was crossing the broken fragments with Coral hot on her heels. 

Coriolanus felt the need to take a seat as he watched. A few of his eliminated classmates wished him well as they left, but Coriolanus remained slumped against his hand. 

It wasn’t until she had gathered Jessup and began racing for the hole in the ground that Coriolanus lifted his head again. 

“Go, go, go”, he muttered. The pack was closing in. Hell bent on taking out Lucy-gray. 

They almost manage to, but Lucy-Gray slips through the broken door, and a squabble prohibits the hunters coming in. 

He sighs. At least she was safe for now. He would worry about Jessup when it came time for it. Whats the point of worrying now? It was still anybody's game. He could very well die within the next hour from a surprise attack. 

Coriolanus squirms in his seat watching as another child is hacked apart by dull weapons. 

He pushes it from his mind as soon as the camera shifts. Lucy-Gray was safe, thats all that mattered. She still has a shot at winning. 

Nothing more happened. All the tributes found shelter in one corner or another. Only Reaper paced the opened space, willing someone to come attack him. 

Coriolanus wonders if you will be back. He hoped you would come check on him. 

Coriolanus rises his head to the screen once more as Lamina makes her way up the broken fragments to where Marcus hung. Reaper gave her space, seemingly knowing what she was doing. 

A small conversation between the two preceded Lamina swinging her axe down. 

Coriolanus shudders hearing the impact. He hoped you didn’t see that. 

He could only imagine the sobbing it would cause. 

Lamina cuts marcus down and he falls like a bag of bricks. 

She gazes down at him. Coriolanus couldn’t tell if it was in remorse, or in quiet pride of giving him a merciful death.

The sound of the drone coming near broke her concentration. The water attached swung in the air as it flew too fast towards her. She rose, reaching out to catch it. 

Coriolanus almost laughed when it drove straight past her and smashed into the rocks. 

The night dragged on, but Coriolanus remained. Eyes glued to the screen in hope of a glance of Lucy-Gray. 

The camera stayed mainly above ground where the action was, but sometimes he got a dash at what Lucy-Gray was doing. 

She was still alive. Or at least was, ten minutes ago. 

The other mentors, and most of the audience had left as the night bled. 

Nothing had really happened for hours. A squabble or a chase here and there but most of the fight had left the tributes. 

“If only you could trap y/n as easily as you have trapped that poor girl”, Dean Highbottoms voice surprised Coriolanus.

“I’ve trapped her?”Coriolanus fought, “I didn’t create the Games”.

He saw Dean Highbottom flinch ever so slightly. If he hadn't been looking so intensely, he would have missed it. 

“No”, Highbottom concedes, “but you’ve fueled its continuance. You’ve turned dying children into spectacles , Mr Snow. Congratulations”.

Coriolanus ignores him, turning back to the screens. 

“Are you honestly hoping that winning the plinth prize will win you the girl?”, Dean Highbottom mocks. 

“I am hoping my hard work will pay off”, Coriolanus bites. 

“I saw you before with miss y/n, trying to stop her from leaving”. 

“I was trying to stop her from making a fool out of herself”.

“What do you want from that poor girl?”. 

Coriolanus knew there was no point in lying. Dean Highbottom had already figured out Coriolanus’ intentions. 

“Only whats best”, he answers. 

“Hm and you think winning the Plinth prize will help you decide what is best for her?”, Hightbom begins to laugh, his voice taking on a sing-songy tone, “Wake up mr Snow. Who do you think decides? Even if your songbird wins, I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you don’t see a single dime of that prize money’. 

Coriolanus turns back to Highbottom with his anger logged in his throat.

The older man smiles back. Coriolanus knew the man was trying to get him to slip up. But his aggravation won’t lose him the prize. If Highbottom wanted it, he would have to rip it from Coriolanus’s hands. 

Instead he turns back to the screen. Lucy-gray was still underground, feeding Jessup water. 

He could hear Dean Highbottom walking away which left him with a small victory. 

Coriolanus takes a deep breath, and sits straightener in his chair. 

It wasn’t over. Dean Highbottom wasn’t the only authority. When Coriolanus won, surely Dr Gaul would fight for him. The other teachers too. The star pupil robbed of the victory? Coriolanus would see to an up roar. 

At some point Coriolanus began to doze off. The late night and the slow turn of events left him the last one in the auditorium. The quietness of it all had his eyes shutting.

“Coriolanus?”. He heard your voice call. 

He ignores it ,sure it was a dream. But you tap his arm, and his eyes shoot open to see you standing in front of him. 

You were still in your school uniform, your hair slightly more messy than a couple of hours prior and you looked on the verge of tears. 

It panicked him greatly to see you in such a state. 

He reaches out, quickly taking your wrist in his hold. 

“Huh, what happened? Are you okay?”, he asks. 

“Has Sejanus been here?”, you quake. 

Coriolanus shakes his head ‘no’. 

He could have rolled his eyes. Of course, Sejanus was behind your tears once more. Coriolanus had never made you cry. 

“Why would he be here?”, Coriolanus asks. It seemed an unlikely place to visit while his old friend lay dead on several different screens.

Tears begin to roll down your cheeks causing Coriolanus to spring up, attempting to bring you in his arms. You push him away, keeping an arms length distance between you both. 

“I thought maybe he would come see you. We were sleeping and I woke up, and he was gone”, you explain with a shaky breath, “I don’t know where he could have went, Coriolanus. He’s not in a good place. I am worried-”

“Not in a good place, indeed” Dr Gauls voice booms through the open space. 

This time when Coriolanus touched you, he was given permission. He pulls you next to him to face Dr Gaul together. 

Dr Gaul was disinterested in the couple, taking the master remote and turning all the channels  to the same camera. 

“Sejanus!”, you gasp upon seeing your boyfriend knelt down next to his old friend in the arena. 

Your hand takes a hold of Coriolanus' arm in a tight grip. Your painted nails dig into his uniform jacket. 

“Breadcrumbs” Dr Gaul annotates while the room watches Sejanus spread the food over his friend, “I believe substance for a fallen comrade in his final journey. A district 2 superstition”. 

“How did he get in there?” you question, never once tearing your eyes from the screen. 

“I’ll work on finding the peacekeeper he bribed to let him in, and remove his tongue”, Dr Gual snarls, “in the meantime I need you to get him out right now”. 

Dr Gaul looked directly at you which spiked Coriolanus heart rate, 

“You should send Peacekeepers in”, he demanded. There was no way you were joining Sejanus in the arena. 

“Only to have him bolt and hide like a rabbit?”, Dr Gaul retorts. “Fleix Ravenstill is fighting for his life in a hospital bed, Mr Snow. I will not have these rebels make a further mockery of my games. Anyone sees us lose control of this arena, it might as well be sounding a horn to the districts to revolt!”. 

Dr Gaul takes a breath, trying to regain the composure lost. She turns her sight back on you, who had dropped Coriolanus' arm during her speech. 

You stood brave, staring straight back at her with discontempt. 

“You choose to be lovers with the radical. Don’t you want him out?”, Dr Gaul gages you. 

Coriolanus steps forward trying to take Dr Gauls attention away from you. 

‘‘Sending her into the arena will get her killed. It’ll look a lot worse if the tributes kill two Capitol students”, Coriolanus justifies. 

“A volunteer then?”,Dr Gual pushes.

“I’ll go”, You say too quickly, “I can get him out”.

“I’ll go”, Coriolanus declares. 

The mere thought of you in the arena left a sick feeling in his stomach. He wouldn’t watch helplessly on the other side of the screen while you risked your life for Sejanus. 

He couldn’t believe Sejanus had put you in this position. Coriolanus’s every move was calculated with you in mind. 

It was pure luck that you had chosen to seek Coriolanus out. If you hadn’t he would have woken the next morning to see you dead in the arena next to Sejanus. 

He would go into the arena to save Sejanus if it meant saving you. 

“No!” you protested, once again grabbing hold of Coriolanus arm to pull him back. 

He turns to you with a look of irritation on his face. 

“What chance do you think you stand if one of the tributes decide to attack? I am stronger, faster”, Coriolanus explained. He hated being irritated at you, but you wouldn’t see sense, “I’ll get him out, y/n. I promise”. 

“Unless you are both secretly hoping he’ll die in that arena, we need to move fast”, Dr Gaul utters.

Her expression had changed from one of anger to quiet amusement, but she had not forgotten the task at hand. 

She turns, expecting the children to follow her as she talks. Coriolanus follows suit, leading you as you wrap yourself around his arm. 

He would have shaken you off. You had no place being even near the arena, let alone outside of its gates, but he loved the way you clung to him. 

Your tight hold told him you would fight if he tried to leave you. Really it was the way you should be holding him. Not just now, in a state of emergency. 

“I’ll freeze the feed for one hour”, Dr Gaul says as she moves out of the school, “I expect thats all the time we have until someone notices”. 

A Peacekeeper van is waiting down the steps of the school. Dr Gaul jumps in, leaving the back of the van open for the children. 

Coriolanus helps you up into the back of the van before lifting himself up behind you. The doors are closed shut as he enters, and the van takes off before he is fully sat next to you.

You are unusually quiet. Coriolanus could tell you were scared from the way you sat. Arms crossed across your chest, looking straight ahead of you with a glazed look. 

Coriolanus places a hand on your knee in comfort but you don’t seem to register it. 

He tries not to mind Dr Gauls' searing stare from the other bench. He focuses on you and your state of worry. 

You begin to chew your lip absentmindedly. He wanted to pull it from between your teeth to get you to stop, but the van lurched forward as it stopped. 

The drive wasn’t long, but the peacekeeper sped to it anyway. 

As the doors are pulled open, Coriolanus takes a deep breath. There was no guarantee that he wouldn't be beaten to death by a tribute trying to save a man he loathed. 

Grandma’am and Tigres wouldn’t survive without him, but if he died, he would at least make sure Sejanus died along with him. 

If he couldn't have you, Sejanus definitely couldn’t. 

“Lets go, Mr Snow”, Dr Gual urges. 

She jumps out first. Coriolanus could hear her directing the Peacekeepers on what was about to happen. 

You rise with Coriolanus. But He doesn’t allow you to get to the door as he does. 

He jumps down and spins, placing his hand on the doors and bringing them closer together. 

"Stay in the van”, he orders. 

Surely, even on the off chance that a tribute managed to get through the gates, you would be safe in a locked van. 

You nod your head in understanding, trying to ease his worry. 

It doesn’t work but he appreciates it anyway. 

He smiles up at you, taking the time to have a good look at you in case it was his last time. 

With the doors shut on you, he could focus more clearly. He wasn’t going to die in that arena. He wasn’t going to die by a district hand. 

He was going to get out alive. You were going to wake up to yourself and realise that you had been hopelessly in love with Coriolanus this whole time. 

The gates are unlocked and he feels his confidence waver. Nevertheless, he persits with his mission and with a careful step he enters the arena. 

It’s dark and quiet. The moonlight does little to help. A tribute could jump out at any time and Coriolanus would never see them coming. 

He was cautious to make any sounds,  stepping softly on the fragmented rocks. 

The gate makes it stupid welcome message as he passes through it under the belief the game makers would have been smart enough to disable it. 

His breath gets caught in his throat while waiting to see who it attracts. He doesn’t move. 

He feels the blood rush to his ears, and his body ready itself to fight. No one comes. 

Coriolanus’s eyes scan the room for whatever movement he could pick up on. It seemed there was none. 

With a shaky breath he attempts to continue on, when his heightened ears pick up on a scuffle behind him. 

He spins quickly, ready to dodge an attack. He wished it had been a tribute, and not you trying to climb over the turn stalls. 

On its own accord, his face scrunches in anger. His footsteps are louder than he liked as he stormed over to you. 

He takes your hips into what he was sure was a painful hold, and looks past you to see they had already locked the gate. You were now trapped in here with angry Tributes with nothing to lose. 

Previously, he had never thought it possible to be angry with you. Now he wanted to scream in your face until you cried. 

He helps you down, softly to the ground, and catches your hand harshly in his. 

“You’re an idiot”, he whispers, “Stay close”. 

He squeezes your fingers into the palm of his hand, but you make no complaint as you follow him into the arena. 

Coriolanus felt his anxiety and senses heightened. He could faintly see Sejanus in the moonlight still knelt on the ground next to Marcus. 

He felt you pull against his hold as you near Sejanus, but he refuses to let you go an inch. 

If there was a tribute lurking he wanted to know where you were. 

“Sejanus”, you whisper when you are within earshot. 

He spins straight away upon hearing you. The panic he should have had all along, comes crashing all at once. He looked like a man who had seen a ghost as he rose from the floor. 

‘What are you doing here?”, he questions in a strained, soft voice. 

Sejanus takes your arms in his hands. Coriolanus wanted to yank you out of his hold, but a squabble would cause unnecessary attention. 

“Get her out of here, Coryo”, Sejanus demands.

“I would like to. Believe me”, Coriolanus scolds. His eyes darted around the room, ensuring that all was still unnoticed. 

“I am not leaving without you”, with your free hand you reach out to take a fist full of Sejanus shirt. 

“I have to do this” Sejanus justifies, “I have to go where the cameras are”. 

“You think anyone is watching this?” Coriolanus spat, taking a step closer to the couple, “Gaul cut the feed. Tributes kill you in here, she’s just going to say you died from the flu”. 

“They won’t kill me”, Sejanus vows. 

“Yes they will!” you reproach. 

Maybe there was hope for you, Coriolanus thinks, Maybe Sejanus hadn’t brainwashed you fully. 

The moonlight as it bounces off Lamina’s axe catches Coriolanus’s eye, and the safety net had now disappeared. She wouldn’t attack, but she could draw attention at any time. 

“You need to decide right now”, Coriolanus demands, he breaks Sejanus' hold on you in case you need to run, and focuses Sejanus attention on himself, “do you want to fight these tributes or fight for them? Because if you want to make real change, you need to stay alive”. 

“How can I make any change from out there?”, Sejanus discredits his power. 

He was not worthy of his power if he had no brains on how to use it. 

“You’re rich, smart. You care. You stood up to Gaul in that class, didn’t you? Spend your fathers money, do some real good”, a clash of the metal resounds in the arena. More would wake from the noise, and the group wouldn’t stand a chance. 

“We’re dead. Y/n’s dead if we don’t leave right now”, Coriolanus reprimand, “Come with us, or just be another body in Gaul’s war”. 

He knew he would have to fight to get you to leave Sejanus. But he was only allowing a few more seconds before he raced you to the exit. 

Worried that you would get yourself killed in the struggle to save Sejanus, Coriolanus turns to begging as a last resort. 

Placing a hand on Sejanus' shoulder, he brings the delusional boy closer. 

“Please, Sejanus. We’re friends. Trust me”, Coriolanus pleaded. 

You tug on Sejanus' shirt to move, “Come” you implore. 

His large, dirty palm goes over your hand, “Alright”, he whispers. 

The attack came at the perfect time. Coriolanus heard the shuffling of the boys shoes giving him time to pull you back towards the exit, before the war cry resounded through the arena. 

“Go, Run!” he demands, pushing you ahead of him. 

You sprint as fast as you can across the broken floor. Coriolanus caught up easily, pushing you forward urging you to move faster.  

Sejanus lagged behind, choosing to look at the fast approaching tribute. 

“Go! Go!” Coriolanus yells at you when you turn around to see where Sejanus was. 

You don’t look back again, until you reach the turn stalls. 

Coriolanus jumps over with ease, turning back to help you over. You stumble as your foot gets stuck on the rusty metal turn, and Coriolanus drags you over it as fast as he could. 

His hand takes a hold of yours once more as Sejanus approaches the stand with the tribute hot on his heels. 

He runs forward with you, eager to get you to safety beyond the gates. 

Sejanus screams as he stumbles over the hard metal and you halt your quick pace to safety. 

You call for him, trying to tug your hand out of Coriolanus’s. He resists, trying to get you to leave Sejanus.

Coriolanus promises to go back for him once you were beyond the gates but you wouldn’t have it. 

He drops your hand, rathering his own life to be in danger for Sejanus than yours. 

Coriolanus reaches Sejanus quicker than you do, and yanks him off the ground. 

‘Come on, get up!”Sejanus tries to regain his feet but his knee refuses to take any weight, “y/n, get to the gate!”, Coriolanus commands. 

You don’t turn, running towards Sejanus instead of away. You take his other arm over your shoulder, trying to assist Coriolanus. 

The screaming of the tribute came closer, and before Coriolanus could move, the sharp edge of a blade hacked into his shoulder. It was a far swing from the tribute but with enough force to split skin. 

He drops Sejanus to dodge the next attack. You fall into the wall, unable to support Sejanus by yourself.

The tribute now closer, stalks over to you with his sword held high. Sejanus tries a feeble attempt to shield you, but Coriolanus takes hold of a metal ruin that was stuck between cement, determined that not one hair on your head would be touched. 

He scrambles off the ground and swings the cement at the tribute with a loud scream. 

The young boy stumbles off balance, but readies himself again. He swung back with the blade which Coriolanus narrowly missed before bringing the cement down across the boy's head. 

It lands him on the ground, but Coriolanus doesn’t stop there, bringing it down once more on the boy who threatened his girl 

“Coriolanus!” you call to him. More tributes were coming out of the shadows. 

He drops his weapon, going back over to you to help lift the weight of Sejanus. 

Sejanus pushes through the pain to quicken the pace of the shuffle, but comotion had inlived  the most dangerous pack. Corals groups hooped and hollered as they approached.  

“Y/n, open the gate!”, Coriolanus demands, wanting you to be first out. 

Sejanus drops his arm from your shoulder, and you take the permission to take off ahead and bang on the gate until it opens. 

Coriolanus could hear the tributes as they run. They weren’t far off. He wasn’t sure they would even make it to the gate in time, but you would and that’s what matters. 

You push yourself out with the gate as it opens, turning back to look at the boys with wide, fearful eyes. 

Coriolanus pushes himself to be faster, taking nearly all of Sejanus' weight onto him. 

They make it just in time, and fall to a heap on the floor next to Peacekeepers boots. 

Corioanus pushes Sejanus off him. His hand reaches for his shoulder that now weeped blood. 

He groans as he feels the ache of the gash, next to his still searing burn mark.

He is distracted momentarily when Coral reaches the gate, and throws her spear into it. 

“Keep your eyes on the screen, gorgeous”, she taunts Coriolaus, throwing her head in the direction of you, “ I may have missed her tonight, but your songbirds next on my list”. 

The Peacekeepers demand that her group get back and the tributes disappear back into the dark tunnel.

He had followed Corals gaze to you on the floor. Your tears run down your cheeks now that the adrenaline is gone. 

