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pucksandpower · 5 months ago

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Let the World Burn

Charles Leclerc x Ferrari driver!Reader

Summary: a brake failure sends Charles’ world spinning out of control

Warnings: crash, partial paralysis, brain injury, and plenty of angst (with a happy ending because I’m still me)

Based on this request

The paddock thrums with energy as you make your way to your car, adrenaline already coursing through your veins. Charles falls into step beside you, his presence as familiar and comforting as the roar of engines.

“Ready to show them how it’s done, mon amour?” His voice is a low rumble, eyes alight with competitive fire.

You grin, leaning in to press a swift kiss to his lips. “Always. You’ll be the one watching my rear wing this time.”

Charles laughs, the sound rich and warm. “We’ll see about that.” He squeezes your hand, calloused fingers intertwining with yours. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” The words carry the weight of a thousand unspoken promises, a vow as binding as the wedding bands you can’t yet wear.

All too soon, you’re parting ways, disappearing into the organized chaos of the garage. You slide into the snug confines of the cockpit, the car’s familiar lines an extension of your own body. A flurry of final checks, the high-pitched whine of the engine firing up, and then you’re rolling onto the grid, the tension crackling like static electricity.

The lights go out, and the world narrows to the scream of tires on tarmac, the high-pitched howl of the engine, and the razor-sharp focus that has carried you this far. You and Charles trade positions with every corner, locked in an exhilarating duel that has the crowd on its feet.

And then, without warning, your world fractures.

The pedal goes soft underfoot, your instincts screaming even before the telltale high-pitched whine cuts through the roar of the engine. You slam on the brakes, but the response is sickening— a bare fraction of the deceleration you need.

“Ricky?” Your voice is tight, the adrenaline surging as the implications crash over you in waves. “I’ve got a brake issue here. A big one.”

“Copy that.” Ricky’s tone is clipped, professional, even as your heart rabbits in your chest. “Okay, let’s try cycling the systems-”

You follow his instructions with mechanical precision, but the results are the same: negligible braking force, the car still hurtling forward at murderous speeds. A hairpin looms ahead, the barriers terrifyingly close, and you fight the wheel with everything you have, desperate to keep the bucking machine on track.

“Ricky, is this being broadcast?” The words tumble out in a breathless rush as the Turn looms closer, closer.

“Affirmative.” There’s a pause, the faintest tremor in Ricky’s voice. “It’s going out live.”

You exhale, a shuddering breath that shakes your entire frame. There’s only one person you need to reach now.

“Charles.” His name catches in your throat, thick with emotion. “If you’re listening to this-”

The tears come then, hot and blinding as you wrestle with the uncontrollable car. This can’t be how it ends, not like this, not when you’d imagined decades more by his side.

“In some other life, maybe we would have grown old together.” The words are torn from the depths of your soul, raw and wrenched free by the stark reality bearing down on you. “I wish I could have given you babies and watched our children grow up and lived a long life by your side like we always dreamed.”

Your vision blurs, the turn now a void of unforgiving concrete rushing up to meet you. You fight the wheel with everything you have, but there’s no stopping the inevitable now.

“You deserve every happiness, my love. If … if I don’t make it, please … please find someone else to love and cherish. Don't grieve forever. Be happy.” The brake pedal is useless under your foot, the barriers skimming past in a blur of terror. “Because you deserve all the love in this world and so much more.”

“I hope you’ll hear this,” you force out in a cracked whisper. "And I need you to know, my heart, that even if things end here … even if I don’t get to grow old with you … you have been the brightest light in my life these past five years. You made me happier than I ever dreamed. And I will never, ever stop loving you, Charles. Not in this life or the next. You are everything-”

The impact is a cosmic force, obliterating breath and thought and everything else in a blinding flare of darkness. But still, you cling to awareness, to the phantom thread of love that binds you to the one person who matters most.

“I’ll always-” The anguished vow catches, cut brutally short as oblivion rises to claim you. In those final heartbeats, a fleeting kaleidoscope of memories sparks behind your eyes: unmistakable laughter, stolen kisses, quiet moments wrapped in each other’s arms.

Five years of loving Charles, of being loved by him in a way you’d never dared dream possible.

It wasn’t enough. It could never be enough.

But it was everything.

“I love-”

Then, nothing.

***

The world fragments around Charles as his gaze locks onto the shattered remains of the familiar red car. One heartbeat — an endless, merciless instant suspended in time — and then his instincts take over with the force of a tidal wave.

“No … no, no, no!” The anguished words rip from his throat as he wrenches the steering wheel, the shriek of tires on tarmac drowned out by the roar of his own pulse thundering in his ears.

The race, the championship, every ambition and dream that has driven him to this point — it all fades into insignificance as he tears down the pitlane, desperation clawing at his throat. “Y/N! Hold on!”

Flames lick hungrily at the twisted wreckage as he sprints towards the mangled chassis, heedless of the searing heat or the choking smoke that burns his lungs. There’s only one thought, one driving need that propels him forward: reach you, get you out, pull you back from the precipice that has opened up beneath his feet.

“Y/N!”

Your name rips from his lips, a hoarse plea swallowed up by the crackle of fire. He skids to a halt beside the wreckage, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the warped metal that has become your cage, your tomb. “Talk to me, mon cœur! I’m here!”

Coherent thought fractures, replaced by blind panic and the soul-deep terror of losing the one light that guides him through this life.

Your eyes are closed, features lax and far too still against the vivid crimson that stains your skin. Charles’ breath catches in his throat, a raw, animal sound clawing its way free as his trembling hands reach for you, desperate to find a flutter of life, a spark of the brilliant fire he knows blazes within you.

“No, no, no … please, stay with me!” He cups your cheek, fingers smearing crimson as they search in vain for a pulse. “I can’t … I can’t lose you!”

Hands grasp at him then, voices raised in shouts he can’t comprehend. He wrestles against the restraints, a feral need to reach you overriding all reason. “Get off me! She needs help!”

But the marshals are insistent, pushing him back with grim determination until he can only watch, helpless, as they douse the ravenous flames.

It feels like an eternity, each gasping breath torn from a soul being flayed apart piece by torturous piece. And then, finally, they move in, the screech of metal and the hiss of hydraulics barely registering over the roar in Charles’ ears.

You’re so still as they work, pale and frighteningly fragile amidst the tangle of debris. A thin rivulet of red trails from the corner of your lips, each sluggish drip a struck match against the powder keg of Charles’ sanity. He takes a shuddering step forward, then another, his world narrowing to the trembling rise and fall of your chest.

“Please … please, stay with me,” he rasps, fingers closing around the rigid lines of the barrier as if it’s the only tether holding him to reality.

A marshal’s hand on his chest, forceful but lacking the strength to halt the unstoppable forward momentum of a man staring into the abyss. “Back off! Let them work!”

But how can he stand back? How can he simply watch as your life’s flame gutters and fades before his eyes? The words climb his throat, tangling into desperate pleas and vows that he’ll burn the world to keep you here, to keep you safe.

Except, no words come. There’s only the taste of ashes on his tongue and the sight of you, broken and bloodied on the unforgiving grass.

The medics arrive in a whirlwind of crisp efficiency, barking terse orders and assessments that slice into Charles with each clipped syllable. He’s dimly aware of the confirmation that you still live, that there’s a chance — but it’s a flicker, fleeting in the face of the reality unfolding before him.

“What are her chances?” The question rasps out, little more than a graveled whisper as he strains against the restraining hands.

You need an airlift, treatment beyond what can be rendered here on this blood-stained stage. Charles knows it, can see the franticness in the medics’ eyes as they work, but the knowledge brings no comfort.

Only an agonizing cycle of seconds hand-cranked like a Medieval torture device, each one stripping another layer of sanity as he watches you slip away.

“Just hang on, mon amour. I’m here … I’m right here.” His voice cracks, breaking on a devastated keen as they load you onto the backboard.

The whine of rotor blades cuts through the static in his head, a cold metallic slice that raises the hairs on the back of his neck. He sucks in a breath, lungs burning with the effort as the helicopter circles in a raucous descent.

“Please, let me go with her!” He wrenches against the hands with renewed desperation.

They’re taking you away.

He tries to follow, legs turned to lead weights, only to be held back once more by the wall of marshals. There’s shouting, words and pleas and anguished vows all tangled into an incomprehensible madness. “No! Y/N!”

And then, you’re gone.

Lifted skyward in a cloud of downdraft, growing smaller and more indistinct until the sleek lines of the helicopter grow razor-thin before disappearing completely.

“No … no, no, no!” Charles’ legs buckle, sending him crashing to his knees in the scorched swath of earth where you were just lying. His hands fist in the grass, heedless of the crimson that stains his fingers, his palms, every inch of shredded skin and broken soul.

The world has ended. His universe has imploded.

And all he can do is kneel in the ashes and scream your name into the uncaring void.

***

The deafening roar of engines fades to a dull thrum as Charles staggers away from the wreckage, his world reduced to a kaleidoscope of fractured images and white noise. He doesn’t register the shouts, the hands grasping at his shoulders as he stumbles blindly towards the track’s perimeter.

Racing. Championships. It all feels like a cruel cosmic joke in the face of what he’s just witnessed.

A chain-link fence looms ahead, the flimsy barrier doing nothing to impede his forward momentum. Figures materialize on the other side — fans, their faces twisted in shock and concern—and then hands are reaching through, steadying him as he clambers over the top with a desperation bordering on madness.

He has to get to you. Nothing else matters.

The parking lot stretches out before him, a maze of gleaming supercars and sleek team transporters. His feet move without conscious thought, propelled by a single-minded determination to reach his haven, his sole remaining tether in this swiftly unraveling realm.

Except, when he arrives at his Ferrari, chest heaving with exertion and the first tendrils of panic starting to set in, the awful truth crashes over him like a tsunami.

No keys.

A choking sound tears from his throat, part sob and part anguished growl of frustration. He can’t break down here, not now, not when every fiber of his being screams at him to keep moving, to fight, to-

“Charles!”

The familiar voice cuts through the din, offering a lifeline just as the darkness threatens to swell and consume him utterly. Andrea skids to a halt beside him, chest heaving and face flushed from his own desperate sprint across the paddock.

In his outstretched hand, the keys dangle and glint in the harsh sunlight.

“I had a feeling,” the trainer pants, thrusting the keys towards Charles with a knowing look.

No other words are needed. Charles snatches them with a terse nod, every agonizing second weighing like an eternity as the engine roars to life beneath his expert touch.

His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as he wrenches the car into gear, jaw clenched to keep the scream of agony caged behind his teeth. Andrea hardly has time to slam the door before they’re peeling out of the lot in a spray of gravel and burnt rubber.

Except, the awful truth rears its head once more as the speedometer climbs past ludicrous speeds, the blur of the Italian countryside offering no reprieve from the maelstrom tearing him apart from the inside.

“Shit!” Charles’ palm cracks against the steering wheel, knuckles screaming in protest. “Where did they take her?”

Of course Andrea knows what he’s asking. The performance coach doesn’t even hesitate, already dialing his phone with the same razor-sharp focus that has guided Charles through so many battles over the years. “Fred? It’s Andrea. Where did they take Y/N?”

The next few seconds stretch into an eternity, each rattling breath searing Charles’ lungs. The line must still be ringing because Charles can’t make out any other voice, just the muffled hum of the connection and Andrea’s terse breathing. He casts a sidelong glance, jaw clenched so tightly he can feel the tendons straining beneath his skin.

Then, a response — clipped and authoritative even through the tinny speakerphone crackle. “They’ve airlifted her to the trauma center in Milan. She’s still en route.”

No other words are needed. The Ferrari leaps forward with a howl, devouring the asphalt as Charles whites out every other thought, every scrap of sense and reason. All that exists is the burning need to reach you before the unthinkable becomes reality.

Highway signs whip by in a blur, red taillights and shrill horns little more than background noise as he tears down the roads, uncaring of speed limits or lane markers or any of the trifling rules governing the everyday world he’s left behind. Just an animalistic need propelling him forward, the destination the only thing that matters.

Get to her. Don’t be too late. Please, god, don’t let me be too late ...

And then, finally, the looming skyline of Milan rears into view.

Tires squeal in protest as Charles wrenches the steering wheel, the Ferrari fishtailing wildly before rocketing down the street towards the distinctive profile of the hospital. He doesn’t even bother looking for a proper spot, swinging the car up over the curb and leaving it stranded halfway on the sidewalk in a blatant obstruction.

But he doesn’t care. Can’t care about anything beyond reaching you.

The chaos of the emergency room hits them in a crashing wave of noise and activity, but Charles forges ahead undeterred. Shouts and rebuffs part around him like a river around a boulder, falling away as staff recognize the wild-eyed visage barreling towards them.

It’s Italy. It’s the Grand Prix. Of course they know his face, the name that every tifoso here would sell their soul to claim as a native son. A path opens before them, whispers and pointing fingers trailing in their wake.

“Leclerc!”

“Did you hear what happened?”

“Code Red from the Autodromo ..”

The words slice at Charles, both too loud and too indistinct to comprehend beyond the implication that you’re here, somewhere through these endless, claustrophobic hallways. A nurse in seafoam scrubs appears at his side, ushering them with brisk efficiency. He follows without a word, legs fueled by pure desperation as they weave deeper into the sprawling facility.

At last, they’re led into a waiting room, the nurse pivoting to face them with a carefully composed expression. “The patient was brought in approximately thirty minutes ago with severe trauma from the crash. She’s currently in surgery, but there are no further updates I can provide right now.”

Surgery.

The weight of that single word hits like a sledgehammer, sending Charles reeling until his back slams against the nearest wall. He sucks in a ragged gasp, fingers tangling in his sweat-damp curls as the magnitude of what’s unfolding threatens to drag him under completely.

There are voices, murmurs of concern as figures materialize from the edges of his frayed vision. Hands grasp at him, trying in vain to offer comfort or reassurance or something, anything to tether him to this reality that has become his waking nightmare.

But there is no solace to be found.

With a shudder that wracks his entire frame, Charles slides down the wall, knees tucking up in a pitiful facsimile of the bright-eyed young man who had stood on that sunbaked grid only hours ago. His head drops into his upraised palms, fingers tightening in his hair until the pain is the only thing anchoring him against the relentless maelstrom of grief and terror threatening to sweep him away.

The rest of the world falls away until all that remains is the hollow ache in his chest and the silent pleas to someone — anyone — tumbling through his mind on an endless refrain.

A hand rests on his shoulder, grounding him, and he registers Andrea’s presence beside him, the other man’s face drawn in anguish. Tears track down the trainer’s cheeks, glittering in the harsh fluorescent light.

For a long moment, there is only the sound of their mingled breaths, of a silent understanding too profound for words.

Neither speaks. There are no more words to be said, no prayers to voice beyond the torrent of desperate pleas echoing through their fractured psyches.

All that remains is to wait, and steel themselves against the soul-shattering eventuality awaiting them no matter which way the scales of existence tip.

So they wait. And Charles breaks.

***

The fluorescent lights hum a discordant drone, casting stark shadows that seem to leach the warmth from every surface. Charles stares unseeing at the scuffed linoleum tiles inches from his boots, the clinical smell of disinfectant burning his nostrils with each shallow breath.

Beside him, Andrea’s presence is a fixed point amidst the whirling currents of nurses, orderlies, and grim-faced family members that swirl through the waiting room. A bottle of water is pressed into Charles’ hand at some point, the plastic slick with condensation against his palm.

He doesn’t drink. Doesn’t move or speak or show any reaction to the flickering passage of time.

The flow of bodies ebbs and swells like the tide, more familiar faces appearing in scuttling clusters. First the Ferrari personnel, then other teams’ crew, and finally the drivers themselves, one by one. Gasps and muffled curses drift past as the scope of the situation sinks in. Whispers, a bitten-off sob from somewhere across the room.

Charles hears none of it.

He’s adrift in a sea of his own spiraling thoughts, each cresting wave dragging him deeper into the all-consuming torment. Memories mingle with fragments of overheard updates, snippets of frantic phone conversations from those trying to unravel the events of the race.

Blood, so much blood staining the grass, her lips, matting her hair in crimson streaks as she lay unmoving, unbreathing.

Internal bleeding, fractures, neural trauma.

Laughter muffled by the sheets, lazy mornings spent tangled in each other as the world continued its inexorable spin beyond their bedroom walls.

Code Red from the Autodromo ...

The last words she’d tried to force out, little more than a whispered breath over the roar of the racetrack: “I love-”

The purgatory crawls on, each sluggish second carved raw against his tattered nerves. Charles is vaguely aware of the others filtering in and out in shifts, some speaking to him in murmurs too soft to understand, others simply sitting in silence as the minutes bled together into hours.

Some indeterminable span of time later, a ripple works its way through the room, crystallizing into a gathered hush as figures in pale green scrubs appear. One steps forward — a man with graying hair and a craggy face lined by decades of triaging human lives.

The hush deepens to an utter stillness as every eye turns towards him, a held breath drawn taut to the breaking point. Charles lifts his head, forces his gaze to focus on the man’s lips as they part, the moment elongating like a length of rubber pulled to the edge of its tensile strength.

“The patient-” A pause as the surgeon’s eyes flick across the sea of apprehension before settling on Charles with deliberate weight. “-has been stabilized after undergoing extensive surgery to address the trauma sustained in the crash.”

A soft exhalation moves through the room, instinctive reactions barely bridled by the undercurrent of anxiety that keeps them taut, waiting.

“She suffered a severe brain bleed which resulted in significant swelling. In order to alleviate the pressure on her brain, we were forced to put her into a medically-induced coma.”

The words lance through Charles like jagged shards of ice, locking the breath in his lungs. Unconscious, unresponsive. Alive, but without any way of reaching out to reassure himself that the spark still flickers in those endlessly warm eyes. He swallows hard, the room swimming in and out of focus as the surgeon continues in a measured cadence.

“We’ve also had to repair multiple internal injuries and fractures, including her spine. The next forty-eight hours will be critical for monitoring her condition and responses.”

And there it is, the crux they’ve all been tensed in agonizing anticipation to receive. In two days, they’ll know if the fight — your fight — is over before it’s truly begun. The flip of a cosmic coin will determine whether Charles’ entire universe continues to spin … or falls into the black void opening up beneath his feet.

Peripherally, he’s aware of the questions starting, the anguished pleas for more details and reassurances as the others process the impassive surgeon’s words through their own lenses of experience. But Charles hears none of it, only the deafening rush of his own pulse echoing in his ears as the grains of sand in fate’s diabolical hourglass begin their insidious trek.

A blink, and the surgeon is gone, the rest of the somber scrub-clad figures dispersing back towards the swinging doors of the surgical ward. Just like that, they’re alone again, adrift in the limbo of both desperation and dread.

Charles sags, his tenuous grip on composure fracturing like a dam rupturing beneath the crushing weight of reality. A broken whimper rasps from deep within his chest, guttural and visceral and utterly devoid of anything resembling hope.

A hand finds his shoulder, grounding him enough to keep him tethered to the earth as the universe he knows compresses into the torturous rhythm of a mechanized ventilator breathing life into your battered form.

He can see you so clearly, even with his eyes screwed shut against the harsh fluorescents bleaching every surface to the same antiseptic pallor. Fragile, fighting, hooked up to the cold indifference of technology while it works to preserve what he knows to be the brightest, most brilliant soul ever breathed into existence.

The thought of those sparkling eyes, your eyes clouded with unresponsive stillness … it rips the last tattered shred of restraint from his unraveling core. A desolate wail tears free, strangled and raw and utterly devoid of resignation or peace.

He’s loved you for years, months, days, lifetimes — and still it will never be enough to prepare him for a world in which you don’t exist. A breath where he is forced to simply survive without the steady radiance of your presence illuminating every step along his path. Without living.

Andrea’s arms encircle him, a brotherly embrace that does little to quell the flood of anguish now pouring from him in heaving torrents. The others retreat with quiet steps, allowing themselves to fade into the shadows, mere ghosts slipping from the devastation of a man confronting the whispered dread that inhabits every driver’s subconscious.

A love and a life, both hanging suspended by whatever cosmic forces govern their fleeting existences.

You are his gravity, his sun, his guiding starlight.

If you burn out, his universe will go forever dark.

***

The antiseptic haze of the ICU feels like a vice around Charles’ chest as he follows the nurse down the sterile hallway. Each shuffling step is leaden, tinged with an unreality that weighs heavier with every closed door they pass.

Part of him doesn’t want to go through with this. Doesn’t want to face the reality that awaits on the other side of that threshold and shatter the tenuous equilibrium he’s managed to cling to since the moment everything disintegrated on the racetrack.

“She’s just through here.”

The nurse’s words are a wrench, jerking Charles from his reverie with a sobering lurch. Ahead, a nondescript door with a window barely cracked — the entrance to a realm he’s not sure his soul can withstand traversing.

“I’ll give you a few minutes.” Her voice has taken on that too-gentle lilt, the one that says she’s borne witness to too many lives fractured.

Charles nods automatically, not meeting her gaze as she retreats on soft-soled steps. Then it’s just him, alone in the dimly lit hallway with only the muffled noise of machines and murmured voices beyond the door to keep him tethered.

With a fortifying breath that does little to settle the jackhammer pounding in his chest, he grasps the handle and pushes through into your room.

And then … there you are.

Pale and hauntingly still against the sterile sheets, a sickly garden of tubes and wires cocooning your form. There’s barely a rise and fall of your chest, just the robotic ebb and flow of life being pumped through the mask clamped across your face. Dark crescents of bruising mar the fragile skin beneath your eyes, blossoming in vivid shades of yellow and violet across your cheekbones.

You’re so devastatingly still. As if all your vibrant essence has retreated inward, abandoning your corporeal shell in favor of waging an unseen war to simply continue existing.

Charles sucks in a shuddering breath, fingers spasming against his thigh as the first hairline fractures split through the dam he’s erected around his emotions. Part of him wants to flee, to escape back into the blissful naivete of the world before this became his reality. Another part is rooted to the spot with magnetic inevitability, drawn in helpless orbit around your pale, unmoving form.

Slowly, one foot drags in front of the other, carrying him across the room to hover beside your bedside. The blanket of tubes and wires prevents him from seeing much beyond your face and the barest suggestion of a shoulder through the loose neckline of the hospital gown. He reaches out, fingertips trembling as he ghosts them over the exposed skin just above the jutting notch of your collarbone.

You’re so still. And so, so cold.

That’s what breaks him.

His knees hit the tile with a dull thud, unheeded tears already streaking down his cheeks by the time he presses his forehead to the mattress edge. One hand finds yours, enveloping it in a desperate grasp as his entire being crumbles inward like a spent force of nature.

“No, no, no ...” The words are a mantra intermingled with broken gasps as the dam ruptures completely and the anguish pours free in ragged waves. “This can’t … you can’t ...”

Coherent thought deserts him, spiraling into the endless dark of a life without you at his side. These last few days have been a mere fleeting taste of that desolate actuality, uncomprehending glimpses into a reality too obliterating to fully process.

A universe without your light? Your radiance and warmth suffusing his world with color and texture and meaning? It feels like a black hole has opened its maw inside of his chest, hungry to devour everything until nothing remains.

“Please ...”

The plea rasps out in a guttural whisper, little more than carbon scoring the back of his throat. Head bowed, he crushes his brow to your knuckles, each etchings of bone an anchor weight lashing him to this merciless reality.

“Come back to me ...”

The words splinter apart, shredded into woeful gasps as the dam of his fragile composure ruptures. Great, racking sobs claw their way free, tearing through him from the center of his hollow core.

“Take everything else.” The words fracture anew, dissolving into heaving sobs as another piece of his soul splinters away. “Take every trophy, every podium, every championship I will ever win ...”

His voice cracks, seizing in his throat as he drags in a ragged breath, leaning his brow harder against the bedside to ground himself in some last anchor of solidity. Anything to keep from shattering into a million irretrievable pieces as he pours out the final offering, the ultimate sacrifice any driver or athlete can make against the cruel cosmic joke of mortality.

“Take my career, my records ... everything racing has ever meant to me ...” His fingers spasm around yours, clinging on with everything he has left as the darkness closes in. “Just ... please, let her wake up. Let me have more than just these memories of her smile and her laugh and the way she makes everything brighter just by existing.”

The sobs come harder now, racking his frame with deep shudders as his voice dissolves into jagged keening. Tears scald rivulets down his cheeks and drip from his chin to patter against the utilitarian sheets in glimmering droplets. He cries for the unfairness of it all, for the loss that is so brutally imminent it’s already written into his very bones, for the gaping hole that is soon to hollow out his very existence.

Eventually, the racking sobs subside into muted whimpers, the storm ebbing into a quieter desolation as he clings to the thin lifeline of your hand still cradled in his own. A bitter laugh claws its way up his throat, raw and devoid of any trace of humor.

“You’d probably kick my ass if you could see me making deals with the devil like this.”

The silence is deafening, broken only by the measured hiss-pause-exhale of the machines mercilessly keeping that precious flicker of life from extinguishing completely. Another laugh escapes, rough and graveled with the weight of a million shattered pieces of himself littering the floor around him.

“You’ve always been the stronger one between us, haven’t you?”

He angles his head, pressing his lips to your knuckles in a lingering kiss as a fresh deluge of tears gather in his eyes. “So wake up, mon cœur. Wake up and show me how to keep going ...”

The whisper hangs in the air, suspended in the limbo of waiting and dread as the machines continue their indifferent monotony. Charles lingers there, forehead pressed to your palm as the minutes drag onward and the final flickers of day fade from the window.

He’s here. He’ll always be right here.

No matter how many nights and days and eternities that ceaseless tide must crash over him until your eyes open once more.

The quiet is shattered by a stifled gasp at the threshold, a swell of fresh emotion that causes Charles to lift his head, scrubbing futilely at his eyes with the back of his free hand. Two figures have appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the dimmer light of the hallway beyond.

Footsteps, two sets. Familiar yet not, like ghosts drifting through the periphery of a dream. He knows instinctively who has stepped into the claustrophobic bubble of vigil, but cannot summon the energy to turn, to confront them.

There’s only you. Only you, and this carcass of shattered promises and devastation that he’s been reduced to by the simple fact of your absence.

Until …

Motions in the corner of his vision, the slide of fabric and muted footfalls amidst the monotonous cadence of technology. Then, a pair of weathered hands — hands he recognizes like the veins pulsing with life beneath his own skin — come into view, cupping his bowed head in a cradle of reassurance and shared infinitudes of anguish.