Coriolanus moves to get you off the floor and into his arms, but you move as he does, and crawl across the floor to where Sejanus lay. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and sob into him. 

“I am okay”, he promises. His large hand rubs soothing circles on your back. 

You pull back in anger and begin hitting his chest as you speak. 

“How could you?”, you reprimand, “how could you do that?”.

“I am sorry, I had to do something”. Sejanus winces as he tries to sit up. His knee no doubt, completely ruined. 

“You could have been killed”, you cry with a push against his attempted hold. 

Was this the end of the bleeding heart couple? Coriolanus felt a spark of joy, watching as you fought. 

“Coriolanus could have died!”, as if you had forgotten about him you now turn to him, ‘Oh, Coriolanus”, you cry, “Are you okay?”. 

Coriolanus hand went back to his shoulder, feeling the wet patch of blood soak through his school jacket. He had no other uniform, even Tigres wouldn't be able to fix it. 

“Coryo, I am so sorry”, Sejanus apologies. It meant nothing to Coriolanus who ignored him. 

A car screeches to a stop and two car doors slam. 

The car is sleek and expensive with its own full time driver waiting with the lights on. 

Next to it stood Ma and Mr Plinth, who were well dressed as always. 

Ma was crying, but Mr Plinth stood stoic and angry. 

He gave Coriolanus a thankful nod but remained far away expecting his son to come to him. 

Ma runs over to her baby, wrapping herself around her sons head. 

Coriolanus takes the opportunity to move closer to you. You stand upon seeing him approach. 

“Are you alright?’, he questioned. 

You reach up, taking his neck and bringing him down into a hug. He gratefully goes, never expecting a hug before the relationship began. 

“Thank you, Coriolanus. I would have died in there”, you muttered. 

The hug is too short, before he is ready you are pulling away to look at his shoulder. 

“Coriolanus needs help!’, you announce, “Somebody needs to take him to the hospital!”. 

“Come with me”, he begs you.

“Don’t worry, Miss y/n. I’ll take care of our hero here”, Dr Gaul inserts herself where she is not wanted once more. She looked amused at Coriolanus’s physical and emotional pain. 

“Y/n, baby”, Sejanus calls to you. The driver had left the car to assist Sejanus while his father looks on. 

Coriolanus reluctantly lets go as you move to the sound of your name. 

“You’ll look after him?”, you question Dr Gaul. Coriolanus wanted to beg you not to believe her. 

“He’ll be good as new. You have my word”, Dr Gaul promises. 

He shutters as you move further back. 

Mr Plinth does not cross for his son, but he crosses to come collect you. 

He wraps an arm around your shoulder to lead you to the car. 

You look back at Coriolanus as you are led. Taking one final glance before entering the car with Sejanus. 

Coriolanus watches as the car takes off. He wondered if you had your arms wrapped around Sejanus in the back. 

He decides it is best not to submit his body to further stress and pushes it out of his mind. The walk home would help him clear his head, and focus only on the positives of the night. You relied on him tonight. Even acknowledged that he had saved your life. That was a step in the right direction. 

“And where do you think you are going, Mr Snow”, Dr Gaul calls out after him. 

“Home”, he announces over his good shoulder. 

‘And make a liar out of me?” she walks in the opposite direction towards the Peacekeeper van, “Come”. 

The ride back is silent. The same hurry to get there was not offered on the way back. Coriolanus shoulder ached, the blood would not stop pouring, sticking his shirt to his back and irritating his wound. 

Dr gaul doesn’t speak again until they are back in her lab. 

He couldn’t believe she had taken him back to her experimental freak show instead of a hospital. But he was in pain and in need of medical care so he didn’t verbalize his complaints.

“How did it feel?” she asks as she readies her station for him, “when you killed the boy to save y/n?”. 

He should have known she was watching. 

‘I didn’t have a choice”, he spat as he unbuttoned his shirt and took a seat in front of her. 

She laughs at him as she begins her first stitch. 

“All your fine manners, education, background, stripped away in a blink of an eye. Fueled with the terror of becoming prey, how fast we become predators".

Coriolanus lets out a shaky breath as the adrenaline dies down and the needle stitches him together. 

“Who would have thought that one day Crassus Snow’s boy would be fighting for his life in the area over a girl?”, he feels her stop stitching while she waits for the answer to her next question, “That's why you did it no? It wasn’t until news of her involvement that you volunteered. Or did you still wish to proceed with the guise of friendship?”

“Sejanus is not my friend”, Coriolanus declares. 

Her needle work began again, pleased with his answer. 

“You want to protect y/n, Mr Snow? Then it’s essential that you accept what human beings are, and what it takes to control them”. 

He feels her knot the thread into his skin

“So I’ll ask you again, when you beat that boy to death with a club, how did it feel?”. 

“It felt”, Coriolanus breathed, wondering if he should give the honest answer. Deciding he had nothing to lose from it, he answers. 

“It felt powerful”.

“Answer this next one honestly and you won’t have to walk home”, Dr Gaul teases, “Were you hoping that Sejanus died tonight?”

“Yes”, Coriolanus croaks. His own tears welling in his eyes. He refuses to let any more than two fall, which are wiped away harshly. 

“How did it feel to have her life in your hands tonight?”, Dr Gaul pushes. 

Coriolanus nods, unable to form words. 

A hand is placed on his good shoulder. She squeezes to let him know the sincerity of her words. 

“People will do anything to survive, Mr Snow. It doesn’t matter how miserable of an existence it is”. 

Coriolanus thinks to his bare apartment, and cinder block bed. It was true, and he was living proof. 

Survival meant hope. 

He closes his eyes, feeling more tears forming and remembers how malleable you were tonight. You trusted him wholly with your survival, and with that came power over you. 

Lucy-Gray was the same. Tonight you showed him the same loyalty, and respect that you had denied him previously. 

Lucy-Gray had tried to kiss him, and you melded your body to him when you could. He was sure if you were alone, you would have kissed him for saving your life. 

If only he could trap you as easily as Lucy-gray. Keep you in a state of panic that rendered you totally dependent on him. 

He lets out a low, breathy laugh, remembering Dean Highbottoms words. 

Maybe the old man could see more than Coriolanus would like. 

Despite the pain in his shoulder and his little sleep, Coriolanus arrived back at the auditorium bright and early.

Lucy-Gray was still alive. He could see her sleeping against a pole next to Jessup. 

The dead tribute was noticed, but soon forgotten. Only Lysistrata pushed to know more, but she too dropped the subject as the tributes began to wake and fight. 

There were ten tributes left. Not an impossible task for Lucy-Gray to outlive them all. 

He kept careful watch of the screens.  While the rest of the mentors took lunch, and socialized, Coriolanus sat with his head in his hand, hoping for a split second of screen time that told him Lucy-Gray was okay. 

“Coriolanus!”. Your voice shocked him as it appeared. 

He stood to greet you. It was a welcomed but unexpected visit. The games were announced a public holiday, you had no obligation to be at school. 

He would have thought after last night that you would be glued to Sejanus’s side. Was this the beginning of the end? 

“Y/n, what are you doing here?”, he questioned. 

In the daylight he could see a bruise on your temple from when toppled into the wall, under Sejanus. He reaches out to run his finger across the black spot, and you hit his hand away. 

“What are you doing here?”, you push back with a hard tone “I went to your house to check on you, but Tigres said you were here?”. 

Coriolanus felt his body twitch at your words. You went to his run down apartment? How much did you see? Surely, Tigres shielded his shame. Your eyes didn’t carry pity, maybe you didn’t know. 

“Don’t you ever go to my apartment without my permission again”, he scolded. 

That was close. Too close. He was days from getting the plinth prize. Days from burying his decade long shame. 

You seemed drawn back at his harsh tone. He had never spoken to you unkindly before. 

In an effort to ease the mood once more, before you left, he threw his hands up as if it wasn’t a big deal. 

“My Grandmother has severe social anxiety. We can’t have unexpected visitors”, he lies with a soft and airy tone. 

“Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t know”, you offer. 

Coriolanus tuts, bringing his hand up once more to brush the hair off your bruise. 

“You shouldn’t have been in there”, he complains. 

The bruise looked painful. He was sure it would cause you a headache. You should be resting with ice upon it, not here talking to him. 

“No one should be in there”, you return. 

His hand is pushed away again, but he attributes it being too soft to touch, rather than disdain for him touching you. 

"Thank you for checking on me”, he says. 

“You shouldn’t be here, Coriolanus. Not after last night”. 

“Lucy-Gray needs me”, he observes.

Your eyes flick to the screen behind him, before back to Coriolanus’s eyes and nod in agreement.

“Sejanus is in the hospital. They have him on morphline. His knee will never work fully, but he is alive and that's because of you”, you proclaim, “Lucy-Gray is fortunate to have you looking out for her. We all are”. 

His heart flutters. ‘We all are’, yes! Yes! You were lucky to have him looking out for you. Have you finally come to appreciate all he does for you?

He smiles down at you. If his shoulder didn’t ache, he would have reached out for you. 

“If there’s anything I can do”, you offer.

“There is!” He responds too quickly. 

He clears his throat, trying to conceal his eagerness. 

“There is”, repeats more even toned, “You could stay. I could use the support”. 

You looked unsure of the request, but he had saved your life just hours prior, so you felt an obligation to do as he asked. 

“Sure, Coriolanus”, you finally say, although you still looked unsure, “I can stay for a little bit”. 

He could barely breathe. The “great” he manages to get out is hardly above a whisper. 

He leads you to the front bench just in front of the first row of mentor chairs.

You sit obediently and he takes his new seat in front of you.

The tributes have become more lively. Coral was on the hunt for Lucy-Gray trying to convince one of her group members to go down and flush her out. 

None would so they go back to making traps to catch Reaper. 

Coriolanus reaches his hand back to you, trying to see how far his luck would take him. 

You do take his hand into your own, but only for the time it took to give him three encouraging pats to the back of his hand. 

It was close enough. Leaving Coriolanus with a feeling of satisfaction. 

The feeling stayed for less than a second. His good mood disappeared when the camera flew back to Lucy-Gray underground. 

Jessup was getting agitated. Yelling at Lucy-Gray and twitching uncontrollably. 

“What’s he doing?”Coriolanus jumps out of his chair and moves closer to the screens. 

“They’re friends. He wouldn’t hurt her”, you comment, coming up beside him. 

“Somethings wrong”, Lysistrata agrees, “He wouldn’t turn on her like this”.

Lucy-Gray makes a mad dash away which only further angers Jessup, determined that he had done something. 

Coriolanus watches in panic. Lucy-gray couldn't defend herself. She would never hurt Jessup, even in his mad state. 

“Go to the stands, go to the stands!”, he directs. 

Lucy-gray does go to the stands, climbing up as fast as she could but Jessup was determined to catch her. 

Coriolanus couldn’t watch. He turns and paces, trying to figure out a way to save Lucy-Gray. 

It couldn’t be over. You had only just come around, he needed more time.

The camera zooms in on Jessup allowing full view of the white form dripping down his lips. 

‘Wait, look”, he tells you. 

Your hand balls at your mouth. He hated to see you so frightened yet again. 

As soon as this was all over, he would ensure nothing would ever worry you again. 

“I think it rabies," he announces. 

He could have danced. There was a way out of this mess. The game wasn’t over yet. 

“That bite from the train”, Lysistrata deducts. 

“Send him water”. He demands of Lysistrata. 

“What? No”, she denines. 

He leans across her desk so she is forced to look at him. He was half tempted to just take control of her computer himself. 

“You remember the posters from the war. Rabies. It makes you scared of water. Send him a drone”, he demanded. 

“That’ll scare him”. 

He knew Livy had come to care for Jessup

“Yes” Coriolanus agrees in a hard tone, “away from her”. 

Lysistrata still looked in denial. There was no other option, both their tributes didn’t have to die. 

“Jessup is done”, he says with haste, “Livy, you’re the only one that can get it right to him”. 

Coming to grips with reality, Livy does as she is told, sending a water drone in the direction of Jessup. 

“Thank you”, Coriolanus feels better watching the drone fly in. 

“Nothing to be proud of”, Livy mutters. 

As planned, the drone smashes into him just as he reaches Lucy-gray. 

He hears you gasp as Jessup falls to his death and hits the bottom with a heavy thud. 

He turns to see you still with your hand pressed tightly against your mouth, and eyes squeezed shut. 

The sight makes him feel horrible that he had asked you to stay. 

You were on the side of his sore shoulder so he had to reach across with his good hand to touch you. 

“Coryo”, Livy called as Carol’s group came out of hiding. 

The hand on you balls watching as Corals group surrounds Lucy-gray. 

“Oh no”, he complains. 

He needed to make a distraction, so she could run and hide. He couldn’t just stand and watch. But the only thing he could do was send food and water in on badly operated drones. 

The same badly operated drones that just took Jessup out. 

He reaches for his communipad, and selects as many bottles of water as it would let him. 

He didn’t need to kill the group. Only give Lucy-Gray a chance to get away

The drones go flying in. He hoped Lucy-Gray wouldn’t give the surprise away, but she managed to keep her cool until it was time to duck. 

“Hey! You can’t attack the tributes” a fellow mentor complained. 

“I am just sending water”, Coriolanus jeered. 

He could hear your chuckle of approval behind him. You reach out to his good shoulder and murmur in his ear. 

“Good work”, you encouraged. 

He wished he could have stayed in the moment but it wasn’t over yet. Lucy-gray disappears into the dust, taking with her a bottle of water. 

She hides in the shelter of the ruin and he can faintly see her take something from her dress pocket. 

No there, he wanted to say. What if someone saw her poison the water and he was disquailified. 

He looks around the room to check no one else is noticing. All eyes seemed to be on the group turning against Lamina. 

Lucy-Gray ducks back out with the water, placing it back on the ground before emptying the others collected. It wasn’t a bad idea. 

Lamina's death stopped the clock and the attention was once more turned back to Lucy-gray. 

“Go” you mutter, flicking your hands out as if she could see. 

Lucy-Gray takes off with Coral and her group chasing her back up the stands. She finds an air duct and dives to close it in time. 

Coral catches it before it fully closes and it begins a tug of war against the two. 

“No, No”, you complain. 

He wanted to shield your eyes from the screen. With every inch Coral got, Lucy-Gray found the strength to tug it back. 

When it finally closes, sealing Lucy-gray in safety, Coriolanus lets out  a sigh of relief. 

“She’s Okay” he says to you. 

Coral takes out another tribute over a squabble over the water, and Dill drinks the poisoned water. 

So that was three dead tributes in less than 20 minutes. With this pace Coriolanus would be announced winner before the night ended. 

He sat you back down on your seat, and retook his in front of you. Your fingers cling to the bench underneath you, and your posture is tight and unnatural. 

He expects you to leave him, but you remain watching as Reaper collects the fallen tributes into a neat line and draps the Panam flag over him. 

“Are you going to punish me now?” reaper yells to the cameras. 

He begins to scream again but his words are cut off by a broadcast from Dr Gaul. 

“Capitol Citizens, I’m afraid I must interrupt our games to announce a tragic loss. Fleix Ravienstill, son of our beloved president, has this morning succumbed to his injuries sustained in the rebel bombing.Out there, in the districts, they will be celebrating this young boys death. I will not allow my games to give our enemies such a victory. I swear to you here and now, before the sun goes down tonight, a rainbow of destruction will engulf our arena. Even if it means there’s to be no victor in these games”. 

The broadcast ends, and the tributes go back on screen. 

“What?” you spit, “What does she mean no victor? That's not fair. She can't do that”. 

You rise from your outrage, ranting to Coriolanus. Your anxiety has been taken over by your anger. Coriolanus agreed it was not fair. All his hard work gone down the drain because of the death of Felix,  who was never going to amount to anything anyway. 

A rainbow of destruction. The snakes. There was no way he could protect lucy-Gray from them. 

He would need something with her scent. Could he get the string of her guitar that she played in the interviews? He didn’t even know where it was. By the time he found it, the Games were sure to be over. 

Maybe, he could go to the zoo. Toss as many things as he could into the snake pit and hope one of them was hers? It might mean the survival of everyone but her too. 

The zoo, he remembers. He digs into his breast pocket to pull out the handkerchief he used to wipe her tears away. If the sweat of his palm can keep him safe against the snakes, then surely her fresh tears dried on the handkerchief could. 

He had to get it to the lab before it was too late.

He grabs your forearms and turns you away from the screen to him so he had your full attention. 

“Stay here, okay. I’ll be right back”. He commands. 

“Where are you going?”, you ask astounded that he could be leaving after such news. 

“Just stay here. Don’t move”, he reiterated. 

You nod sensing his urgency and he dashes out of the auditorium into the empty hallway. 

He knew he couldn’t walk into Dr Guals lab without a reason, and begging for Lucy-Grays life wasn’t a good one. 

As he jogs down the steps, he claws at the stitches in his back, reopening the wound. 

He groans from the pain but ensures all eight stitches have torn open. 

His body is weak as he sprints to Dr gauls lab. It barely gets him through the front door, where he demands to see Dr gaul. 

As if she was expecting him, the Peacekeeper lets him directly through. 

“Come to beg for her life?” Dr gaul asks uninterested. 

“No” Coriolanus puffs, “No, my stitches. They came loose. I didn’t want the doctors asking questions”.

She looks at him suspiciously but relents, going to her work table. 

“Come, pull down your shirt”, she directs. 

He walks past a row of black birds locked in cages. Her newest toys. 

“The news must have shocked you Mr Snow. With no tributes, no victor, with no victor, no girl”. 

Coriolanus faces the birds as Dr Gaul stitches the needle into his shoulder. He eyes the large snake tank in the corner and the people who ready it for transport. 

“Y/n’s actually at the auditorium. She came to support me. She’s the one who noticed the stitches”, Coriolanus lies. 

“Support you and not her boyfriend in hospital? Things are looking promising”, she says. 

"Looking promising, looking promising” her voice echoes across the room. Seemingly from the mouth of the birds. 

She sighs and stops stitching to click a receiver. 

“Jabberjays”, she explained, “We sent them out during the war to pick up rebel conversations. A failed experiment. They only pick up useless phrases unless manually operated. I am collecting them to see what better purpose they serve”. 

Coriolanus remains quiet trying to figure out how he could reach the cage before it was too late. 

The needle knots in his back, a feeling Coriolanus had come to know to mean that the stitching was done. 

“I’ll see you and your girl back in the auditorium for the finale, Mr Snow”, Dr Gaul dismisses, “you should be proud of yourself. Your songbird put on a wonderful show, and you didn’t need money to steal the girl after all”. 

Coriolanus quickly buttons up his shirt, watching as the cage was wheeled out. 

“Thank you, Dr Gaul”, he says. 

He races to catch up to the assistants wheeling the cage, pretending to be following them out. 

They don’t see him as a threat so pay him no mind. He falls back as they take a hallway just off the exit, and watches as they leave the cage out for an airlift. 

He stays hidden behind a pole until it was time. Leaving his jacket to keep the door wedged open. With their back turned, he dashes out to cage. The snakes are upset when he slams into the large cage, beginning to move and fight with each other. 

He finds an air hole large enough and stuffs the handkerchief in. it moves along the bodies of the snakes until Coriolanus could no longer see the white in between the rainbow. 

When the harness is lowered, Coriolanus makes a run back to the door, taking his jacket and making his own exit from the Citadel. 

He pays for the taxi this time. Sure that his body couldn’t take anymore strain. 

It cost him his fathers watch, but he arrived back in the auditorium before the entrance of the snakes. 

“What happened?” he quizzes you, taking a hold of your arm, “Lucy-gray is she okay?”. 

You point to the screen where Coral and Treech poke and prod a vent. 

“She’s in there”, you address with horror in your voice. 

Treech points up and Coral takes his palace directly under the vent. 

Blocking the camera, Treech begins to sway of balance and nose begins leek small amounts of blood. 

“Wait, what's wrong with Treech?” his mentor asks. 

Corilanious was worried about his own tribute, who was three lucky strikes away from being impaled. 

Coral hits the metal too many times and the vent collapses on top of her. 

Coriolanus' hand latches out to yours, which you accept with the same nervous tension in your fingers. 

“Run, run” Coriolanus begs. 

She runs back into the arena. Not the safest place with reaper still sitting by the dead tributes. 

Coral chases after her, too slow to catch up. 

The whole arena stops when the chopper lowers in the cage. 

“Please work”, Coriolanus whispers. 

“What is that?” you ask. 

“Wouldn’t it be fun if it was candy?” Lucy Flickerman answers you. 

Coriolanus feels your hand tense in his, then open in surprise when the glass cage cracks and the snakes fly out. 

“Not candy!” Lucky Flickerman announces as three tributes are overtaken in rainbow. 

The Snakes chase the last two tribute who head to the stands for higher ground. 

“Lucy-Gray, please” Coral begs. The snakes lash at her heels as she tries to drag herself up the stands, “Please it couldn’t have all be for nothing”.

It was. More snakes latch on and Coral dies with two loud screams. 

“Now all colors lead to Gray” Lucy Flickerman narrates. 

The snakes slither up and around Lucy-Gray but none bite her. 

Coriolanus lets out an unbelievable scoff. 

‘She’s..She’s won” he says watching as the snakes continue to follow Lucy-Gray. He had won. The 10th annual victor. She was last standing, even Dean Highbottom couldn’t contest his win.

“It’a over. She won”, he says in a louder voice. Why was no one doing anything to stop the snakes, “Let her out!”

“Afraid that’s not your call to make, mr Snow”, Lucky insists. 

He turns to the audience. Dr Gaul had come to see the final show. She sat high up in the breeches and must of come in when Coriolanus was distracted. 

He drops your hand so he could turn and face her. She stared back with the same hateful and curious gaze. She knew what he had done. 

But if she squealed on him, he would return the favor. 

Your hands fly up to your face once more when Lucy-gray begins to sing. Tears pour from your eyes watching the young girl sing her last song. 

Looking to get away from the camera that played on your pain, you pushed your way to the back.  

“Dr gaul. She’s won”, Coriolanus yells, “It’s over let her out”. 

“Why aren’t they attacking her?” Festus asks. 

Dr Gual raises her eyebrows at him in a mocking fashion. 

“It must be the signing. It’s calming them”, he deceives. 

“She can’t sing forever”, Festus comments bitterly. 

She just needs to sing long enough for Coriolanus to figure out a way to get her out. 

“Dr Gaul, please”, Coriolanus tries, “Get her out”. 

He could see the audience engrossed in the scene. He just needed to figure out how to turn it against Dr Gaul. 

“Get her out!”, you yell across the room, following Coriolanus stare to Dr gaul. 

Her eyes flick to you and you scream at her once more to release Lucy-gray. 

Others join, chanting in protest. 

“Who will watch the games if there is no victor?” he threatens. 

Dr Gaul raises her hand to silence the audience, before turning to her assistant. 

“Get her out”, she says loud enough for everyone to hear. 

A cheer erupts the auditorium and Dr gaul wades herself through it to the silence of the hallway. 

“She’s won! Lucy-Gray! Coriolanus Snow is the winner of the tenth annual Hunger games!” Lucky announces. 

People rush from the stands to swarm him. Offering him congratulations and applause. 

It all felt real now. He had done it. The plinth prize, you, were all his now. 

He pushes to the crowd to get to where you stood in front of the bleaches. 

You were smiling and clapping. He wasn’t sure if it was entirely for him, or if you were just glad Lucy-gray would live. 

You looked beautiful and for once Sejanus was nowhere by your side. In this moment, you were entirely his. 

You treated you as such, taking your face between his hands and stilling you for a kiss. 

His lips smashed against you, his teeth nipped at the skin of your bottom lip asking you to part them for him. 

You don’t pull away at first, but his lips are on you for less than ten seconds before you are shoving against his sore shoulder. 

He is forced to drop his hand upon the impact. His shoulder ached from pain of being moved, and on reflux he lowered his arm to ease it. 

Coriolanus could tell by the look on your face, you did not enjoy the kiss. Did he come on too strong? Did he accidently hit your bruise when he kissed you?

He opened his mouth to apologize for the above, but you took off before he could catch you. 

It was impossible to follow you through the crowd of people. People would not part to let him through. 

Some jeered at him for being pushed away but most still rode his victory wave. 

Had he made a mistake? Where you not ready to leave Sejanus for him yet?

You had no right to reject him. He had won. Saved your life. Risked his own. 

Coriolanus took a seat while the crowd surrounded him, and then disappeared. He stayed there until he was summoned by a peacekeeper much later. 

He figured he was to see his victor before they sent her back home. The Peacekeeper led him to a chamber, but Lucy-Gray was nowhere to be seen. 

“Lucy-Gray?” he called, “Lucy-Gray?”. 

He sees a table in the middle of the room with his fathers handkerchief and his mother compact. 

“To think, Mr Snow, you almost had it all” Dean Highbottom's voice taunts him. 

“Where’s Lucy-Gray?”Coriolanus demanded. Had they hurt her for Coriolanus’s mistake?

“I would be more worried about yourself” Highbottom answered, stalking towards him. 

“First y/n rejects you and now the prize money slips through your fingers”, Highbottom torments, “it’s fitting that both your parents could be here for your big moment”. 

He gestures to the items on the table in front of Coriolanus. 

“That compact, how many times did I see your mother use it? Come now, we both know that child from eleven didn’t die of disease. And that old handkerchief, we found it in the snake tank, condemning you with your fathers own initials”. 

Highbottom rounds Coriolanus completely before standing in front of Coriolanus across the table. 

“President Ravenstill has left your form of punishment up to me, and I’ve decided banishment to the districts where you’ll serve your Capitol in exile for the next twenty years as an anonymous, peacekeeping grunt”. 

Dean Highbottom grins at Coriolanus who felt too frozen to do anything. 

“You’ll never get your hands on y/n. She’s too good for you Mr Snow. By the time you get back I imagine her and Sejanus will be married with three or four children”. 

It was true. Coriolanus wouldn’t be able to block the ongoing turn of events that was sure to happen with Sejanus. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He had worked so hard to have you, only to be taken away as soon as he got on equal footing with Sejanus. 

“You hear that boy? That’s the sound of snow failing”, Highbottom proclaims. 

He’ll be left with nothing more than a memory of you, while you will forget completely of the man who loved you so. 

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

My Body is a Cage

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Heavy angst, death. Word count: ~2.3k

Summary: When Aemond goes to Storm's End to offer a betrothal between his younger brother, Daeron, and one of Lord Borros Baratheon's daughters, he does not anticipate the arrival of his nephew, Lucerys, nor does he anticipate murdering him. He seeks comfort and reassurance in the arms of his betrothed, but soon finds she has neither to offer to a kinslayer... Based on this request.

Author's note: For @doomwhathouwilt Moodboard by the wonderful @flowerandblood. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Grief is an impregnable fortress, an all consuming void that, once toppled into, feels impossible to escape. When grief turns to rage, there is the false belief that one has found freedom, however, it is merely the act of replacing the bars of a cage with anger instead of sorrow. The emotions vibrate at a differing frequency, yet the imprisonment is fortified with equally devastating consequences.

The air is thick as Aemond dismounts from Vhagar, the sulphurous stench of dragonfire clings to his leather riding coat like a shroud as his boots crunch heavily across the gravel, leading him back towards the imposing ruin of Harrenhal. His skin is hot, he can feel the soot that darkens the ends of his snow white hair also sticking to the flesh of his cheeks. There is no time to pause and wipe it away, not when duty awaits.

The heavy oak doors creak as he pushes them open, revealing the men that sit around the long table in the centre of the room - his war council - dwindled to a paltry number since the war began. They stand as he enters, each of them look ashen faced, none standing quite as proudly as they once had. He swallows thickly, before addressing them.

“Be seated,” he snaps dismissively. “Have the Riverlands been scouted? Do we have the final count of Houses that have fallen?”

How different life is now to what it was a year ago.

Aemond’s betrothal to Lady Fell had been a political arrangement, a bargaining tool utilised by his grandsire to secure loyalty to Aegon’s claim to the throne in the Stormlands. A lady in waiting for Helaena, it had made perfect sense, she was already present within the Keep, so their courtship could be easily managed.

Despite the formality of it, Aemond had grown to love her, and in turn she loved him. She was patient where he was quick to anger, forgiving where he was vengeful, all of the things he knew he did not deserve and yet yearned for just the same.

He basked in the glow of her radiant smile, his heart softening when she did not recoil from his disfigurement. With every stolen kiss in darkened corridors, every eager touch that lingered in places that decency dictated be saved for their wedding night, the burden of the injustice that had been bestowed upon him felt lighter to bear. Despite the hardships that had befallen him, his affection for her came easily, there was nothing simpler in his world.

Then his father, King Viserys, had passed away, and life for Aemond grew infinitely more complicated.

There had always been the unspoken intention that his mother and grandfather planned to challenge his half sister Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne, however, even he was surprised by the swiftness with which they moved to coronate Aegon. Further still, there was the responsibility that fell to him as second son to help assure his brother kept the throne that his family had made bold moves to secure.

Many of the lords that had sworn fealty to Rhaenyra as heir to the Iron Throne had long since passed, and she would surely be sending reminders to their heirs of the vows sworn more than a decade ago. It was up to Aemond to ensure that better offers were made in Aegon’s name.

With Daeron in Oldtown, Aemond was tasked with earning the fealty of The Stormlands. Despite his own impending marriage to Lady Fell, without the support of House Baratheon they would stand little chance of gaining any further support from that part of Westeros. In order to do this, he was to fly to Storm’s End to offer a marriage proposal between his younger brother and one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters.

He had been given a warm reception upon his arrival, and Lord Borros had readily accepted his offer. Aemond has chosen carefully for Daeron, desiring for him to have a match that would make him as happy as he was with Lady Fell. He had selected the youngest of the Four Storms, Floris. Closest in age to his sibling, and the most comely of her sisters, she had seemed the best suited. Aemond had felt satisfied that he could return to King’s Landing proud of what he had accomplished for his family.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the arrival of his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon.

When he saw the dark haired boy enter the hall, he had felt a phantom slash across the left side of his face, a malevolent rage simmered beneath the surface of his skin, barely concealed by the sinister smirk that tugged upwards at the corners of his mouth.

With every word that Lucerys uttered, Aemond’s mood grew darker. Was it not enough that his half sister’s bastard had taken his eye? Now he meant to take his brother’s birthright too.

As he had chased down Lucerys and Arrax on the back of Vhagar, he had only intended to scare him. If his nephew felt only a fraction of the fear that he had endured as a boy, as he had laid bleeding and maimed upon the dusty ground of Driftmark, then he would consider it a triumph, a reminder that there was a debt to be paid.

His heart had lurched when the jaws of his dragon had snapped around the body of the one they had been pursuing, sending both rider and mount toppling into the sea below. He had killed him. Yet the tears he wept as he made the sombre return home to King’s Landing were not for the death of Lucerys, they were for the consequences that his family would face as a result. The debt owed to Aemond had been paid in blood, and it would cost his family everything.

He had immediately sought out Lady Fell’s chambers upon his return to the Red Keep. The rain had dripped off of his riding leathers and onto the flagstone floor in cold rivulets as he had hovered in her doorway, eye wide and imploring.

She had rushed to him, grasping his forearms and pulling him inside. Her touch had immediately grounded him, calmed the pounding in his chest. It would all be alright in the end, how could it not be with her at his side?

“You will catch a fever like this,” she said with a soft laugh,”could you really not wait to get changed to see me?”

He raised a hand to stroke through her soft hair, loose and brushed through, ready for sleep. It was only as he did this that he realised he was trembling, and not from the cold.

“Aemond?” She asked, her brow furrowing with concern. “What is it?”

It would be fine. He could tell her this. She loved him. She would understand.

“I killed him,” he told her in a hushed tone, his eye reluctantly meeting hers.

Her lips had parted in shock, before she exhaled shakily. “Killed who?”

“Lucerys,” he told her, “I did not mean to, I only meant to frighten him, but I lost control, and now he is dead.”

He had expected her to embrace him, to tell him Lucerys had gotten what he deserved, that she would stand by him.

Instead, she had pulled away, and at the loss of her touch Aemond had felt as though he was in freefall. The warmth that usually filled her gaze when she looked upon him was filled with an emotion that he had never seen her direct at him before: fear.

His stomach had twisted into knots and his throat had grown dry as he’d taken a step towards her, hoping to bridge the gap between them, and instead she had furthered it by taking one backwards.

“Kinslayer,” she had whispered shakily. “Leave my chambers at once or I shall scream.”

He had turned and walked away without another word, a gaping void opening within his chest at the realisation that her love for him had died alongside Lucerys.

His world had seemed as though it was coming to an end when Lady Fell departed King’s Landing to return to Felwood. She was taking his heart with him, and he grieved the loss of her, alongside the knowledge that he had jeopardised his family’s prospects for an alliance with the Houses of the Stormlands.

Consumed by grief, her absence was never felt more than in the moments when his nephew, Jaehaerys, was murdered and Aegon was grievously injured in battle. He no longer had her to turn to for comfort, and so his sorrow turned to rage, hot as dragon’s fire. If the only person he had ever truly loved saw him as someone to fear, then he would become just that. The loss of her would not be for nothing.

It was this thought that had clouded his thoughts as he had seized Harrenhal, and put every person residing within to the sword. Every person except one: Alys Rivers. She was a witch, and the visions she conjured within fire aided him in his efforts in battle, though his uncle continued to evade him.

He had grown to love Alys, not in the same way he loved Lady Fell, but he felt that Alys was the match that he deserved. Lady Fell possessed a kind heart, a purity that Aemond could never dream of aspiring to. There was a darkness within Alys that paralleled his own, and so when she invited him to her bed, he did not resist.

There was no hushed laughter, or gentle caresses, the pair of them tore at each other like wild beasts, both of them pouring their malice into the other. There was no warmth to be found in her gaze, only a sharpness that served to encourage his bloodlust and desire for vengeance.

She had told him that she was expecting his child, and his thoughts had drifted to what could have been with his betrothed; a soft, happy bundle of joy that would have been all of the best parts of its mother. He wondered what qualities the bastard he had fathered upon Alys would possess, perhaps they had created the second coming of Maegor Targaryen. It would be no less than what he deserved.

When the news had reached him of Rhaenyra’s capture of King’s Landing, he was briefly thankful that Lady Fell no longer resided there, though enraged that he was not able to fly back to the capital to defend his family. If he ended his occupation of Harrenhal, then it would provide his uncle with the opportunity to seize it back.

The fear in Lady Fell’s eyes flashed through his mind once more. Fear. If he could inspire that, do any damage possible to his half sister’s plight, then he would. His losses would not be for nothing.

He was merciless as he mounted Vhagar and flew over the Riverlands, torching everything in his path. Every House that had sworn allegiance to Rhaenyra Targaryen would burn, for her capture of the capital would be meaningless with no supporters left to aid her.

It is in the wake of this that he stands, waiting to hear of the total losses of support to his half sister.

The maester clears his throat, unfurling a parchment upon the tabletop. “The final raven has just arrived, your grace,” he tells Aemond. “House Darry, House Blackwood, House Fell–”

“House Fell?” He interrupts, his blood turning to ice in his veins. “Impossible, they are based in the Northern Stormlands.”

“Yes, your grace. However, there was a betrothal between the youngest daughter of House Fell and the youngest son of House Blackwood. Lord Fell and his family had been guests of Raventree Hall.”

Bile rises in his throat. He had killed her. The only good thing he had ever had in the world had died at his hands. She had been right to be afraid of him, and yet it had not helped to save her. He does not want to live a life where her goodness has been snuffed out. For every atrocity he has committed in the name of his family’s honour, he has known that the gentleness of her soul is a beacon of hope that there is goodness in humanity. Now there is nothing. He is trapped in a prison of his own making.

It has to end.

With the aid of Alys, he tracks Daemon to South of the Trident, West of the Kingsroad in the Southern Riverlands. His uncle is eagerly awaiting him.

As he kisses Alys, his usual ferocity is absent. His lips are soft and tender against hers, filled with unspoken devotion, the goodbye kiss he never got to give to his intended.

He knows this is a battle he will not return from as he chains himself into Vhagar’s saddle. The cage he is trapped in has only one means of escape.

Daemon is a savage opponent, and Aemond fights as though he has nothing to lose. What else could possibly be taken from him, when he has already deprived himself of it? As his uncle leaps from the back of Caraxes towards him, he does not resist, even as the blade of Dark Sister plunges brutally into the socket of his seeing eye.

His final thought as his body tumbles down towards the icy waters of the God’s Eye is that finally he is free, and if he could not reciprocate his true love’s purity in life then perhaps the Seven will see fit to grant him the opportunity to do so in death.

When grief is allowed to mutate into rage, it will become a person’s ruin, and none more so than that of Aemond Targaryen.

Read on AO3

More Aemond fics

[theonottsbxtch]

THE PRINCESS AND THE DRIVER PT.4 | MV1

an: and here we have the final part of this series! i hope you enjoyed it and let me know what you think!!

wc: 9.8k

warnings: mentions of death

part one | part two | part three |

Eight months had passed, and in that time, the princess had learned to hide the cracks in her carefully curated life. The early days of her relationship with Max had been a whirlwind of stolen moments, secret meetings, and late-night calls that left her breathless with excitement. But as time wore on, the reality of their worlds—their vastly different lives—began to close in on them.