Your parents’ voices carry in the wake of their touch, whispers ragged with the same bone-deep desolation bleeding from Charles’ shattered core. Indistinct murmurs of comfort, of empathy, of that level of understanding that only those poised on the precipice can ever understand.

He doesn’t resist as they draw him into the circle of their arms, enveloping him until their shared warmth banishes some of the chill snaking through his soul. Hot tears streak down his cheeks again, but these aren’t solitary, bitter shed of a man abandoned in the void of loss.

Their mingled anguish binds them together on this fevered plane of suffering, a communion of the damned begging with whatever beneficent forces might hear their pleas.

Please.

Please give them back the spark of light they all crave with every fiber of their beings.

Please, because this ...

This is no life. Not without you.

***

The fluorescent lights seem to dim with every passing hour, the edges of reality blurring together into an indistinct smear. Time has lost all meaning amidst the monotonous cycle of machines and muffled hospital ambiance swirling through your room.

Charles is adrift in a wakeful dream state, his world compressed into the miniscule shifts across your features. The steady beep of the heart monitor, the almost imperceptible rise and fall of your chest, the flutter of your eyelids as your mind navigates whatever ethereal paths separate you from him.

He hasn’t left your bedside. Not for food or rest or even the most basic of human needs. It’s all he can do to simply exist in this liminal space with you, unwilling to surrender a single breath or blink to the cruelty of a reality in which your presence doesn’t illuminate every crevice.

His thumb traces idle circles over your knuckles, the motion as robotic as the whoosh of the ventilator forcing air in and out of your lungs. Voices drift through from the hallway, clinical and detached. More tests and updates being murmured without context or depth of feeling.

None of it matters. The only metric capable of penetrating the fog enshrouding Charles is the ghost of sensation where his calloused fingers brush your skin.

He’s acutely attuned to the details of your condition at any given moment, no matter how inconsequential it may seem to the professionals at their stations monitoring labs and scans. A slight spike in temperature or blood pressure, the faintest twitching muscle or brow-furrow. All of it feels magnified a thousandfold as he clings to every indication, every little shift that might signal a turn for the better.

Or … for the worse

The thought skitters away the instant it surfaces, instinctively repressed by the force of Charles’ sheer desperation. He’s been here, motionless and steadfast, as the forty-eight hour milestone stretched into seventy-two, ninety-six, a hundred and twenty. With each passing day, the doctors grew more optimistic, more positive in their assessments as the swelling in your brain gradually abated.

Until this morning. The preliminary preparations to rouse you from the protective shroud of the medically induced coma began. Rounds of testing, consults from specialists, hushed asides between the scrub-clad personnel that Charles couldn’t parse beyond the undercurrent of anticipation that rippled through the ward.

Now they wait. He and the contingent of nurses and doctors hovering at stations like sentries guarding the gateway to the only world that matters. Watching, observing, as your eyelids begin to stir and the heart monitor’s pattern shifts just slightly from its metronomic rhythm.

Charles holds his breath, fingers tightening around yours as his gaze fixes on your face, the first pinpricks of awareness flickering there. Your eyelids flutter, brow furrowing as if straining against unseen barriers holding you back. Flashes of animation, of unvoiced struggle, play out in rapid succession and his world constricts into that singular point of reality unwinding.

Your fingers twitch, a spasmodic shudder, before settling into a steady movement in his grasp. The change in pressure is minute, featherweight, but it’s enough to electrify every nerve in Charles’ body. His head whips toward the observation window, breath sawing from his lungs.

“She’s waking up!”

It’s little more than a raw exhalation, the spark that ignites the room into urgent, yet controlled, flurries of activity. A nurse slips inside, tapping briskly at monitors and checking lines with an instinctive flow of motion. Charles barely registers her presence, his world distilled down to that singular point of lifeline linking him to you as the fog of unconsciousness finally begins to lift.

Your first inhale tugs at something primal within him, hauls the breath from his lungs even as unfettered joy spills through his chest. There’s movement beneath the fluttering of your eyelids, the rustle of lashes and tiny furrows creasing the delicate skin around your eyes. The seconds stretch out like an eternity until finally ...

They open.

Slitted and hazy, but undeniably open and aware. For an endless heartbeat, Charles is frozen, hands still wrapped around your fingers as afraid to move as a cave explorer plunged into impermeable black.

Then the world rushes in with all the chaos and color he’s been robbed of for far too long. A desperate sound tears itself free of his throat, as his body releases the suspended tension flooding from every pore. He sways forward, bracing his other hand on the mattress edge to keep from utterly crumpling at your very first flutter of life.

“Oh god ...” The fractured keen catches with a gasping sob. “Dieu merci, I thought I-”

But the words fracture, tumble away into lost coherence as you shift, throat bobbing with visible effort before the slurred shape of words escapes past chapped lips.

“C-can’t … f-feel ...”

Charles freezes, the world contracting back into stark lines and hyper-focused clarity. You’re struggling, the effort of speech clear across features still slack with the vestiges of your ordeal.

Panic claws its way up his throat, instinct sounding the call to seek help, to rally every force of medicine at their disposal toward solving this new, horrifying complication. He turns, mouth already open in a shout toward the observation window-

Only to find the room already flooding with personnel, summoned by some unseen alert the moment you stirred. Voices begin filtering through the dissonance clogging his senses — clipped, professional directives lancing through the feedback loop skipping inside his skull.

“Keep her calm-”

“... signs of paralysis ...”

“... damage to the motor cortex ...”

The final phrase lands like a weighted punch, sending Charles reeling back a half-step as the implications unspool into his consciousness. Your face twists in distress, breath sawing as the tube mask fogs with each panicked exhalation.

“I … n-no ...” You try to move, to shift position, but whatever spinal injury incurred in the wreck limits you to feeble twitches and whimpers.

Charles is at your side in an instant, features etched in silent agony as he brushes back the hair feathering across your forehead. His other hand finds yours, solid and grounding as he wills every iota of strength into the contact.

“Shhh, it’s alright. It’ll be alright, just stay calm.”

A cursory glance over his shoulder confirms a flurry of activity unfolding behind the glass as neurologists and specialists filter in. Tests will be run, evaluations and diagnostics to chart out whatever neural trauma has wrought such devastating effects upon your mobility.

In this moment, none of it matters beyond the trembling whimpers parting your lips and the glimmer of tears streaking your cheeks to dampen the pillow beneath your head. Charles wants nothing more than to gather you into his arms, to shield you from this fresh cruelty that has robbed you of yet another piece of your spirit.

Instead, he leans in close, cradling your face in his palm as you struggle to latch onto his presence amidst the waves of fear and distress no doubt crashing through your psyche.

“F-feel my … can’t ....” The disjointed words catch in racking sobs, your eyes squeezing shut against a torrent of emotion he recognizes all too well.

“I know, I know ...” The platitudes feel hollow, meaningless verbal gestures against the enormity of the situation closing its grip around them. But Charles speaks them regardless, murmuring soft reassurances against your anguish.

“Just focus on me, mon cœur. Only me.” His thumb swipes the moisture from your cheekbones, smearing tear tracks through the pallor there as his voice drops to a soft rasp. “You’re still here, still fighting ...”

Your eyes open at that, lashes spiked and heavy with more saline that slips free to streak down your temples. Those depths are oceans of heartache, roiling with a tempest of emotion that momentarily banishes every scrap of reason or logic from Charles’ mind.

All that matters is easing your suffering. Doing anything to lift the veil of anguish smothering the radiant light that marked your essence, that wondrous spark responsible for thawing every one of his defenses and opening a pathway to the heart he’d resigned himself to never sharing.

“I’m here and I’m not leaving. Not ever.” The words scorch themselves into his very soul as he presses his brow to yours. The antiseptic smells of your surroundings fade, the two of you cocooned in the intimate embrace of making your entire world his, if only for these fleeting seconds.

“We’ll get through this together,” he murmurs against your hairline, drinking in the simple euphoria of your closeness, of being able to impart even an inkling of comfort through his presence alone. “I promise.”

The words hang there for a suspended eternity, no response beyond the quiet hiccup of your breathing evening out the tiniest bit. A sliver of solace in the storm to cling to, no matter how tenuous.

Then the retinue of doctors and nurses sweeps in, their voices raised in directives and instructions. It shatters the moment, the outside world crashing back into their reality with all its cold indifference and clinical calculation.

Charles is ushered back, stumbling on legs turned to rubber as he watches you drag your reddened gaze from his, focusing inward as the onslaught of testing begins. He wants to refuse, to dig in his heels and remain steadfastly at your side through whatever fresh torments this throws your way.

But that defiance dies before it can form, snuffed out by the fragility written in the slump of your shoulders and the dull, haunted glaze muting your formerly vibrant spirit. All of his instincts scream at him to protect you, to rally against any external forces bent on inflicting more cruelty upon your already overburdened existence.

Instead, with a leaden heart and bile burning the back of his throat, Charles can only slip from the room and let the white coats encircle you with their machines and sterile indifference.

It’s a wait that lasts an eternity condensed into seconds, the rubber soles of his sneakers tracing grooves into the linoleum as he paces the hallway with increasing franticness. Snatches of conversation drift out from behind the closed door — clinical assessments devoid of context or feeling.

Then, as abruptly as it began, the door sweeps open and a group of personnel file out, scribbling notations and conversing in terse murmurs. One of them, a woman with cropped silver hair and piercing eyes, breaks off to approach Charles. Her expression is carefully neutral, devoid of any emotional tells.

“Mr. Leclerc.” It’s not a question, but an acknowledgment of who he is … and what is owed to him. “Your … partner has suffered extensive trauma to her spinal cord and central nervous system in the crash. The amount of nerve damage we’re detecting suggests paralysis of both lower extremities.”

The words shatter into coherent syllables and empty static all at once. Charles nods numbly, awaiting the verdict he can feel looming above them all.

“We can’t say with any certainty whether this condition is temporary or … permanent.” There’s a pause, the ghost of empathy flickering across her hawkish features before the professional mask reasserts itself. “Only time will tell if there’s any chance of full recovery once the other injuries have mended and treatment can begin in earnest.”

The finality hangs in the air for a stretched tautness of heartbeats, crystalline and utterly devoid of warmth. Charles forces himself to meet her gaze, to hold her clinical detachment within his own eyes as the world drifts further and further away.

“Okay.” It’s little more than a whisper, but it feels like tearing out his own throat to give voice to the thing that shatters his heart for you. “Can I … see her?”

A dip of the woman’s chin, a wordless assent as she steps aside to allow Charles to pass. He manages only a few weighted strides before halting, hand braced against the doorframe as he ghosts his gaze over your prostrate form.

You’re crying, quiet and bereft as the blankets rise and fall in time with your shuddering breaths. Something animal and feral keens low in Charles’ chest at the sight, every scrap of resolve threatening to unravel in the wake of your desolation.

Before he can think of second-guess the impulse, he crosses the space in two strides and drops to his knees beside the mattress. You startle at the sudden motion, eyelids fluttering in shock before recognition blazes through the emptiness shrouding your features. It’s Charles’ undoing.

“No, no … no tears.” His voice cracks like splintered glass, adrift on waves of his own withheld emotion. “You’re still here. You’re still with me, mon amour.”

He finds your hand with his own, fingers dwarfed in his calloused grip as he brings them to his brow. Outside, the doctors and specialists confer in low murmurs, their indifference too jagged to apply to the wounds here in this sanctuary where only you exist.

“You’ll be okay.” The promise burns itself into the verse he’s scribed on his heart, a vow etched in trails of moisture searing his cheeks. “No matter what it takes.”

His lips find your forehead, brushing against the clammy skin there as you sag towards him, drawn together by the gravity of an understanding too profound for the empty hallways and clinical trappings circling them. For this stolen breath, it’s simply you and him in all your wounded radiance.

“I almost lost you.” The confession rattles free, sent skyward on exhaled plumes that stir the fine baby hairs framing your brow. “And I’ll fight like hell to keep you beside me for as long as this life will allow.”

Your eyes find his, fractured mirrors reflecting all the heartache and dashed hopes ricocheting between you. But there’s something else there too.

Hope. Defiance. That unquenchable spark that first lured Charles toward you like a moth begging for the flame’s obliterating caress.

He’ll cling to that inner fire. Pour every ounce of his being into nurturing the smoldering coals until they flare again, banishing the darkness fate has chosen to drape them in at every turn. They’ll get through this, finding whatever reserves the cruelest pockets of despair have yet to strip away to sustain them.

Paralysis, brain damage, unthinkable trauma ...

None of it matters.

Not as long as you’re still drawing those precious, rasping breaths beside him.

Not as long as that beautifully battered heart beats on, refusing to surrender to the abyss.

“Je t’aime.” The oath clings to his lips, pressed against your temple as he holds you close. “Always and forever. No matter what.”

***

The sleek, modern lines of the therapy center bisect the Monegasque sky, all glass and steel rising toward the blue expanse. Charles pauses a moment as he strides across the courtyard, drawing in a steadying breath of the crisp early-winter air before continuing on toward the entrance.

The motion-triggered doors sweep open with a whisper, ushering him into the pristine lobby adorned with the fixtures of understated elegance. Sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting everything in muted ambers and golds that warm the precision-engineered decor.

Charles crosses the space with economical purpose, gaze sweeping the sitting areas arranged with studied nonchalance until he pinpoints the familiar silhouette awaiting him. You’re positioned with your back angled toward him, the faint shudder of your shoulders visible as you shift position in the high-backed wheelchair.

For a heartbeat, the sight freezes him in place, the old swell of emotions threatening to spiral into rampant chaos until he can taste the acrid tang of panic curdling on his tongue.

Then the moment passes, brought up short by the instinctive reflex to compartmentalize that’s carried him through so many darknesses since the day his entire universe fragmented beyond repair. He shakes it off, squaring his shoulders as he resumes his trajectory, clearing the distance between you in a handful of strides.

You must sense his presence behind you because a tremor shivers across your frame a half-second before you begin to crane your neck towards the source of the approaching footfalls. Charles times his approach to intercept the motion, stepping neatly into your peripheral line of sight with a warm smile ghosting across his features.

“Mon amour.”

The endearment falls from his lips like silk across skin, the richly-textured syllables suffusing the air between you until it feels thick with emotion and the grounding sense of home. Of course, you react to the sound, lips already parting in anticipation of reply that has yet to fully manifest.

The struggle is still so pronounced, hewn into the furrows creasing your brow and the deliberate concentration sharpening the elegant lines of your profile as you wrestle with the disconnect between neural synapses and musculature. Each time Charles bears witness to these trials, it rekindles the enduring fury and heartache enough to steal the air from his lungs.

How cruel could fate be to hurt the brightest soul he’s ever known?

The questions circle endlessly, gnawing their way across his subconscious in a constant cycle of what-ifs and unvoiced anguish. So he clings to patience as your sole solace, willing every ounce of unspoken encouragement into the sliver of contact where his calloused fingers sit atop your knuckles.

“It’s-” The fragmented sound tugs his focus back to your profile in time to catch the flickering hint of frustration tightening the muscles along your jaw as the words elude their trajectory once more. He watches your chest rise and fall with the effort of measured breathing, sees the war being waged behind blown pupils as your nerves strive to reestablish an equilibrium so brutally ruptured by trauma.

And then … a breakthrough.

“I ...” Barely more than an exhale, shaped on the barest puff of air passing your lips. But the simple vowel ignites something beneath Charles’ breastbone, a frisson of hope and pride and a thousand other tangled emotions combining into unadulterated exhilaration.

“L-love ...” Another pause, infinitesimal in the grand cosmic span yet stretched endless as the consonants parse themselves into recognizable sounds. Your eyes find his, glimmering pinpricks of desperate adoration blazing through the sullen cloud of anguish that’s settled in their depths.

The final whisper crystallizes into the air with the reverent weight of an answered prayer, “... you.”

Charles is across the space in an instant, crashing to his knees before you with a breathless sound that parts his lips on a broken rasp. Trembling hands map along the delicate slopes of your cheeks, cradling your face as a single tear spills free to chart a glistening trail down his cheek.

“Oh god ...” The prayer shivers past his lips, half sob and half keening breath as he presses his brow to yours, drowning in your presence and surrounding himself with the singularity of your existence. “You did it. You said it ...”

He trails off, lost to the beautifully battered rhythm of your exhales gusting across his features. This close, you’re all he sees, all he needs to survive this moment of solace among the anguished trials you’ve endured to forge this path back toward him. With painstaking care, he leans in to dust trembling kisses across your brow, your temples, the feathered crescents of your eyelashes as they flutter shut beneath the reverent onslaught.

Until finally, his lips find yours in a searing confession of worship — no urgency or fire, just two souls colliding into the singularity that first kindled their union. Charles slants his mouth across your own, breathing you in deeply until his senses are awash in the familiar scent of your skin and the dizzying tranquility of becoming something so much more than the sum of fragmented parts.

It both is and isn’t a kiss, just the barest brush of sensitive flesh and shared breath. Yet all of Charles’ fortitude strains against the tidal surge of emotion crashing through his bones … devotion and heartache, fervent pride and the nauseating chaser of reality.

Because even as you persevere, rising like a phoenix from each trial along this endless road toward recovery, he knows the path ahead remains strewn with obstacles and shadowed pockets into which the darkness always lurks.

When he finally tears himself away, it’s with another shuddering breath and two crystalline trails of moisture etched into the hollows beneath his eyes. He drinks in your features with the starving desperation of one lost to the merciless desert of life, maps every nuanced shift of line and breath and expression to catalog the miracles unfolding before him.

“You incredible, impossible thing ...” The endearment slips free on a choked laugh, more for his sake than any lack of comprehension on your part. Even after everything, Charles knows you understand the timbre and shape of his words as deeply as if they were your own thoughts.

But before he can bask in the fleeting warmth of this tiny victory, you’re drawing him back in. Delicate fingertips brushing the moisture from his cheekbones as you struggle to translate thought into sound once more.

“This … isn’t ...” A pregnant pause, brow furrowing with the strain before the rest comes in a tumbling rush. “What you wanted. For us.”

The words land like craters against Charles’ ribs, disjointed bombs stripping away the last threads of cheerfulness with each syllable. He stills, mouth parting on a protest that never materializes as you forge onward in the wake of his stunned silence.

“Y-you gave up ...” Another tiny hesitation, your chest rising and falling as you suck in a fortifying breath, “... everything.”

A fresh sheen of moisture wells in your eyes, slick with too many fractured hopes and dreams to ever assemble into coherent utterances. Still, Charles recognizes each shred of meaning, every whispered subtext behind the fragments you offer up as if stilling him for the inevitable strike to come.

Except this time, the blow he expects never arrives. Instead, you lean in, fingertips trailing lightly across the sharp angles of his jaw as the rest of the thought emerges with painstaking care.

“It’s … okay. To find someone ...” Your voice cracks, throat bobbing against the torrent of naked vulnerability suffusing each word. “... new.”

For an endless instant, the world spins on its axis, that single, shattered confession shearing through all of Charles’ deeply-ingrained instincts and defenses. This is the thing he’s dreaded since the first moment fate’s vicious hand tore the very fabric of your radiance into parts — the inevitability of you shouldering the blame for what has unfolded.

Unacceptable.

Unthinkable.

His hands are on you again before he consciously wills them to move, palms cradling your face like he’s the one in constant danger of crumbling into a billion undone pieces. It’s both anchor and lifeline as he pulls you flush against him, mouth trembling for purchase against the rush of sentiment crashing through his veins.

“Never.” The oath has never felt so feather-light yet absolute all at once. He rasps it out like a scrap of prayer, the shape of the sound rippling through the air between them.

“This life? You are everything I want.” The words feel torn from some primal place he had thought cauterized in the aftermath of all that has transpired between them. But still, Charles lays himself bare in their wake, baring every shred of anguish and love and reverence bleeding from his heart.

“Not the career or the glory or any other pursuit I might have thrown myself toward ...” He drags in a ragged inhale, feeling your quivering breaths ghosting across his lips like a light breeze stoked from embers. “Just you, mon cœur. All of you — from your brilliant mind to your determined spirit.”

His thumb traces the supple curve of your cheekbone, rough calluses snagging lightly against satin-smooth skin as his voice skips toward a halting rasp.

“I don’t know what the future holds.” This final mortal truth lingers in the thrall of hushed vulnerability shrouding them. “But I’m not leaving this existence without you by my side through every second of it. Not willingly.”

In the suspended heartbeats that follow, Charles watches the onslaught of emotion crest through the otherworldly depths of your eyes. He swallows hard, aching to fend off whatever final resistance lingers behind those storm-tossed features. Except his throat has grown too thick, too clogged with unshed tears to give voice to the hundreds upon thousands of fractured promises unspooling toward each other.

So he kisses you instead — harder this time, with the desperate exhilaration of a drowning man breaking surface to taste the first gasps of oxygen-rich air. He pours himself into the connection, igniting the spark that first smoldered between you years and lifetimes ago until his entire being resonates with the radiant warmth.

When at last he drags himself back, it’s with a swipe of his thumb to brush away the shimmering track of tears he’s unwittingly drawn to your cheek. “I love you,” he rumbles, the sound resonating from the depths of his core to embed in the very foundations of his soul. “Nothing else matters.”

And as if summoned by nothing more than the simmering weight of his epiphanies, you offer up one final exhalation shimmering with promise and budding hope.

“Race.” A broken sound, little more than a whispered caress against the tide of all that has gone unsaid. “Win for … f-for us.”

Charles’ lips part, trembling with too many half-born replies in that stretched moment of realization.

You’re right. Of course you’re right, focused as always upon rekindling the vibrant sparks threatening to gutter beneath his gaze. It’s yet more proof of why he resolved to kneel before you and bind his existence to your own — from now until the last glimmers of twilight.

He curls a hand behind your neck, prizing this beautiful connection above all the momentary triumphs and thrills his boyhood dreams ever convinced him to pursue. Red-painted carbon and shrieking downshifts, roars of acclaim and champagne spilled as if raining down from the heavens … none of it could ever hope to fill the sacred spaces you’ve already occupied with your quiet strength and luminous resilience.

“For you,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, leaving goosebumps in its wake along the exposed column of your throat. “And only for you, mon ange. I’ll make the world itself hold its breath if that’s what you need.”

He seals the promise with a final brush of his mouth, lingering until every ounce of the sacred vow sears itself into your skin and memory alike.

By the time he draws back to drink in your features one more time, there’s a spark flickering through the storm clouds rimming your gaze. A dazzling flicker in the instant before it flares into something inextinguishable, something potent enough to blind out every shadow threatening to swallow him whole.

It sears through him like a lightning strike, melting every ounce of resolve into something more precious than any trophy or accolade his profession could ever bestow.

A vow you return with a simple promise. “I’ll be your ...” Your voice falters. But your eyes blaze with the words, with that same inevitable fire that forged those first fateful sparks between your souls, “... biggest fan.”

***

The grand hall seems to hum with the collective intake of a thousand bated breaths as Charles turns to face the gathering. Sunlight streams through towering windows in cascading sheets of amber warmth, gilding everything in honeyed refractions that lend an ethereal glow to the floral arrangements and pristine altar dominating the space.

He sucks in a steadying breath of his own, rolling his shoulders beneath the crisp lines of his tailored tuxedo. Anticipation thrums through every fiber of his being, vibrating in synchrony with the symphony of tremulous breaths rippling through their assembled friends and loved ones.

This moment has been too long in manifesting, too brutally tested by the cruelties of fate to be anything but utterly perfect in execution.

Behind him, the faint rustle of his groomsmen shifting into place provides the barest murmur of ambient sound. Joris, Andrea, Pierre, Arthur, and Lorenzo — all united by the gravity of this singular instance reshaping the trajectory of Charles’ existence. He chances the briefest glance over his shoulder, meeting their steadying nods of encouragement with a fleeting ghost of a smile.

It anchors him, draws together those final errant threads of composure in time for the first swell of the processional to filter through the sprawling chamber. The gentle symphony of strings and woven harmonies crashes over Charles in a physical caress, setting his nerves alight with anticipation as every eye tracks toward the grand archway dominating the far end of the hall.

He doesn’t immediately register the diminutive figure emerging in a sweep of ivory chiffon and pale lace. Only after the sharp inhalation of breath fluttering through the assembled does his gaze lock onto your silhouette, resplendent even through the sheer flutter of the veil haloing your shoulders.

He expects the wheelchair, the familiar sleek metallic lines and measured rolls ushering you towards him. Expects the sight that’s become so achingly you, even as it never fails to tighten every muscle in his body with the urge to shelter you in his arms from every cruelty the merciless universe has seen fit to inflict.

Except … there is no chair.

The shuddering breath that leaves his lips might as well have been torn from the depths of his very essence in that suspended heartbeat of dawning realization.

You’re walking.

With slow, tiny strides, flanked on either side by bridesmaids in burnished golds — but not supported or aided in any functional sense of the movements.

No, these halting footfalls are all your own. A monumental effort of sheer force of will and gritty determination honed across months of exhaustive perseverance through some of the darkest shadows ever spanning your shared existences.

Each trembling step, every inch traveled across that endless-seeming expanse of polished marble floor, is both defiant proof of your resilience and a blazing triumph over pain and hardship and loss echoed ten thousandfold.

Charles cannot breathe. Can barely remain upright as his entire world both manifests and dissolves around this singular progression unfolding before him in strangled increments. Others have begun to weep in earnest, muffled sobs billowing through the gathered assembly like ripples across a pond’s placid surface.

He’s vaguely aware of his groomsmen shifting behind him, of shocked gasps ghosting across their stunned features as they grasp the significance of what’s unfolding before their eyes. Andrea’s palm finds the small of Charles’ back, steadying his frame against the sudden influx of vertigo and exhilaration threatening to collapse his consciousness.

Because all that exists in this shuddering span of fractured instants is you. Nothing more, nothing less than the endless radiance of your soul as you stride toward him.

Toward your destiny.

Toward the culmination of all the strength and beauty and determination he’s revered with every ounce of his being since the first time he met you.

He’s crying in earnest now, can feel the streaking trails of moisture searing molten paths down his cheeks to dampen the crisp cotton stretched across his chest. Yet the tears hardly register as anything more than a bodily necessity to expel the rising tsunami of l elation cresting inside his core.

You’re within arm’s reach now, only a handful of quavering paces separating your joined paths. Charles’ hands tremble where they hang at his sides, fingers spasming around the desperation to move, to reach, to hold you against him and pour every ounce of adoration into you.