Tonight, the palace was eerily still, its grand halls and corridors cloaked in shadows. The heavy curtains had been drawn tight, muting the vibrant light that usually flooded the rooms, as if the building itself sensed the growing tension. Every footstep echoed more loudly than usual, the soft rustle of servants moving with a palpable caution, their faces marked by an unspoken understanding of what was to come.

She sat in her private sitting room, staring blankly at the letter in her lap, her mind swirling with worry. The royal physician’s words felt like a punch in the chest: The king’s condition has worsened. We must prepare for all eventualities.

Her father was a shadow of the man he had once been. The strong, commanding presence that had filled every room now lay weak and frail, confined to his chambers, his illness advancing faster than any of them had anticipated. The doctors tried to remain optimistic, but she knew what was coming. Her future, once distant, was now closing in rapidly, and with it, the weight of the crown.

She placed the letter down on the table beside her and leaned back in her chair, pressing her fingers to her temples to stave off the headache building behind her eyes. The room around her felt cold, impersonal, despite its opulence. The delicate tapestries and gilded furniture, once a source of comfort, now felt suffocating.

Her gaze flicked to the phone lying on the table. She hadn’t spoken to Max in days. The silence between them had grown heavier with each passing hour. He was deep into the racing season, travelling across the Americas, and while they texted when they could, it wasn’t enough—not anymore.

A knock at the door broke through her thoughts.

“Come in,” she called, her voice quieter than she intended.

Lukas stepped into the room, his expression unreadable, though there was a softness in his eyes that spoke of his concern. He bowed slightly, always formal, even when they were alone. “Your Highness,” he said, his voice low. “The advisors are requesting your presence in an hour to discuss the transition of duties.”

Her stomach twisted at his words. The transition of duties. A polite way of saying they needed to prepare for her father’s death—and her ascension to the throne. She had always known this day would come, but she had imagined it years in the future. Now, it was looming over her, closer than ever.

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Thank you, Lukas. I’ll be there.”

Lukas lingered in the doorway, his eyes scanning her face as if weighing whether to say more. “Is there anything you need before the meeting? Anything I can do for you?”

She shook her head, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “No, thank you, Lukas.”

He gave a respectful nod, though the worry in his gaze remained. He stepped back and closed the door behind him, leaving her alone once again.

The silence that followed was thick, oppressive. She stood and moved to the window, pushing aside the heavy curtain to look out at the gardens below. The once vibrant flowers seemed dull under the pale moonlight, the neatly trimmed hedges casting long shadows that stretched across the lawn like dark fingers.

Her eyes drifted toward the phone again, and this time, it buzzed softly. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Max’s name flash across the screen. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering above it, before finally picking it up.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” came Max’s familiar voice, though there was an edge to it she hadn’t heard in a while. “I’ve been trying to call you all day. Are you okay? I just got out of practice.”

She closed her eyes, the sound of his voice bringing a small wave of comfort, though it was laced with the frustration of their current situation. “I’m sorry. Things have been… difficult here.”

Max sighed on the other end. “Yeah, I figured. I’ve been keeping up with the news. How’s your dad?”

She felt her throat tighten at the mention of her father. “It’s not good, Max. The doctors aren’t hopeful.” Her voice cracked despite her best efforts to keep it steady.

There was a long pause, and she could hear the faint hum of background noise from wherever Max was—likely a bustling racetrack, filled with the noise of mechanics and engines. “I wish I could be there with you,” he said finally, his voice softening. “But I’m stuck in Austin this week and Mexico then Brazil.”

“I know,” she replied, though the words tasted bitter. “I don’t want to pull you away from your career. I just… wish things weren’t so hard right now.”

Max let out another sigh, one filled with frustration. “I hate this. I hate that we’re both so busy, that I can’t just drop everything and be there for you when you need me.”

Her heart ached at his words. She missed him terribly—the easy way they used to be before everything became so complicated. “I know,” she whispered. “But this is what my life is now. I can’t escape it.”

“I get that,” Max said, though his tone suggested otherwise. “But it feels like I’m constantly competing with your royal duties, and I’m always coming up short.”

His words stung, not because they weren’t true, but because they were too true. She was always rushing from one responsibility to the next, with barely enough time for herself, let alone a relationship. “I don’t want you to feel like that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But this is my reality, Max. I’m not just a princess anymore. I’m about to be a queen.”

Another silence fell between them, heavier than before.

“And where does that leave us?” Max asked finally, his voice soft, yet edged with uncertainty.

She closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. She had been asking herself that very question for weeks now, afraid of the answer. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t know how to make this work. My life… it’s not just mine anymore.”

Max was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, more understanding. “I miss you, liefje. I miss us.”

“I miss you too,” she whispered, her chest tightening painfully.

They stayed on the line, the silence between them filled with all the things they couldn’t say. The distance, the obligations, the roles they couldn’t abandon—it all loomed over them like a shadow.

Max sighed again, though this time it was more resigned. “Look, let’s not make any decisions right now. I’ll be back in a couple of weeks, and we can figure it out then. We always do.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “Okay,” she said quietly. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Talk soon?” Max’s voice had a hopeful lilt, but she could hear the uncertainty underneath it.

“Talk soon,” she echoed, though the words felt hollow.

When the call ended, she set the phone down and stared out into the dark garden, her heart heavy. She wanted to believe Max’s optimism, but deep down, she wasn’t sure if love alone was enough to bridge the gap between their worlds.

With a deep breath, she pushed the thoughts aside. Duty called. It always did.

She walked into the meeting room, her footsteps quiet on the marble floor, but the weight of her thoughts echoed loudly in her mind. The council was already seated, their serious faces reflecting the gravity of the conversation that was about to take place. The grand room felt cold and imposing, with its high, vaulted ceilings and walls lined with portraits of previous rulers, all of them watching her with what felt like judgmental eyes.

She took her seat at the long mahogany table, her heart heavy. The chair creaked slightly as she sat down, but no one flinched. They were all waiting for her, waiting to begin discussing the future of the kingdom—her future, their future. The advisors spoke in low voices, the conversation flowing around her in a tide of words she couldn’t fully absorb. Something about succession, transitioning responsibilities, securing alliances.

But her mind was somewhere else. It was with Max, thousands of miles away, racing under the sun of some foreign country, oblivious to the turmoil in her heart. She could almost picture him—helmet in hand, his face lit with the easy smile that had first drawn her in. The image of him felt like a lifeline, a reminder of the simple joy she had found with him, of the version of herself that wasn’t weighed down by duty and expectation.

What if I just left? The thought crept in, unbidden. She imagined it—the two of them, disappearing from the public eye. No more council meetings, no more royal obligations. Just her and Max, living a life where she could breathe, where her decisions didn’t affect an entire kingdom. She pictured herself at the karting track again, the wind in her hair, the sound of engines roaring in the background, Max’s laughter filling the air. The world felt so much lighter there.

A voice broke through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. “Your Highness, do you have any thoughts on the matter of the transition ceremony?”

She blinked, her focus snapping back to the meeting. She glanced around the table, the faces of her advisors all turned expectantly toward her. Her throat felt tight, and she could feel the weight of their expectations bearing down on her again.

“I... I think we need to consider all possibilities,” she managed, her voice steady, though her mind was still reeling from the clash of her desires.

She wasn’t lying. She had considered all possibilities. Including the one where she didn’t go through with this. Including the one where she abdicated the throne, passed the crown to someone else, and lived the life she dreamed of—free of these suffocating walls, free of the expectations that had been draped over her shoulders since birth. It would be so easy. So tempting.

But she knew, deep down, that it wasn’t right. She couldn’t just walk away. Her father, as ill as he was, had been a devoted king, sacrificing so much of his own life for the sake of the country. How could she abandon that legacy? And what about the people who relied on her? The citizens who saw her as their future? The weight of those thoughts pressed down on her like a stone.

Even Max had told her once, half-joking, that he admired how seriously she took her role. “I couldn’t do what you do,” he had said with a laugh. “There’s a lot of pressure in racing, but nothing compared to running an entire country.”

He was right. Her role wasn’t just a title. It was a responsibility. One she couldn’t turn her back on, no matter how much she wanted to, no matter how much the idea of escaping with Max tempted her in moments of weakness.

The conversation around the table continued, moving into details about diplomatic visits and the logistics of transitioning royal power. Her hands rested on the surface of the table, her fingers tracing the delicate wood grain as her mind wandered again, just for a moment.

She knew Max didn’t fully understand. How could he? He came from a world of adrenaline, where decisions were made in split seconds and victories or losses were determined in the blink of an eye. But her world was one of tradition, of slow, deliberate choices, where every move had consequences that rippled through generations. She had tried to explain it to him once, but the look in his eyes told her that he couldn’t grasp the magnitude of what she was saying. Not really.

And yet, she loved him. Loved him with an intensity that scared her at times, because it made her want things she knew she couldn’t have. Things that weren’t hers to take. She wanted to run to him, to leave all of this behind and lose herself in a life where they could be together, free from the constraints of their separate worlds.

But she couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t.

Her gaze drifted to the window at the far end of the room, where the palace grounds stretched out before her. Beyond the manicured gardens, beyond the walls of the palace, was the kingdom she would one day rule. A kingdom that needed stability, that needed someone strong to guide it through the uncertain times ahead.

And that someone was her.

“Your Highness?”

The voice of one of the advisors pulled her back to the present again. She turned her head, realising that they were waiting for her input once more. The room felt stifling now, the tension of their expectations thick in the air.

“I think we need to approach this with care,” she said finally, her voice firm, but her heart heavy with the weight of what she was saying. “The transition needs to be seamless. For the sake of the kingdom.”

The advisors nodded, satisfied with her response. They continued their discussions, but her thoughts were no longer with them. They were with Max, with the life she had glimpsed but knew she couldn’t fully embrace.

Maybe there would be a way to reconcile the two worlds one day. But for now, she knew she had to stay. The crown, heavy as it was, wasn’t something she could just set down.

Her heart would have to wait.

The morning was unnervingly quiet when she awoke. There was no chatter from the staff outside her chambers, no clinking of trays or muffled footsteps through the grand hallways. Instead, there was a thick stillness in the air, like the palace itself was holding its breath.

She blinked slowly, the heavy velvet curtains blocking the early morning light from creeping into her room. Something was off. The kind of wrongness that sits at the pit of your stomach before you even know why. She sat up, her silk nightgown brushing against the cool sheets, and glanced around the room. Everything looked the same, but the silence… the silence wasn’t right.

A soft knock at the door made her heart skip. It was gentle, too gentle, as though whoever stood on the other side didn’t want to disturb the stillness.

“Come in,” she called, her voice quiet but steady.

The door opened slowly, and Lukas stepped into the room. His usual composed expression was strained, his eyes heavy with something that made her heart sink instantly. He closed the door behind him, moving with a kind of deliberate calm, as if he were trying to soften the blow of whatever news he had brought with him.

"Lukas?" Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the rising fear inside her.

He didn’t speak at first. He simply stood there, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes soft but filled with an unmistakable sadness. For a moment, she thought she might still be dreaming—trapped in some half-awake nightmare that didn’t feel real. But the look in Lukas’s eyes grounded her in reality.

She didn’t need him to say it. She knew.

Her heart stilled. “Is it… is it my father?”

Lukas lowered his head, exhaling slowly before lifting his gaze to meet hers again. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness. The king passed during the night.”

The world seemed to shift beneath her feet. Her breath hitched in her throat, her hands tightening in the fabric of her blanket as if trying to anchor herself in place. She had known this was coming. The doctors had warned them that it was only a matter of time. But no amount of warnings, no gentle words of preparation, could have braced her for this moment.

She felt hollow. Empty. Her father—the man who had been her rock, her guide, the unshakable force behind the kingdom—was gone.

“When?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Lukas stepped closer, his expression never wavering from that quiet empathy. “Early this morning. Just before dawn. He passed peacefully, in his sleep.”

Her chest tightened. Peacefully. That was supposed to be some kind of comfort, wasn’t it? But it wasn’t. Not to her. Her father was gone, and all the peacefulness in the world couldn’t bring him back.

For a long moment, she didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her mind was racing, but her body felt paralyzed, like she was stuck between the need to scream and the need to collapse.

Lukas knelt by her side, his hand resting gently by her side. “Your Highness…”

She didn’t respond at first, her gaze fixed on the far wall as if trying to process what she had just heard. Her throat felt tight, and a wave of dizziness swept over her. The words Lukas had said—the king passed—rang in her ears like a bell, over and over again.

“I thought I’d have more time,” she murmured, more to herself than to Lukas. “I thought…” Her voice broke. “I thought he’d stay longer.”

Lukas’s face softened further, and for the first time in their years of knowing each other, he didn’t maintain his formal distance. He reached out and took her hand, offering the only comfort he could in this moment of unimaginable grief. “No one is ever ready to lose someone they love.”

She looked down at their joined hands, her vision blurring with unshed tears. The weight of everything—the crown, the kingdom, her father’s legacy—began to settle onto her shoulders, heavier than ever before. She had always known she would take on this role, but she never imagined it would feel like this.

“I… I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the strain. “Without him, I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“You are,” Lukas said softly but with conviction. “You are stronger than you know. The king believed in you, and so do I.”

She swallowed hard, tears spilling over her cheeks, her hand gripping his like a lifeline. Lukas had always been there—her protector, her confidant—but in this moment, he felt more like a brother, someone who understood the depths of her pain without needing to say a word.

She took a shaky breath, trying to collect herself. She had to be strong. That’s what her father had always taught her. The kingdom needed her now more than ever, and there was no room for weakness. No room for hesitation. But the idea of facing it all—without her father by her side—felt unbearable.

“I don’t know how to say goodbye to him,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Lukas’s eyes shimmered with his own emotion, though he kept his composure. “You don’t have to say goodbye just yet,” he said gently. “You’ll have time. But right now, the kingdom needs you, angel.”

Her breath hitched at the sound of her family nickname. He never called her that—never. It was always “Your Highness,” always formal. But in that moment, hearing that name spoken with such care, she felt a flicker of strength deep inside her. A reminder of who she was. Of who she had to be now.

She nodded slowly, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. She had to face this. She had to step into the role that was now hers, even though it felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on her chest.

“When do they expect me?” she asked, her voice steadier, though still fragile.

“They’ll be gathering soon,” Lukas replied. “The council will want to discuss the next steps. But you don’t need to rush, angel. Take the time you need.”

She shook her head, already pushing the blankets off her lap and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “No. I can’t delay this. They’re waiting for me.”

Lukas stood, watching her with quiet respect as she moved across the room, her steps slow but determined. He knew better than to argue. She was the queen now, and he would follow her lead, even in her grief.

As she reached for her dressing robe, her hand trembled, but she forced herself to keep moving. Her father’s death felt like the end of everything she had known, but she couldn’t let herself fall apart. Not now. Not with so much at stake.

But as Lukas turned to leave, giving her privacy to get ready, her voice stopped him.

“Lukas?” she called softly, her throat tight.

He paused at the door, looking back at her with patient eyes.

She swallowed hard, tears filling her eyes once more. “Thank you. For being here.”

Lukas’s expression softened, and he gave a small nod. “Always.”

With that, he left her alone in the quiet room, the weight of her new reality settling heavily around her. She stood there for a moment, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She looked the same—dishevelled hair, tear-streaked cheeks, red-rimmed eyes. But she wasn’t the same.

She wasn’t just a princess anymore.

She was the queen.

And no matter how much she wished she could run to Max, to disappear into a life where this kind of pain didn’t exist, she knew she couldn’t. Her place was here, with her people. It always had been.

With a deep breath, she wiped her tears once more and began preparing herself for the hardest day of her life. She sat herself in front of her mirror, her hands trembling slightly as she fastened the last button on her mourning dress. The black fabric clung to her skin, a stark reminder of the weight she now carried. She could hear the faint murmur of voices from the hallway—preparations for the day ahead—but it all felt distant, like she was floating in a fog of disbelief.

She couldn’t believe he was gone. Her father—the man who had always been larger than life, even in his sickness—was gone. The reality of it still hadn’t fully settled in, and every breath she took felt shallow, tight, as if the grief itself had taken residence in her lungs.

A soft knock on her door broke through her thoughts. Before she could respond, the door creaked open, and her mother stepped quietly into the room. The Queen —or rather, soon to be Dowager Queen —was the picture of regal composure, dressed in black silk, her hair neatly swept back. But there was a fragility in her eyes, a sadness that she wore beneath the surface.

She stood slowly, feeling the familiar ache of tears she had forced back all morning. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room was filled with the unsaid, the emotions too heavy to name. But then, without a word, her mother crossed the space between them and wrapped her arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

She didn’t realise how much she needed it until the warmth of her mother’s arms was around her. She collapsed into the embrace, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder as the tears finally came. Quiet, stifled sobs, muffled against the fabric of her mother’s dress. Her mother held her tightly, her hand smoothing her hair in a soothing gesture she hadn’t felt since she was a child.

“I’m so sorry, Mama,” she choked out between breaths, feeling the guilt welling up with her grief. Guilt for not being able to save him, for not being ready to take his place. “I—I don’t know if I can do this.”

Her mother pulled back just enough to look at her, cupping her tear-streaked face in her hands. Her mother’s eyes were red, but there was a strength in them, a deep well of faith that steadied her trembling heart.

“You can, my love,” her mother said softly, her voice unwavering despite the sadness etched in every word. “I know this feels unbearable now. But you are ready. More ready than you think.”

She shook her head, blinking back more tears. “But what if I fail? What if I can’t live up to—”

Her mother cut her off, her voice gentle but firm. “You won’t fail. Your father believed in you. He knew you were destined for this, and I believe it too. You have his heart, his strength, and more than that, you have your own wisdom. The wisdom of someone who understands the world in a way he couldn’t.”

Her breath hitched as she stared into her mother’s eyes. She wanted to believe her, wanted to hold onto that certainty, but doubt clawed at the edges of her mind. “But I’m not like him. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to rule this country.”

Her mother’s lips curved into a faint, sad smile as she gently wiped away her tears with her thumb. “No one is like him. Your father was unique. But the strength you need doesn’t have to look the same as his. You have your own kind of strength, darling, and that’s what this country needs now.”

The room seemed to fall silent again, save for the sound of their breathing, the tension of the day settling around them both. She stared at her mother, searching for any crack in her confidence, but she found none. The Queen had been through this before. She had watched her own husband rise to the throne, and now she was passing that same responsibility to her daughter.

Her mother’s hands moved to clasp her own, squeezing them tightly. “I’m ready to become the Dowager Queen, angel,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “I’m ready to step aside because I have complete faith in you. The only person who can lead this kingdom as well as your father did... is you.”