Willpower alone is what roots him in place, keeps him tethered until every shift and flex of muscle is committed to memory. Until your forward momentum carries you into his gravitational embrace in a sweeping collision of souls reunited.

He feels your hands first, slightly clammy where they land against his shoulders and chest in search of purchase. Then the subtlest hint of perfume, that floral-tinged elixir unique only to the slope of your neck and the crown of your hair when he dips to brush his lips across your brow in reverence.

The dam breaks and Charles crumples inward, folding himself around your form with only the vaguest cognition of the groomsmen forming a sheltering web around you both as he sinks to his knees in a thunderous impact of boneless limbs.

Words either fail him or escape articulation as the only sounds to pass his lips become a stream of fevered, jumbled endearments and throaty praises poured directly against the fevered warmth of your skin. His hands map every trembling plane in frantic sweeps, nails skirting intricate embroidery and dewy satin as each heated exhale shudders harsh against your neck, your cheeks, your brow ...

“Mon cœur ...” The title is prayer and confession, ground out from the friction of his entire belief system being forged anew around you. “You incredible thing ... dieu, look at you ...”

He silences the reflexive protests before they can rise by slanting his mouth across yours. There’s nothing carnal or profane in the gesture, simply the coming together of two souls.

You taste of elation and salt, of budding promise and fond tenacity. Of incandescent joy and the shredded velvet of nights spent paralleling the loneliest infinities as your fingers clutched each other like dual magnets anchored across the universe’s expanse.

“So strong … my warrior … perfect ...” The muted words ghost over your trembling form. Somewhere distant, a chorus of cheers and applause has erupted beyond the bubble forming around you.

But none of it truly registers, not when compared to this shattering merging of everything either of you has struggled and strained and wept to reach.

Nothing else matters in the sweeping catharsis cascading around you both. Not the hoarse prayers still shuddering past his lips, or the moisture from your own lashes streaking down his cheeks in silence.

It’s only when the dizzying euphoria begins to ebb that Charles slowly drags his gaze upwards to find yours — those beautiful depths drowning in reverence and bliss mirroring his own. The spark flickering there banishes all shadows in an instant, forging incandescence enough for a lifetime no matter what fresh trials fate might see fit to test your devotion.

He drinks you in, committing the flawless canvas of your features to permanence before reaching up to brush trembling fingertips across the sheer lace obscuring your radiance. The sweep of fabric pools around your shoulders and Charles finds himself very nearly undone again by the sight of your unveiled beauty.

“So ...” He swallows hard, fingers tracing the delicate curve of your jaw as words fail him for a what feels like an eternity. “... beautiful. Like the first dawn cutting through the blackest oblivion.”

A tremulous smile sweeps across your lips, the ghost of a promise he absorbs with every pore as you lean into the reverent sweep of his touch. He could stay like this forever, knees grinding against the ornate tile. Anything to capture how eternal he feels right here with you.

Charles drags in a rallying breath, forcing his widened gaze from yours just long enough to call his groomsmen to attention with a look. They rally behind him, steadying him as he rises on legs turned bowstring-taut with adrenaline.

And then, with every eye once more centered upon you two, Charles bends at the waist and sweeps you into his embrace, cradling your trembling frame against his chest with the paradoxical delicacy and unyielding reverence that lives so unbridled within his very bones. Your breath catches audibly, a soft hitch of sound that adorns the sacred silence as he turns away from the guests.

The officiant’s features are flushed and lined, rimed with moisture that glistens unabashedly as he gathers himself to proceed.

“Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc and Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N,” he begins. “You have been called here as an acknowledgment of the next chapter in your lives together ...”

The ceremony begins, the words spilling forth as you tuck your cheek against Charles’ thundering pulse, fingers curling into the lapel of his tuxedo in a white-knuckled embrace. He lives in the rise and fall of your mingling breaths, in the warmth of your form pressed seamlessly against the shelter of his body as you bear witness to the eternal scripture neither of you could have fathomed even existing upon first crossing paths.

Then, the officiant turns his attention towards Charles, chin dipped in grave deference. “You may recite your vows.”

The command punches through him, sawing the breath from his lungs in a ragged exhalation that shivers across your crown. He swallows hard, blinks back the fresh deluge of tears that threatens to escape his faltering restraint. But when he opens his mouth, the words spill out like they were always meant to.

“I have dreamed of you since before the first moments of my existence.” The syllables echo across the hall, spiraling forth to caress every rapt attendee in their wake. “Of a love conceived in the heart of a collapsing star and given breath in our adjoined forms to shine forth into the darkness.”

His lips brush your hairline, absorbing the scent of your fragrance and feeling the thrumming rhythm of life radiating from your temples. Here, cocooned in the intimate heart of their unity, the world holds its breath along with the gathered witnesses.

“Nothing could have prepared my soul to be scoured by your brilliance, your resilience … let alone knitted together from the fraying remnants when our path shattered across the cruel stones of fate.” A tremulous inhale, steadying as his gaze flicks across the faces assembled before you — a sweep encompassing every expression of empathy and shared joy piercing back at him.

“Yet here we stand, mon amour ...” The endearment spills forth like rich velvet, textured and avowed as his mouth finds the top of your head once more, the taste of reverence sweet on his tongue. “United into something sacred, something woven from those endless nights clinging to each other across the desolate chasm that could so easily have swallowed us whole.”

He savors the simple elation of your response, of knowing his words resonate through every quivering fiber with the promise of finally reaching what you’ve been steadily ascending to all along.

So he breathes you in once more, chasing the familiar scent of your skin until his very lungs burn with the delight of your proximity. The depths of his gaze find yours again, irises rimmed in the faintest remnants dampness as one final promise takes shape.

“I will love you to the final molecule ...” Quieter now, a molten rasp uttered into the hollow between your brows as fingertips sift through the intricate sweeps of your tresses. “I will walk beside you through each breath and season, every triumph and shadow that marks this existence as uniquely ours. With all that I am, all that lingers when the inconsequential has stripped from my shell — I am yours. Until the last spark is extinguished from this universe and beyond.”

The promise hangs in the reverent stillness as he takes his first full breath after, filling his lungs with the ozone and wildflowers commingling from your respective scents until his senses reel. Only then does he draw back enough to drink in the sight before him — the ethereal swaths of your veil now skirting the contours of your features, the downy lashes beaded with moisture, the trembling swell of your lips as the first stuttered shapes of sound begin forming upon them.

Your reciprocation is a hushed, halting stream of sounds that carry all the solemn gravity of prayers finally granted voice. Each syllable pitches forward, low and overflowing with the fevered weight of their reverence until they resonate through Charles’ bei by like physical sensations trailing electricity along his nerves.

“In the beginning, there was nothing,” you breathe, fingers flexing restlessly against the solid plate of his chest as you struggle to channel the turbulent swell of emotion cascading through every aspect of your existence. “An endless and lightless oblivion that should have terrified me ...”

A faint smile blooms across Charles’ features as he watches the story of a lifetime together play out in miniature across your expression.

“Yet it didn’t.” The syllables part on a whisper of revelation, a new wave of tears flickering in the gleam of your eyes as you find his gaze. “Because I knew you even then.”

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hisfavegirl · 1 month ago

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The Queen Grief - King Aegon Targaryen x TwinSister!Reader

Summary : After the incident where your son was killed coldly, you were drowned in anger and also hated.

part II.

You were consumed by grief and rage, your heart aching as you watched the servants carefully lift your son’s bloodstained blanket. They were going to burn it, or perhaps throw it away, treating it like nothing more than a piece of cloth stained by death. The thought of it made you tremble with fury.

Your eyes shifted to the bed where your son had once slept, now soaked in blood—his blood. The memory of his innocent face, his little hands grasping the blanket you had carefully knitted for him, made your chest tighten with unbearable pain. You reached for the soft fabric, clutching it tightly to your chest as fresh tears began to fall.

The blanket, once a symbol of warmth and love, now felt like a cruel reminder of what had been stolen from you. You could almost hear his voice again, that soft giggle when you’d first shown him the blanket, the joy in his eyes when he wrapped it around himself, feeling safe in your arms.

“I made this for you, my sweet Jaehaerys,” you whispered through the tears, the words heavy with the weight of loss. “I promised I would protect you, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t protect you from them.”

The memory of his reaction, the bright smile and the way his tiny hands ran over the knitted fabric, was now a bitter and painful reminder of how brief his life had been. You clutched the blanket tighter, your sobs wracking your body, and you felt a deep ache inside you that could never be filled. The warmth of his presence, the sound of his laughter—gone. And in its place, only the cold, lifeless blanket and the bloodstains that would never wash away.

You collapsed onto the floor, your body shaking as you sat amidst the scattered toys that once filled your son’s room with joy. The small wooden blocks, the tiny figurines—each one a reminder of the life he would never get to live, the laughter and innocence that would never be heard again. Your tears flowed freely, and the pain in your chest became unbearable.

The sound of your sobs filled the room, louder and more desperate with each passing moment. Your heart ached for him, for the life stolen from you both. You cried out for the child you would never see again, for the dreams that would never come true. Your breath came in ragged gasps as the grief overwhelmed you.

Suddenly, you felt the warmth of Aegon’s arms around you, pulling you close, and his voice, cracked with emotion, whispered in your ear. “I’m here. I’m with you. I’ll never leave you.” His words were a comfort, but the sorrow in his voice matched your own, his tears mingling with yours.

You leaned into him, trembling with the force of your grief. The two of you clung to each other, crying together, mourning the loss of your son in a silence that spoke of shared pain. Aegon’s embrace, his steady presence, was the only thing grounding you in that moment, but nothing could fill the aching void left in your heart.

And so, you cried. You cried until your tears seemed endless, until the weight of the world felt too much to bear. Aegon cried with you, his own sorrow mixing with yours, and for that moment, it felt as though you were no longer alone in your grief. But the emptiness of loss still lingered, heavy and suffocating, as the two of you wept for the son you had lost.

After a long, silent weeping, Aegon finally made the decision to lift you in his arms. His steps were slow and steady, as though the weight of grief was pulling him down just as much as it had consumed you. Your body felt light in his arms, yet heavy with sorrow. Every step he took was an effort, but he kept going, determined to bring you some measure of comfort.

As he walked through the hallways, trying to escape the suffocating grief, a group of soldiers appeared before him. One of them, looking hesitant yet resolute, stepped forward.

“Your Grace,” the soldier said, his voice respectful but firm, “The Dowager Queen has commanded that the Queen has to meet her at her private solar, as per her instructions.”

Aegon’s jaw tightened. His eyes, filled with the same pain that tore at your heart, locked onto the soldier’s. His voice, cold and unwavering, rang out in the tense silence.

“No,” Aegon replied, his tone low but carrying the weight of his authority. “I will not hand her over. I will take her to our chambers.”

The soldier hesitated, glancing at the others, but none of them moved. They understood the King’s command. Aegon, despite the crown on his head, was not swayed by the demands of his mother, the Queen Dowager. His focus was entirely on you, his queen, his wife, the woman who was grieving the loss of their son.

With no further words, Aegon continued his path toward your room. The soldiers reluctantly stepped aside, not daring to challenge him again. The halls seemed eerily quiet as Aegon carried you with care, every step bringing him closer to a place where, for just a moment, there would be no responsibilities, no demands—only the quiet solace of being together.

When the door to your chamber finally closed behind him, Aegon gently laid you on the bed, his heart heavy but steadfast. He sat beside you, taking your hand in his, and in the quiet stillness of the room, he whispered, “I’m here. I will never leave you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

You clung to Aegon’s body, wrapping your arms tightly around him as if you could draw strength from his presence. The storm of emotion inside you seemed endless, the grief so deep you couldn’t see past it. His warmth was the only comfort in that moment, and you buried your face against his chest, closing your eyes, trying to escape the overwhelming pain.

Aegon held you close, his breath steady against your hair, his arms strong around you. After a long pause, he slowly closed his eyes, allowing the quiet of the room to wash over both of you. Then, with a soft and gentle touch, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment as if trying to convey all the love and sorrow he felt without words.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing, “I’m here, and I won’t leave you.”

Then, to calm you, Aegon began to hum softly, the familiar melody of a song you loved, one that had always brought you peace in moments of chaos. His voice was hushed, carrying the melody gently as he softly rocked you in his arms.

The tune, a song you’d always cherished, seemed to weave its way through the tension and heartache, slowly, gently pulling you back from the edge of your grief. His voice, full of love and concern, was the only thing you could focus on, and with each note, you felt a small measure of calm washing over you.

His arms around you were strong, a shield against the world outside, and in that moment, with his voice humming that familiar, soothing tune, you finally allowed yourself to rest, to close your eyes and let the pain ease—if only for a brief moment.

As the soft hum of Aegon’s voice began to soothe you, a sound from the doorway broke through the fragile peace. You opened your eyes, turning your head, and there she was—your mother, Alicent, standing with an air of composed determination. Her gaze swept over the room, lingering on the sight of you in Aegon’s arms, clutching the blanket that had once been your son’s.

Tears threatened to rise again as you held the bloodstained fabric closer, pressing it against your face, the faintest hint of your son’s scent still clinging to it. The weight of Alicent’s presence, however, was impossible to ignore.

Her voice was calm but firm, her tone leaving no room for argument. “His body will be taken through the kingdom,” she said. “The people must see the tragedy, must know who is responsible for the death of their prince. You- we will ride in the carriage directly behind him.”

Her words struck like a blade. For a moment, you couldn’t speak, the grief and fury warring within you. Slowly, you shook your head, lowering the blanket from your face. “No,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “I won’t do it.”

Alicent’s expression hardened, but there was something else there too—perhaps a flicker of understanding or even pity. “This is for the realm,” she pressed. “For your son’s justice.”

You sat up, Aegon’s hand resting protectively on your back as you faced her. “Justice?” you repeated bitterly, your voice rising. “Parading his body like a spectacle is not justice—it’s cruelty. It’s not for him, it’s for your politics.”

Alicent’s lips tightened into a thin line. She took a step forward, her gaze sharp but laced with concern. “It’s what must be done. The people need to see—”

“No!” you interrupted, standing now despite the weakness in your legs. “I won’t let his memory be used this way. I won’t ride behind him as if he’s nothing more than a tool in this war.”

Alicent stared at you, the tension between mother and daughter palpable, the silence heavy. Aegon rose beside you, his arm steadying you as he spoke, his voice low but firm. “She has made her decision,” he said, addressing Alicent directly. “And as her husband—and her king—I stand by it.”

Alicent’s expression faltered for a moment, her mouth opening as if to argue, but she said nothing. With a stiff nod, she turned and left, her footsteps echoing down the hall. You exhaled shakily, leaning into Aegon’s support, your heart still heavy but resolute in your refusal to let your son’s memory be tarnished.

The moment you heard the words—the news that your son’s head had been found and sewn back onto his small, lifeless body—you felt your knees weaken, but the urgency in your heart propelled you forward. You moved with haste, ignoring the calls of servants and guards as you hurried to where they had brought him.

When you entered the dimly lit chamber, your breath caught in your throat. There he was, your sweet boy, lying on a cold stone slab. His tiny body, once so full of life and laughter, now lay stiff and pale. The stitching on his neck was visible, crude and brutal, a reminder of the horror he had endured.

You froze for a moment, your mind unwilling to fully accept the sight before you. But then the wave of grief crashed over you, and you rushed forward, falling to your knees beside him. Trembling, you reached out, your hands brushing against his cold, lifeless skin.

Tears poured down your cheeks as you let out a broken sob. “My sweet boy,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “My Jaehaerys… please, wake up.”

You wrapped your arms around his small, fragile body. His coldness pierced through you, but you didn’t care. “Please,” you begged, your voice breaking. “Please come back to me. Just one more time. Hold me back. Call me ‘Mother’ again.”

Your sobs filled the room as you cradled him, pressing kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, his tiny hands. You clung to him as if your love alone could undo the cruelty of fate. But no matter how tightly you held him, no matter how desperately you cried, his small body remained still and unresponsive.

The world felt cruel and empty as you wept, your tears falling onto his lifeless face. There was nothing left but the unbearable silence and the weight of your sorrow.

Through the haze of your grief, you forced yourself to lift your head. His face was peaceful, but his silence screamed louder than anything. The coldness of his skin cut through your soul like a knife.

You turned to the nearest servant, your voice cracking with desperation. “Bring me his blanket. The one I made for him. Hurry!”

The servant hesitated, unsure of how to act in the face of your anguish, but a sharp glance from you spurred them into action. As they hurried away, you turned back to your son, your tears blurring your vision.

“Jaehaerys,” you whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “You always loved that blanket. Do you remember? You said it made you feel safe. I’ll keep you warm, my love. I promise I’ll keep you warm.

Moments later, the servant returned, carefully holding the soft blanket you had poured hours of love into crafting. You snatched it from their hands, your fingers clutching the fabric as though it held the last pieces of him.

With trembling hands, you draped the blanket over his tiny body, tucking it in as though he were merely asleep. But the lifelessness of his form made your chest tighten further, and the tears came again in an uncontrollable flood.

You collapsed beside him, your hand resting on his covered chest, hoping against hope that you might feel it rise and fall, that somehow this nightmare might end. But there was nothing. No warmth, no breath, no heartbeat.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, your voice breaking as you leaned down to kiss his cold forehead. “I couldn’t protect you. My baby, my sweet boy, I couldn’t save you.”

You stayed there, your body wracked with sobs, as you clung to him. The servants stood back, silent witnesses to a mother’s endless grief, as your cries echoed through the chamber—a lament for a life stolen too soon.

Your trembling hand reached out, brushing against the cold, pale skin of your son’s cheek. His once rosy complexion was now a stark, lifeless white. You traced his delicate features, your fingers lingering on the softness of his face, as though you could imprint the memory of him into your very soul.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, falling onto his still, small body. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the sound of your quiet sobs. Your heart ached with a pain so raw it felt as if it might tear you apart.

But as the weight of your grief pressed down on you, a fire ignited within your chest—a burning rage that pushed through the despair. You clenched your jaw, your hand still resting on his lifeless cheek, and whispered through your tears, “I swear, my son… I swear on your name, on your memory, on my very life—whoever did this to you will pay.”

Your voice grew stronger, more resolute, as if speaking the words aloud gave them power. “I don’t care what it costs me. Whether it’s my blood, my crown, or my life. I will avenge you, Jaehaerys. I promise you, they will suffer as you have suffered.”

The rage coursing through you felt like the only thing keeping you upright. It was no longer just grief—it was a mission, a purpose that would drive you forward no matter the cost.

You leaned down, pressing a trembling kiss to his icy forehead, your tears falling onto his skin. “Rest now, my love,” you whispered. “I will not let this injustice stand. I will make them pay.”

The vow settled into your heart, cold and unshakable, as you stayed beside him, your hand never leaving his face. Though your heart was shattered, your resolve was forged in steel, and nothing—not the gods, not death itself—would stop you from honoring the promise you made to your beloved son.

Your steps echoed through the long corridors as you made your way toward the council chamber. The fire of grief and vengeance burned within you, your mind consumed with thoughts of your son. Every step you took felt heavier, yet you pressed forward, drawn by the voices echoing from the chamber ahead.

As you approached, their words became clear.

“They were vermin, nothing more,” Aemond’s sharp voice declared, calm yet cutting. “The rats in this kingdom must know there is no tolerance for disloyalty or treachery.”

Another voice, one of the council members, spoke hesitantly, “But, the display—hanging them at the gates—some might see it as excessive.”

And then, you heard your husband’s voice, steady and resolute, with a dangerous edge that left no room for argument. “They killed my son,” Aegon said, his tone icy. “Excessive would have been feeding them to the dragons piece by piece. This kingdom will know what happens to those who betray the crown and harm my family.”

The words struck you like a hammer. You froze just outside the door, the image of the gates filled your mind—bodies dangling as a gruesome warning. Aegon had taken his grief and turned it into action, his vengeance swift and unrelenting.

You pushed the doors open without hesitation, stepping into the room. The council members turned to look at you, their expressions ranging from surprise to discomfort. Aemond stood to one side, arms crossed, his eye narrowing as he observed you. At the head of the table, Aegon sat, his face unreadable until he saw you.

You locked eyes with him, the air in the room thick with tension. “Is it true?” you asked, your voice trembling but firm. “Did you hang them at the gates?”

Aegon rose from his chair, his gaze steady as he approached you. “I did,” he replied without hesitation. “They took our son from us. They deserved worse.”

You searched his face, seeing the same pain and anger you carried in your heart. Yet, something about it unsettled you—the coldness, the finality of his actions. “And what justice have you found, Aegon?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Does it bring him back?”

He reached for you, his hand brushing your arm gently. “No,” he admitted, his voice softening. “But it ensures that no one else dares to harm what’s ours.”

You looked down, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. Part of you wanted to rage, to scream at the futility of it all. Yet another part of you—the part consumed by your own need for vengeance—understood him all too well.

As the council chamber settled into a tense silence following Aegon’s admission, a sharp voice cut through the air. Otto Hightower, standing at the far end of the table, slammed his hand against the wood, his face twisted with fury.

“This was reckless, Your Grace!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Hanging the rat-catchers at the gates like common criminals? What will the realm think? What will this do to the crown’s dignity? Such actions—”

Aegon spun toward Otto, his eyes blazing with fury. “Dignity?” he snapped, his voice cold and filled with venom. “You think I care about dignity, Otto? They took my son! My son, who was barely old enough to speak his own name!”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Aegon stepped forward, his voice growing louder, trembling with both rage and pain. “Do you know what dignity means to me now? Nothing! Dignity didn’t save him. Dignity didn’t stop his head from being torn from his body. So don’t you stand there and lecture me about what is too far.”

Otto’s mouth opened as if to respond, but Aegon cut him off, taking another step closer, his presence commanding the room. “I am the king,” he growled. “And as long as I wear this crown, no one—no one—will harm what is mine without paying for it in blood. Do you understand me?”

Alicent, standing near the door, placed a hand over her chest, her expression a mixture of sorrow and alarm. Even Aemond, ever composed, shifted slightly where he stood, his single eye flicking between Otto and Aegon.

“You have lost sight of the bigger picture,” Otto finally said, his voice quieter but no less firm. “Revenge clouds your judgment. This will have consequences.”

Aegon’s expression hardened further, his fists clenching at his sides. “Then let there be consequences,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I’ll bear them gladly if it means justice for my son.”

You stood there, watching the exchange, torn between the grief that mirrored Aegon’s and the unease Otto’s words stirred in you. In Aegon’s eyes, there was nothing but pain and vengeance, a fire that seemed unstoppable. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his arm, grounding him for just a moment.

“Aegon,” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with emotion. “Let’s not lose ourselves completely to this. Not yet.”

He looked at you, his anger dimming slightly as he took in your tear-streaked face. With a deep breath, he turned away from Otto, his grip on control tenuous but holding—for now.

Unable to bear the tension any longer, you turned and left the council chamber, your steps hurried and uneven as the weight of grief pressed down on you. The echoes of raised voices faded behind you, replaced by the quiet hum of the corridors. You wrapped your arms around yourself, as if trying to hold your breaking heart together, and made your way back to your chambers.

When you arrived at your chambers, the sight that greeted you pulled you to a halt. The servants were moving quietly, laying out a gown of rich black and deep green across the bed. Beside it rested a matching hood, its dark fabric shimmering faintly in the candlelight.

These were no ordinary garments—they were the colors of House Hightower, the mourning attire of the queen dowager’s line, meant to signify grief and strength in equal measure. Yet, to you, they only symbolized loss, a cruel reminder of the funeral you would soon endure.

One of the servants noticed your presence and turned, bowing their head respectfully. “Your Grace,” they said softly, their voice carefully measured, “the Queen Dowager requested these be prepared for you. She thought they would honor both your son and your house.”

You took a step closer, your gaze fixed on the heavy fabrics. Your hands trembled as you reached out to touch the gown. The black velvet felt cold beneath your fingers, while the deep green embroidery—a shade you once associated with pride—now seemed hollow, devoid of its former meaning.

The servant continued, their tone apologetic. “The procession will begin shortly. Queen Alicent thought—”

“Enough,” you interrupted, your voice barely above a whisper but heavy with emotion. The servant fell silent, stepping back to give you space.

You picked up the hood, its weight seeming far heavier than its fabric should allow. Holding it close to your chest, you sank onto the edge of the bed, your tears spilling over as you clutched it tightly.

“Green and black,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “For what purpose? To parade my grief for the realm to see? To show the world the price I have paid?”

Your gaze drifted to the gown again, and the pain in your chest swelled, suffocating you. “None of this will bring him back,” you whispered, the words breaking as they left your lips.

You closed your eyes, pressing the hood to your face as tears fell freely. The room seemed to close in around you, heavy with the weight of your loss, as the preparations for the ceremony continued in quiet, dutiful silence.

You sat motionless before the mirror, staring at your own reflection as if it were a stranger staring back at you. The pale, hollow-eyed face that greeted you bore little resemblance to the woman you once were. Your hands rested limply in your lap, surrendering to the servants who worked silently around you.

One was carefully weaving your hair into an intricate braid, while another secured the black hood over your head, its heavy fabric draping over your shoulders. Every movement felt mechanical, detached, as though this wasn’t truly happening to you. You had stopped fighting. You had stopped resisting.

You had surrendered.

The weight of the mourning gown clung to your skin, and the air seemed thick, suffocating in the quiet of the room. The finality of it all settled over you like a shroud, and you sat there, staring, as the servants completed their work.

Then the door opened.

The sound drew your gaze, and your reflection shifted as you turned your head. Standing in the doorway was your mother, Queen Dowager Alicent Hightower, dressed in a dark green gown that matched the depths of her sorrow. Her black hood framed her face, highlighting the familiar resolve in her eyes—a look you had seen countless times.

Her presence filled the room, yet neither of you spoke at first. She took a step inside, her gaze sweeping over you. For a moment, the queen dowager and the grieving mother collided within her, and her lips pressed into a thin line.

“You are ready,” she said softly, her voice steady but heavy with emotion.

You didn’t respond, turning your eyes back to the mirror. The servant adjusted the final pin in your hood and stepped back, bowing her head before retreating to the corner.

“I see you’ve decided to join the procession,” Alicent continued, stepping closer to you. Her green gown swayed slightly as she walked, the fabric catching the dim light. “This is as it should be. The realm must see your strength… and your grief.”

At her words, your fists clenched in your lap, but you didn’t turn to face her. Instead, you stared at your reflection, your expression unreadable. “Strength?” you repeated quietly, your voice laced with bitterness. “Is that what this is supposed to be?”

Alicent paused, her hands clasping tightly in front of her. “It is what must be done,” she said firmly, though her voice softened as she added, “for him. For Jaehaerys.”

Her words cut through you like a blade, and you closed your eyes, trying to block out the tears that threatened to fall again. “Do you think he would want this?” you whispered. “For his body to be paraded through the streets while his mother sits silently behind it?”

Alicent sighed, stepping closer until she stood just behind you, her reflection now visible in the mirror alongside your own. “He would want the world to see the price of this treachery,” she said quietly but with conviction. “And so would you, if only your heart were not so broken.”

You turned your gaze away from the mirror, unable to look at her any longer. “My heart is broken, Mother,” you said softly, your voice cracking. “And I wonder if it will ever heal.”

Alicent rested a hand on your shoulder, her grip firm but meant to be comforting. “It may not,” she admitted, her voice gentle. “But you will endure. You are my daughter. You will endure.”

And with that, the room fell silent once more, the weight of her words pressing down on you as heavily as the mourning garments you wore.

The creaking of the wooden wheels and the steady clatter of hooves filled the air as the funeral procession made its somber journey through the streets. You sat silently beside your mother in the dark confines of the carriage, the heavy mourning gown clinging to your body like a second layer of grief.

Your gaze remained fixed on the carriage ahead of you, where the small, still form of your son lay. Wrapped in the blanket you had lovingly made for him, his tiny body was carefully cradled on a velvet bier, his pale face framed by soft curls that once shone with life.

On his head rested the small crown you and Aegon had given him for his fourth nameday. You remembered how his eyes had lit up with delight when he first saw it, how he had run around the chamber declaring himself “a king like Papa.” The memory stabbed at your chest, and tears silently slipped down your cheeks, unnoticed by the world outside.

Beside you, your mother sat upright and composed, her hands folded tightly in her lap. The dark green of her gown blended with the black hood she wore, her expression unreadable as she gazed straight ahead. But even in her stoicism, you could feel her grief—muted, controlled, yet no less profound.

The crowds lined the streets, their murmurs and whispers barely audible over the sound of the procession. Some wept openly, others lowered their heads in respect, and a few simply stared, their faces etched with shock and sorrow.

Your eyes never left the small form ahead of you. “He’s so cold,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you broke the heavy silence in the carriage.

Alicent turned her head slightly, her sharp eyes softening as they fell on you. “The blanket,” she said gently, her voice barely above a whisper. “It will keep him warm, even now.”

You shook your head, your hands clutching at your gown. “It’s not enough,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “He needs to feel loved. He needs… he needs to wake up.”

Alicent reached out, placing a steady hand over yours. Her touch was firm, grounding you even as her heart ached alongside yours. “He knows he is loved,” she said quietly. “You showed him that every day of his life. That love… it does not end, even now.”

You turned your head to look at her, searching for comfort in her words, but the raw pain in your chest remained unyielding. “Then why does it feel like it’s not enough?”

She didn’t answer, only holding your hand tightly as the carriage carried you forward, the weight of your shared grief filling the air. Ahead of you, the small crown on Jaehaerys’s head glinted faintly in the light, a fragile, heart-wrenching reminder of what you had lost.

As the procession reached the Dragonpit, the air seemed to grow heavier, thick with the weight of grief and the whispers of the gathered crowd. You stepped down from the carriage, your body trembling with exhaustion and sorrow, but the moment your feet touched the ground, the atmosphere shifted.

Your mother following close behind. The crowd pressed closer, their faces filled with sorrow, but their hands reached out too eagerly, too insistently. The weight of their stares, their words, their touch became unbearable.

“Your Grace,” a woman said, gripping your hand tightly, her voice trembling. “The realm mourns with you. Prince Jaehaerys—”

You pulled your hand away, trembling as others replaced her, one after another, their voices blurring into an incomprehensible hum.

“Such a tragedy,” someone else murmured.

“Your strength inspires us all,” another said.

But their words felt like needles pricking at your raw grief. Your chest tightened, and your breathing grew faster, shallower. Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you stepped back, your gaze darting around frantically.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head as tears began to fall. “No, I—I can’t…”

You turned to leave, but the crowd surged forward, their outstretched hands reaching for you. It was too much—the noise, the faces, the pity. Your knees buckled, and you clutched your chest as your sobs erupted.

“I don’t want this!” you cried, your voice cracking as you stumbled back. “I don’t want to do this! Stop—please, stop!”

A strong arm wrapped around your shoulders, steadying you. Aegon was at your side in an instant, his face etched with concern and anger as he glared at the crowd. “Back away!” he commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. “All of you, back away now!”

The crowd hesitated, murmurs rippling through them as they began to retreat. Aegon pulled you closer, his other hand cupping the back of your head as he guided you toward the nearest private space.

“It’s too much,” you sobbed into his chest, clutching at his tunic as though he were the only thing anchoring you to the world. “I can’t… I can’t do this, Aegon.”

“I know,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I know. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

He turned his head, addressing a knight who had stepped forward. “Clear the area. No one approaches her again without my permission.”

The knight nodded and moved to carry out his orders, while Aegon held you tightly, his hand stroking your back as he whispered, “Breathe, my love. I’m here. Just breathe.”

Your tears continued to fall, but his presence grounded you, offering a fragile sense of safety amidst the overwhelming tide of grief and chaos.

The moment came, heavy and suffocating, as Aegon stepped forward to give the final command. You stood by his side, your knees trembling as your eyes remained fixed on the small, still form of your son.

Aegon’s voice rang out, steady but laced with pain, as he uttered the word that sealed your son’s farewell. “Dracarys.”

Sunfyre roared, his golden scales shimmering as he unleashed a torrent of flame. The heat surged forward, consuming the bier in an instant. You watched, helpless, as the fire licked at the edges of the blanket you had made, the crown atop his head glowing briefly before it, too, was claimed by the flames.

The sight was unbearable. A strangled sob escaped your lips, and your body seemed to give out under the weight of your grief. The roaring fire blurred as tears streamed down your cheeks, your vision darkening.

“Aegon…” you whispered weakly, reaching for him before your knees buckled.

Aegon turned just in time to catch you as you collapsed into his arms, your body limp. “No!” he cried, his voice breaking as panic overtook him. “Someone—help!”

He cradled you tightly, his arms trembling as he lowered you gently to the ground. “Wake up,” he begged, his voice desperate as he stroked your face, his thumb brushing away the tears still clinging to your cheeks. “Please, my love, wake up!”

The attendants and guards rushed forward, but Aegon barked at them to stay back. “She’s my wife!” he snapped, his voice a mixture of fury and anguish. “Don’t touch her!”

Alicent appeared moments later, her face pale as she knelt beside her son. “What happened?” she asked urgently, her hands hovering uncertainly over you.

“She fainted,” Aegon said, his voice trembling. “She couldn’t bear it.”

Alicent’s expression softened with sorrow as she looked at you, then at her son. “She needs rest,” she said firmly. “Get her to her chambers.”

Aegon didn’t wait for further instruction. He scooped you up into his arms, holding you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world. His heart pounded as he carried you away from the flames, the weight of the moment pressing down on him with every step.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I swear I’ll take care of you.”

tag list : @danytar @looneytun3s @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @julessworldd (italic means that i can’t tag you)

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd imagine #prince aegon targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #hotd one shot #aegon ii fanfic #aegon x reader #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd alicent #aegon fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader

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rothpie · 2 months ago

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❝FIDELITY❞ |part9

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: mentioning miscarriage, blood, mentioning drug and alcohol use, daddy issues

Selly's note: First of all I'm sorry. I wrote this while my heart was broken. I learned my ex left the country. He was the first person I loved. LIKE COME BACK???? We HAVE TO marry!!!!! Sorry for oversharing💗, and if there is a mistake. I didn't re-read this. Love y'all.💗💗

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Your hands trembled. Your whole body felt numb, yet the shaking tethered you to reality. There was a heavy weight on your chest, as though even breathing had become an uphill battle. A knot in your throat tightened with every passing second, making even the simple act of swallowing painful. You didn’t know what to do. The chaos of the moment was tearing your mind into pieces, your thoughts tangling into a knot so thick you couldn’t unravel it.

You hadn’t done anything unusual. The day had started like any other. You made yourself some herbal tea, watched TV, read a book about baby development. You cleaned the house a little, then opened the packages that had arrived—items for your daughter’s room.

Alone.

Since the moment you arrived in this town, you’d always felt alone, but this was different. This was like falling into a deep, endless chasm, where there was nothing to grasp, no hand to reach for. You could feel your hands flailing in the void, desperately searching, yet finding nothing.

The warm, sticky sensation spreading down your legs sent a jolt of panic through you. Your eyes flicked downward involuntarily, but you didn’t want to look. Yet it felt as if everything around you was betraying you, even the streetlamp outside, which cast its harsh glow on the spreading pool on the floor. You didn’t want to see it. You feared that seeing it would confirm your worst fears. Your eyes filled with tears, but you couldn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry. Would tears ease the crushing weight of this fear? You doubted it.

You reached for your phone, but even your fingers trembled. Touching the screen, dialing a number, selecting a name—it all felt like an impossible task. The chaos in your mind blurred your thoughts. Everything was moving too fast and too slow all at once. Seconds stretched into eternities, yet time pressed on, dragging you deeper into helplessness.

You hadn’t wanted this. You had left the island just for this pregnancy, determined to build a life here. And now, was it all going to be taken from you? After all the effort to adjust, after everything?

You glanced around. The silence of the room pressed down on you like a weight. It felt as if the entire world had pulled away, leaving you stranded. You knew there were people—so many people—but none of them were close, not really. Placing your hands on your belly, you clung to the small hope that the motion could somehow quiet the storm of fear inside you. But it didn’t work.

The voices of fear echoed in your mind: What if I’m too late? What if it’s over? What if this loneliness never ends? Each scenario was scarier than the last. You closed your eyes, but even the darkness offered no solace. The images in your head only fanned the flames of your terror.

When you finally held the phone in your hand, you knew you had to choose someone to call. Should it be your mom? Or your dad? Maybe… someone else? But what if they couldn’t come? That thought pushed you deeper into despair. It suddenly felt as if the entire world had turned its back on you, as if every person was out of reach. The weight of isolation was crushing.

Your hands were cold and clammy. As your fingers hovered over the screen, trying to pick a name, you felt frozen. You couldn’t move them. It was as though your brain had redirected all its attention to the fluid trickling down your legs and the stabbing pain in your abdomen. Panic consumed you, leaving you paralyzed and unsure of what to do.

A quiet voice in your mind whispered, Everything will be okay. But it was impossible to believe. That voice was so faint, so far away, drowned out by the louder, darker thoughts. Reality felt so distant that even hope seemed like a luxury you couldn’t afford. While your mind scrambled for answers, your body refused to move.

You tightened your grip on your belly, as though holding on harder could anchor you to something, anything. Alone in that dark, silent room, you had never felt smaller. The outside world was shut off from you, leaving only your fears, your thoughts, and the suffocating weight of solitude.

Since moving to this town, you’d thought a lot about loneliness. But now, you truly understood its meaning. Loneliness wasn’t just sitting in silence. It wasn’t merely being by yourself. Loneliness was not having anyone to reach when you needed them most. It was feeling as though your voice couldn’t reach anyone, as though you were invisible.

The trembling didn’t stop. Your eyes darted around, trying to focus on something, anything, but everything was blurry—not because you couldn’t see, but because you couldn’t concentrate. Nothing made sense in that moment.

You searched for a way out. But maybe the only thing you could do was wait. That thought terrified you even more. Waiting... it made you feel so helpless, so powerless. But what else could you do?

Tears welled up again as you struggled to breathe. But each breath felt heavier, each inhale pulling the loneliness deeper into your chest. That loneliness, like a black hole, seemed ready to devour you.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the pool of liquid spreading on the floor. You couldn’t face it. If you didn’t look, maybe it would stay a bad dream. Maybe this was just paranoia playing tricks on your mind.

Even though you could feel the warm liquid dripping down your legs, you clung to the hope that you’d wake up. That you’d open your eyes in bed and thank God it was just a nightmare.

You wanted to wake up. You didn’t want to believe this was real. Not after everything you had done to adjust to this new life. Not after leaving the island to start fresh.

You had left everything behind. Everyone.

For a life with your baby.

You had wanted this baby. Even with your initial doubts, you had wanted it. And for what? To have it taken from you?

Your eyes shut tight as your hand clenched the phone and your other hand pressed harder against your belly. You wished the pain would stop, that the ache—so reminiscent of a menstrual cramp—would just go away.

Only days ago, you’d noticed your belly start to show, a tiny swell that made you smile. You had cradled it with your hands, talked to it, even though you didn’t care if it could hear. You wanted it to know you were there. Just a few days ago, you’d been excited about buying clothes for it.

For this?

For it to be taken away?

When you finally opened your eyes, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock. You wanted to block it out. You wanted the sensation in your legs to disappear. For a moment, you convinced yourself it was all in your head. But the warm trickle that followed was a harsh slap of reality.

Your trembling eyes drifted downward. The sight of the blood pooled on the floor knocked the breath out of you. Your heart skipped, as if an elephant had perched on your chest. Your legs gave way. Falling to the floor hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain in your chest.

You had never seen them. They’d only been with you for five months, but the thought of that bond breaking—of losing them—felt like your heart was being ripped out.

When you love something so deeply, does it always have to be taken away? Is that just the way life works? Had everything led to this moment?

Had you fought with your family, with Rafe, for this? Had you left your entire life behind, moved to this town, just to lose your baby?

Even your family had started to share your joy. They were thrilled for you, as ecstatic as you were. And now, for what? For this?

Were you supposed to mourn?

To learn a lesson, did you really have to fall this hard? You hated it. You didn’t want to learn any more lessons. Not if they hurt this much. If growth meant falling like this, you were ready to stay exactly the same—stagnant, unchanging, and safe.

The moment you felt a fragment of clarity, just enough to push panic aside, you called 911. You couldn’t afford to lose more time. It felt like your mind had snapped back into place, even if only temporarily.

But you had no idea what you were saying. Your words felt foreign, disjointed, even as you tried to describe what was happening. They assured you they’d come to your home. They told you not to hang up.

Then you realized—you needed to call your family. You needed them with you. Right now, you just wanted to be back in Outer Banks, in your own house, surrounded by the people who had always been there for you.

If you were there, you wouldn’t feel this crushing loneliness. They would be by your side.

You didn’t even know how many times you tried. Your fingers repeatedly dialed your mom’s number, then your dad’s, over and over again. Each time, you were met with the same recorded message: unreachable.

Still, you kept calling, clinging to that faint hope that someone, anyone, would answer. But each attempt ended the same way, the monotone voice echoing the same result.

And then, without thinking, your fingers moved on their own. They dialed his number. In that moment, you didn’t care about shame or pride. All that mattered was that you needed help. You needed Rafe. Even if the chance was slim, even if it was just a sliver of hope, you needed him to answer.

As the phone rang, your heart pounded so violently it felt like it would burst out of your chest. Each ring amplified the fragile hope blooming inside you. Your lips moved as if uttering a prayer: “Please pick up.” You needed someone—anyone—to be there, to tell you that everything was going to be okay. Tears streamed down your face as the call rang on, unanswered.

He wouldn’t ignore you, you told yourself. He wouldn’t turn you away. He’d come. You knew he would. He had to. You prayed he wasn’t still angry, that he didn’t hate you for not terminating the pregnancy.

When the call ended without an answer, you didn’t stop. Your trembling hands hit redial without hesitation. Shame and pride were irrelevant now. You needed him. If he wouldn’t come, you needed him to reach your family. You were utterly alone otherwise.

Alone. The word echoed like a hollow drumbeat in your chest.

For a moment, time seemed to stop. The racing of your heart, the chaotic swirl of your thoughts, even your tears—all stilled in the suffocating silence of your own helplessness. But you didn’t give up. You called again. And again. Your trembling fingers barely functioned, struggling to tap the screen. But you kept trying.

Fuck pride. You needed help. You needed someone by your side, someone to hold you, someone to tell you it wasn’t the end. Your lips quivered as you let out a stifled sob. “Please…” When the call went to voicemail yet again, your shoulders shook with the weight of another unanswered prayer.

Wasn’t this his baby too? Didn’t it matter to him? You hadn’t made this baby alone. Surely he would care. You didn’t need him to grieve with you. You just needed him here. And he would come. Rafe was a lot of things, but when it came down to it, he wouldn’t leave you stranded.

Not you.

You had to believe that. You clung to that hope like a lifeline, begging for it to still be true.

Another sob tore through you, reverberating through the empty room. This time, it came from somewhere so deep inside that it left your chest heavy, crushed under the weight of despair. You prayed he’d answer.

You weren’t strong enough to endure this.

You didn’t want to do this alone. You fought to steady your trembling lips, desperate to string together the words you’d need to say if he picked up—when he picked up. But once again, the line went dead.

This time, it felt like a door slamming in your face. But it wasn’t just rejection—it was the crumbling of a trust you hadn’t even realized you still held onto. Deep down, you had truly believed he would answer. That he’d help you. That he wouldn’t leave you to face this on your own.

As the silence deepened, your hands fell to the cold floor, sticky with blood. You didn’t even care. You felt like everything you wanted, everything you’d dreamed of, was slipping through your fingers. Did you not deserve happiness? Had you done something so wrong to deserve this?

You wanted to scream. To set the house on fire, to rip apart the tiny baby clothes you’d just bought.

You nearly buried your face in your hands, but the sight of blood on your fingers stopped you. Frantically, you wiped them on your nightgown, trying to erase it. You wanted it gone—needed it gone. You wanted to forget everything that had happened today.

The phone was still in your hand, your fingers gripping it like it held a flicker of hope. Rafe hadn’t answered. Your family hadn’t answered. Their silence only pushed you deeper into yourself. Your tears began to dry, replaced by a hollow ache gnawing at your insides.

After your final attempt, you let the screen go dark. The reflection of your tear-streaked face stared back at you from the blackened screen, ghostly and unfamiliar. Your lips still trembled with silent cries, your voice barely audible even to yourself.

Then, the phone buzzed. The unexpected vibration made you flinch. The screen lit up, and your heart stuttered before racing into overdrive. A message.

When you saw the name, a fraction of the emptiness lifted. JJ. His name sat there like it belonged, as if the chaos hadn’t touched it. You opened the message, holding your breath.

How’s it going with your new street animal buddies? Found yourself a soulmate yet?

It was stupid. Ridiculous. But somehow, in all its absurdity, that sarcastic tone cracked something open inside you. A tiny window of light broke through the storm.

And yet, the relief was fleeting. Looking at the message, then back at the blood pooling on the floor, your emotions surged in a tangle of anger, helplessness, and unrelenting fear.

You needed him. Right now. Without thinking, your trembling fingers scrolled back to his name.

The name on the screen made your eyes well up. JJ. So ordinary, so simple. Yet, at that moment, it felt like your only tether to life. He’d come. He would, wouldn’t he?

With trembling hands, you pressed the call button. As you held the phone to your ear, the silence was broken only by the erratic pounding of your heart. Each ring sent a jolt of panic through you—what if he didn’t answer? “Please…” you whispered, barely audible. “Please pick up…”

It felt like you were losing your mind. Was this real? Had he really sent that message?

“Hey, Princess. I noticed we’ve upped the calls lately. Can’t manage without me, huh—”

The distant sound of sirens reached your ears, and your lips quivered. Even JJ’s voice, with its usual cocky tone, felt like an anchor. Just hearing him talk, hearing that familiar teasing edge—it was everything. It made you feel as if you’d already done all you could.

“I need you here.”

The words came out shakily, and there was a pause on the other end of the line. One hand rested in your lap, the other gripping the phone, both stained with blood.

To be honest, you were terrified. Not just about what might happen but about losing the baby.

“What’s wrong?” His voice had lost its playful tone, replaced with a sharp seriousness. He was waiting for an answer, but you felt too drained, too scared, to put your fears into words. Saying the possibility of a miscarriage out loud felt impossible.

How did he always know? How could he tell when you needed him the most? Was he like this with everyone, or just you?

When he said your name, you tried to take a deep breath, but it came out broken and shallow. The sirens were getting closer. “I’m bleeding.” The weight of the words nearly crushed you as they left your lips, leaving you lightheaded—not from pain, but from the sheer gravity of it.

You were so used to him being there. The idea of him leaving, of him not being there, was unbearable. “I called everyone, but—”

“I’m on the way. Did you call 911? Listen, I’ll be there, okay? Don’t worry. I’ll get there as fast as I can. You’ll be fine. You’re going to be fine. I’ll meet you at the hospital. Okay? I need you to say something.” His words were quick, determined, unwavering.

You nodded instinctively, even though you knew he couldn’t see it. Even if this was your fate, you didn’t want to accept it.

“I’m scared.” A sob escaped your lips as the sirens grew louder. They were on your street.

“I’m coming. Everything’s going to be okay.”

—

Last night was ordinary. A night that fell short of expectations—not that Rafe knew what he was expecting anymore. He had become a ghost of himself, far from anything resembling pride.

Had he ever been proud of himself, really?

He couldn’t focus on the future or the present; he was stuck in the past.

His eyes had searched for you everywhere. There wasn’t a corner of the Outer Banks he hadn’t roamed. The beach, parties, the country club—he’d scoured them all, just to catch a glimpse of you.

He even shopped at the grocery store near your house, the one far from his own. Almost every day, he’d find himself there, grabbing a drink, some crackers, whatever he could justify, just to linger for a chance to see you.

He missed your presence. Your scent.

He missed the moments in bed with you—not the sex, but the times he held you in his arms, kissed you, and just existed in your warmth. He missed looking into your eyes, the overwhelming urge to tell you he loved you.

But Rafe was a coward. He couldn’t admit that to anyone, not even himself. And you? You already knew. You didn’t need to hear it from anyone.

He hadn’t told his father. He hadn’t told anyone—Topper, Kelce, Sarah, even Wheezie. Not that anyone else could really understand.

You were the only one who truly knew him. And he’d lost you. Because he was a coward.

He missed the sound of your voice. If he could go back, he’d want you to talk more in those old videos. He’d spend hours talking to you if he had the chance again.

He couldn’t adjust to your absence.

When he threw himself into alcohol, he didn’t think much about it. When had he ever truly sat down and thought anything through? All he knew was how to make impulsive decisions that wrecked his life.

He couldn’t stand Topper and Kelce’s phases of chasing random girls, calling them over, laughing at nothing. Rafe’s mind, body, and soul belonged to you. He couldn’t bring himself to touch or even look at anyone else.

Every time he closed his eyes, every time he tried to sleep, the only image in his head was your face.

He hadn’t touched another woman. Not that he tried. He knew he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be the same. They wouldn’t be you.

There was a time when he thrived on quick, meaningless flings. He hated attachments—blamed it on his childhood. He figured it was because he didn’t know what it meant to make love. He never let emotions into it. But with you, it was different.

It was intoxicating—better than anything drugs had ever made him feel. It was addictive.

He loved whispering “I love you” while he was with you. It made him feel like less of the mess he knew he was. But even then, he hadn’t said it enough—like the idiot he was.

You had been gone from his life for almost four months, and the void was unbearable. Not even when he’d tried to quit drugs had he craved their presence the way he craved yours.

It was like he was a teenager nursing his first heartbreak. And yet, somehow, this was the mildest punishment he thought he deserved for his cowardice.

He’d worked so hard to get Ward’s approval, to finally be seen by his father. Ward was noticing him now, for the first time. He could see Rafe’s potential, and Rafe knew it. For once, it wasn’t Sarah he was looking at—it was him.

For the first time, Ward saw Rafe accomplishing something for Cameron Development. For the first time, Rafe gave his father the impression that he was capable of more. After years of begging for attention, Rafe was finally getting it.

But it had cost him you.

He couldn’t bear the thought of losing his father’s approval. He couldn’t face that rejection again. Ward had finally placed a hand on his shoulder, and Rafe didn’t want to feel that hand pulled away.

He hadn’t wanted to lose you, either. That was never part of the plan. It just… happened. Too fast. And he’d been too scared.

Scared of seeing that disappointment in his father’s eyes again.

Everyone around him noticed his spiraling depression, even Topper and Kelce. Though he never opened up to them, they could tell something was wrong. If they noticed, then everyone else must’ve, too. Not that Rafe cared. Nobody dared bring it up to him anyway.

Under Topper and Kelce’s relentless pressure, he found himself at a party. Not to have fun. Not to let loose. But to see you. He spent the night searching for you, glancing around like you might walk in at any second.

He looked for your old friends, the ones he’d seen you with before. He hoped you’d be there, even though he knew it was unlikely. You were pregnant. You probably wouldn’t come. But the possibility, however slim, was enough to drag him there.

That same possibility kept him shopping near your place, day after day.

For the chance of you.

The more he didn’t see you, the more he drank, as if alcohol could drown out the ache. Nothing could fill the emptiness you left behind, but he still clung to his glass, hoping—maybe if he drank enough, he’d hallucinate you.

He didn’t know how much he drank. It didn’t even feel like a party. Topper and Kelce flirted and joked with girls, but Rafe didn’t bother looking their way. He just drank and searched.

You were the one who used to go to parties with him. You were his girl. And Rafe? He was yours. It wasn’t an open relationship; he wouldn’t have shared you with anyone.

You used to pull him onto the dance floor. He’d groan and complain at first, but you always got your way. And once he gave in, he didn’t hate it. Not when he was touching you. He loved every moment he could hold you.

Even now, he could hear your voice in his head, persuading him to dance. Him pretending to resist. You insisting, until he finally caved. What an idiot he’d been. He should’ve just said yes every time. Done anything you asked.

His regrets were endless. His self-loathing, boundless. For being such a coward. For being a failure, yet again.

You had believed in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself. Your faith in him had given him the courage to ask his father for opportunities, small as they were. And with you, he’d felt like he’d succeeded, just a little.

Now he hated himself for choosing his father’s approval over you—and the baby.

The thought of you moving on, raising a child without him, was unbearable. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you with your swollen belly, or playing with your child—his child. And the thought of not being there...

He hated himself for fearing his father more than losing you. For crawling for scraps of his father’s affection like some pathetic creature.

Which he was.

And now, for the rest of his life, he would hate this moment—and himself—for choosing so poorly.