Her breath hitched. The words hit her harder than she expected. She had spent so long doubting her readiness, questioning whether she could ever be the leader her father was, that she hadn’t allowed herself to see that others believed in her. That her mother—who had stood beside her father through every challenge—believed in her.

“I can’t do it without you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Her mother smiled gently. “You won’t have to. I’ll always be here, by your side. But this is your time now, darling. The country needs you.”

She swallowed, her throat thick with emotion. Her mother's unwavering belief in her felt like a lifeline, pulling her up from the depths of her fear. Slowly, she nodded, more to herself than to her mother. She had no choice but to be strong now—for the country, for her father’s legacy, and for the people who were looking to her for guidance.

Her mother leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “You are more than capable, my love. You were born for this. And when you step into that room today, they’ll see it too.”

For a long moment, they stayed like that, holding each other, sharing their grief in the stillness of the morning. She felt the warmth of her mother’s strength seep into her, and she let herself draw from it, her resolve beginning to harden beneath the surface of her sadness.

When her mother finally pulled away, she felt steadier. The grief hadn’t left her, and she knew it never fully would, but the weight of it felt more bearable. She had to carry it now, along with everything else. But she wouldn’t be alone.

As she turned to leave the room, she paused at the door, her hand resting on the frame. “Darling?” she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet wisdom.

She looked up, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “Yes?”

“Remember this,” her mother said, her gaze filled with love and pride. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to lead with your heart. That’s what your father did, and it’s what will make you a great queen.”

She wasn’t just a daughter anymore. She wasn’t just a princess. She was the future of the kingdom.

“There’s one more thing,” her mother said softly, before stepping out of the room.

She tilted her head, waiting.

“You need to tell him,” her mother said gently.

Her heart skipped. “Max?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

Her mother nodded. “Yes. He’s been in your life long enough to deserve to know the truth about what you’re going through.”

She looked away, chewing her lip. “I don’t know, Mama. He... he has his own life. He’s busy with Formula One. I don’t want to burden him with all of this. It’s too much.” Her voice faltered as she spoke, the idea of leaning on him feeling both comforting and terrifying.

Her mother stepped closer, her presence warm and grounding. “Darling,” she said softly, placing a gentle hand on her daughter’s shoulder, “you need someone in your corner who isn’t Lukas, and who isn’t me. You need someone who can be there for you, not just as the future queen, but as the woman you are. Max could be that person.”

She felt her throat tighten at her mother’s words. She knew, deep down, her mother was right. But admitting that she needed Max meant admitting her own vulnerability—and that was something she hadn’t done in a long time.

“What if he... doesn’t understand?” She asked quietly, her voice barely a whisper.

Her mother’s expression softened even more, a small smile pulling at her lips. “From what I’ve seen, he already understands more than you give him credit for. And if he truly cares for you, he’ll be there. You just need to give him the chance.”

She nodded, but the hesitation remained. She felt torn between the duties of her crown and the need for something that felt real, something that wasn’t bound by the weight of royal expectations.

Her mother brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes filled with quiet understanding. “It’s okay to let someone in, sweetheart. You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

For a long moment, she didn’t respond. Her mother’s words settled over her, both soothing and unsettling, as if she were being asked to make a leap she wasn’t sure she was ready for. But beneath the uncertainty, a small part of her yearned to reach out to him, to let him in—if only because the thought of facing this without him felt lonelier than she could bear.

Her mother gave her one last look, one filled with love and confidence. “Think about it,” she said softly. “But whatever you choose, remember—you’re not alone.”

With that, her mother kissed her forehead and quietly left the room.

She stood there, frozen in place, her mind swirling. She knew what she had to do, but the fear still gripped her. She crossed the room to her bedside table, where her phone lay charging. She picked it up, her fingers brushing the screen, and instinctively unlocked it.

Max’s name stared back at her in the text thread. There were a few unread messages, one from earlier in the week, asking how she was. Another a few days before that, checking in on her. She hadn’t responded to either.

Her thumb hovered over his name, the familiar flutter in her chest both comforting and suffocating. She wanted to tell him, wanted to lean on him like her mother had said, but a part of her still hesitated. What if this was too much? What if the weight of the crown pushed them apart even further?

She sighed and locked her phone again, placing it gently back on the table. Not yet. She wasn’t ready.

As she sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the darkened screen, she let out a long, shaky breath. Her heart felt heavy with the decision she knew was coming.

But for now, she couldn’t do it. Not yet.

It was time to face the council. It was time to step into her role as queen.

The next few days blurred together in a whirlwind of meetings, press conferences, and preparations for the coronation. The throne room, once a place of regal splendour, felt like a cage, the high ceilings looming over her as if they were pressing down on her spirit. Each morning, she found herself sitting at the long, polished table in the council chamber, flanked by advisors and ministers, their discussions echoing around her like the distant tolling of a bell.

The council members had officially announced her ascension to the throne to the country the day before, and the press had been relentless, covering every angle of her impending coronation. “A new era,” they called it, but all she could feel was the weight of expectation pressing heavily on her shoulders. She had always known this moment would come, but the reality of it settled over her like a storm cloud, darkening the sunniest of days.

As she sat in the meetings, she tried to focus on the conversations swirling around her—the budget reports, the upcoming legislation, the various projects and initiatives they wanted her to endorse. But her mind often drifted, the words fading into a dull hum as she stared blankly at the documents in front of her. She could hear snippets of conversation, the concerns about the economy, discussions about trade relations, and plans for the upcoming public addresses, but her heart wasn’t in it.

What pulled her focus away was the nagging thought of Max. She had kept her distance, thinking it would be easier for him. But each time her phone buzzed, every time she saw a glimpse of Formula One on television or the news, she felt the ache of wanting to reach out to him. He’d won his first race and as much as she wanted to congratulate him, she couldn’t. They had shared something special—a connection that felt genuine and freeing, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was losing that by hiding.

In the afternoon meetings, as the minister of agriculture outlined his proposals, she caught herself staring at the ornate clock on the wall, its hands ticking relentlessly forward. Time was slipping away, and she was losing the grip on everything that had felt so real only a week ago.

“Your Highness?” The sound of her name broke through her thoughts, and she looked up to find Lord Harrington, the lead advisor, peering at her with concern. “We need your input on this initiative. It’s vital to our agricultural sustainability moving forward.”

She nodded, forcing her mind to clear. “Of course,” she replied, trying to summon the confidence she was known for. She scanned the proposal quickly, her eyes catching on various points, but nothing resonated with her. “I think we should explore more sustainable options, perhaps partner with local farms to promote organic practices.”

The room buzzed with murmurs of approval, and she felt a flicker of relief that she hadn’t completely lost herself in the weight of her responsibilities. She had to remember that there was a reason she was chosen for this role; she had the ability to lead, to inspire change. But with every discussion, she felt more like a pawn than a queen.

As the week progressed, the relentless pace of preparations for her coronation only intensified. Staff members rushed around the palace, organising floral arrangements, selecting ceremonial attire, and finalising the guest list for the grand event. Each detail was scrutinised, each decision weighed against the legacy her father had left behind.

She spent late nights poring over documents, trying to prepare herself for the monumental shift that was about to happen. It felt surreal, as though she were watching someone else’s life play out on a screen. The days bled into one another, and the excitement of the upcoming ceremony was overshadowed by the persistent thrum of anxiety that buzzed beneath her skin.

Amidst the chaos, she sought solace in her mother’s company. Her mother seemed to understand her unspoken fears, providing a calming presence in the midst of the preparations. They spent hours going over the details, discussing speeches and strategies, and every time they stood together in the mirror, she felt her resolve strengthen just a little bit.

“Remember, this isn’t just a ceremony,” her mother reminded her gently one evening as they were fitting her coronation gown. “It’s a declaration of your strength and your commitment to the people. You’re not just stepping into your father’s shoes; you’re creating your own path.”

She nodded, though a small part of her still felt like she was stumbling in the dark. But every time her mother spoke, she felt a flicker of hope—a reminder that she didn’t have to carry this burden alone.

On the day before the coronation, she sat at her desk in the late afternoon, glancing out the window at the sprawling gardens below. The sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon, casting golden rays that danced over the manicured lawns. She could hear the distant sounds of celebration and preparation from the town below, where the citizens were already gathering for the festivities. Yet, in the heart of the palace, she felt completely isolated.

She picked up her phone, her heart racing as she scrolled through her contacts. Max’s name was there, tantalisingly close, but still she hesitated. The fear of pulling him into her world, of exposing him to the chaos that now filled her life, held her back.

“What if he doesn’t want this?” she murmured to herself, feeling the weight of the decision hang in the air. “What if he thinks I’m just a royal duty?”

But then she remembered her mother’s words. She needed someone in her corner, someone who understood the real her, not just the princess or the future queen.

With a deep breath, she pressed his name and hovered over the screen, fingers poised to type. Before she could talk herself out of it again, she began typing a message.

I miss you x

The morning of the coronation was uncharacteristically quiet in the grand palace, with only the soft rustle of silk and the gentle chirping of birds filtering through the open window. She lay in bed, her heart racing, thoughts swirling like the delicate clouds above. Today was monumental, yet a profound emptiness echoed in her chest, overshadowed by the grief of her father’s recent passing. She hadn’t slept well, the weight of expectation pressing down on her as the sun rose, illuminating the ornate details of her chamber.

Just as she was about to pull herself from the tangled sheets, a soft knock sounded at her door, breaking the silence. Before she could respond, the door creaked open, revealing Lukas, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” he said, his voice playful. “You might want to hurry up; the world is waiting.”

“Lukas,” she replied with a weary smile, “I’m not in the mood for your antics today.”

But he stepped into the room, a conspiratorial smile spreading across his face. “I have a surprise for you.”

Her curiosity piqued as she raised an eyebrow. “What sort of surprise?”

“Just wait here,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. With a swift movement, he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Moments later, the door swung open again, and her breath caught in her throat. There, standing in the threshold, was Max, his familiar silhouette framed by the soft morning light.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted out, her heart leaping into her throat. “You have a race tomorrow!”

Max stepped closer, an easy confidence radiating from him, but there was a serious glint in his eyes. “I told them I sprained my wrist,” he said, his voice low, almost intimate. “I needed to be here for you.”

A rush of emotions washed over her—relief, joy, and a deep longing she hadn’t realised had grown so potent in his absence. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, caught between astonishment and gratitude. “You have responsibilities, Max.”

“I know,” he replied, his gaze steady and unwavering, “but I couldn’t bear the thought of you facing this day without me. You’re about to become queen, and I want to be here to support you, to remind you that you’re not alone.”

Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer. Time seemed to pause as he leaned in, and the world outside faded away. The moment their lips met, it ignited a spark that surged through her body, overwhelming and electric. It was as if the tension of all their missed moments collided in that kiss, filling the space between them with heat and urgency.

She melted into him, her hands sliding up to his shoulders as she deepened the kiss, losing herself in the warmth and familiarity of his embrace. Every worry about her duties, the impending coronation, and the expectations of the kingdom faded into oblivion. All that mattered was Max, his presence igniting something within her that felt undeniably right.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, she searched his eyes, both exhilarated and terrified by the intensity of the moment. “What if they find out?” she whispered, her heart still racing.

Max’s expression softened, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Let them. I’m not afraid. I’d rather face the world with you than race without you in my thoughts.”

She shook her head, unable to suppress a smile of her own. “You’re reckless, you know that?”

“Only for you,” he replied, his tone sincere, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her heart flutter.

“But what if they fire you?” she asked, her voice a mixture of concern and disbelief. “You’ve worked so hard to get where you are. You can’t just throw it all away.”

Max’s expression softened, his hands still cradling her face, grounding her. “Liefje,” he said earnestly, “I want to leave Formula One. I want to be by your side.” His tone was steady, unwavering. “I’ve never felt as happy as I’ve been around you. Racing doesn’t compare to what we have. I can’t remember a day when racing made me feel what you make me feel. I’ve won championships. Someone like you doesn’t come around more than once.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken promises and dreams. She felt her heart flutter, caught between disbelief and overwhelming emotion. “But Max, this is your passion. You’ve dedicated so much of your life to it,” she insisted, a part of her unwilling to let him walk away from his dreams.

“It was my passion,” he replied, his voice low and sincere. “But now… now it feels different. Being with you, knowing you’re stepping into your role as queen, that makes me want to change everything. I want to support you, not just as a driver but as someone who stands by your side through everything.”

Her heart swelled at his words, the tenderness in his gaze making her momentarily forget the looming challenges of her new position. “I don’t want to hold you back, though,” she whispered, biting her lip, torn between the thrill of their connection and the reality of their worlds.

Max stepped back slightly, his hands dropping to her shoulders. “You’re not holding me back. You’re the reason I want to be more than just a racer. I’ve been racing for trophies, for accolades, but they all feel hollow compared to what we have.” He took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to lay his heart bare. “I want a life that includes you, and I’m willing to fight for that. I can’t do this without you, schatje.”

The sincerity in his voice tugged at her heartstrings, and she felt a rush of warmth at his willingness to sacrifice so much for her. “You really mean that?” she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

“More than anything,” he replied, stepping closer again, their bodies almost touching. “I’m not asking you to choose between your duty and me. I just want you to know that I’ll always be here, whatever you decide.”

A lump formed in her throat as she considered his words, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. The thought of him giving up his career was both beautiful and terrifying, and she couldn’t shake the fear of how their worlds might collide. “But… what will people say?” she murmured, looking down at their intertwined hands.

Max lifted her chin gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Let them talk. This is our lives, engeltje. You’re stepping into a new role, and I want to be a part of that. I want to support you in every way I can. Together, we can figure it out.”

Tears pricked at her eyes as the enormity of his offer washed over her. “It’s just… so much,” she confessed, feeling vulnerable yet uplifted by his presence. “What if I’m not ready for this? What if I fail?”

Max’s thumb brushed gently across her cheek, wiping away a single tear that had escaped. “You’re stronger than you realise,” he said softly. “I’ve seen it in you. You’re going to be an incredible queen, and I want to be there, cheering you on, not from a racetrack, but right by your side.”

In that moment, she felt a shift within herself. The weight of her father’s legacy and the impending coronation felt a little less daunting with Max’s support. The uncertainty remained, but so did the flicker of hope. She could see a future where they navigated the complexities of her role together, rather than apart.

As they stood wrapped in each other’s embrace, a sudden playful thought crossed her mind, lightening the moment’s intensity. She pulled back slightly, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “You know there is a protocol for this. You’re meant to propose before you quit everything in your life just to sit beside me.”

Max’s eyes widened with a mix of surprise and amusement, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Oh, is that how it works?” he said, feigning innocence. Then, with a determined glint in his eyes, he let go of her waist, dropping to one knee on the plush carpet of her chamber.

She gasped, her heart racing as he put his hands back on her waist, anchoring himself in place. “Marry me then, princess,” he said, his voice low and sincere, though the absence of a ring hung in the air between them like an unfinished sentence.

A rush of emotions flooded through her—joy, disbelief, and an overwhelming sense of love. Her heart swelled as she looked down at him, the man who had come into her life unexpectedly and changed everything. This was a moment she had never anticipated, yet it felt so profoundly right.

“Max,” she said softly, her voice a mixture of excitement and apprehension. “You don’t have a ring.”

“Who needs a ring?” he countered with a smirk, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m pretty sure I can make do without one for now.” He looked up at her, sincerity radiating from him. “What matters is that I want to spend my life with you, however we make that happen.”

She felt her heart flutter at his words, her earlier worries momentarily forgotten. “This is… wow, unexpected,” she said, her smile growing wider as she tried to process the enormity of what was happening. “Are you really sure?”

Max nodded earnestly, his gaze unwavering. “Absolutely. You’re it for me, schatje. There’s no one else I’d rather have by my side. I want to build a future with you, no matter what it looks like.”

His sincerity warmed her heart, and she felt a rush of affection surge through her. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” she said, her voice breathy and filled with awe. “You’d give it all up for me?”

“Without hesitation,” he replied, the weight of his promise hanging in the air like a soft echo. “You’re the reason I want to redefine everything. I’d rather face the challenges that come with being with you than chase trophies that won’t matter in the end. I’ve already made a name for myself.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she knelt beside him, her heart pounding in her chest. “Max, you know this isn’t an easy life. There are protocols, expectations… responsibilities that come with the crown.”

“Then let’s face them together,” he said, his hands slipping to her palms as he held her gaze, his expression earnest and filled with warmth. “I’m not afraid of the challenges. I want to be your partner in all of this, in the crown and beyond.”

His words resonated within her, echoing through the quiet of the chamber. This was what she had longed for—the freedom to be herself, to love without the constraints of her title. “You’re incredible,” she breathed, a smile breaking across her face. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

“Because we found each other,” he said simply, still kneeling before her, and in that moment, time seemed to stand still.

As she took in the sight of him—his casual yet earnest demeanour, the way his eyes shone with love—she realised how much she wanted to embrace this possibility. With Max, she could build a life that transcended royal duties and expectations. “Okay,” she said finally, her heart racing with excitement. “Let’s do this. I want to marry you.”

A wide grin broke out across Max’s face as he rose to his feet, pulling her up with him and into a tight embrace that felt like home. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair, his arms wrapping securely around her.

“And while you don’t have a ring, I suppose we’ll have to go shopping for one in the family safe,” she said, laughter bubbling up as she stepped back to look at him. “But in the meantime, I guess I’ll just have to get used to being your fiancée without any bling.”

Max chuckled, a sound that filled the room with warmth. “I’ll get you the prettiest ring I can find. One that suits a princess, even if I’m just a guy from the karting track.”

“Not just any guy,” she said, her heart swelling with affection. “You’re my guy.”

Just as she and Max shared another lingering kiss, the moment was interrupted by a gentle but firm knock on the door. Before either of them could react, Lukas opened the door and stepped inside, a playful smirk on his face.

“While it was cute to eavesdrop on this conversation,” he said, crossing his arms with a teasing glint in his eyes, “Your Highness, you have a coronation to get to. Oh and, congratulations.”

She pulled away from Max, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and delight. “Lukas! You could’ve knocked a little louder!” she exclaimed, trying to regain her composure.

Max chuckled, slipping his arm around her waist, clearly unfazed by Lukas’s entrance. “What can I say? The excitement was too much for me to contain,” he replied, winking at her.

Lukas raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from playful to serious. “As much as I’m thrilled to see you both in such high spirits, we need to focus. There’s a schedule to follow, and the country is expecting you to step into your role as queen today.”

She nodded, her heart racing again as the reality of her responsibilities settled in. “Right, the coronation,” she murmured, glancing at Max, who remained close beside her. The moment felt electric, as if their conversation about love and commitment had wrapped them in a protective bubble against the outside world.