Rafe thought he’d made it home thanks to Topper and Kelce. He vaguely remembered stumbling through the front door and collapsing into Wheezie’s arms. The idea that the tiny girl could hold him up was almost laughable. Somehow, he’d managed to make it to his room.

Wheezie had laid him down on his bed before leaving. You’d have to be an idiot not to notice something was wrong. She knew her brother too well. She hadn’t seen him this quiet, this withdrawn, in a long time.

You were always there with him.

When you were around, Wheezie could hear your laughter coming from Rafe’s room. Even when Rafe was being his usual insufferable self, you made him bearable. She never thought he had that side to him. Frankly, she wasn’t even sure it existed until you came along.

When Rafe opened his eyes the next morning, a sharp, pounding headache greeted him like a cruel companion. The remnants of last night’s party echoed in his skull. Sitting up in bed, hungover and disoriented, fragments of the night before started to drift back into focus—crowds, noise, laughter. The sunlight filtering through the curtains hit him square in the face, intensifying the pain. All he wanted was to throw up and stay in bed for the rest of the day.

He didn’t remember much, just that he went to the party and drank like it was his last night on Earth. Alcohol had been a more reliable friend than Topper or Kelce that night.

Rubbing his hands over his face, he tried to shake off the fog. The smell—his own and the room’s—was rancid, like a stale cocktail of sweat and regret.

He kicked off the covers, intending to get up, when his eyes landed on a single pill and a glass of water sitting on the bedside table. Without thinking, he swallowed the pill and drained the glass.

Stumbling to the window, he threw it open, letting fresh air seep in. He took a quick shower, practically praying for relief from the headache that felt like it was splitting his skull in two. The cold water shocked his system, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to crawl into a dark room and hide there for a week.

Out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his neck and caught a glimpse of his reflection. Dark circles framed his eyes, his face bore the fatigue of a man who hadn’t truly rested in years. The weight pressing down on him wasn’t just from the alcohol; it was everything else. Everything he’d tried to suppress. “You really are a master at screwing things up,” he muttered bitterly at himself.

His gaze drifted around the room—clothes tossed haphazardly on the bed, an empty bottle lying on the floor, a lighter on the nightstand. Even the carpet under his feet made his skin crawl. He needed to pull himself together, maybe eat something, grab a coffee. But first, his phone.

It sat there on the edge of the table, an unspoken threat. Reaching for it, a wave of unease washed over him. He didn’t know who he’d talked to, what he’d said, or worse, what he’d texted. His fingers trembled as he picked it up and unlocked the screen.

Notifications flooded in—group chats, Instagram likes—and then, there they were. Three missed calls.

From you.

His breath hitched. He stared at the screen, the timestamp mocking him. Midnight. One after the other. His thumb hovered over the call log, uncertainty gripping him. Why had you called?

And why at midnight?

It couldn’t be. Not you. Not after everything. You never made the first move, especially not in the middle of the night.

For a moment, he considered calling you back. His thumb ghosted over your name. Should he? Maybe. Or maybe not. What if it led to the same arguments—about the baby, about why you didn’t want to stay, about why he let you go? He could still feel the weight of everything left unsaid between you, haunting him like a shadow.

He dropped the phone back onto the table, running his hands through his hair. Deep down, he knew these questions were rhetorical. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he hadn’t stopped thinking about you—or the life you might’ve had together.

Rising from the bed, he moved to his closet, grabbing the first shirt he saw. A hollow ache settled in his chest as he debated whether to call. The courage he’d relied on last night felt a thousand miles away.

Just then, the phone buzzed. Another notification. His heart skipped. Was it you? No. Someone else. But the fleeting hope that it might’ve been you twisted something inside him.

Setting the phone down again, he took a deep breath. *Calm down,* he told himself. But calming down was impossible. The unease coiled tighter, mixing guilt and longing into a cocktail of misery.

Without thinking too much, he hit your name and let the call go through. The ringing filled the room, amplifying his heartbeat. What if you were asleep? What if he woke you? He hated the idea of disturbing you.

The line clicked off before you answered. His worry deepened. What if something had happened to you? His fingers hovered, then dialed again, this time with more urgency.

The second call rang longer. Each tone ratcheted up his anxiety. And then, finally, the line connected.

“Hey,” Your voice was quiet, cautious.

For a moment, Rafe’s words stuck in his throat. He tried to speak, but it felt like someone had stolen his voice. Finally, he managed, “Hey… uh, you called me?”

It sounded weak, tentative. But hearing your voice, even like this, sent a pang straight through him. He missed you more than he could put into words.

A pause. The silence stretched, making him wonder if you were about to hang up. Then you answered, “I was drunk.”

The words hit him like a slap. Drunk? That was it? Just a drunk dial? The thought made his stomach twist. Was it really that meaningless?

“Are you okay?” he asked, this time more firmly, though it took everything not to press harder.

“I’m fine.” But your tone was too quick, too dismissive. He knew you better than that. He could always tell when you were lying. But he didn’t push. Maybe he didn’t want to know the truth.

“Alright,” he said, not knowing what else to say. He wanted to keep you on the line, to hear more, to find some excuse to hold onto this moment.

“Okay,” you said, your voice faltering briefly before you caught yourself. “I have to go.”

And just like that, the call ended. The short beep that followed felt like a final blow, sealing the unbearable silence around him.

Rafe stared at the phone. Drunk. The word echoed in his head. It collided with another thought, one that sent a chill through him. Did she…?

Had you gone through with it? The decision he’d pushed you toward but never truly wanted? He’d convinced himself it was the right thing to do, but now the thought made his chest tighten unbearably.

He slumped back into his chair, burying his face in his hands. He didn’t know how to feel—relief, regret, or something else entirely. But one thing was clear: he hadn’t stopped loving you. And that realization hit him harder than anything else.

He glanced at the phone one last time. Your name was still there on the screen, a painful reminder of everything he’d lost.

He thought about texting you but stopped. No words felt right. Maybe silence was all he deserved. After all, what was left to say when you’d already walked away for good?

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phant0mth1ef · 6 months ago

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i kissed the scars on her skin, i still think you’re beautiful.

can be read as part 3 to this boy’s too young to be singing the blues, or as a standalone :3!

empty. your hospital room was empty. void of all life. the sheets were as if nobody had slept there in years, the window shades were put back to their normal, idle position, and all the decorations that class a had put up for you were now gone.

but he was still directed to the room where you were supposed to reside. he stood at the doorway, his jaw open as he stared inside, trying to look for any signs of life. because why else would they send him here if you weren’t there? you were still alive. right?

he was worried, to say the least, until he heard quiet muffled sounds coming from behind him, you were standing, your iv was right next to you as you looked up at the boy with half-lidded eyes.

“hi katsuki.” you yawned.

“you spent all that time asleep and you’re still tired?!” there was the snarkiness and attitude you knew and loved.

“exhausted really. come in.” you motioned for the boy to follow you as you made your way to your bed, sitting down and patting the space next to you.

“why’s it look like a grey’s anatomy scene in here?” he was always so blunt, even if you were currently in the worst shape possible.

“didn’t wanna get too comfortable. i don’t plan on living in here any longer than i have to.” something was off. you didn’t have that stupid happy go lucky smile on your face.

“my quirk. they took my quirk.” you looked down as the tears welled in your eyes, trying to smile but it was quickly broken.

you never knew what to do with your hands, so you just played with your fingers whenever you were scared.

“that’s what you’re so upset about?! you almost died.” even when you’re feeling down he still manages to scold you.

“i know but,” you sniffled.

“i just-. i really wanted to become a hero with you katsuki.” the boy was never one for emotions, choosing to hide them rather than showcase them.

but in that moment, he slowly felt his hard exterior crumbling as he swore his heart begun to break, you had meant every word you said to him, your tears were real tears.

“tch. you’re real dense, ya know that?! you’re already a hero dumbass. you fought in that stupid war. you earned the right to be called a hero.” he looked away from you, not meeting your eyes because he refused to let you know he was crying.

until you heard him sniffle, and you pretended not to laugh even though your own eyes were filled to the brim with tears.

“you cryin’ katsuki?” a laugh had slipped out as he angrily snapped his head back to face you.

“hah?! no! it’s just stuffy in here.” it was hard to watch him pretending to be tough while he had a tear falling from his eye.

“s’okay to cry, y’know.” you leaned your head on his shoulder, and he turned at your sudden action.

then proceeded to put his head on your head, making mitsuki nearly jump at her son’s sudden actions, and yet she was quick enough to grab her camera, quickly snapping a photo.

the same photo that bakugou had looked back on after eri had successfully rewinded your body to the time when your quirk was still a part of you.

the same photo that was on display at your wedding, along with about a gazillion childhood pictures of you both, you both had been in the background of many pictures despite never knowing each other, it was as if an invisible string had tied your souls together.

and sure enough, the photo was hung in your shared home, along with another picture of you both as pro heroes, your children walking by it every day on their way to school.

#mha #myheroacademia #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugo katsuki #bakugou fluff #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n

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lieutenantfloyd · 5 months ago

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My Red Thread - Gambit x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: After being sent to the Void alongside your chaotic companions Deadpool and Logan, the very last thing on your mind is the rarity of a soulmate bond. That is, until yours snaps into place. (Soulmate! AU)

Warnings: Fluff, mutant! Reader (undefined powers), a bit of romantic tension, attempts at humor, Wade Wilson ruining The Moment™️

Authors Note: For some reason editing this took way longer than actually writing it did. I’m still getting a feel for the characters, so I apologize if anything is kinda ooc! :)

Read on AO3

Laying with your back against a mostly broken couch, you have a view of the full room, including a set of stairs that allow streams of sunlight to cascade in. Your eyes shift lazily between Logan—who's taking the opportunity to drink himself into oblivion— and Deadpool—who's closing out his second straight hour of snooping through drawers and cabinets.

When the three of you awoke in this new location hours ago, you almost instantly flew into a fit of arguing. First about how and why you were here, then about who would be the first to go up the stairs. After a much heated debate, the consensus became that an unknown person—agreed to be either the ghost of Johnny coming back to avenge himself or the vengeful, forgotten sister from earlier—brought you here for reasons that probably didn't end with any of you walking out of here alive.

Whoever it was most likely got the drop on you first, seeing as how you decided to try your luck at hitchhiking through the void instead of sitting around and watching your two companions tear each other, along with your only ride, to shreds. As for the situation with the stairs, a rare moment of agreement was shared when you decided to stand and fight whatever possible threat was lurking. Once that was decided you all assumed the positions you currently found yourselves in.

With each tick of the dusty clock on the wall, you were growing more and more impatient, You'd been fighting for your life, quite literally, from the moment Wade got you sent to the void. Now your adrenaline had all but crashed, leaving your body to scream in agony over being brought to the brink of death more times over the last twenty four hours than you’d ever care to count. It was at the point now that you honestly began to wish that whoever had brought you here would muster up the cajones and come finish you off for good.

As if on cue, you and Logan sat upright as you sensed movement outside. You rolled off the couch and joined Wade in the middle of the room, taking up fighting stances while Logan simply sat back in his chair and continued nursing the bottle of whiskey he found without a care in the world.

Prepping for yet another fight, you were left feeling as dumbfounded as Deadpool looked when Elektra descended into the room. Your hands stayed raised but your mind began to run with possibilities. Wade began a refreshed round of incessant rambling, not missing a beat as Blade followed Elektra into the room only seconds later.

Your eyes shoot over to Logan in an effort to ensure that someone a bit less prone to hallucinations than you and Deadpool were seeing this too. His eyes flash confirmingly to yours. You swallow hard, having a brief internal battle with the childhood version of you who apparently thinks that now is the best time to start fangirling.

Tuning out Wade's awkward banter, you try and piece together the situation unfolding in front of you together. You were well aware of how people got sent to the void, but you realized then that you never thought any deeper about who exactly you could run into during your stay.

With fatigue setting deeper into your bones, you lean your hip onto the dusty wood table beside you. You fall halfway out of your defensive stance and let Wade command the room as usual, tuning back into the conversation just in time to hear him make an oddly pointed quip about some man named Ben Affleck.

Picking up on more movement from above, your attention shifts across the room. Your eyes lock on the stairs as if glued there. You to watch on silently as a shimmery purple card floats into the room and a man follows closely behind. You barely have enough time to register the flashes of purple dancing away from his hands before a force you have never felt before—and have absolutely no interest in feeling again—slams so solidly into your chest that it sends you flying over the table you were leaning against.

"Fuck!" "Merde!"

You yell out in unison. Instinct has you pulling yourself up off the floor as soon as you hit it, albeit slowly, as you try to call the air back into your lungs. Using the table for support, you manage to raise up on shaking feet. The once busy room has now fallen deadly silent. Quiet in a way you hadn't experienced since joining up with Deadpool several months ago. You suck in a few intentional breaths before letting your head rise up from its hanging position.

"What the hell was tha-" you start, only to fall silent as you take notice of everyone's eyes flashing between you and a man who looks just as confused and winded as you do.

Time seems to slow as your eyes lock with his. A smaller blow hits you somewhere deep beneath your ribs, though this time you only stumble.

"Ho-ly shit!" Wade gasps, bringing his gloved hands up to his face and flicking his head back and forth dramatically between the both of you, no doubt starting to pick up on what's happening.

A second thrumming blooms in your chest then. It's equal parts similar and different from your own. Your mind nearly starts to panic, but it's silenced by something buried in your chemical makeup coming alive.

Wade drops his hands from his face, only to end up pointing at you like an old Spiderman meme.

"You two are-"

"Soulmates," you breathe out.

Absentmindedly, your hand rises to your chest. The feel of your soulmates' heart beating in time with yours is oddly comforting, in a way not unlike finally coming home after a long, difficult mission.

Soulmates were a rare but well documented phenomenon back in your reality. Most people would go their entire lives without meeting someone who was lucky enough to bond, let alone experience it themselves. You silently cursed all of those articles and accounts you read as a hopeful tween for failing to mention just how sudden and violently the bond snapped into place.

"Say something! Suck each other's faces off! Maybe even-"

"That's enough," Logan hisses, slapping a large hand down onto Deadpool's shoulder.

You laugh awkwardly at the absurdity of this entire situation. Unsure of what to say or how to go about any of this. Bonded or not, you and the upsettingly handsome man in front of you were still strangers.

"I've been lookin' for you a long time, mon amour." He drawls. And fuck if his sultry cajun drawl isn't something you'd be happy to hear for the rest of your lifetime.

'Well, It's good to finally meet you, um..." you stammer out, only to remember that you hadn't even learned his name yet.

"Remy!" Elektra whispers to you excitedly.

You repeat his name under your breath, somehow feeling like you miss it as the syllables roll off of your tongue.

"It's lovely to finally meet you, Remy," you try again.

Logan takes the opportunity to introduce you like Elektra did for Remy. He sends you a soft smile as he learns your name, though it shines so bright and warm that you can't decide if you want to fall back against the table or leap into his arms.

You step towards him, happy to feel both of your heartbeats pumping in your chest as you both move to close the distance between you. When you're only a mere inches away from each other, his hand rises into view, silently asking permission to caress your cheek. You wait with bated breath to feel his touch, only for it to fall short when a certain red and black clad anti-hero steps between you—acting as if your entire world wasn't just flipped on its axis.

"Sorry to interrupt this precious little love session you two have going on, but I feel that I must remind you of the very pressing matters still at hand," Wade says with a look that is anything but sorry.

You look to Remy, whose face says only that he's ready to explode Deadpool with his mind and reach around Wade to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. You smile up at Remy, and watch as an unmistakable look of complete adoration flashes across his eyes.

You use your powers to send the mercenary flying backward through the air, leaving him screaming as you finally close the gap between you and Remy.

He brings you into his arms without hesitation. A stray tear slips from your eye as you realize just how right his touch feels against your skin. His nimble fingers wipe away the tear that fell onto your cheek, already coming into tune with the thousands of different emotions flowing through you.

"Don't cry chéri, Gambit's gotcha."

His words bring a fresh new crop of tears to your eyes. You savor the contact for several long moments before reluctantly pulling away. You waste no time in reaching over to interlock your hands, pulling him back a few steps.

A chorus of stifled laughter sounds throughout the room as you spot Wade stumbling back onto his feet. You squeeze Remy's hand when you hear him mutter "couyon," disapprovingly, something that earns another round of poorly dampened laughter from the group.

"Wade,” You call over to him, "Are you done being an asshole for the time being?"

"Never!”

"Can you idiots focus for five seconds?" Logan asks from the corner while taking a swig of whiskey. The rebuttal you’d prepared for Wade does in your throat, but you still give him a disapproving eye roll. Deadpool, unable to have someone speak up before him, pushes his way past Logan.

"Yeah, like I know the writer needs to hit their word count and all, but we've still got a baldheaded bitch to kill."

Getting out of the void has always been your top priority, but with your newfound bond, it felt all the more pressing.

Stepping aside to let Wade through, he begins to command the room as always. Ideas intertwine with his usual self deprecating jokes. You and Remy stand next to each other on the sidelines, as tensions begin to lower.

As the night drug on, the conversation began to buzz with urgent anticipation. Everyone takes a shot at pitching an idea or strategy that plays to some of their strengths. Logan had retreated outside while Blade, Electra, and Wade stood and paced around the room, focused on the task at hand.

With guards lowered and tensions gone, you and Remy retreated to a nearby couch. You both gave out the occasional opinion or bit of intel, but your minds never strayed far from each other.

The conversation slows, and you felt Gambit's hand brush against yours. You reach out and intertwine your fingers with his before he can back away. His fingers tighten against yours gently before letting up. You mirror his squeeze instantly, a thousand words passing in the silence hanging between you. You lift your eyes and meet his gaze, giving him a soft, barely perceptible nod. You can the low kinetic current coursing through his touch. It serves as yet another reminder of how strong your bond already feels.

Your head drops onto his shoulder, earning a low hum. Just above a whisper, and with a smile playing on your lips, you both promise that no matter what lies ahead, you are ready to face it—simply because you now have each other.

#deadpool and wolverine #gambit #remy lebeau x reader #remy lebeau #gambit x reader #marvel #x men #x men 97 #gambit x you #gambit x y/n #xmen imagine #deadpool #wade wilson #logan howlett #wolverine

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bastardbloods · 4 months ago

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“A King’s Desire”

King Thranduil x female reader

──── You are a human, but you caught the attention of King Thranduil, and he is forcing you to marry him to continue his legacy.

(please read! This is my first time writing this, so please understand my poor wording, its a little bit short too 😭)

The moon rose pale over Mirkwood, bathing Thranduil's kingdom in a cold and silent light. Deep within his palace, made of stone and wood, you stood under the dim light of a candle flickering on the table in the royal chamber. Your dark hair framed a face filled with fire, but your hands trembled, your jaw clenched as the Elven king watched you from his throne of shadows.

"You have no right to do this to me," you whispered, breaking the oppressive silence that stretched between you. Your voice was laden with suppressed anger, though it trembled with anguish.

Thranduil’s gaze remained fixed on you, his expression unperturbed, as if your emotions could not pierce the cold armor that shielded him. His beauty was almost cruel, his fine, ethereal features as distant as the stars shining above the forest. The blue eyes that met yours felt like they were made of ice.

"You are luckier than you deserve," he replied, his tone as soft as it was deadly. "You will be my wife. The line of the Elven kings must continue, and the children you will bear me will be part of that eternity. Your will is not something I need to consider."

You clenched your fists, struggling to maintain your composure. Since being brought to this place, you had tried to escape, cried for help, even wept. But nothing had changed. Thranduil had chosen you. And in his absolute power, you knew no human could defy him.

"You are immortal," you said, your voice breaking. "Why do you care about my years? I am just a human who will live and die long before it even affects you."

A cold smile curved the Elven king's lips, not one of pleasure, but of condescension.

"Precisely for that reason," he said, rising slowly from his throne and approaching you. "I am not interested in a companion who lives forever. I am not interested in shared eternity. I am only interested in your blood, your body, which will be the vessel for my offspring. A brief bond, yes, but necessary."

Your heart pounded, and tears burned behind your eyes, but you refused to let them fall in front of him. You would not give him that satisfaction. He could force your body, but he would never conquer your spirit.

"I will never be yours," you spat. "Not even when I am forced to carry your children in my womb."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at your defiance. It was rare to find such resistance in humans, and though his coldness did not waver, something in your passion sparked a flicker of interest in him. He stopped just a step away from you, leaning slightly so that your eyes met his.

"You are wrong," he whispered, his voice chilling. "You already are."

Without another word, he extended his hand, brushing your cheek with an unsettling gentleness. You shuddered at his touch, but you didn’t move away. There was nowhere to go. In that moment, your life had become a pale reflection of what it once was.

The following days passed in a grim routine. Despite your rejection, your fate was sealed. The elves at court dared not look you in the eye, but you could feel their gazes full of pity and disdain. Each day that passed, you felt yourself fading, becoming a shadow of the person you once were.

One night, as the wind blew through the trees and the leaves whispered promises of freedom, you stood staring into the void, feeling the oppression of your belly already beginning to swell. Thranduil entered the room, his steps as silent as death’s whisper. He approached you and leaned over the bed.

"This will be your legacy," he murmured, his fingers caressing the edge of your hair.

You said nothing, closing your eyes, resisting any form of emotional submission. You could carry his children in your body, but you would never carry Thranduil in your heart.

And in the darkness, where the stars could not reach, you swore that, though they could take everything from you, your spirit would always remain free.

(part 2?)

#king thranduil #thranduil #thranduil x reader

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tkwrites · 3 months ago

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Five Days of Joy

Gif from neekshq

Title: Five Days of Joy

Author: Tory / @tkwrites

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts

Summary: Sarah joins Quinn at his family reunion. There’s laughter and tears and some spicy time as they sneak time alone. Sarah bonds with Jim over the loss of their mothers and explains why her dad loved Costco so much. She and Ellen bond over their partners being gone for stretches of time. A black bikini has Quinn practically drooling. The whole family goes on a beach adventure with Sarah in the lead. More than anything else, Quinn and Sarah fall more and more in love.

Warnings: Smut (18+ Only!) There are 3.5 sex scenes spread throughout this piece: Unprotected sex - p in v (wrap it up unless you’re in a consenting relationship!), Oral & Fingering (m & f receiving), car sex, semi public sex if you squint, Angst and Fluff. Really, we’re going through the whole gamut here.

Word Count: 16,400

Comments: This took an incredibly long time to write. Mostly because it's incredibly long. The longest fic I've written to date. I had so many days to encompass into this piece. There were several times when I thought a day was going to be quite simple, but the story demanded more.

I love the way it turned out and hope you enjoy it!

If you did, please let me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing.

Anonymous asked: i cant wait to see sarah come to the family reunion

Anonymous asked: omg the famiyl reunion and all the little cousins immediately loving sarah and her siting on the floor with them just playing and quinn watching with a love sick look

Anonymous asked: sarah coming to the lake house for the first time and being so exicted to see the water life there and all different living things and quinn is just sitting and walking with her as she looks at everything! did that make sense? idkkk

Anonymous asked: I've thought about Sarah taking some of Quinns cousins on a little adventure on the coast wading through tidepools during the family reunion. I think this would fit what you're thinking of a little more. 💜 AWWWW! yes this is even better!

nicenamebutitsalreadytaken asked: Some fic ideas…. #2: more Ellen and Sarah girl time! I loved their talks while they got pedis! #3: Jim and Sarah bonding over the loss of parents. Jim filling some sort of fatherly void in Sarah’s life. I know she’s too old for a father-daughter dance, but something of that vibe.

I feel like there were more asks that are being answered in this, but in looking through them, I couldn't find more.

Five Days of Joy

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

Day 1 (The Arrival):

Quinn reached over to squeeze her knee as they pulled up to the cabin. Okay, so it was more of a house, but for all intents and purposes, to his family, it was a cabin.

“Ready?” he asked.

She pulled a deep breath into her lungs and nodded.

At the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway, his cousins came running from the backyard, all lined up and clamoring for a front row view of Sarah’s arrival.

“I’m sorry about this,” he said, glancing over at them.

“About what?”

“My cousins. They’re all really excited to meet you.”

“That’s sweet,” she said, glancing over at them.

“They can just be a little much.”

She shrugged, “they can’t be any worse than my nieces were to you.”

Ellen watched from the porch as Quinn laughed in the driver's seat of the car. It wasn’t that he was depressed without Sarah here, but he seemed a little looser with her beside him — quicker with a smile and a laugh. She hoped he would be a little more forgiving now that Sarah had finally arrived. Quinn always had a bit of a temper, but it seemed like she soothed some of it down.

They got out of the car and Andrew’s kids jostled to the front of the crowd, bouncing off of and hitting each other in a way that was so reminiscent of her own boys, it made Ellen choke up a little.

Walking around the front of the SUV, as Quinn pulled her bag from the back, Sarah waved. Even after a day of travel across the country by plane and then a two hour drive, her smile was still genuine.

The smallest of the cousins, Nova, ran to Sarah right away. She didn’t miss a beat, squatting down to gather the five year old into her arms.

“What’s your name?”

“Nova! What’s yours?”

“My name is Sarah. I like your dress.”

“Thanks,” she said, swinging her hips as she pulled on the skirt of her striped dress printed with balooga whales.

She ran back to her sisters, telling them in a whisper that could be heard from the next township, “she’s really pretty.”

Laughing, Ellen stepped off the porch and gathered Sarah into a hug “I’m so glad you could come.”

“Thank you for inviting me. It’s so beautiful here,” she said as Quinn walked up and took her hand. “I’ve never been to New Hampshire.”

Introductions were made, at least 50 of them. The hardest thing for Sarah to keep track of was how everyone was related. Both Jim and Ellen’s siblings were there, as well as some friends that seemed like they were basically family. All of them were staying in houses rented nearby. On the drive, Quinn told her this was the first year they were bringing both families together. It just so happened that both were planning reunions over the 4th, so when Quinn’s parents suggested they all come together, everyone had agreed.

“I hope it’s not too overwhelming,” one of his aunts said.

“My mom is one of nine, so it can’t be any more confusing than my family,” Sarah assured.

“Well,” Ellen said, picking up one of her bags, “lets get you settled in.”

Once everyone got over the novelty of her, Sarah excused herself to shower, saying she needed to “wash off the plane smell.”

“You ready?” Ellen asked, finding Quinn in the front room, reading.

“For what?” he asked at the same time she wondered, “where’s Sarah?”