“Do you need a moment?” Lukas asked, breaking her reverie as he gestured between the two of them. “I can come back.”

“No, no. We’re fine,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “But I do need to get ready.”

Lukas’s expression softened slightly, and he offered a genuine smile. “Good. I’d hate to keep the kingdom waiting for too long. And, Mr. Verstappen,” he added, turning to him with a knowing look, “make sure she remembers that this is a huge day for her. No distractions.”

Max nodded, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep her on track,” he said, giving her a mock-serious look. “I promise not to distract her too much.”

She laughed, feeling a rush of warmth and gratitude for the way they interacted—Max, with his playful charm, and Lukas, with his unwavering dedication. “I appreciate that,” she said, smiling at both of them. “I don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

“Good. Then I’ll let you get ready,” Lukas said, stepping back toward the door but pausing for a moment to meet Max’s gaze. “And you,” he added, “keep it together until the coronation is over. There will be plenty of time for celebrating afterward.”

Max raised his hands in mock surrender. “Understood, Captain Lukas.”

With a final nod, Lukas stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him, leaving her and Max alone once again. The air felt different now—charged with anticipation and purpose.

“So…” Max began, leaning against the foot of her bed with a playful grin, “are you ready to take on the world? Or at least the country?”

She took a deep breath, letting the weight of her new reality wash over her. “I guess I have to be,” she replied, her voice steady. “Today is about more than just me. It’s about the people I’ll serve and lead.”

Max stepped closer, his expression turning earnest. “And you’ll do an amazing job. You’re already a queen in my eyes, and this coronation is just the official part. You have all the qualities that make a great leader—compassion, strength, and a heart full of love.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and she felt a renewed sense of determination. “Thank you, Max. Your support means everything to me, especially today.”

He reached for her hands, intertwining their fingers. “I’m with you every step of the way, princess,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “No matter what challenges come, you’ll never have to face them alone.”

Taking a look at Max, a thought crossed her mind, walking across the room to a small, ornate bell nestled on a table by the window. She picked it up, her heart racing as she prepared to summon the attendants. With a quick glance back at Max, who was still leaning casually against her bed, she rang the bell, the clear chime echoing through the elegant chamber.

Max raised an eyebrow, curiosity etched on his face. “What are you doing?” he asked, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I need you to get fitted for a suit,” she replied, her tone light but filled with purpose. She turned back to face him, crossing her arms. “You’ll be by my side during the coronation, and that means you can’t just wear what you’re wearing.”

Max chuckled, glancing down at his casual attire—comfortable jeans and a fitted T-shirt. “You don’t think this is enough?” he asked, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

She stepped closer, her expression turning serious. “No, Max. You need a royal suit. Something that reflects who you are now,” she emphasised, her heart swelling at the thought of him standing beside her during such a pivotal moment. “Oh, and you should probably meet my mother, the Queen Dowager. I’m sure she’d love to see you before the ceremony.”

Max’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of her mother, but a determined smile spread across his face. “Queen Dowager, huh? No pressure there,” he said, chuckling nervously. “What do I say to her? ‘Hi, I’m the guy who’s been dating your daughter while you were busy preparing for a royal coronation’?”

“Pretty much,” she teased, her laughter ringing through the room. “But just be yourself. She’ll appreciate your honesty. And besides, I think she’ll like you.”

A soft knock sounded at the door, and before she could respond, it swung open to reveal one of her attendants, a young woman with a friendly smile. “Your Highness, you summoned?”

“Yes, please arrange for Mr. Verstappen to be fitted for a suit,” she instructed, her tone firm but friendly. “We need to make sure he looks regal today.”

The attendant nodded, her eyes darting between her and Max, clearly wondering who he was. “Of course, Your Highness. Right away.”

As the attendant exited, Max gave her a mock-serious look. “So, do I get to pick my own colours? I’m not sure what would look good on me in royal attire.”

She shrugged, unable to contain her laughter. “I think you’d look good in anything, but maybe we can avoid neon colours,” she suggested, winking playfully. “How about something classic? Navy, perhaps? It’ll suit you and look great next to my gown.”

“Alright, I can work with navy,” Max said, his smile widening. “And what about my tie? Should I go for a bow tie or a regular one?”

“Regular, please,” she replied, trying to keep a straight face. “Just remember, you’re not going to a cocktail party. This is a coronation.”

“Got it. Regular tie, no neon, and navy it is,” he said, nodding seriously. “I’ll do my best to not embarrass you in front of the entire kingdom.”

“You’ll do great. Just remember to breathe,” she reassured him, stepping closer again. “And I’ll be right there beside you the entire time.”

Max took a deep breath, looking her up and down with a smile on his face. “Isn’t it my job to comfort you right now?”

The same attendant returned moments later, followed by another staff member carrying a measuring tape and a selection of fabric swatches. “Mr. Verstappen, if you’d follow us to the fitting room?” the attendant said with a professional smile.

“Time to be royal,” Max said, winking at her as he stepped away. “I’ll see you soon, Your Highness.”

In a whirlwind of emotions, she turned her focus back to the preparations ahead. She had a kingdom to unite and a new chapter to embrace—one that she would navigate with Max’s love and support by her side. It felt right, and for the first time in a long while, the heaviness in her chest began to lighten. Today was the beginning of her reign, and she was ready.

And for the first time since she found out she was going to be queen, she felt free.

the end.

taglist: @iimplicitt @bookishnerd1132 @bratstappen @mastermindbaby @abbyandersonstargirl @itsmathilda

[ceesimz]

Stand By Me

Two weeks.

That's all it had been since you last saw each other.

Considering it was only the start of the relationship, it felt like a life time. Work had kept the two of you apart; Alexia seemed to have to travel constantly at the moment, and the busyness of your own job had picked up too. Even when you were in the same city as each other, there still wasn't enough time, and it felt like torture knowing you were just miles away from each other.

But that's what made your relationship so sweet. When the pair of you got together, it was like the rest of the world went away. If it was just the two of you, you saw a different side to Alexia and she saw a different side to you. You felt invincible when you were together. You could never take for granted the soft, tender, shy, and tooth-rottingly sweet persona of Alexia Putellas off the pitch, and you thought maybe, just maybe, she felt the same way about you.

Apparently not.

Here you now were, sat alone at the restaurant that you were supposed to be meeting her at, slowly harbouring a glass of wine as you watched the time tick away on the clock opposite you. Despite the chatter, laughter, music, and general background noise of the restaurant, bustling as it was on this Friday evening, you swore you could hear the hands move on the clock.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Five minutes - fine! Not a problem.

Ten minutes - still alright.

Fifteen minutes - well... a text sent.

Twenty minutes - a bottle of wine ordered.

Thirty minutes? This was unfair. Not even a reply of warning. In fact, you hadn't gotten a single text all day.

Still, the clock, tick, tick, ticking away, mocking, teasing.

Where the hell was she?

"Perdónarme, señorita, if you are not going to order, we have a lot of people waiting for a table."

There we go. The last straw.

At the waiter's words, you stood abruptly from the table, gulped down the rest of your wine, before grabbing your coat and storming out. That was nothing short of utterly humiliating. You were in half a mind to take the bottle of wine with you and drown your sorrows on the walk home, but you'd already had enough embarrassment for one night. Walking out of a restaurant full of lovers on your own with nobody holding your hand, nobody carrying your coat for you, nobody guiding you out to a pre-booked taxi with their hand lingering on your lower back. You had yourself and yourself only, and being seen gaining comfort from a ridiculously expensive bottle of wine was not the impression you were trying to achieve.

Still, that didn't stop you from throwing your heels off in the corridor of your small Barcelona flat and heading straight to the fridge for one of the beers you kept in there. You could only fall asleep later that night after your best friend back in your home town in England called you up and criticised the woman you thought could do no wrong, having you belly laughing until you succumbed to your exhaustion, feeling significantly lighter.

Frustratingly, that was only a temporary thing. The first thing on your mind the following morning, was how badly you missed the feeling of a certain Catalonian's arms being wrapped around you. Again, it was just the start of the relationship (if that was even a thing anymore), so there had only been a few... sleepovers, but that didn't diminish the longing you had.

"Fuck sake." You grumbled, swinging your body to sit on the edge of the bed as you sighed heavily, head dropping back and eyes closing.

Waking up sad and alone in a foreign country, no matter how long you had lived there, never got any easier - especially when you had been so cruelly ghosted the previous night. The embarrassment lingered heavily in your chest, and you wanted to do nothing all day but sulk in your flat, then get drunk in one of Barcelona's many night clubs. Previously, you had rejected your friends' plans for tonight in the hopes of spending time with Alexia, but that had obviously flown out of the window after last night's events, or rather the lack of events.

So, you sent a text to the group chat containing your favourite friends you'd met so far in this beautiful city, informing them of your new decision, smiling when you instantly received an influx of messages conveying their joy. However, to your own annoyance, you found yourself pressing on Alexia's chat to see that she had left you on read.

Un-fucking-believable.

That night, you made sure to put on the little black dress you'd been keeping at the back of your wardrobe, hoping to one day wear it when you were going out with Alexia. But boy had she ruined that chance now.

When you got drunk whilst carrying a variety of angry emotions (especially when it came to relationships), you knew you had a habit of acting a little... petty, to say the least. That habit came in full force at 2am, when you decided to post a picture of yourself in your outfit, a smug and knowing grin on your face, hoping for Alexia to see it on your Instagram story.

Still drunk and awake at 6am, however now thankfully in the comfort of your own bed, you checked your Instagram story views, and there it was. Alexia had seen it. And... liked it? Was she serious right now? With a frustrated huff, you threw your phone down on the bed beside you and tossed onto your side angrily, refusing to let this get to you. Admittedly, that was a little hard to do in your drunk and emotional state.

You weren't entirely surprised to find your pillow coated with the after effects of tear-streaked mascara the next morning, but you were more worried about the pounding on your front door that caused your head to throb. Not quite jumping out of bed, it was more of a stumble really, you threw on your dressing gown and very quickly washed your face as to not scare off whoever was meer minutes away from bashing your door down.

"Fucking hell, it's early, who are-" You cut yourself off when you swung the door open, only to be met with the one person you were not expecting. "No."

Spiteful laughter bubbled out of you before you could control your reactions, and you slammed the door shut in her face.

...okay, maybe that was a little harsh, but in your hungover state, you didn't really have the sympathetic capacity to feel sorry about it.

"Please. I need to talk." Alexia pleads, a tired frown on her face as she held onto a bouquet of flowers.

"Why?" You leaned back against the door, bending over a little to rub stressfully at your face.

"I messed up, I know it. Please. I want to, to explain myself."

You would be lying if you said her English accent, sounding much sadder than you'd heard it before, didn't pull at your heart.

"I'm not in the mood right now, Alexia. It's early."

"It's two o'clock." Comes Alexia's confused voice.

Your eyes went wide as you looked at the digital clock on your coffee table, seeing it was indeed 2pm.

"Well... just not now, Ale!" You groan, rubbing your temple.

"Vale, vale." You just about hear her sigh exasperatedly on the other side of the door. "Soon, por favor. Tengo algo qué admitir." (I have something to admit.)

"What, that you're an arsehole?" You snort, before grimacing at yourself. "Sorry! Sorry, I'm sorry."

"No, it is okay." Alexia sounds a little humoured rather than offended. "I did not mean to... not show up to our date. There was a confusion with my schedule, and I did not mean to hurt you, guapa. I would really like to explain it. Please let me have a chance."

It falls silent between you both for a second as you consider your options. Your head was pounding, you were in a horrendous state appearance wise, and judging by your peculiar actions within the past few moments, you're pretty sure you're still a little drunk.

"How about we meet for coffee in an hour?" You suggest, because you really needed a shower and perhaps 1 or 2 or 10 glasses of water.

Sure, she'd already seen you in your current state, but you were not about to have an adult conversation with panda eyes and awful morning breath.

"Sí, I would like that." Alexia lets out a breath of relief. "At our bakery?"

You smile sadly at that - there was a bakery down the road from your apartment, a tiny but heavenly place with the best coffee and pastries that you had immediately claimed as your favourite breakfast spot within days of moving to Barcelona. When you introduced Alexia to it after your first night together, she had grown to love it just like you. From then on, most times you were together, you would go there.

"Yes, at our bakery." You confirm, closing your eyes as you picture her solemn face behind the door.

"Okay, I will be there. I... your flowers?" Alexia says, again with a hopeful lilt to to her voice.

You pause, before turning to open the door ever so slightly, half your face showing in the gap. This gave you the chance to take in Alexia's appearance, and it caused your defiance towards her to crack a bit. Her eyes were quite red, there seemed to be a frown permanently etched onto her face, and a pair of dull bags under her eyes seemed to drag her skin down. It was quite heartbreaking, to say the least. You're brave enough to think even you looked better than her right now in your current state of appearance.

"Gracias, Ale. Qué son hermosas." You take the bouquet from her, looking down at the abundance of stunningly colourful flowers organised perfectly.

"Tus favoritos." Alexia offers a semi-genuine smile as you meet eye to eye. You return the smile, seeing hers grow at the sight. "I swear I am so sorry for my actions, guapa."

"It was really humiliating on Friday, Ale." You admit. Alexia pinches the bridge of her nose as her frown somehow intensifies.

"Lo siento mucho, de verdad." Alexia mumbles, looking at the floor as she's too ashamed to look you in the eye. "It was not my, my... intentions?" She looks up at you briefly as you nod to confirm she's said the right word. "Sí, it was not my intentions to have you feel like that. I need to explain, please."

Alexia Putellas was not one to beg, you knew that.

"You can, later." You tell her. She nods and brushes her hair back with her hand.

"Gracias. Really, thank you."

"I'll see you soon."

"Vale. I will show up this time." She jokes light-heartedly, making you let out a huff of laughter and shake your head.

"If you don't, I'm never talking to you again." Her eyes widen at that and she nods nervously as you hold back a laugh.

"I will be there." She states firmly.

"Good." You offer a small smile. "Bye, Ale."

She nods once more and takes a few steps backwards, just gazing at you.

"Bye, amor." She murmurs, before turning around and walking away.

To your relief, Alexia stuck true to her word. An hour later, you saw her sat at one of the outdoor tables of the bakery, a hat and a hood allowing her to stay mostly incognito. But you knew her all too well and instantly recognise her despite her shoddy disguise. Her posture was slumped slightly, another sign that maybe mentally she wasn't doing that great.

"Hola." You greet her, making her raise her head immediately and look at you with a face of relief.

"You are here." She states simply, almost in disbelief.

"I could say the same about you." You hit back, wincing as the words leave your mouth.

"Mm." Alexia grimaces, trailing her eyes back down to where her hands rested on the table.

You take a seat across from her, noticing she'd already ordered your favourite pastry and hot drink for you.

"Thanks for these." You smile up at her.

"You want me to... get straight into it?" The English phrase sounds funny coming from her, it sitting unfamiliarly on her tongue.

"Please."

You watch as she shifts uncomfortably in her chair and sighs, folding her arms on the table and keeping her eyes cast down.

"Friday, I was with my family. Friday was... ten years of my Papí's death."

Well, shit.

"Oh my god." You freeze, eyes wide as you stare at her. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I-"

"You didn't know, amor, it is not your issue." Alexia reasurres you. You put your head in your hands and groan quietly.

"I could have been less petty and immature about it though. Fuck, I am so sorry, Alexia. I had no idea." You ramble, mentally kicking yourself and looking at her through your fingers. She responds silently with a soft smile as she gently pulls your hands from your face.

"No, I am sorry, guapa. I didn't talk to you, I left you... in the dark. Or, alone at a restaurant." She jokes, and you let out a breath of relief.

"A text would have been nice." You mumble after a few moments, eyes focused on your connected hands as Alexia brushes her thumbs over your knuckles.

"I know. That is another reason why I feel bad. I left you, and I didn't send you a text to tell you. Really, I am so sorry. It was just... a hard day." It's said in a quiet tone that's laced with emotion, and that paired with her appearance, you knew instantly she was telling you the absolute truth.

"I bet it was." You smile sadly at her.

"I know I should have been... should have told you the truth. But I am now. I did not mean to hurt you, no way. My head was... full. It did not stop running and running. I didn't look at my phone on Friday at all, I just noticed yesterday what I had done. When I knew, I was so angry with myself." Alexia explains. "Alba shouted at me too."

You giggle at that, and she chuckles along with you.

"I believe you. I'm not mad." You admit.

Alexia drops her head so that her chin is to her chest, her anxiety now almost entirely eased thanks to your understanding.

"Dios mío, muchas gracias. Lo aprecio más de lo qué crees, amor." She mumbles, shaking her head before looking back up at you with tears in her eyes. (I appreciate it more than you know.)

"Just please don't do it again. Let me in next time. If we want to have a relationship, we need to communicate better, we need to be clear and honest, okay?" You tell her.

"Sí, I know. I know. I will try." Alexia says affirmatively. "I am not perfect. But I will try. I want this, I do."

You stand up from your chair, and at first Alexia panics internally, but when you offer your arms out for a hug, she leaps up and embraces you tightly.

"Neither of us are perfect, pero tengo muchas ganas de qué funcione también." You whisper in her ear, rubbing your hands up and down her back. (But I want it to work too, so much.)

"Yo también, cariño." Alexia places a handful of light, apologetic kisses on your neck.

"I'm sorry for being rude and petty earlier. I think I was still drunk." You admit sheepishly, Alexia laughing into your skin.

"I think you were. That was not like you." You grimace and nod in agreement. She pulls her head away and clutches at the back of your neck, her eyes searching yours. "We are okay?"

"Sí, amor. Más qué bien." (More than okay.)

When your lips finally connect, all is forgiven.

It's three weeks before the next incident.

In that time, Alexia had done a lot of grovelling. You had reasurred her many times that, as long as it was a one off occasion and due to the event she had missed your date for, you weren't angry. Not only had she surprised you with weekly flowers, date nights, and a night away together, she'd also asked you to be her girlfriend. It was a no-brainer, of course you said yes. Both of you had never been happier.

However, as you lay on the sofa of your apartment, sick supplies and tissues surrounding you and a blanket borderline suffocating you despite your temperature, you could only focus on the pain you felt for your girlfriend as the whistle blew for the Champions League Final.

Barcelona 1 - 3 Lyon.

You felt tears brewing uncomfortably at the sight of the white-kitted team celebrating, but that was nothing compared to the sight of your girlfriend lay on the field, sobbing her heart out.

If you were heartbroken, you can't even begin to imagine her pain. This was her dream, every footballer's dream, and it had been brutally pulled away from her and her team at the very last stage. And it all felt worse because you couldn't be there for her. Instead, you were stuck on your sofa, your whole body hurting and your chest rattling with every breath, completely ruined by a nasty chest infection.