“The store,” she reminded. “We’re all going to make sure everyone gets what they want?”

“Oh, shit I’m sorry, mom,” Quinn said, “I completely forgot. Sarah’s in the shower.”

Glancing at her watch, Ellen wondered if they could wait.

“Just go. We’ll go later if we need to. I don’t want to leave her here alone.”

His mom gave him a knowing glance and asked, “is there anything she really likes?”

“Peppered turkey if you’re getting lunch meat,” he said, “and hot Cheetos if you’re getting chips.”

Noting them on the shopping list, Ellen asked, “Cereal?”

“She really likes raisin bran.”

“Seriously?”

He shrugged, “she has it all the time.”

“Okay. Don’t have too much fun while we’re gone.”

Rolling his eyes, Quinn mumbled that they wouldn’t and watched them pile into the cars and drive away.

By the time he’d waited to make sure no one was turning back, Sarah appeared in the doorway. “Where is everyone?”

“The store. Mom wanted us all to go together, but I forgot.” If he weren’t so excited to be alone in the house with Sarah, he would call his mom to come pick them up. They couldn’t be far down the road.

“Oh.” Guilt twisted at her stomach.

“It’s fine,” he assured, “we can go tomorrow if we need to.”

“That’s not really the same thing,” she said as she walked to the couch.

“It’s okay,” he assured. “My mom still loves you.”

She flopped onto the couch next to him and took his hand. She missed these simple things - the ease of touching him and the comfort of having him near.

“I missed you,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder.

“I missed you too,” he agreed, turning to press a kiss into her hair.

It was so nice to just be close to her. This summer had to be this way, but it didn’t make missing her any easier.

The longer they stayed pressed close to each other, the warmer she got. Not only from his furnace-like body heat, but also his smell and the feel of his solid, muscular chest under her shoulder. An insistent want to really feel him was growling deep in her.

“What are you doing?” Quinn asked as Sarah climbed into his lap.

Knees bracketing his hips, she settled on his thighs. “I thought that was obvious,” she said, tossing her hair over one shoulder and leaning in to kiss him.

“Should we go upstairs?”

“Want it now,” she whispered against his mouth.

“What if they come home?” he mumbled before their kiss could ignite. A trip to the grocery store wasn’t a short thing with their family, but with all of them together, he imagined they’d try to get out as soon as possible.

“Just wanna make out for a while,” she said, lips feather light over his mouth. “We can have sex tonight.”

Quinn groaned, sinking fully into the kiss in a way he hadn’t yet allowed. It was difficult for him to convince himself to come up for air when they kissed like this, and letting that loose while his whole extended family was in the house wasn’t the best idea.

“We have to keep this PG,” she said, moving his hands from where they were pushing her shirt up.

“Why?” he whined.

“Because your family is coming home. And who knows when they'll be back. I, for one, don't want to face your grandpa with my chest out because you couldn't wait."

“Which is why we should go upstairs,” he argued.

“Just kiss me, Quinn.”

He obeyed, and as he pulled her hips flush to his own, decided he could wait until that night.

“Jack, can you go in first and make sure Q isn’t doing something indecent?”

Jack wrinkled his nose, “ew! Mom, no!”

“Go,” she hissed, “they haven’t seen each other in three weeks. I don’t want one of the kids to walk in on them accidentally if they got carried away.”

“If they’re having sex in the front room, they deserve to be caught.”

“Jack, just go,” she said, leveling him with an exasperated stare.

“Fine,” he grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Upon entering the house, he found Sarah on top of his brother on the front room couch. They were, thankfully, fully clothed, but Quinn had a handful of her hair and a handful of her ass as they kissed. Sarah took a deep kissing breath. He could see her tongue, see the blissed set of Quinns features. He found himself smiling, glad that Quinn had finally found a girl to put up with him.

It was probably messed up, but this was the first time he’d found Sarah at all attractive. He felt pretty indifferent about her generally, but appreciated that she made Quinn happy and was willing to try with their crazy, extended family. Now, seeing Quinn hold her brought up torturous memories of Madeline - of feeling her curves and the solid weight on top of him.

One of his cousins came running up the front walk, and the sound of her sandals slapping against the concrete brought Jack back to the task at hand.

“Family’s home!” he yelled before Ellie got inside.

Shocked, they sprang apart as if caught naked or robbing a bank. Sarah backed away so quickly that her calves hit the coffee table, and she plopped down on it to save herself from falling over. She wiped her mouth, and Quinn pulled a pillow onto his lap. They were looking everywhere but at each other.

“Sarah,” Ellie asked, running into the room, “Sarah, did you put on lipstick?”

Her hand went to her mouth, eyes wide as she finally looked at Quinn, who blushed.

Jack laughed some more. “Nah,” he said, ruffling her hair, “that’s just what happens when the whole family has to go to the store to give you time to get it on.”

Sarah rolled her eyes and finally stood, adjusting her shirt. “We were not getting it on.”

“Looked like it to me,” Jack said with a shrug.

"Then you are watching the wrong kind of videos, my friend.”

Quinn barked out a laugh, and Jack felt his cheeks flame at being razzed by her. He didn't know she had it in her.

After a long dinner filled with grilled steak and chicken and an enormous amount of laughter, Quinn felt even more sure of Sarah. He melted a little each time she caught on to his family's humor, and it seemed everyone loved her. At one point, his grandpa had even elbowed him in the ribs with a conspiratorial quirk of his eyebrows when they were at the food table together.

Later on, he found himself playing games with Sarah and some of his cousins' kids. The kids had begged her to join them, and she went happily. Unwilling to leave her side now that she was here, he joined in, too.

“Can you show me all the fish?” Nova asked.

“Of course,” Sarah said, “The next time you come to Vancouver, I’ll give you a tour. I can probably even get you backstage to meet Walter.”

“You’ve never offered to take me backstage,” Quinn said, his tone teasingly hurt.

“I didn’t know you were interested,” she teased, “Nova obviously wants to see the fish.”

“Yeah, Q,” Nova said, sticking her tongue out at him, “I care about the fish.”

Quinn laughed but wondered why Sarah felt like he wasn’t interested in what she did. Was he giving off the wrong impression?

“Do you think Walter will like me?” Nova asked.

“I don’t know. He can be pretty picky about people. When you meet him, he’ll touch your hand with his tentacles,” she slowly wrapped her fingers around Nova’s arm to demonstrate. “Octopus use their suckers to suss out who’s good and bad.”

Mia looked fascinated but horrified, “what?”

“Yeah, they use them to taste and feel, and they can usually tell if they don’t like someone just by touching their skin.”

“Did Walter like you right away?” Quinn asked. He’d never thought of it before. He had to like Sarah. She worked with him so much, they had to get along.

“He was a little shy, but I kept coming back to do research, and eventually, he started to warm up to me.”

“Can we see fish here?” Mia asked.

Sarah glanced at Quinn, “we’re going to the beach, right?”

He nodded, “on Friday, I think.”

“I don’t know that we’d be able to see much in terms of snorkeling. It's mostly boring stuff out here - lobsters and fish for eating. It’s too cold for most of the fun stuff.” Mia looked instantly crestfallen, and Sarah continued, “but there’s always interesting stuff in tide pools. I’ll see if I can find us some to explore.”

Mia beamed for the first time since they’d arrived. Since she’d turned 12, she’d been a bit moody and sulky in that teen way, wanting to hang out with her friends rather than spend the week with her family. Sarah taking her interests seriously obviously meant a lot to her.

“Quinn, there's no lock on this door,” Sarah said that evening as she closed it behind her before crawling into bed.

“So?”

“So anyone — your mom, your grandpa, one of your cousins — could just walk in.”

“They won't without knocking.”

As if on cue, the door flew open. “Is Mason in here?” It was one of Quinn's aunts. Or a friend who was basically an aunt? It was hard to keep track of who was actually related.

“Nope,” Sarah said.

“Oh, I’m sorry you two,” she said. “I hope I didn't interrupt anything.”

Quinn gave her a tight smile, and she got the hint, closing the door softly behind her.

Sarah arched an eyebrow in Quinn's direction as if to say, see? What did I tell you?

“What does it matter if there’s no lock,” he asked, rolling on top of her, “we have to be quiet anyway.”

“We can’t have sex in here, Quinn,” she said.

“Why not?”

“As much as I want you to fuck me into tomorrow —”

Burying his face in her neck, he groaned loudly as if the very prospect was painful to him.

“We can’t. Not when someone might walk in. What if one of the kids came in? We’d scar them for life.”

He lifted his head and pouted, giving her his best begging eyes. “This is why I wanted to go upstairs before,” he said, trying to keep the whine out of his voice.

“How was I supposed to know a bunch of kids would be sleeping in the family room across the hall?” she hissed, “or that there’s no lock on your door.”

He knew she was right, but god, he couldn’t believe they were finally together and they couldn’t even have sex.

“I think we could…” her voice trailed off at the same time her hand slipped between them to cup him over his pajama pants.

“Don’t tease,” he said, jaw clenched.

“I’m not teasing,” she said coyly.

“Touching my dick when you won’t have sex feels like you’re being a pretty big fuckin’ tease to me.”

“Just because we can’t have sex doesn’t mean I can’t get you off.” Her voice was a seductive whisper in his ear.

He let out a kind of groaned whimper, tucking his face into her neck again. Fuck this room and it’s stupid fucking door without a stupid fucking lock.

Her other hand guided his mouth back to hers. He was immediately swept up. He wanted to kiss every inch of her.

Shivers coursed through her as Quinn’s lips trailed up to her ear.

“I can’t stop thinking about the way you taste,” he whispered, banking on the idea that she might loosen up a little if he got his mouth on her. Emphasizing his point, he lowered his lips to her neck, kissing and licking.

As heat engulfed her, his name came out in a desperate whine. “That’s not fair.”

When they were apart, it was fairly easy to pretend her own fingers were his, or her vibrator was his cock — they weren’t really the same, but her imagination could make up the difference — but nothing could simulate the feel of his mouth on her. She’d told him this just the week before when they were having phone sex while her roommates were both gone for the evening.

“Who said anything about playing fair?” Quinn asked, quirking his eyebrows.

Her eyes darted to the door, listening as footsteps grew louder, then faded in the other direction. When she looked back at him, he was sliding down her body, his hands slipping up her thighs under her sleep shirt.

“Quinn,” she admonished.

“I can stay under the covers,” he said, winking as he lifted the blanket over his head.

God, she wanted it so bad.

“What if Nova came in?” she asked, trying to reason.

“Nova’s staying in a different house,” he reminded. They’d left at 10, her dad, Quinn’s cousin Andrew, carrying the little girl who’d fallen asleep right at the card table.

Sarah made a frustrated noise and lifted the covers to look at him, “Quinn you know what I mean. Stop playing dirty.”

A wicked grin took over his face, “this,” he traced a finger over her underwear that she knew were already damp, “would suggest you like when I play dirty.”

She threw an arm over her eyes, “if someone walks in, you get to be the one giving an explanation, then.”

“I think my mouth is going to be otherwise occupied.”

A keening, needy noise left her lips.

When he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her underwear, he paused, waiting for permission. As much as he wanted to do this, he wasn’t going to force her into anything. If she wanted to wait, he would. Begrudgingly, but he would.

Sarah took a deep breath, her mind whirring and warring. Eventually, the side of her that wanted to make a good impression on his family won out. “I really, really want to, Q,” she said, “but —”

The resigned tone of her voice told him exactly how this was going to end. Sighing, he rested his forehead on her stomach.

“I just… your whole family is in the house. It feels too…”

If he thought with his brain and not his dick, he understood what she was getting at. It would be extremely awkward if anyone walked in on them. He wouldn’t put Sarah through that.

“Yeah,” he said, flopping into the bed next to her.

“But like I said, just because we can’t have sex doesn’t mean I can’t get you off,” she said, running a hand slowly up his thigh.

Quinn wasn’t entirely sure how getting a handjob from her was all that different than just having sex. The bed would probably squeak less, he supposed, but it would still be awkward if someone walked in. They’d go for a drive the next night, he decided, if they didn’t get the chance to be alone before then.

Her other hand slipped into his hair, nudging his mouth to hers.

Even though it wasn’t exactly what he wanted, feeling her fall apart around his fingers while she stroked him and panted into his mouth was still heavenly.

Day 2 (The Black Bikini):

The next morning, Quinn was talking with Luke when Sarah came out of the house, holding a jug of orange juice as she talked and laughed with his aunt.

“I think it’s a…” he trailed off, the thought he’d been explaining evaporating completely the moment he saw her bikini.

It made her look unbelievable - curvy and supple. The black cut beautiful shapes against her skin, and a shiny silver U linked the two halves together between her breasts. The high waistband of the bottoms peeking over the top of her undone denim shorts finished driving him out of his fucking mind. She even had her hair in a braided ponytail, just like he liked. God, he wanted to put his mouth all over her.

Luke turned to follow his gaze and said, "Whoa."

"Yeah," he breathed before realizing and smacking his brother upside the head. "That's my girlfriend, dick." It felt so good at that moment to call her his.

Luke held up his hands in surrender, "I'm not even interested in her, man. But if Ky wore a suit like that…" he trailed off, knowing better than to voice whatever he was thinking.

She walked up the steps to the sundeck then, and he felt breathless with wanting. The metal U winked at him with every step she took. Somehow, she looked even better up close.

Luke got up, mumbling something about needing to find someone. Sarah didn't catch who.

She stopped next to Quinn's sun lounger and looked down, shielding her eyes from the bright morning sun. “Do I not get a good morning kiss?”

He'd left to run around the lake with Jack, Luke, and Brendan before she'd gotten up that morning. She so rarely got to sleep in, he didn't wake her, despite the possibility of getting a few minutes alone before he had to leave.

He shook his head, “can't stand.”

“What? Why? Did you hurt yourself?”

He shook his head and glanced down, hoping she'd catch on.

She followed his gaze, her mouth falling into an O as her cheeks went pink, which made it so much worse. God, why did she have to be so cute, too?

She sat on the edge of his lounger, and he reached for her, gathering her against him, her back to his front. He wanted to hold her and also needed to cover exactly how excited this swimsuit made him.

She’d expected to lean back and feel his semi against her. Instead, he was hard and hot, fully turned on in a way he didn’t often get just from looking at her. Glancing over her shoulder, one of her eyebrows quirked.

“You come out here in this bikini when I haven't had you properly in nineteen days and expect me to just be normal about it?”

“Nineteen days?” she repeated. She knew it had been over two weeks, but she wasn't keeping a tally.

“I'm serious, Sarah,” he said, voice pained. “Do you have any idea how hot you look? How much you're driving me crazy?”

“I think I might,” she said, tracing a finger over his thigh, following the hem of his running briefs, exposed where his exercise shorts rucked up.

He was acutely aware of her touch, of everyone around them, of her body heat seeping through his shirt and of just how much of her skin was exposed. His muscles twitched.

“You're a tease, you know that?”

“I'm a tease? You're the one out here all sweaty in these little shorts,” she countered as the tip of her finger traced under the elastic, “Your thighs out for everyone to see.”

That knocked him a little breathless. He knew she found him attractive. She often told him how handsome he was, but this kind of lusty wanting felt new. He sputtered.

“We could always go inside and lock ourselves in the bathroom,” she offered, her voice light and conversational, as her not-so-innocent touch trailed to his inner thigh.

He made a noise in his throat as his body went to war with his brain. “You wouldn’t have sex in bed last night, but you’re fine with the bathroom today?” he asked, more confused than incredulous.

“The bathroom has a lock. I guess it might be a little weird if someone saw us come out, though.”

Quinn was struck with a vision of one of his cousins knocking on the door and how embarrassing it would be to have to walk out together, caught red-handed. Surely, his family knew how much he missed her, but there was only so far that understanding could go.

“Yeah.” Taking a deep breath, he mentally prepared himself for another day of wanting. If they couldn’t steal some time alone that day, he’d take a car and make a place for them to be alone.

“I should go shower before breakfast,” he said, pressing a few quick kisses to her neck before darting into the house, hoping no one was paying too much attention.

All day, Quinn felt possessive of her in a way he usually didn’t.

More than once, he’d pulled her into his lap as she walked by. It wasn’t that he thought his cousins were going to do anything. He knew they wouldn’t, and he knew Sarah would never, but he had this basic, neanderthal-ish need to let everyone know that she’d chosen him.

Every time he thought he was cool and didn’t need to remind everyone of their relationship, he’d catch someone checking her out, and it would rear up again, demanding to get his hands on her. She lets me touch her like this, the caveman inside him roared each time he did it. She likes me enough to let me do this.

Each time it happened, and Sarah suddenly ended up in Quinn’s lap, she laughed, chocking it up to finally being together after being apart for so long. To be fair, she didn’t want to go very long without touching him, either.

“Let the girl breathe, Quinn,” his dad teased when it happened for the sixth time, “Jesus.”

“I think it’s sweet,” his sister admonished. “Don’t you remember being that in love? I remember when Ellen had you that smitten.”

“I do remember that, but I wasn’t ever as clingy as this guy, was I?” he asked, pointing at Quinn, who was busying himself threading his fingers through Sarah’s belt loops.

“Oh, you were. You don’t remember mom telling you she’d never marry you if you didn’t give her some space to think?”

Jim laughed, his face splitting into a broad grin, even as heat flooded into his cheeks. “I’d forgotten about that. That was some good advice. Ellen told me later she was thinking about breaking up with me because I was getting too clingy.”

He glanced at Sarah, only for her to give him a weak smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Times like this, it always hurt to remember her mom wasn’t around to give sage advice and tease her about her new beau. She often wondered, even after her siblings and uncle had met him, how her parents would react to Quinn and to their relationship. The fact that she would never really know strangled her insides.

Reaching over, Jim squeezed her hand, a sad, knowing look on his face. He knew what a smile like that meant. “It was pretty terrible when mom couldn’t be there for Luke’s birth,” he said. “I know it’s not the same, but we’ve been there too.”

She gave him that same, sad smile, “thanks.”

Jim’s sister glanced between them, then seemed to remember. “Oh, sweetie,” she stood up and came to Sarah, giving her a hug.

Even though it was awkward with her sitting down and Quinn still holding her waist, the intended comfort still came through. “Thank you,” she said, wiping a few rogue tears from her eyes.

Quinn wound his arms around her waist to pull her flush against him so he could be the one she could lean on. He hooked his chin over her shoulder and brushed a kiss to her jaw.

“I know when our mom died, I just wanted someone to give me a hug all the time. My husband started calling me a koala,” she said, laughing lightly. “Anyway,” she waved a hand in front of her face, “I just mean to say that if you need a hug, I’m always here.”

It was incredibly kind. Though Sarah knew she would go to Quinn or Ellen or even Jim first, just because she knew them more, it was still wonderfully thoughtful.

“I can’t imagine your parent’s wouldn’t be anything but thrilled to see how in love you two are,” she said.

In a way, it was kind of a throw-away thing to say. She’d never met Sarah’s parents, but, Sarah supposed, she was a parent herself and knew something of raising children.

“I know we sure are,” Jim said, squeezing her knee.

“Thanks. I just really miss her, you know?” More emotion than she’d been expecting choked her voice. She leaned into Quinn, glad for his solid embrace.

Jim nodded, “of course.”

“But more than that, I miss the potential. Like, I don't get to know what she or my dad thinks of Quinn or how they feel about my degree.”

“Well, I think I can say that they’d be incredibly proud of you for your degree,” Jim said, “I'm proud of you, and you're not even my daughter.”

Quinn hoped that one day she might be something close.

“And you know, Quinn won't get to know them,” Sarah continued, the thoughts bubbling up now that the cap had been blown off. “He won’t get to hear my mom laugh or go on a wild trip to Costco with us.”

“Costco?” Quinn repeated.

“My dad loved Costco,” she said, her voice taking on a dreamy, nostalgic tone. “It was a whole family affair. Every second Saturday. You better keep the evening free, cause we all had to go together. Even after my brother got married, he and Lucy still came with us.”

“Why Costco?”

“Part of it’s because both of my parents grew up in such big families. My dad’s one of 6 and mom’s one of 9. But I think he just liked that you can get such a huge variety of stuff there. He always liked to find the new things, and he felt very passionately about Costco hot dogs.”

Quinn snorted.

“Almost every gift he ever gave came from Costco.”

“Like what?” Quinn asked, trying to keep her talking. He loved seeing these snapshots of her family. If he wouldn’t get the chance to meet them, at least he could understand a little more through her memories.

“One time,” she adjusted to sit sideways in his lap so she could see his face, “he bought me an enormous bag of hot Cheetos for my birthday.”

He snorted.

“Don’t make fun. It was a very practical gift. He even printed this big label and stuck it on it that said,” she had to pause to control her giggles, “Sar-Bear’s mouth-killer birthday chips. Touch or die.”

A laugh sputtered out of his mouth.

“He got me my first golf clubs at Costco. And,” she emphasized the point by poking him in the shoulder, “he once built a rocket made entirely of stuff he bought at Costco.”

“A rocket?” Jim repeated, surprised.

“Yeah, he designed rockets for a living and wanted to do it to prove that he could. He uploaded this ridiculous video to Facebook and tagged Costco in it. They gave him a free membership for a year. He said it was the fifth best day of his life.”

“Fifth?” Jim’s sister asked.

“After his wedding and the birth of his kids.”

“Can we see the video?” Quinn asked.

She had family photos on a pinboard above her desk, and he’d seen a ton more when they visited her siblings. He knew she had her dads smile and her mothers eyes. But it was different seeing someone in motion.

Digging her phone out of her pocket, Sarah said, “I’m not sure his profile is still active… I think he might have tagged me in it.”

Glancing at his dad, Quinn found the older man looking at him with this proud, approving look on his face. It was a rare thing to get from Jim, and he was most often on the receiving end of it at the ice rink. It was nice to get it away from hockey.

“Here,” she said, handing Quinn her phone. The screen was cracked in the corner.

His dad and aunt moved to huddle around his chair, and he played the video.

Her dad, Michael, who was tall and reedy and wore wire rimmed glasses, introduced himself and went through an overenthusiastic explanation of where every part of the rocket came from in the store, and why he chose it, making sure to highlight what was on a special deal that month. He then assembled it with a younger Sarah’s help. Her hair was shorter, cut into a bob that hit around the middle of her neck, and she had braces.

Quinn paused the video, “how old are you here?”

She took the phone back from him so she could look at the date. “I’d just turned twenty-one.”

“You still had braces at 21?”

“I had them twice,” she explained with a self-deprecating eye roll. “I didn’t wear my retainer the first time, so I had to get them again when I went to college.”

“I think you look cute,” he said.

“Yeah, because nothing says, ‘hey, I’m old enough to drink’ like having braces.”

They all laughed, and his dad reached forward to start the video again.

The rocket was finished and shot off. It flew much higher than Quinn expected. “Woah.”

“And that,” her dad said, hands on his hips as he turned back to the camera, “is how you launch into a new month of Costco savings.”

“Oh my god,” Sarah exclaimed off camera. “You’re such a dad!”

“Good thing I am one, then,” he said, pointing at her with finger guns and a wink.

Ellen came over at their laughter, “what’s going on here?”

“We were just watching a video of Sarah’s dad.”

“Oh,” she tucked herself between her husband and sister-in-law, “I’d like to see that.”

The fact that they all were interested in getting to know her parents in this way eased a bit of the grief from its strangling hold around Sarah’s heart. As Quinn restarted the video, his free hand moved to her leg and squeezed her knee.

She glanced down at him, a thankful smile on her face.

After an afternoon on the docks and another raucous dinner on the lawn, Quinn grabbed a set of keys from one of the hooks in the kitchen.

“We're going for a drive,” he announced, pulling Sarah toward the front door with their clasped hands.

His parents and aunts and uncles shared some knowing glances from their place around the dining table, and a smile he knew wasn't going to end well took over his mom's face.

“Have fun!” she called out. ��Use protection!”

“Lay down a towel!” someone else chimed in.

“Sarah, don't be afraid to put him in his place!”

He felt his ears get hot. It didn't matter how casual he tried to be, they knew exactly what they were up to.

Sarah pulled him off his determined course to go into the garage.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting a towel. That's a smart idea. I don't want to ruin whoever’s car this is.”

He laughed, “it's my parents' car.”

“All the more reason then,” she said, tucking a few towels from the clean bin under her arm and taking his hand.

The drive took thirty minutes, and they ended up at a lovers lane of sorts - nothing more than a dirt road at the edge of a tree lined pond. They were the only ones there. Sarah tried not to think about how he knew about it.

“I know this is really fucking cheesy, but can we get in the back seat?” he asked.

She nodded, glad they didn't go through the whole rigmarole of squirreling over the center console. Car sex was uncomfortable enough. No point in making it more so.

They both went to their perspective back doors, and she didn’t waist any time, crawling into his lap and kissing him.

“Sarah,” Quinn moaned when she moved on to his neck. He was so torqued up, his desire ratcheted so high he didn't think he'd ever had bluer balls in his life. He hadn't touched her in two and a half weeks, then they had finally shared a bed, but he'd only been able to get her off with his hands and vice versa because of the bedroom lock situation. Then she'd walked out that morning in that goddamn fucking bikini and he about lost his goddamn fucking mind. THEN it took ten hours before they were able to get away on their own.

He'd been riding the edge so long that she didn't even need to get him worked up. He felt crazy with wanting.

“Sarah, please,” his hands, clumsy, pulled at her shirt. She let him strip it off. He reached for her shorts, and she pushed him away. He whined in earnest, in too deep to be embarrassed.

“I want to blow you first,” she said, voice husky.

His eyes practically rolled to the back of his head. “Fuck, Sarah. Really?”

“Really.” She gave him a coy smile and maneuvered so she was on her knees in front of him.

“You can get me off while you recover,” she said.

“Yeah.”

He would have agreed with practically anything at that moment. She needed a new car? Done. Tuition? She wanted to skinny dip in this pond? She wanted to marry him? Done, done, and done. He'd do it all.

She made quick work of his pants, shoving them down until he could kick them off onto the floor.

And then her blissful mouth was on him. She felt so good - warm and wet, and the way her tongue moved made his breathing hitch. Part of him felt 12, ready to shoot off at any moment; the other part of him wanted to savor this.

Her hand slid up his thigh. He was so certain she was about to wrap her fingers around the base of his shaft that when she bypassed and cradled his balls instead, his hips bucked of their own volition.

He hit the back of her throat, and she pulled off coughing through the gagging sensation.

Shit.

Fuck.

No, no, no, no, no.

“I'm sorry,” he said. His voice was practically begging. “I'm sorry.”

Seeing the tears she was blinking out of her eyes as she sat up slammed him back into reality.

He cupped her cheek, “I'm sorry, Sarah. I didn't expect that, and I just…I lost control. Are you okay?”

She blinked a few more times to get rid of the tears and swallowed. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, he leaned against the car door. Having sex in a backseat was really never a good idea. They were too confined to get into any of their favorite positions.

Having sex in the backseat when he was this needy was a terrible idea — compounding all the issues with his impatience. That said, if it was the only way they would be together, he’d have sex in this goddamn car every night.

His eyes shot open at the feel of her lips wrapping around him again. He wouldn’t lie. The way she was sucking him off, on her knees, ass in the air, was one of the most attractive things he’d ever seen her do.

“Can I take a picture?”

She pulled back, looking up at him, “what?”

“Can I take a picture?” he repeated, fishing for his jeans and pulling the phone out of his pocket. “You look so fucking hot like this. I just want to remember.”

“As long as it’s not shared anywhere, yeah,” she said, leaning down to take him again.

Part of him hadn’t really expected her to say yes. His mouth had run away with his thoughts before he could vet them. Fumbling, he finally got his phone to unlock and adjusted the camera settings for the dark.

The app only clicked once before she pulled off. He whined.

“Hold on,” she said, undoing the button on her shorts and shoving them around her knees. “This'll make a better picture.” If she was going to allow it, might as well go all out.

As she took him in her mouth again, she perked her ass in the air, showing off.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. It took him a second to remember his phone in his hand and take another picture. In the dim light, it just barely captured the shadow of the lace.

“You're so fucking incredible,” he moaned.

Feeling her smile around him was something he’d never get over.

Using every technique she knew he liked, Sarah continued on until he was panting and moaning above her.

Gripping the seats, Quinn willed his hips to stay still. “I‘m gonna come,” he warned.

Hollowing her cheeks, she sucked a little harder, gratified when he let out the stuttered moan she’d been aiming for. She wanted to milk him dry.

When he came with a shout, she did just that.

Spent, Quinn collapsed against the door, breathing heavily.

There was no rustling or opening doors, so she could spit. As his eyes fluttered open, he asked, “did you swallow?”

“There wasn’t anywhere else to put it.”

“Damn,” he said, disappointment in his voice.

“What?”

“I didn’t see it.”

“It looks the same as when I swallow anything else,” she assured.

“It does not,” he argued. “You never swallow.”

She gave him a look that had him backtracking, “I mean, not that I mind that you don’t, but I just…would have liked to see it, thats all….” he trailed off.

“I’m sorry,” she said, coming forward to settle in his lap again. “Next time, I’ll wait until you open your eyes to swallow.”

“Next time?” he asked, quirking his eyebrows.

“Yes, next time. You know, as well as I do, that that won’t be the last blowjob I give you.”

“For all I know, it could be,” he said, though his voice was teasing.

“As long as you reciprocate, it won’t.”

“I better start reciprocating, then,” he said with a wink, sneaking his hands into the band of her underwear to push it down. He had been dreaming about her taste for weeks, and cleaning her release from his fingers the night before only made the craving worse.

“I don’t know if in the car…” she wanted his mouth almost as much as she wanted his cock buried deep inside her but she worried it wouldn’t work in the car, at least not the way she liked. She preferred to be laid out on her back so she could totally relax and he could have full access.

Pouting, Quinn stuck his bottom lip out and met her eyes in an attempt to get her on his side. “I don’t want to use my hands again.” It came out a bit of a whine.

“I love your hands,” she said, covering his with her own, pulling them up her body and to the clasp of her bra. He made quick work of the hooks and pulled it off, tossing it to the floor with his jeans.

“Plus, once you’re hard again,” she reached down and cupped his sensitive dick, “I want this inside me.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck yes. I’ve been thinking about you filling me up for weeks.”

Moaning, he twitched against her palm. Not bothering to remove them, his hand slipped to the apex of her thighs, rubbing over her underwear.

Head thrown back, she moaned as her hips ground into his hand.

It didn’t take long for her juices to soak through the flimsy lace. The fact that he was doing this to her made his whole body feel like it was on fire.

“Quinn,” she breathed, “I want your fingers inside me.”

“Later,” he said, too intoxicated with the idea of her coming with this lace barrier between them. “I want to feel you come like this.”

A whine escaped her, but she continued dutifully rocking against him.

He stroked her pearl, then moved down, teasing her entrance with the tips of his fingers.

She huffed out a frustrated breath. “If you’re not going to put them inside me, stop teasing.”

“But teasing you is so much fun,” he said, pushing in, just slightly.

Both hands gripped his shoulders, and she moved her hips down, trying to force his digits inside her. The lace prevented him from dipping to the depth she wanted him, and she whined his name.

“Naughty,” he admonished, slipping his fingers back to her sensitive bundle, stroking it so slowly that it was more torture than treat.

Her beautiful mouth was open and panting. “Quinn, please.”

He usually envisioned that word coming from his lips, not the other way around.

Her hips ground down hard against his hand. He pushed back with equal force, and she winced, shrinking from his touch.

“Sorry,” he said, lightening his pressure. He’d been so caught in the moment, he forgot how sensitive she was, “sorry.”

Too intent on her orgasm, Sarah shook her head. Her hand shot to his wrist of it’s own accord, guiding him back to her. Finding his fingers again, she started grinding herself against them. The sensation of the lace between her clit and his touch was incredible. The fabric was so soaked now that the texture of it was no longer painful. It only added another layer of stimulation.

Quinn let her control the pace, content to watch bliss take over her body. Her head tipped back, and he leaned forward to lick one of her nipples into his mouth, hoping to give her that final push.

She moaned his name as one of her hands came up to cradle the back of his head. He felt the other grasp onto his shoulder.

He knew she was almost there from the pace of her breathing, the racing of her heart and the way her hips stuttered. He was still glad when she clarified anyway. “I’m so close.”

Switching to using his middle two fingers, he used the index to work under the lace. At the first sign of her orgasm, he swept the fabric aside and plunged his middle and ring fingers inside her.

Sarah screamed.

Feeling his fingers finally penetrate her as her orgasm began to pulse catapulted her pleasure into another dimension.

The grip she had on his shoulder tightened, and she chanted, “Quinn…Quinn…Oh my god, Quinn…Fuck!” The last word came out a shout as he brought his thumb to her clit, drawing tight circles around the sensitive bundle still swathed in lace. Her high, which had been easing off, exploded to life again.

He’d never heard her be so loud before. At least they were several miles from the nearest town and nowhere near his family.

Easing off when a soft whine escaped her throat, Quinn brought his hand to his mouth, eager to taste her release.

Watching him clean his fingers through hooded eyes, she said, “I want you inside me.”

“There’s a condom in my jeans,” he said, reaching for the material.

Pulling his hand back, she placed it over her breast. “Don’t care. Need to feel you.”

“You’re sure?” He knew having unprotected sex without a bathroom close would mean she would be dealing with the aftermath the whole way home on top of having soaked underwear.

Nodding, she hurriedly pulled her underwear out of the way. Taking it off would take too much time — time she wasn’t willing to give up, not when she was so close to finally feeling him again.

The way she moaned when she sunk onto him was going to haunt his dreams for months.

Relishing the feeling of having his hard cock inside her again, Sarah paused. Head tipped back, she panted.

She moaned as he adjusted, sending him further inside her.

“You feel unbelievable,” he said full of breathless wonder.

“Uh hu,” she agreed, starting to move, easing up and down.

Feeling her this way reminded him of that day in April she’d showed up at his house to congratulate him on making the playoffs. Remembering the way they’d made love that day, he spread his hands wide, ready to support her.

Instead of leaning back, she came forward to kiss him. “Want you on top,” she said against his mouth.

“Okay.”

As much as it pained her to, she pushed off of him so they could rearrange. He guided her onto her back, pulling the towel back in place as he did. She shimmied out of her panties.

Once his hips settled against hers as he slipped back inside her, she wrapped her legs tightly around him. It forced him into a more sensual rocking rather than fucking her hard and fast.

Tucking his face into her neck, kissing and licking all the skin he could find, Quinn marveled at how good it felt, even squashed into the back seat of a car, she still felt amazing.

Her hands slid up his back and buried themselves in his hair. Sarah tipped her hips so Quinn was brushing her clit each time he moved.

She gasped his name.

He grunted, too taken with her to form a more coherent response.

“You feel so good.”

The praise shot a mixture of pleasure and panic up his spine and into his mouth, “can’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Can’t say things like that.”

“Like what? That you make me feel good?”

He whined, nodding his head.

“Why not?”

“Gonna make me come.”

Sliding her hands to his ears, she pulled his face from her neck, so he was looking down at her. “Guess you better shut me up, then.”

Eyes widening in surprise, Quinn felt his breath shutter in his lungs. It didn’t take long for him to take the bait, crashing their lips together in a kiss that mimicked the way their bodies moved in and around each other.

His continuous, sensual rocking made Sarah’s whole body quake. Pleasure sparked in her core and rippled outward. God, everything about him felt incredible. His tongue, the hot length of his cock, the way his hips rocked into hers. She moaned into his mouth and he moaned back as if in agreement.

“Quinn,” she panted. “Oh,” her moan cut off as he thrust a little harder.

Unable to hold it any longer, she tipped her head back, crying out as her orgasm exploded into her veins.

Fastening his mouth on any skin he could find, he focused on the taste of her sweat and chased her racing pulse, working her through her high. As it edged off, Quinn slowed his thrusts to match the pulse of her core around him.

Collapsing against the seat, Sarah breathed, “holy shit,” as a sense of heady euphoria crashed over her.

Beaming down at her, he settled his hips against hers. Torsos pressing together with every breath, Quinn shook his head, “you’re fucking amazing, you know that? First the blow job,” his cock twitched inside her just remembering it. “Now this?”

She flushed.

“What?” he asked, laughing.

“I needed to get you off, so you'd last for this. Don't get me wrong, I love giving you pleasure, but I'll admit, the blow job was mostly for me.”

“Minx,” he teased, but there was no heat in it. He understood her reasoning, and it was smart, really. Plus it’s not like he’d minded.

She laughed, and he bit his lip as her core flexed.

Her legs loosened around him, and she reached up to brush his hair from his face.

“What do you want?”

He gulped. “Wanna come inside.”

“Of course,” she said as if that wasn’t even a question. “How do you want it?”

His brain ran away with his mouth, “wanna fuck you.”

She nodded.

It was the only permission he needed. Bracing himself above her, he immediately set a pace that made both them and the car shake.

“Want to feel it,” she said, pushing her hips up to meet his every thrust.

Had anyone else but Sarah heard the pathetic little whine that came out of his mouth, he would have been mortified.

“Come for me, Quinn.”

Each thrust ended with her name on his tongue. When his orgasm finally shattered, he flooded her with a shout. Burring himself to the hilt again and again, he kept going until his limbs gave out, and he collapsed on top of her.

Day 3 (The 4th of July):

The morning of the 4th was spent puttering around the bay in a two-person kayak before stopping on a far shore to eat the picnic she’d packed for brunch.

Then they had to get back to the house so Sarah could make her dads favorite chocolate tart. Jim had suggested and requested she make it, so she and Quinn had stopped at the store on their way back from their lovers’ lane rendezvous the night before. She’d never been so thankful she’d remembered a hairbrush.

In the middle of the afternoon, as the crust was baking, they found themselves in the house alone.

Glancing out the window, Sarah saw the family gathered at the bay shore behind the neighboring house and locked what looked like an intense volleyball tournament.

“Looks like the house is empty,” she said casually.

Quinn perked up.

She picked up the timer, “we’ve got a bit of time before I need to pull this out of the oven if you want to —” She broke off, laughing as Quinn sprinted around the island, took her by the waist and pulled her against him.

“Yes,” he said breathlessly, “I want to.”

She laughed again and pulled him down the hall to his room. Once there, she pulled the blinds closed before turning back to him. He was shutting the door, looking at her like he was ready to pounce.

Glancing at the timer, she said, “we’ve got thirty minutes,” before stripping her tank top off, revealing her blue bikini top.

He was going to spend every one of them with his face between her legs. God, he missed the way she tasted, the noises she made when he went down on her. There was nothing like it.

“Thirty minutes,” he repeated, “just enough time to get you off a few times.”

He tackled her into the bed, immediately wrestling with her shorts and the bikini bottoms she had on underneath them.

“And you,” she said, reaching for his swim trunks, “I want to feel you, too.” Before she could get a good grip to pull his board shorts down, he was kissing along her stomach, intention clear.

“Quinn,” she breathed, “you don’t have to —”

“Want to,” he mumbled into her skin as he spread her thighs to lay between them.

A whimper escaped her chest.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he moaned when he finally got his eyes on her. She was already glistening for him.

“Really?” she knew he didn’t mind giving head, but to miss it? She missed getting him off, sure, but she’d be lying if she said she missed giving him a blowjob more than anything else.

“Fuck yes.”

She let out a small moaned whine as her hips tipped toward his mouth.

He didn't need any more invitation than that. Stuffing his face into her center, he moaned, feeling his eyes roll back. She smelled and tasted like heaven.

When he got over the initial jolt of pleasure at finally having his mouth on her again, he looked up to find she'd pulled her bikini top to the side and was toying with her nipple. The other hand was over her mouth, muffling the noises he loved so much.

“Want to hear you.”

Was that his voice? He sounded drunk. In a way, he supposed he was.

“I don’t want to…” she broke off, panting. “Don’t want to draw attention,” she managed. “What if someone comes in the house?”

Not bothering to respond, he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked.

Her hips tipped into him, and she moaned.

“That’s it,” he groaned into her, “just like that.”

“Oh my god,” she breathed as the hand that was over her mouth fumbled into his hair. The other stayed at her chest, pushing her bikini off of her other breast so she could tweak and twirl that nipple, too.

Fuck, she was so sexy.

Two orgasms later, Quinn showed no signs of stopping, despite rutting his hips into the mattress every time her body and breath shook with pleasure.

“I want you.”

He didn’t make any moves to break away from her center. He was practically drinking her release, but his thirst wasn’t yet quenched.

“Quinn, I want you inside me.”

When he didn’t follow her request, she wrapped her fingers into his hair and tugged.

He grunted and let out a pathetic little whine, but let her pull him up to her.

Kneeling, he shoved his shorts down before hooking her right leg over his arm.

“Quinn,” she moaned when he hovered over her. It stretched her farther than she could on her own, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

“You want it?” he asked, nestling just the tip against her entrance.

“Yes,” she moaned, head thrown back.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Quinn. I need your cock inside me.”

There was only so far a man's resistance could take him, and Quinn had just run out of rope. Leaning down, he caught her mouth to capture her moans as his hips drove forward, sheathing himself in one hard thrust.

Their shouts crashed together, their lips muffling the sound.

After only a few harsh thrusts, she was pulling away, head tipped back against the pillows as she panted.

Guiding her hand between their bodies, he instructed, “touch yourself for me.”

He’d usually build her up slowly, but there was no time for that kind of slow seduction.

“Fuck,” she whispered, body on fire.

He felt her walls spasm around him and knew she'd made contact with her swollen bundle of nerves.

“Feels good?” he asked, voice strained to a whisper in her ear.

“So good,” she babbled, “you feel so, so good.”

He growled something deep in his throat.

“Yes,” she panted, not knowing or caring what she was agreeing to.

He chuckled.

“I’m almost there,” she said. Pressing a fraction harder, she skated that delicate line of getting off faster without causing pain.

“Come for me, Sarah,” he commanded.

She gasped. He never talked like this at home. Something about the possibility of getting caught brought it out of him, she was sure.

Mouth next to her ear, he growled, “come all over my cock.”

She had no choice but to obey. His filthy mouth, combined with a few more punishing thrusts, had her careening into orgasmic bliss.

He swallowed her moans and trusted her to catch his cry of pleasure when he came hard inside her.

After riding out their highs, he flopped beside her, and her leg fell off the side of the bed.

“Holy shit,” she whispered.

He huffed in response.

After a few moments of panting breaths, she asked, “could you go get a washcloth?”

“I don't think I can move,” he confessed.

She giggled, “that good, hu?”

“Fuck,” he moaned. “It was unreal.”

“It was, or I was?” she asked, quirking her brows teasingly.

“You always are,” he said earnestly as he rolled over to throw a heavy arm over her stomach as his mouth connected with her shoulder.

The timer beeped once.

“That's the one minute warning,” she said quietly, tucking her breasts back into her top. “I need a towel or something to wipe off so I can get dressed to pull the crust out.”

Fuck this room with its stupid fucking walk in closet that should have been a en suite bathroom.

Quinn convinced himself up with a groan and found a clean t shirt she could use, “I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly, handing it to her.

The timer went off just as she was finishing wiping up. She threw on her bathing suit and rushed into the kitchen.

The back door opened as she was pulling the crust out of the oven. She kept her eyes down, knowing she must look ridiculous pulling a pie out of the oven in her bikini. She hadn't even looked in a mirror yet. Her hair was likely wild, and she was probably flushed and looked over kissed. She may as well have been wearing a sign that said freshly fucked.

“God fucking dammit,” she recognized Jack's voice, “have Quinn text me when we can come back in the house,” he said, voice too loud and dripping with annoyance, before the door snapped shut.

She giggled and, upon coming back to the room, found Quinn freshly showered.

“How did you do that so fast?”

“Do what?”

“Shower. I was gone for like three minutes.”

He shrugged and whipped the towel from around his waist to drag over his hair.

She didn't try to hide her stare, admiring his hip lines, which were more defined than they'd been at the start of the summer.

“My eyes are up here, sweetheart.”

Heat flooded her cheeks, but she pulled her eyes to his. “Jack wants you to text him when it's safe to come inside.”

He laughed. “Does that mean we can go another few rounds before I tell him anything?” he asked, slinging an arm around her and bringing her close against him.

“I’ve got to shower and finish the tart,” she said, patting his chest lightly. “Plus, I think we’ve pushed our luck enough for one day.”

Begrudgingly, he agreed and dressed as she went to take a shower.

When Sarah wandered back to the kitchen, hair wet, but pulled back in a french braid, she found Quinn at the sink, watching his brothers play volleyball paired up with some of their cousins.

“You should go join,” Sarah encouraged.

“But you’re not —”

“I can finish this on my own. It’s not a big deal. Go have fun.”

“You're sure?”

“Yeah. I actually wouldn't mind having some time to myself for a minute.”

“You’ll let me know if you want me to come back in?” he confirmed.

She nodded, and he pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth before heading outside.

After Quinn went out to join in the tournament, absorbed onto the same team as his brothers, people cycled through the kitchen as they came in to use the bathroom or grab something to drink. Each one of them offered to help, and Sarah always responded with a bright smile and an, “I'm alright. Thank you, though.”

It wasn't until Ellen came in that the answer changed.

She was the first one who broached the barrier of the island, coming around to lay a hand on Sarah's upper back. “Are you okay in here, sweetheart?”

It was such a motherly thing to do that it made emotion swell in her chest.

“Yeah,” Sarah said with a sigh, “I'm fine. Just a little overwhelmed.”

“Ah,” she nodded knowingly, “it's a lot to take in.”

“Yeah. I'm kind of glad to have some time to myself.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No, you can stay if you want.”

“How can I help?”

Sarah set her to washing the raspberries while she watched the caramel over the stove.

“Things are going okay, though?”

“Yeah. It's a little less huge every day. I feel like I’m finally remembering people’s names.”

“And they're okay with Quinn? I know he's really missed you when you're apart.”

“Yeah, I've missed him a lot, too,” she said. “It's been kind of a rough go.”

“Well, it seems like a good sign to me that you miss each other so much.”

“Yeah. It's kind of weird. I feel like I miss him a lot physically, but I didn't realize how much I missed the little interactions until they were gone.”

“What do you mean?”

It felt a little strange to be talking about this with Quinn’s mom, but she was asking. “Like, I miss running into each other as we’re going through his apartment. Like, if I’m studying, he gives me a kiss as he passes by. That kind of thing.”

Ellen felt a knowing, happy smile spread over her face. Jimmy often did things like that to her, and knowing that Quinn had picked up on one of his dads sweetest habits made her heart swell with pride.

“He told us he invited you to move in when he gets back.”

Smiling down at the caramel, which was starting to turn golden, Sarah nodded.

“Are you going to?”

“I think so. I mean, I will unless something changes.”

“Quinn’ll be so relieved. I’m pretty relieved, too.”

Sarah glanced up at her.

“He’s been all alone in Vancouver for so long,” Ellen explained, shaking the water off the berries, “I know he’s got hockey and his teammates, but I realize now how different it’s been for Jack and Luke to have each other. I’m just glad he has someone he can rely on.”

Intense pride and acceptance filled Sarah’s chest. She knew Ellen liked her, but for her to be relieved she was in Quinns life was something totally different. It dispelled some of her lingering anxiety.

“It’s really, really nice for me to have someone to rely on, too.” Before she could stop them, words continued bubbling out of her mouth, “I’m a little worried about living there while he’s on the road, though.”

“Yeah?”

“I just…I’ve never lived on my own, and — I don’t know if Quinn’s told you about what happened after my mom died?”

“He mentioned you went through some hard things,” Ellen said, trying to be tactful. Quinn had told her about Sarah moving in with her sister and then her uncle because she was worried about her mental health.

“I know it’ll only be for short stints, but I’ve never done that before.”

The older woman nodded in understanding. “I think I went through something similar when Jimmy started traveling with his coaching. I had the boys at home, and we were really busy, and at times, I just wanted to rip my hair out.”

“How did you get through it?”

“I had friends, and I took time for myself when Jim got home. It’ll be a transition for sure, but I think you’ll settle into it just fine. And you know I’m always just a phone call away.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” she said, wrapping her arm around Sarah, who leaned her head on Ellen’s shoulder. “Sometimes, it’s nice to have some time away from each other, too. It cuts out the mundane.”

A laugh chuffed out of Sarah’s mouth, and she pulled the caramel off the stove to pour into the pie crust.

“How’s your research going this summer?” Ellen asked.

“Since I’m not in school, and the aquarium is so much busier in the summer, I do more work than research, so I’ve been doing a lot of education tours. I had to re-up my scuba certification this year, so I did that last week.”

“Why?”

“Sometimes we have to dive into the tanks,” she said. “It’s pretty rare, but they like all of the zoologists to have it.”

Ellen nodded.

“But my research is going well. It’s right on track. I’ve started writing my thesis, and as long as I can get it done, I should be able to graduate at the end of the year.”

“Oh, that’s so exciting.”

“It’s kind of daunting,” Sarah admitted. “I’ve been in school for so long, I don’t really know what I’ll do with myself when I’m done.”

“I remember feeling that way when I was in grad school. It’s just new. You’ll figure it out as it comes,” Ellen assured. “Do you have to defend your thesis?”

“Yeah.”

“I hope you’ll let us know when you do. We’d love to be there to support you.”

Sarah beamed. “I’d like that.”

They finished the tart together right before Jims sisters came in to take over the kitchen. As Quinn’s families house was bigger and more recently renovated, almost all of the cooking took place there. It also didn’t hurt that it had the largest lawn for outdoor dinners to be set up.

Sarah joined in the last game of volleyball, a battle of the sexes. The girls won, but that was mostly due to the fact that three of Quinn’s cousins played college volleyball and coached everyone else in what to do. It didn’t stop Sarah from gloating to Quinn when they embraced after the game was done. He took it all in stride, teasing her about her missed sets.

After a cookout dinner of burgers, dogs, and all the fixings, dessert was set out, and Sarah’s tart, despite being sliced into tiny servings, was gone before everyone was done eating dinner.

Once the sun set, they moved down to the beach to watch the fireworks, which were shot off across the bay.

Sarah and Quinn shared a blanket. He invited her to sit between his legs so she could lean on his chest, but she opted to sit beside him. She’d always wanted to kiss under fireworks, and sitting side by side made that more of a possibility.

Halfway through the show, she glanced over at him to find him watching her.

Their mouths tipped together, and it was even more romantic than Sarah had imagined. Finally, the world outside matched how she felt kissing him.

“He’s never done that before, you know,” Luke said, catching up with her as they meandered back to the house to light sparklers with the little ones before they had to get to bed.

“What?”

“Quinn. He’s never made out with someone in public like that.”

“Really?” It’s not like they made a habit of kissing in front of people, but they’d kissed in front of both of their families after he won the Norris, and their first kiss hadn’t been very private at all.

“Yeah. He’s usually more reserved.”

“It’s probably just because we’re with family.”

Luke shook his head, “No. He’s brought other girls to the 4th before, and he never kissed any of them like that.”

Sarah felt her eyebrows raise.

“It’s just nice to see him so comfortable with someone,” he said, knocking his shoulder into hers.

A smile beamed over her face. “You an Kylee looked pretty cozy, too.” They’d started kissing even before the fireworks started, and from what Sarah saw, they never broke apart. Though they must have if he’d noticed her and Quinn.

His face flushed as he gave her a chagrined smile. “Our first kiss was on the 4th of July. It’s kind of an anniversary,” he said, watching Kylee dance around with some of his cousins.

“Yeah? Ellen made it seem like you guys didn’t start dating until you started your senior year.”

“We didn’t. I was trying, and we kind of got somewhere over the 4th, but she didn’t think I was serious.”

“Why not?”

Kylee came up to them then, hooking her arm around Luke’s waist. “Luke’s so shy at first, I couldn’t really tell if he was into me. And Jack talked to me all the time,” she explained. “He always brought Luke up, but never, like, facilitated a conversation between us.”

“Why didn’t he just let you figure it out?” Sarah asked, tearing her eyes away from where Quinn had Nova perched on his shoulders so she could waive her sparkler higher than everyone else.

Luke rolled his eyes, “I think he was trying to wing-man, but it backfired constantly. We only kissed on the 4th because Jack was gone.”

Kylee giggled, “I felt like I had it figured out, and then in comes Jack chatting me up again.”

Upon hearing his name, Jack looked over, “what about me?”

“We’re just talking about what an awful wingman you are,” Luke called back.

“The worst!” someone else chimed in.

Jack’s cheeks, which were already pink from having one too many beers, flushed darker.

“Now that I know him better, I know he really was trying to talk Luke up, but I was just so confused,” Kylee explained with a laugh. “He’s so chatty, it comes off as flirting sometimes.”