It wasn't meant to end like this for the Barça Femení team. You knew it.

But Alexia... she couldn't even begin to fathom what had occured.

The moment the whistle blew, she went into shock. When she awoke the next morning, she couldn't remember much. The whole evening was a blur. She vaguely remembers the utter disgust she felt when a silver medal was placed around her neck, the anger she felt giving the Lyon team a guard of honour, and the stab in the heart when golden confetti landed on her.

She remembers feeling her mother's arms wrapped around her along with the reasurring whispers of her sister, but she had no idea what was actually said. She doesn't remember picking up her phone once at all that evening. She doesn't remember the silent coach journey back to the hotel. She doesn't remember getting into bed, and she has no idea how she fell asleep. Most importantly, she doesn't remember just how ill her girlfriend was.

Fuck.

Her girlfriend, her sick girlfriend who was devastated to not be able to fly to Turin with Alexia and her family. Her sick girlfriend who was all alone back in Barcelona, feeling worse than she ever had in her life.

Alone.

Alexia was completely unaware of the fact that you had managed to get ahold of Alba to try and find out how your girlfriend was. And when Alba had cared for you more in the space of a twenty minute phone call than Alexia had in the past 24 hours, you knew just what kind of situation you were in now. Despite the pain your girlfriend was feeling, you were nothing short of furious. Not that you could do much about it though, considering everytime you moved, you would cough so hard your vision went fuzzy. But your closest friend, who had dropped whatever she was doing to come to your flat and stay with you, at the request (demand) of Alba, she took all of that fury on for you and held onto it until you could handle it.

Even still, Alexia went down to breakfast shortly after waking up like she hadn't just ignored your messages that she briefly glanced at, along with the flurry of other messages from family and friends. She ate on her own in silence, airpods in with nothing playing in hopes of some peace. That wasn't achieved though, it was a futile and pathetic attempt. Her mind wouldn't stop.

For the whole of yesterday evening and this morning, the defeat ate at Alexia more than any other mistake she'd made. But as she sat there, alone, staring at her empty plate, she knew she had royally fucked up again with you, and this realisation took over every other mistake she'd made. Not only that, but she had also left her phone in her hotel room, and right now that felt like adding fuel to the fire.

Her chair scraped against the floor as she pushed it back quickly, darting off to the elevator and spamming the button for it to pick her up. When it arrives, she almost runs straight into some other hotel guests, but she doesn't apologise. She steps to the side and waits for them to get out, before pressing the button for her floor and willing the doors to close before anyone else could get on. They did, thankfully, and she urged the lift to move quicker, watching the floors increase until finally she got to the right one. As she ran to her room, going past a few of her teammates who simply just stared at her, she stopped outside the door and checked her pockets for her keycard.

She'd left it in the room.

"¡Joder, no!" She shouts, banging her palms against her own door angrily. Her chest heaved as she rested her forehead against the door, finally feeling the tears she had resisted.

"Ale? ¿Qué paso?" Mapi approaches her cautiously, Ingrid standing back and watching on with concern.

"Dame tu teléfono." Alexia demands, holding her hand out. (Give me your phone.)

"Ale-"

"¡Dame tu teléfono ahora!" She shouts, Mapi glancing back worryingly at Ingrid before handing her phone over immediately. As quick as she could, Mapi unlocks the phone for her and Alexia types in your phone number.

"¿Hola?" It's not your voice.

"Where is she?" Alexia questions, hastily wiping away the tears dripping down her face.

"No, Alexia. Too late." Your friend replies angrily.

"Let me talk to her, ahora." Alexia requests weakly, her cold, strong demeanor cracking by the second.

"She is asleep. She cried herself to exhaustion after staying up all night worrying for you. No way am I letting her talk to you." Your friend spat out brutally, before hanging up.

Alexia drops the phone and slumps back against the wall, sliding down against it until she's on the floor.

"Who did you call?" Mapi asks softly, sitting beside her friend.

"Mi novia." Alexia sighs, resting her elbows on her knees and covering her face.

"You have a girlfriend?" Mapi couldn't stop the surprised answer from bursting out of her, and in turn she received a kick in the shin from Ingrid.

"Do you need a new key?" Ingrid questions. When Alexia nods behind her hands, Ingrid looks expectantly at Mapi.

"Why me?" Mapi responds but she gets up immediately when her girlfriend glares at her. She walks away with her hands in the air, going back to the elevator. Ingrid sits in her place.

"¿Qué paso?" Ingrid wonders softly, wrapping an arm around Alexia's shoulders.

"She is really sick. And I have pushed her away, again." Alexia reveals, grabbing her shirt by the collar and pulling it up to cover her face.

"Again?" Ingrid pushes gently.

"Sí, again. I am an idiot. I keep doing it and I do not know why." Alexia groans, angry at nobody but herself.

The two women talk for a while, Ingrid managing to help Alexia work through some of her emotions before Mapi comes back with a new keycard.

"Gracias, mis amigas." Alexia mumbles, being pulled into a hug by Ingrid, quickly joined by Mapi.

"Let us meet her." Ingrid requests with a smile, Mapi nodding in agreement with a grin.

"Who has tamed Alexia?" Mapi teases, earning a smack on the head by her girlfriend. "Ay, lo siento."

Alexia shakes her head at the pair of them, a tiny slither of a smile on her face as she turns to open her door. The couple walk away with a wave, before Alexia closes the door behind her and rushes over to her phone.

The influx of messages from you break her heart. You sent your last text at 04:17AM, and even though Alexia sensed you were angry at her, it was still filled with love and care.

Yes, she'd hugely messed up.

She was sat on the end of the bed, head in her hands, when her phone rang. Her heart hoped it was you, but her brain knew it wasn't. Instead, it was her sister, and she knew she was about to be in for a lecture and a half.

As expected, she answered and was immediately met with an overload of Spanish being bellowed at her down the line. There was no way she could get a word in as Alba went on and on, and with every word that came out of her sister's mouth, the guilt she felt increased tenfold.

How had she done it again?

"Sí, lo sé, Alba. Lo sé." Alexia mumbles when Alba finally pauses. (Yes, I know, Alba. I know.)

The younger woman goes to speak again, but she's interrupted by broken sobs that wreck through Alexia's body. That's when Alba realises her sister didn't need a lecture now, she had realised her mistake, and what she needed was advice. So, for an hour, that's what she gave. Until the cries of her older sister finally subsided, and there were only background sniffles to her solutions.

After they hung up on each other, Alexia went onto your contact and took her time typing out a message to you. She knew the likelihood of receiving a reply was very low, but it was the first step in making up for her idiocy.

Alexia: Amor, I have no words, no excuses for my actions. I have messed up and broken your trust again. I should not have let the defeat get to me as much as it did, and because of it, I neglected you. It is unforgivable but I know I really messed up and I will really try hard to win you back. I'm coming back to Barcelona tonight, I want to see you so bad but if you don't want me I understand. I hope you're feeling better, I'm so sorry I have been so selfish and I wish I was there to look after you. I hope to see you soon, amor. Feel better soon ❤️

Turning her phone off, she drops it beside her and lays back on the bed. Her forearms cover her eyes as she takes a few deep breaths, overwhelmed by everything that had happened.

"Venga, Ale, tenemos nuestra reunión de equipo ahora." Mapi knocks on her door and shouts through. (Come on, Ale, we have our team meeting now.)

With a heavy sigh, Alexia once again wipes her face on the inside of her t-shirt before getting up - taking her phone with her this time - and leaving her room, accompanied by her good friend.

Meanwhile, back at your flat, you had woken up to the sounds of clattering from your kitchen as your friend made you some grilled cheese toasties and tomato soup. You notice your phone wasn't anywhere around you, so you clamber out of bed, not without a cough, and head towards the kitchen.

"Bon día!" Your Catalonian friend smiles brightly at you from her place in front of the stove.

"Have you got my phone?" You croak out, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

"Sí. I'm not sure you want it." Your friend sighs angrily as she turns back to the food.

"Why?" You ask with a frown. "Has Alexia replied?"

"Yes."

"Well, let me see then." You reply flatly, walking over to take your phone from where you spotted it in her jacket pocket. She steps out of your reach and shakes her head.

"I'm so angry with her, chica, I'm not letting you just walk back into her arms." Your friend warns you.

"I'm not just gonna walk back into her arms, I'm not stupid." You argue, and your friend sighs again.

"I never said that. I didn't mean that. Sorry. I just mean... she always throws you to the side when she's going through a hard time. You are the most caring person I have met, I don't see why she acts like the way she does when she's upset. It makes no sense, chica, and you don't deserve that. Especially when you are so ill like you are." Your friend tells you softly, dishing up your food.

"I know and I am fucking angry about it." You mumble, moving to sit at the tiny dining table in your kitchen.

"Good. You better know your worth, because that woman doesn't." She mumbles, bringing your food over and placing it in front of you. "Te amo, amiga."

You smile as she sweetly kisses your forehead before going off and cleaning her mess. The two of you make small talk as you eat, until she sits down in front of you with a pointed look.

"Hm?" You hum, waiting for her to get out whatever she was about to say.

"I will give you your phone. I'm going to do a grocery shop for you, so I'll give you your phone, but please do not sit on it and just make yourself more upset. I will be quick as I can, sí?" You nod and smile at her as she slides her phone over to you. "Call if you need. See you soon."

She grabs her coat and walks out the door. When she's gone, you immediately go on your phone and look for Alexia's message. You read it, your heart being pulled in about a million different directions emotion-wise, and... as much as you hate to admit it, you believe her. Ultimately though, you choose not to reply to it. She doesn't deserve that yet.

Instead, you move over to the sofa and collapse onto it, a devastated frown on your face as your bottom lip quivers. Tears sneak their way out, soaking the pillow you rest your head on, tired of being ill and tired of being cast aside by your girlfriend.

A few hours later, as you sleep with your head on your friend's lap, there is a knock at your door. You don't hear it of course as you got some more much needed rest, so your friend gently slides out from underneath you and answers it.

"Are you fucking serious?" She growls when she opens the door to see Alexia on the other side. "Are you really here right now?"

"I know you have looked after her when I've been gone, but I am here now, and I need to see her, please. I am so sorry." Alexia pleads, her infamous frown seemingly etched permanently on her face nowadays.

"She is asleep, so I'm going to lower my voice but don't forget how angry I am with you." Your friend takes a deep breath, trying to remain calm. "She has been desperate to speak to you. She didn't stop crying for you and your loss all evening yesterday, and then all night too when she realised you had begun to ignore her again. Imagine how she feels, knowing you are in pain, but being shoved out? And then double her feelings, because she knows that you know she is so sick right now, yet you still choose to act how you have. Her head is all over the place: one part of her is so unbelievably angry at you, another part of her just wants you to hold her until she is better, her mental state seems to just take constant hits because of you. So no, while I am here, you will not see her. I'm taking care of her, giving her my love, doing chores for her since she can hardly breathe, all the things you as a girlfriend should be doing. You are childish and selfish and so fucking egotistical if you think you can march in here and say 'ooh, lo siento bebíta' and expect her to fall back into your arms. You do not deserve her, so go away."

Despite the supposedly calm voice your friend speaks with (it was not calm, it was brutal, spitting, and patronising, with each word hitting Alexia like a bullet), you were woken up by the commotion just a few metres away from you. Neither of the two at your door could see your face where you were on the couch, so you laid still and listened to them.

"I know I have done wrong. I'm a shit girlfriend, I fucking know it. But I still care for her, more than anything in my life. I forgot that for a few hours and I regret it more than anything in my life because I... I love her."

Your eyes widen at that - you and Alexia hadn't admitted that to each other yet. Was she saying it now just to get to you, or did she actually mean it?

"You better mean that, if you are saying that just for the sake of an argument, just to try to win her back, I swear... I can't even think about that. Are you being serious?"

"Sí, absolutely serious. I love her. So much." Alexia's voice cracks from emotion, and you lift your head up a little to see her wipe away a tear. "I can't even explain how much I love her. She... she is the best thing in my life, and I don't know why I keep messing it up but I hate it as much as you do. I cannot even stand myself."

She talks about herself with so much disgust in her voice, it's unsettling to hear.

"You..." Your friend sighs and shakes her head. "Why, Alexia? Why do you do it?"

"I don't know. My, my head gets so... so dark and... clouded. I don't even remember what happened after the game. Uh... mi hermana says I went into shock. I think that's true because I remember nothing. I didn't drink, I had no alcohol. But I don't recall anything. There are... hours that are empty for me. All night. Until I woke up this morning and it's like my life outside of football slowly came back to me and I felt terrible. It's never my intention to neglect her, never. I'm ashamed when it happens because I know she is perfect for me and doesn't deserve me when I am being selfish and stuck in my head. But I love her, I have loved her for a while and I'm sad and fucking disappointed of myself that she doesn't know that." Alexia explains, her hands constantly swiping at her face, determined to not let her tears fall.

"I do know that, Ale." You say quietly, coming to stand beside your friend at the door.

The woman next to you has to suppress an eye roll, but she'd be lying if she said her anger towards Alexia hadn't diminished a little at her seemingly honest words.

"Amor..." Alexia breathes out at the sight of you.

"You can go back to rest, I have this." Your friend reasurres you softly, but you shake your head.

"I want to talk to her." You say, not taking your eyes away from your glum looking girlfriend who gazes at you wordlessly.

"You are sure?" You nod, and your friend walks away to give you both some space.

Alexia watches you, unsure if she should be the first to say anything. But before she can ponder that any longer, you wrap your arms around her tightly. You hide your face in her chest, knowing your friend is watching from the sofa absolutely seething at the image in front of her, but right now you needed this. And judging by Alexia's reaction of crying quietly into your neck, she needed it too.

"I... I am so, so sorry." Alexia says shakily, pulling back and tenderly cupping your face. "How do you feel?"

"Like shit." You mumble, not meeting her eyes. "Do you mean everything you just said?"

"All of it, every word." She answers, and for now, that's all you need.

"We will talk another time because I'm so angry at you, Ale, but right now I think we need each other more than anything." You state in an exasperated voice. Alexia doesn't think she's ever heard a more relieving sentence.

"Sí, sí, amor. I understand you are angry, I really do. Anything you want." Alexia rambles, softly stroking over the skin of your cheekbones.

"Give me a second. Wait here." You tell her. She nods vigorously and doesn't move a muscle when you're away from her.

"Amiga, are you sure this is what you want? I will beat her puta ass right now." Your friend offers, standing up from the couch and placing her hands on your shoulders.

"You don't need to do that. Not right now, anyway." You reply, chuckling at the suggestion and the subsequent image in your head.

"Vale. You call if you need me, I will be here in seconds, you know it. Let me know how it goes. Eres como una hermana para mí, te amo mucho." (You are like a sister to me, I love you so much.)

You smile up at her and gladly accept the hug she offers.

"I love you too, chica. Thank you for everything you've done. I'll speak to you soon." You tell her, squeezing her arm before she walks away.

Silently, you laugh as she glares at Alexia and bumps into her shoulder on her way out of the door. That girl.

"May I come in?" Alexia questions in a shy voice. You nod, and she quietly closes the door behind her. "Is there anything you would like me to do? Anything you need?"

Now that you were alone with her, you were torn. Your brain told you that you should be cautious, that you shouldn't trust her, but your heart wanted you to dive right into her arms and never leave again.

"I, um... I think I need to take my tablets now. The doctors gave me some antibiotics." You answer, your cheeks flushed red as you spoke sheepishly.

"Get yourself comfy on the couch. I will get them for you, and anything else you need or want." Alexia takes a few steps closer until there was less than a metre between you both. "Tell me. It's my job to look after you."

You bit back a nasty response to that, it wasn't the right time. If you wanted to keep the atmosphere as civil and comfortable as possible, now was definitely not the right time to spill every insult and emotion pent up inside you.

"I... I just want my girlfriend, Ale." You admit tearfully.

Alexia didn't think it was possible for such a short sentence to completely crush her heart.

"I am here. Here now." Alexia tells you, pulling you tight against her as yet more tears fall. "I will never forgive myself, amor."

"Please, just..." You sigh frustratedly, moving back from her arms. "Don't talk. I need you, not your words."

Alexia nods affirmatively, and from then on, the evening was spent with no more than a handful of words shared between you both. She helped you take your tablets, held you tightly on the sofa as a movie played on the TV, rubbed your back comfortingly whenever you coughed, cleaned your apartment quickly when you went off to get ready for bed, and whispered the sweetest words imaginable in your ear until you drifted off to sleep.

She didn't sleep at all that night, instead simply just cradled you in a position to ensure your chest wouldn't bother you. It wasn't exactly comfortable for her, but she'd go through anything to you make you feel better. As it often did, her mind spiralled uncontrollably as she sat in silence, the only sounds being your wheezing breaths, and she couldn't stop the stupid tears that leaked from her eyes.

Alexia despised crying. That was only something she had discovered later in her adult life, but she loathed it more than anything. It wasn't something relieving for her, she didn't 'feel better' after it like everyone always says, if anything she felt worse. Frustrated, pathetic, weak, and fucking tired.

But what did she hate more than crying?

Crying because of her disgraceful actions. Crying because you were crying as a result of her.

Whatever it was that was so fucked up wrong with her, she had to deal with it because she couldn't live like this anymore, you couldn't live with her like this anymore. She knew if she got this time right and you forgave her, she had no more chances. One more time of acting like this, you were gone. You didn't even have to say it for her to know it.

Life had no guarantees, she knew her future wasn't going to be perfect and there will be occasions that will have her hating the world, so she must sort through her mind to figure out why she reacted this way and how to fix it, how to react better.

Barcelona had a team of trusted psychologists and psychiatrists, so after her next training session, she would pay them a visit and ask for help.

"What's on your mind, Ale?" You croak out, feeling her tense body underneath you and knowing she was awake. The sunlight was shining through the curtains of your room, signifying it was now the next morning.

"Nada, amor. Vuelve a dormir." She shushes you, lightly trailing her fingers up and down your back. (Nothing, love. Go back to sleep.)

"No." You reply, shifting off of her to sit up against the headboard beside her, mirroring the position she'd been in all night. "Talk to me."

"It's early, we don't have to right now." She brushes you off and feels the temperature of your forehead with the back of her hand. "How do you feel?"

"Better."

It was a lie, you still felt like crap, but you just wanted to talk. Alexia was probably right though, first thing in the morning wasn't likely the best time to talk, but you wanted it over and done with.

"Are you sure?" Alexia checks with a shaky sigh.

"I want to talk. I want you to talk." You demand gently, Alexia nodding. "Be honest with me, Ale. Really fucking honest."

"Sí, I will." Alexia tells you. "Where do you want me to start?" You just stare at her wordlessly. "Okay. Okay."

She clears her throat nervously before she begins.

"Everything I said to your amiga yesterday was absolutely the truth. I swear it. I really don't remember much from after the match, but that's never really happened to me before. It's... a bit scary."

She pauses, fiddling with the drawstrings of her shorts.

"I didn't want it to happen. And I already know I need to speak to somebody about it because it was so scary when I realised what happened, and I never want it to do it again. I was just so set on us winning, getting revenge, defending our trophy, I guess I... didn't even consider us losing. It wasn't an option. But then we did lose and I was..."

She shrugs her shoulders, her eyes glazed over and unfocused as she absentmindedly stared off into your room.

"I was hurt. I gave it my all and it wasn't good enough. I felt like I had no more to give. I must have been really tired, I think I was for a long time, because when I got to my hotel room I think I went straight to sleep. Which again, never happens. I can't really sleep after a game, so for that to happen was really unusual. But I know this isn't what you wanted to hear or expected to hear, you want to hear me talk about how I felt about you. About the situation I put you in again."

She takes a deep breath and turns to look at you.

"I told you all that because I want you to know it wasn't a... a con- conscious?" You nod. "It wasn't a conscious decision or a purpose to act like that. I wasn't even in my head to make my own decisions. But I'm not going to blame my actions on that, I still blame myself for it. I need to make sure that won't happen again, it's only my responsibility, nobody else. It's not fair for me to react that way and for it to affect the people around me. I promise I am going to talk to a mental health helper about it."

Your lips turn up into a tiny smile at her skewed English translation of a therapist.

"But sometimes, when bad things happen, my head gets so negative and it's not a nice place to be. It's dark, and I don't... I don't want you to see that, amor. Because I get really negative. Mamí told me I apparently said I don't even want to play football again after the loss yesterday. That's how bad my mindset was."

The look on Alexia's face is one of pain as she speaks, and you're quite shocked to hear what she's saying right now - you can't remember a time she's ever let you in to her headspace like this. So openly and honestly, telling you her most intense and personal thoughts.

"I think I automatically push people I love away from me when I'm like that because I really, really don't want to hurt anyone. I am going to talk to the mental health team at Barca and set up some sessions with them because I am so serious about you, amor. I want to have this relationship, I want it more than anything. And I would choose to quit football than choose to upset you on purpose. I should have checked on you, cared for you, and let you in. But I was in my own head too much and acted like a selfish... selfish brat."

You huff a breath of laughter at the description choice of herself, something that sparks a bit of hope in her chest.

"If you choose to forgive me, I'll never let you forget how grateful I am. If you want to take it slow, I will take it slow. If... you want me to leave, I will leave. The ball is in your box."

"The ball is in your court." You correct her humourously. She blushes and shakes her head.

"The ball is in your court." She repeats, looking at you with such sincerity and tenderness that it takes away your breath away slightly.

"I'm going to be honest now, okay?" Alexia nods, ready for whatever you're about to say. "I was so upset when I realised you had started to ignore me again. All I ever want to do is care for you, Ale, and when you need it most you push me away. It hurts, it makes me insecure, it makes me feel like I'm not good enough or I'm doing something wrong or-"

"No, no, no, you don't, you never have." She wants to carry on, but you stare at her, unimpressed, and that's enough to stop her in her tracks.

"I know it might be hard for you to open up, but when it comes to hard times like this, the relationship feels quite one-sided. I'm not doing that, Ale. Plain and simple. That's not how a relationship works, you have to let me in. You have to let me be there for you. No protecting your reputation, no shutting off, none of that. You let me do my job as your girlfriend because I care for you. You can rely on me, you're allowed to lay off some of your emotions onto me because that's the only way to survive healthily; accepting help from others when you need it. You can only survive on your own for so long, and this relationship can only survive for so long if you continue like this."

You warn her sternly, looking at her with a firm glare that strikes fear in Alexia.

"If anything like this happens again, Alexia, I'm out. I'm not doing it."

There you go, your last line delivered to perfectly finish off your explanation. To be honest, at such a time in the morning and when you're ill, you can't really believe how well-put together your argument is.

"I hear everything you say, amor. I hear it and I'm going to do better. You are an incredible person. You deserve better than I have given and I swear to you I'm going to be better from now on. I recognise my stupid mistakes and I know how I'm going to start fixing them. I cannot promise I will be perfect, but I do promise that I'm going to work on my flaws and be the best version of myself for you. All this, because I love you."

Is it a bit soon to forgive her? You hope not, because right now you don't think you've ever felt more admiration for someone. She's done everything you've asked for and more in terms of being honest and opening it. Perhaps it almost came too late for other people's standards, but you can't just forget the person she is when she's not being a stubborn mess. You just have to trust her now; trust that she's going to stick to her word, trust that she's going to be better for you. And if she doesn't, well... you'll be ruined.

"Am I... do you forgive me?" Comes Alexia's insecure, tired voice.

"Almost. You just need to stick to your word, please, Alexia." You sigh, returning back to your previous position on her chest. She freezes for a moment, before delicately wrapping her arms back around you and pressing a firm kiss to your warm forehead.

"I will. I promise. I promise." She rests her head atop yours, closing her exhausted eyes.

The room falls silent as you take in the feeling of each other, both relishing in it more comfortably than last night now that everything is mostly just water under the bridge.

"Ale?" You say, lifting your head up to look at her. She hums, smiling slightly deliriously down at you, completely sleep deprived. "I'm so sorry about your game. I know how much it meant to you."

She smiles sadly this time, shrugging her shoulders a little.

"Thank you. Let's not think about that now though, amor. I will be okay with it soon." She responds, leaning her head back against the headboard and closing her eyes.

"Ale?" You say again.

"Mhm?"

"I love you too."

Her eyes shoot open and her head jerks forward at that.

"¿Hablas en serio?" She asks immediately, moving a hand to rest on your cheek. (Are you serious?)

"Sí, absolutamente en serio." You tell her in a quiet giggle. "Te amo, Ale." (Yes, absolutely serious. I love you.)

Alexia gazes down at you, this time not loathing the tears in her eyes, before hugging you tighter than she ever has. It's a moment you'll both cherish forever - the absolute whirlwind of the past 24 hours were an important turning point in your relationship, for the better.

And when it gets to July, that turns out to be more true than you could have ever guessed. Your relationship was thriving, you didn't think it was possible to stay in the 'honeymoon phase' for so long and so intensely, but you were. Every moment possible was spent together, you introduced each other to your individual friends, and even went on holiday together to spend some important time together pre-tournament. That holiday was the best time of your life, being there with Alexia's family and closest friends outside of football, it was a special time that bonded you closer to each other and you'll never forget it.

Now though, you were back to being hundreds of miles apart. Alexia was in training camp in England for the Euros, whilst you were still in Barcelona for unmissable work events before you were due to fly out the night before Spain's first game.

However, you were in a terribly familiar predicament. It had been a few hours since Alexia had finished training that day, it being a morning session, but you hadn't heard a thing from her. That might not seem like something to worry about for others, but nowadays when you two were apart, you were both teased by your respective friends for constantly being on your phones texting each other. So now, you were beginning to worry.

Surely not.

Surely, it cannot be happening again. You had given her a clear warning last time, if she was to do it again then you were gone. Three strikes, and she was out.

But it was indeed radio silence from her for the past few hours. It was nearing 4pm now, signalling the end of your work day, and you had a bad feeling.

No, not anger, it was worry.

And as you reached the door of your apartment a short while later, your worries were confirmed.

Alexia: Hi guapa, sorry for not replying. I got injured in training and they sent me to hospital. Nothing serious but I had scans and they said I have broke my ACL. Not great but I'm okay🫶🏼

"Ale! ¿Eres estúpido?" Mapi scolds her friend after peeking at her phone to see the message she had pressured her to send for the past hour. (Are you stupid?)

"No quiero qué ella se preocupe." Alexia mumbles, sliding her phone back in her pocket and looking out the window of the van. (I don't want her to worry.)

"Ay ay ay." Mapi sighs. She knows what she has to do. "Mujer tonta." (Silly woman.)

Mapi: Chica do not listen to your girlfriend. She is stupid, she is not okay. She needs you, please ring her!!

You read the text from Mapi as soon as you get it. Quickly, you barge through your door and set your bag down before going to your room, flopping down on your bed, and ringing your girlfriend.

"Ni se te occura ignorarlo. Contestarlo." Mapi demands when your call comes through, slapping Alexia's shoulder lightly from her seat in the row behind. (Don't even think about ignoring it. Answer it.)

"Hola." Alexia answers your call quietly.

"Ale. How are you?" You ask in a concerned sigh.

"Um." Her eyes shift around uncomfortably at the question, struggling to answer. "I don't know."

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. So sorry." You close your eyes and will the tears to leave; now was not the time.

"There is nothing to do now." Alexia states harshly, not really directed at you but just at the world in general.

"I know." You frown. "So many people are there to support you though, my love. So many people. Including me. I'll be with you every step of the way, okay?"

"There isn't anything you can do. I don't need you to do anything, this is obviously something I have to do on my own. I don't need you."

Alexia's response feels like a stab in your heart. You know in her current circumstance, with it being so fresh still, you shouldn't take it personally. But after everything you've been through together, everything she's put you through, it slips through the cracks of your insecurities. The only comfort you get is the background noise of Mapi swearing and shouting at Alexia in thick and fast Spanish.

"Don't be like that, Ale. I want to support you, do you not remember everything we've been through?" You hit back instantly.

Alexia feels a lump forming in her throat as she recognises herself slipping back into that mindset she had tried so hard to destroy. She hadn't planned for this to happen though. As naïve as it might be, she didn't think this would ever happen to her. But, it has. Now not only does she have to accept that, she has to accept that she has people around her to make the journey easier. And that starts with you.

"Sorry, amor. I didn't mean that. I need you. More than anyone, I am so sorry for saying that. I really, so wish you were here." Alexia admits brokenly, covering her eyes and clutching at the phone almost desperately.

"I wish I was there too." You whisper back, placing a hand over your heart. "Let me in, please."

"I will, I do need you. I just... never thought this could happen." Alexia cries silently as she hides her face in her jumper. "I don't know what to do."

"What you are going to do is take the necessary steps to ensure your health, Ale. It's going to be as much a mental journey as it will a physical one, so you need to take time to come to terms with this, however long that takes, before doing anything else. But we've got you. We're going to take care of you, and you will get through this."

"I don't know, amor. I... it's too soon to know." Alexia admits as much as it pains her. There's too many thoughts in her head, too many possible outcomes, setbacks, and challenges she could face along this long road before she even considers the end result.

"Okay, I understand." You get up from your bed and dart back to the main room to get your diary from your work bag. Checking it quickly, you make a key decision. "How about I pack my bags and get on a flight to you tonight?"

Immediately, Alexia's first instinct is to tell you no, tell you she doesn't need that, that you don't need to worry, it's not necessary. But that's muscle memory, not her true feelings.

"You would really do that?" Alexia mumbles hopefully.

"I absolutely would. I want to be with you, and you need me." You tell her truthfully.

"What about work?" Alexia wonders, looking down at her swollen knee that really hardly even hurt anymore.

"Forget work, amor. You are more important." You answer definitively.

"I would feel so much better if you were here."

That's all it took. By midnight, you were 36,000 feet in the air, on your way to your girlfriend.

When you arrived at the hotel in the early hours of the morning, she was awake and waiting for you in her room. You hug her immediately, and Alexia can't recall a time she had desperately needed to feel the warm embrace of another person outside of her family. It was tender, sensitive, and healing in its own way despite everything that was down the road.

The first and probably the most important challenge came a week later, back in Barcelona. You were sat in the pre-surgery waiting room with Alexia who had been prepped for her reconstruction surgery, gripping one of her large hands with both of yours as she lay, wracked with nerves.

Questions, worries, and insecurities bounced around her mind so intensely, she could hardly even land on a single thought. It was severely overwhelming, which she knew was not needed right now before such a crucial moment. Yet, she couldn't stop the barrage of questions that began to spill out of her.

"What if I never recover?" Alexia murmurs, an arm behind her head as she stared up at the ceiling. You frowned and squeezed her hand - this wasn't the first time you'd heard this question.

"We can't know that yet, Ale. Qué será, será." You remind her. (Whatever will be, will be.)

"Fútbol es mi vida." She states ever so quietly, it was hard to catch but of course you did.

"I know. I have no doubt you'll be back playing football, Alexia. But if for some reason you don't, there are so many options. You can do anything you put your mind to."

"What if... I am not Alexia again? On the pitch?"

You sigh and stand up to move towards the top of the bed where her head lay.

"Mírame." You request in a soft voice. She turns to look at you with glossy eyes and a quivering lower lip. "We have to get through this surgery first, vale? I hear all of your concerns, amor, they are normal and I understand each and every one. But the most important thing right now is ensuring you are in the right head space going into this operation. So, we're going to take some deep breaths together, wipe those irritating tears-"

She chuckles and at that and rubs her eyes; one time, she had voiced her distaste about crying to you. You found it so endearing that she felt that way, much to her annoyance, and spent the last couple months convincing her it was okay to cry. To your face, she still hated it. Behind your back? She loved that she now had a person to go to when she felt the inevitable tears coming. But of course she still despised doing it, it was just slightly more bearable around you.

"And we're going to replace this knotted, messy string of anxious thoughts with our favourite memories. Breathe with me now, sí?"

She nods and you breathe in sync together for a few minutes until Alexia's mind is back present in the room, in the current situation, and not stuck in a nasty cloud of anxiety.

"So, memory one: our holiday this Summer. It was the best holiday I have ever been on. Not because of the location, although it was beautiful, but because of the people I was with. I saw a new side of you, amor, you were so relaxed and it was so fun being with your family and friends. I can't wait for next time."

You're both wearing matching smiles as you reminisce the best few weeks you'd had in a while.

"It was amazing having you with us, guapa. The best guest."

"Gracias, bebé." You place a quick kiss on her cheek, followed by her lips. "Memory two: the first time I met Mapi and Ingrid on that double date at our favourite restaurant."

Alexia laughs before you've even finished telling the memory.

"When she put her wine all over herself and the waiter?" You nod and laugh with her, beyond relieved to see her with a genuine smile on her face. You hadn't seen too many of them recently.

"Yeah, when she spilt her wine. And then tried to blame it on the waiter- he looked so young! He's probably never had a drop of alcohol in his life!"

The two of you laugh and share memories for a little while longer, until the time arrives for Alexia to be taken into her surgery. You whisper a seemingly endless amount of reassuring words in her ear, before she's wheeled away out of your sight. For just under three hours, you sit nervously in the family waiting room, praying for probably the first time in your life, wishing that the operation went well.

Honestly, you could have been sick with relief when the surgeon came out and gave you every detail possible about it, ultimately saying it went off without a hitch. Then, you were being led to Alexia's room where she would stay for the night, excited to see your groggy but possibly loopy girlfriend.

"Hi Ale." You greet quietly, walking in.

"Hm, hola amor." Alexia rasps out, giving you an awkward wave that makes you giggle.

"How do you feel?" You take a seat in the chair next to her, placing a comforting hand on her forearm.

"As long as I still have two knees, bien." She gives you a dopey grin, one you don't think you've ever seen before, and you wish you could get your phone out to photograph it.

"The doctors tell me you do indeed have two knees, so I don't think you need to worry about that." You smile at her, seeing her nod and rest her head back.

"¿Estás bien?" She wonders with a light hum, shakily taking your hand and covering it with both of hers.

"Yes, I'm okay, don't worry about me though." You answer humourously.

"Sabes, te amo muchísimo." Alexia states, and from the sounds of it, it sounds like she's about to make some kind of speech. "I did some thinking waiting for you to come here. I just love you. You are perfect para mí. I did two bad things to you, but here you sit with me. Perfecta. Niña mía. I almost did another bad thing, when my knee broke for no reason, but Mapi stopped me and then you saved me. What's that song you like?"

The random question seems disjointed and out of place in the things she was saying - which had you completely melting - but regardless you answer.

"I like many songs, Ale, you'll have to be more specific."

"No. You know which one." You squint at her confusedly, causing her to give a dramatic sigh. "Ay. The old one. That you did not stop playing on holiday, from that night on the beach."

"Stand by me?" You ask in a laugh.

"Sí, that one. I never tell you, but I love it too." She smiles bashfully, then suddenly frowns. "Sing it, please. I can remember the words but not the song."

"There's no way I'm singing right now." You laugh at her, only resulting in her frown growing. So much so, she looks like an angry toddler.

"Por favor, guapa. That is how I feel about you, that song. 'I won't be afraid if you stand by me'. This stupid ACL can go fuck itself because I have you."

You've never heard her say that phrase in her life, but right now you couldn't even laugh. Your heart warmed at her words, completely falling in love with her all over again.

"You really want me to sing it right this second? In the middle of a hospital?" You respond, because at this moment in time there's not a thing you'd say no to, not when she was being so adorable and honest, even if it was partially due to her pain meds and the anesthetic.

"Sí. Come lay with me, here." She shuffles to one side of the bed, scaring you since she was a little shaky and not very coherent, but she managed to do it.

"I'm not sure I'm allowed." You say, unsure.

"I'm sick, my rules." She shrugs.

"You're not sick." You laugh, but nevertheless, you stand from your chair, slip your shoes off, and slot onto the bed beside her.

"Venga, canta." She orders sweetly as she looks up at you from her position slightly lower down on the bed with her beautiful, irresistible face. With a sigh, you clear your throat gently and do as she says.

"When the night has come." Your voice is soft and quiet, but it's enough for Alexia, who gazes up at you with more adoration than you thought ever to be possible. "And the land is dark. And the moon is the only light we'll see."

"Ay, I remember now." She says quietly as not to disturb you.

"No I won't be afraid. Oh, I won't be afraid. Just as long as you stand, stand by me."

Alexia simply smiles contently and rests her head on your shoulder, wrapping a hand around your upper arm and humming along with you.

"So darlin', darlin', stand by me. Oh, stand by me. Oh stand... stand by me, stand by me."

Her body grows heavier beside you and her breathing slows down, so you stop singing, thinking she was asleep. But...

"If you stand by me, I can do anything. Mi mundo no es nada sin ti, pero me siento invencible cuando estoy contigo." (My world is nothing without you, but I feel invincible when I'm with you.)

She mumbles her statement quietly, before she drifts off into a peaceful rest. Your eyes are burning with tears at her words - just two simple sentences, whispered quietly on the brink of sleep - but they have an impact larger than either of you could ever recognise.

And when she returns to the pitch ten months later, that song being the anthem of her recovery (only to yours and hers knowledge), three words are chanted in her head. Not 'I love you' - instead, the three words of a song which became your own love language for the rest of your relationship.