“It wasn’t until he moved to New Jersey that she started taking me seriously,” Luke said, casting a fond glance at his girlfriend.

“I was trying,” Jack called out across the lawn.

“I know!” Kylee yelled back.

Sarah wondered how her relationship with Quinn would have been different if Jack had behaved this way. She supposed they were already in love by the time she met Jack. Instead of the overly friendly, flirty Jack, she got the sullen, don’t take my brother Jack. At least he seemed to be getting over that particular fear. He didn’t treat her like a sibling like he did Kylee, but at least he wasn’t as standoffish as he had been and was beginning to joke with her.

After the kids were finally in bed, some of the adults sat around the living room, planning the beach trip for the following day. Sarah was on the floor, leaning against the couch between Quinn’s splayed legs. His hands were resting comfortably on her shoulders. In an attempt to stop herself from kissing the inside of his leg, she leaned her head on his knee.

“Mia mentioned wanting to go through the tide pools,” she said. “I looked it up, and it looks like the best beach for tide pools is Great Island Common. I don’t know how close we’re going to be to there, but it could be fun to go.”

“Its not too far from the beach we're going to.”

“Awesome. Low tide is at 5 pm, so it would be best to do tide pooling between 2 and 5 when the tide is receding.”

Everyone glanced at each other quietly.

“What?”

“You looked all that up?”

“Yeah. Mia said she wanted to go,” Sarah repeated.

“I just,” Jenny began, “I’m surprised you looked up the best times to go tide pooling for a twelve year old.”

“It was just a few quick google searches. I’d bet the other kids would like it, too. All my nieces and nephews really love it. We might as well go at the best time if we can swing it.”

When they fell into bed that night, Quinn pulled Sarah on top of him, just to feel her weight pressing him down. “I love you,” he said, mouth sleepily brushing her jaw.

“I love you, too.”

They fell asleep mouth to mouth.

Day 4 (The Beach):

“Look over here!”

Quinn watched the kids run to gather around Sarah, a smile on his face. They’d all been tired, sun drenched and ready to go home when they got to Great Island Common, but Sarah’s love for the ocean and her knack for finding interesting creatures soon had them all invested in the hunt through the rocky tide pools.

“Mia found a small octopus in this pool,” she said, pointing to a craggy divot in the rock. “Can you see it?”

Sam reached forward, and Sarah gently caught his hand, “we can’t touch, remember? We’re in his house. He’s not in ours.”

Sam nodded, a shy blush spreading over his cheeks.

Even the adults were gathered around now, along with some people they didn’t know.

“I don’t see it,” his uncle said.

“Octopus camouflage really well, so they’re hard to see, but if you look really closely,” she traced the outline of it with her finger above the water, “you can see where it looks just a little different from the rock, and then you can find the legs and suction cups.”

After a moment, Quinn could see the creature, legs curlicued underneath itself, rows and rows of tiny suction cups just lighter than the body.

“And you can see the urchin there,” she pointed to the purple creature on the other side of the pool. “Those are poisonous if the spines go through your skin, so make sure you don’t step on any of them, okay?”

The little kids nodded seriously.

“Sarah! There’s a crab!”

“Where?” she asked as if she’d never seen one before.

Sam proudly pointed to the crab crawling along the bottom of an adjacent pool.

“Good job, Sam. What else can you see?”

They fanned out and reported their findings.

“What’s this?” Jason asked.

Sarah walked over and laughed. “That,” she reached into the pool and plucked something out, “is a plastic bag.”

“Oh,” he said with a laugh, “I thought it might be a jellyfish.”

“No. Jellyfish don’t like the shallow water, so they usually don’t end up in tide pools unless they get caught, and they look more like a pile of Jello if they do. Most things in tide pools like to be there because each new tide brings fresh water and fresh food. It’s sort of an all you can eat buffet without having to go very far.”

“Sarah!” Nova screeched.

She immediately turned around, nearly toppling over in her haste.

Quinn caught her arm and held her steady.

“Thanks,” she said with a grateful smile before searching for Nova. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asked when she spotted the small girl, squatting over a pool.

“There’s a star in here!”

Sharing a conspiratorial smile with Quinn, she made her way over.

“You’re right. That is a sea star,” she said. “Oh, and look, it’s lost an arm.”

“Oh no,” Nova said, hands coming up to her pudgy cheeks.

“Its okay. That happens to sea stars sometimes, but guess what?”

“What?”

“They grow right back. If we come back in two months, she’d have a brand new arm.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Watching her go from pool to pool to talk to the kids about what they’d found, he understood why the aquarium liked her to do the octopus talks. She was patient and excited and willing to talk about even the most boring of topics.

He already knew she was smart and patient and kind, but seeing all of those things directed at people he loved made his heart feel fit to burst.

Her sister leaned over, and Ellen leaned in to hear her conspiratorial whisper, “I’ve never seen Quinn look so lovestruck before.”

“I know,” Ellen agreed, smiling.

“It’s a good look on him. She’s a great girl.”

As they walked back to the cars, ready to get dinner and head home for the day, Jack caught up with Sarah. “Can we do that in Hawaii?” he asked quietly so no one would overhear.

She smiled over at him, “sure. Or we could go snorkeling. There are a lot of really good snorkeling coves around the island. We could find some really interesting fish. Probably even some sharks or turtles.”

His face lit up in a beaming smile, “yeah, that would be cool.”

Day 5 (Goodbye is the hardest word):

Quinn let himself sleep in the next morning. Savoring the last few hours he had with Sarah.

They cuddled in bed, falling in and out of slumber until someone knocked on the door.

“Yeah?” Quinns voice rasped, and he cleared his throat.

“Is it safe?” Luke asked.

“What do you want?”

Figuring he wouldn’t have responded if they were engaged in other activities, Kylee stuck her head in, breathing a sigh of relief to find them cuddled together but fully clothed.

“Sorry,” she said. “Ellen wanted me to remind you breakfast’s almost over, so if you want food, you need to come out now.”

When they stumbled onto the lawn, still in their pajamas, someone wolf whistled. Quinn flipped them off.

After eating, they ended up back in bed, content to hold each other for a little while longer.

“I’m gonna miss you so bad,” Quinn whispered.

Sarah agreed.

“Twenty-nine days,” he breathed.

“What?”

“That’s when I can see you again.”

Sarah opened her mouth to dispute but remembered Jack’s plan and snapped it shut. “Maybe it won’t be so bad,” she said instead.

“No?” he asked. “Because it sounds pretty fucking awful to me.” There was a harshness in his tone she didn’t recognize.

Easing away from him, she propped herself up so she could look into his face, “why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

“Bullshit. I can hear it in your voice. Why are you mad?”

Feeling caught and cornered, Quinn blew a breath through his nose. “I just…we’re not going to see each other for 29 days - probably longer than that, and you’re telling me it’s not going to be so bad? Do you not even miss me?”

Shocked, she sat up, moving further away from him. “What the fuck, Quinn? Of course I miss you.”

“But not as much,” he crossed his arms over his chest as he sat up, too.

“I miss you an enormous amount. I miss you every day we’re not together.”

“But it’s going to be fine when we’re apart?”

Sarah felt her defenses go up. “That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Quinn,” her voice went hard.

He glared at her, and it shocked into her stomach.

Fighting against the urge to put more space between them, she said, “I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

“I’m saying that I’m going to miss you,” his voice tipped into a borderline mocking tone as if he was trying to explain something to an unruly child, “and you’re telling me to buck up because it won’t be that bad.”

Damn Jack and his surprise. It would make everything so much easier if she didn’t have to keep this a secret.

“I didn’t say that,” she said. Anger at being mocked and told what she was thinking simmered inside her, making her heartbeat race.

He dropped his gaze to his hands.

Pressing her palms into the mattress, she tried to ground herself as she thought. Ever since they’d talked about the summer and he’d asked why she always ran away, she’d been working with her therapist on sitting in these tense, uncomfortable emotions. Taking a deep breath, she tried to sort through her thoughts. What did she actually want to say?

“Quinn, I love you.”

He didn’t look at her, but she saw his mouth twitch.

“This summer fucking sucks. I wish all of it was like this,” she ventured to put a hand on his knee. When he didn’t shrink away from her touch, she continued, “I miss you all the time when we’re not together.”

He sighed, focusing on the warmth from her palm on his leg.

“All I meant was that we made it through this 17 day stint —”

“19,” he corrected.

“19,” she repeated. “I know 29 days isn’t the same as 19 by a long shot,” also they would see each other in 22 days, but he didn’t know that yet, “but we made it this time. I’m not saying it won’t be hard, but we’ll figure it out, just like we’ve figured out everything else.”

He lifted his head, and to her surprise, the sunlight streaming through the window was shimmering off of tears pooled in his eyes.

“Oh, Quinn,” she said, scooting closer to him so she could gather him into an embrace.

He tucked his face into her neck and took some deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. Her fingers slid into his hair, rubbing soothing circles on his scalp.

“I’m sorry,” he said into her skin. “I was just thinking about how much it’s going to suck driving back from the airport without you.”

She hummed in agreement. She’d been thinking about the long flight home without him, too. The anticipation of seeing him wouldn’t be there to soothe the ache down this time.

“I know we made it, but now that I know how hard it is to be without you for nineteen days, it just feels like,” he lifted his head to look into her face, “it feels like now I know exactly how hard it’s going to be to wait twenty-nine.”

The pain in his eyes ripped her heart in half. If Jack hadn’t made her promise to keep it a secret, she’d tell him right now.

Instead, she slipped her hands to cradle his jaw and said, “it’ll be hard, but we’ll get through it together. We’ll talk every day.”

“Maybe I’ll come out for a weekend,” he suggested.

“Sure.”

Leaning forward, he tipped his mouth to hers.

They stayed there for a long time, kissing in that slow, loving way, as if they had all the time in the world.

When his hands snuck under her top, she let him strip it off.

It was only when his mouth went to her neck that she remembered, “Quinn, the blinds.”

He made a dismissive sound.

“What if someone sees?”

Even as he thought, then let them see, he knew Sarah wouldn’t be comfortable with it. She didn’t say anything about the door, hopefully because she’d also noticed no one had opened it without knocking since that first night.

Convincing himself to pull away only with the promise that he'd be back in bed momentarily, he got up to close the blinds. The window looked out into the forest behind the house. He supposed someone could stumble upon it - it was on the ground floor - but he hadn’t ever noticed anyone walking by. Still, if it made Sarah more comfortable, he would do it.

He closed the shutter doors and slid the blinds up, making sure the magnets caught so they wouldn’t fall open.

Sunlight crept in through the cracks so that when he turned back to the bed, he found her bathed in a dim, bluish light.

As Sarah reached for him, she murmured, “lets make the most of the time we have.”

He didn’t waste any covering her body with his own, welcoming the electricity that sparked between their bare chests.

They kissed and touched, exploring with a kind of rushed reverence. They had some time, but there was only so long before someone would come looking for them.

Quinn gently rocked his hips into hers, and she responded in kind.

“I love you,” she whispered, tangling her fingers in his hair as he licked and kissed the sensitive spot that drove her mad. When she’d arrived, his facial hair was just over the cusp of stubble. Now, it was a pleasant scratch against her tender skin.

“I love you,” he responded, so quietly she felt his lips under her ear more than she heard the words.

“Quinn,” she breathed.

“I love the way you say my name.” His voice was dim.

It wasn’t so much that they were trying to be quiet, as it was that this moment was just for them, and neither felt the need to speak any louder than necessary.

“How do you want me?” she asked before he could. He asked all the time, and he deserved to get what he wanted just as much as she did. Plus, the least she could do while keeping this secret from him was give him what he wanted.

He moaned something into her skin. She’d asked him this before, but it still made him lightheaded. “How do you want me?” Not just how do you want sex, but how did he want her — her body and mind and soul.

“Want you on top,” he whispered. He wanted the vision of her riding him to be the last thing he remembered from her visit.

She let out a pleasured hum, helping him roll them over.

They made quick work of shedding the rest of their clothing, and she slowly sunk onto him.

A quiet whine escaped his throat as he said, “you’re so perfect.”

She leaned forward slightly so her clit brushed against his pelvis with every roll of her hips. Her eyes fluttered closed. “You’re so perfect for me, Quinn.”

A beam of light caught his eye, and he glanced over. The closet door was open at just the right angle, so the full-length mirror mounted on it reflected her, showing him a side of her he'd never seen before.

He was mesmerized. Watching Sarah — the sway of her back rising from the white sheet pooled around her hips — he didn't think he'd ever seen anything so lovely.

“God, you’re so beautiful.”

She ground against him a bit harder, and he moaned, eyes snapping back to her face just as hers flittered back open.

The memory of their first - well second - time having sex crashed over Sarah as they held eye contact.

Moving her hips back to sink him deeper inside her before rocking forward again, she moaned his name. She was sure their emotional connection was a big reason behind it, but no one had ever felt as good as Quinn. The love and acceptance she'd always found in his eyes gave her permission to go after what she wanted.

In this blue-gray light, she was rendered a painting — a vision — a dream he wanted to relive every night when he closed his eyes.

His hands made a slow exploratory study of her body. Over her luscious thighs to squeeze the flesh of her hips before gliding up the curve of her waist to her lovely breasts.

The sound she made as she arched into his touch etched itself into his brain.

Bracing her hands on his chest, she rocked with a little more intent, chasing the spark, now glowing brighter inside her. It tightened her belly and hitched her breathing.

“Quinn,” she whispered.

His hand slipped up to push some of her hair out of her face. “Let go.”

“I —” The fire caught, and her whole body tightened as it licked through her veins.

She constricted around him, and her name rushed out of him as she stole his breath, “Sarah.”

Her hips rocked and weaved through her high, siphoning his release from him with soft insistence.

Tenderly lowering herself, Sarah tucked her face into his neck as their skin pressed together with every jagged breath.

His arms slid around her, keeping her close as his heartbeat slowed.

“I love you so much.”

She pushed herself up, keeping him seated inside her. “I love you, Quinn,” she whispered, running her fingers through his hair. “I miss you so much when we're not together.”

“I know.” Tears sheened into his vision again, “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, sending a few pieces of hair slipping out of her bun. “You don’t need to…”

“I just hate being without you.”

Slowly, she lowered herself to lay over him again, taking care to not move too fast. She didn’t want to let go of the feeling of him inside her just yet. “I hate being without you, too,” she murmured against his lips.

They stayed in their little cocoon as long as they could, but Quinn was right. Eventually, someone did come looking for them. The knock on the door startled his mouth away from hers. She licked and pursed her lips.

“Quinn?” it was his dad.

Breath hitching, she scrambled off of him, taking the sheet to cover herself along the way.

“Yeah?”

The door handle didn’t move, and Sarah practically collapsed beside him.

“Just letting you know lunch is ready, and you’re going to have to leave soon to get Sarah to her flight on time. The airport security looks really busy.”

The fact that Jim was checking up on the security lines at the airport was so tender to Sarah. It was such a fatherly, responsible thing to do.

“Okay,” Quinn responded, “we’ll be out in a minute.”

He waited for his dads footsteps to recede before throwing on a pair of boxers and racing to the bathroom to get a washcloth for her. When he got back to the room, he found her, still wrapped in the sheet, adding the last of her things to her suitcase. That ache reopened in his chest. They would get through it, but he would miss her every second.

“I was thinking,” Sarah began as Quinn handed her the washcloth.

“Hm?” he asked, watching her clean up.

“Why don’t you have Jack or someone ride along to the airport? Then at least you won’t be alone for the drive back.”

“And what if I wanted to have a quicky on the road?” he asked playfully.

She couldn’t stop the snort. “You don’t have to, I just thought it might help with some of that loneliness.”

Her care for him stopped taking him by surprise a long time ago, but he was still bowled over by it sometimes. “You wouldn’t mind?” he asked.

“Mind what?”

“Two hours in the car with Jack?”

“I think I can manage,” she said with a smile, “especially if it means you won’t be so lonely going home.”

Though she was halfway through dressing, he didn’t hesitate to wrap her in an embrace.

The tender moment shattered when Quinn slid his hands into her underwear to grope her butt. She laughed, but jerked away from him. “If we start that again, I’ll definitely miss my flight.”

Hands on her hips, he pulled her back, “maybe that’s the idea,” he said, quirking his eyebrows.

Laughing, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, deep and slow, until guilt gnawed at the back of her mind. She pulled back, looking into his eyes. “You know I don’t want to leave, right?”

He nodded, one of his hands still cradling her rump.

“I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

He was spoiled having her this way for four whole days, and now that he’d experienced it, he didn’t want to let it go. He wasn’t rushing to practice, and she wasn’t running to school. They weren’t racing to activities or commitments. They got to just be together.

When she finished packing, Quinn reluctantly took her suitcase to the car as she went out to the lawn for lunch and to say her goodbyes.

To Sarah, goodbyes were always the hardest part of vacations like this. She still wasn’t exactly sure how everyone was or wasn’t related, but she knew most peoples names at least.

She hugged everyone she could, stopping to squeeze Nova and Mia extra tight. “You’ll come to Vancouver over break, yeah?” she asked. They’d discovered their fall break fell over a home game stint.

Mia nodded, flashing a metal filled smile that had come out more and more as the days went on. “I talked to dad. He said he thinks he can get work off.”

“Great. You have my number, so call me when you’re ready to talk.” Part of the way through their beach day, Mia had asked if she could interview Sarah for her science class. She was supposed to ask a scientist about their use of the scientific method.

Sarah had laughed and pointed out the sticker on her water bottle. “You can’t use this in school. But this is basically the theory.” The sticker had the steps of the scientific method in a circle with the words ‘fuck around and find out’ around the outside. “I’ll give you some more eloquent answers, though,” she’d promised, knocking her shoulder into Mias as they laughed.

As he watched Sarah interact with his family, Quinn asked Jack if he wanted to drive with them. He agreed if they could stop for dinner in the city on the way back.

On the drive, Sarah made Quinn explain how everyone was related again. Jack jumped in to help when he forgot something, or he had a different way of remembering who belonged to what family.

Watching Sarah recite their family tree from the passenger seat, a sense of deja vu passed through Jack. Like seeing how she reacted after the loss, seeing her dedication to knowing how everyone their family loved fit together, he understood how his brother had fallen so hard and so fast.

When they arrived at the airport, Jack took care of getting Sarah’s bags out of the car so she and Quinn could have a few moments alone. Stepping onto the curb, he noticed several girls with their cell phones out, twittering and gossiping. All of their cameras were pointed at Sarah and Quinn, who were sharing a sweet goodbye. It could be a coincidence, but Jack put himself between the girls and his brother anyway.

When they finally parted, Sarah turned to Jack and wrapped him in a tight hug. He responded in kind, briefly lifting her off her feet. “See you soon?”

“Yeah.”

Turning back to Quinn, she threw her arms around him again. “I love you,” she whispered against his ear.

“I love you, too.”

Pulling back to look into his face, her hands moved to his jaw. “Only three weeks.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, keeping his voice quiet enough that Jack wouldn’t hear the emotion choking it.

“I’ll call when I get home.”

“And on your layover.”

“And on my layover,” she agreed before leaning up to press another soft kiss to his lips.

Watching her disappear into the crowd was the worst part. He sniffed.

Jack’s hand slipped onto his shoulder, and Quinn felt a comforting squeeze.

They got back into the car to head back to the cabin.

As Quinn pulled onto the freeway, Jack said, “I like her. She’s good for you.”

Though he knew Jack wasn’t feeling quite so defensive anymore, it was the first time he’d openly said he liked them together.

Quinn beamed, holding out a fist for Jack to bump.

“So can she come to Hawaii?” Quinn asked as they pulled off to go to the Chipotle.

Jack choked on the water he was drinking. “I don’t —” his mind scrambled for the reasons he gave before. “I mean, Sarah’s gonna be on every other family vacation until the end of time, right?”

Smiling, Quinn nodded, glad that Jack was picking up the vision.

“Can we have this this one just us? For the last time?”

He understood Jack’s reasoning, even if it did mean he wouldn’t see Sarah for another two weeks. Sighing, Quinn nodded.

Jack smiled to himself, knowing this surprise was going to be epic.

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

#quinn & sarah snapshots #quinn hughes #qh43 #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes imagine #quinn fic #quinn hughes one shot #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes smut #quinn smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl smut #hockey fanfiction #hockey romance #hockey smut #tkanswers 📮

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thealbatrovss · 4 months ago

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ghosts in the leaves // worst wolverine x reader

summary: you’ve been stuck in the void for years, and logan doesn’t even seem to care.

one shot: ANGST, then fluff of course. I love a sadass story with a happy ending. swearing lol. suggestive material. This is my favorite one I’ve written so far. Enjoy!!

word count: 1k+

masterlist

He was too busy drinking to notice your silent pleading.

You and Logan sat against the rocky wall of your hideout base. The rest of the group of forgotten heroes were planning the final showdown with Cassandra in the next room over.

They left the two of you alone, noticing the tension growing more and more intense. Logan tried to protest, but they shut him out. He wouldn’t stop grumbling to himself about it. That, you noted, hadn’t changed about him.

Wade would occasionally poke his head out from behind the wall, hoping the reunited couple would get back together already. He loved jumping into other peoples business, you noticed. He seemed like a troublemaker.

Johnny would’ve really loved this guy.

You still didn’t understand why Logan was refusing to talk to you. He looked like hell, but so did you. Did he even care?

You just wanted to wipe the blood from his suit and the dirt from his face. Tell him about the hell you’ve been through down here. Ask him about the hell he’s been through back home.

But Logan would rather gargle piss than talk to you at all. That, you were beginning to realize.

He wouldn’t even look you in the eye. He only looked at you when he first arrived. That familiar glow returned to him at that moment. You thought you saw the love of your life return to you right then and there, eyes and mouth wide open. But by the time you ran over to him, throwing your arms around his body, tears streaming down your face, he was pushing you off him and opening a bottle of bourbon.

You could see him fighting the urge to open another one. He balanced it on his hand, and spun the bottle on the floor like it was a game. Guess he won by the fake smile on his face as he placed the lukewarm drink to his lips.

“Are you going to talk to me? Or are you just going to keep drinking?”

He picked up another glass after downing the last one, licking his lips. “I don’t talk to ghosts.”

Your stomach dropped, like a stone in a pond. Your lips fell, a weight dragging them down. “Logan-”

His fists balled up, face turning red. “Don’t fucking say my name.” All the venom leaking from his mouth seemed to form a weapon meant for himself, but he kept aiming it straight at you. “Just don't.”

You held your head high. “Why not?”

“Because,” he took a long drink before continuing. “Your voice is drilling into my skull, that’s why. I don’t talk to ghosts and they don’t talk to me.” Logan shifted his body, facing away from you.

You closed your mouth, letting the words die inside. Instead, you watched the leaves fall from beside the open door.

The trees here never changed. They were stuck in a perpetual autumn. It was haunting to look at. You forgot there were other seasons sometimes. You missed the snow in winter. Icicles hanging from the roof of Xavier’s mansion. You missed the spring flowers and that early summer rain. All you had was autumn, and Logan had the rest. He didn’t seem to like any of it at all anymore.

The Logan you once knew and loved, if he saw you alive and well, he’d come running to you, holding you tight, whispering words of comfort.

This Logan though…He was tired. And angry. So angry. Grief radiated off every inch of him. It almost became a superpower on its own. You weren’t a stranger to that power. He kept you at a distance too, back when you first met.

You had the outline of his back memorized like the back of your hand. This was your Logan. He was just jaded now. Years of believing that you were dead and that he had failed not only his friends and family, but you, the most important person in the world to him, had changed him.

Down here, your one goal was to reach him. Well, you had accomplished that. But not in the way you had wished.

“If there’s any ghosts here, it’s you.” You said it without looking at him either. Just watched the leaves fall.

Logan shut his eyes tight, the veins in his neck growing stronger. His jaw loosened, the bourbon missing his mouth and spilling all over. “Fuck!” He cursed himself.

“Did someone wet the bed again?” Wade's red head popped its way into the room. “Jesus, you two look like you fucked with the lights off. Does this place even have lights? And have you made up yet? I’m sick and tired of this meeting and I wanna join in.”

He sure knew how to make an entrance. It was almost amazing how annoying he was. Again, Johnny and him would’ve gotten along. But Cassandra got to him first.

“Turn around and walk back in there before I pop that tomato of a fucking head of yours.” Logan spat, taking another swig.

Wade gasped, putting his gloved hand to his mouth. “I’d let you pop just about anything, Wolverine.” Before he could say anything more intrusive, Blade's hand grabbed his head, pulling him back behind the wall. Wade still kept ranting all the way back into the other room.

“I’m glad you have a friend.” You tried, shifting uncomfortably in your super suit. “I wouldn’t of made it if it wasn’t for my friends down here.”

And the thought of you. You wanted to finish with that.

“He’s not my friend.”

“Seems like he’s your friend.”

He shook his head, leaning against a rocky pillar. He wanted to keep the distance between you and him as far as possible. You were going to keep running towards him anyways.

“As soon as I arrived it was too late.” You started. “They were all dead.” You paused, letting the grief settle in. Logan sat there as still as a ghost. “I was going to find you before you found them. I'm so sorry you had to see them like that.” You let the tears flow this time. “But then the TVA- they got me. Said I killed one of their own a few days prior. Which is bullshit. But they didn’t care, and they sent me here. I’ve been trying to get back to you ever since. I'm sorry, Logan.”

It happened as quickly as he drank those bottles. He got up, wobbled a bit as he stood, and walked out the door, crushing autumn leaves under his feet.

The silence he left behind was worse than his venom.

Wade popped his head back in, the other four following as well. “We did it! Operation, Stealing Cassandra’s Wii hidden underneath their bed, is underway!”

“What’s under Cassandra’s bed?” Elektra questioned.

“Oh, all kinds of stuff.” He started counting on his fingers. “Video games, velveeta cheese, a bunch of those for some reason. Cowboy hats, pixie sticks, a signed dvd of The Green Lantern. Truly an evil monster, my god.”

Gambit leaned over to Laura. “Do you think one of my missing cards could be hidden under there?”

Laura ignored him, walking over to you, noticing your wet, red eyes. “Hey, are you okay? Where’s Logan?”

“I’d like to know the answer to that question too, Laura.”

Logan’s daughter nodded, squeezing your shoulder before going to look for the shadow of her father.

It was growing dark now. Night was here and all you wanted was to sleep. Maybe you’d wake up in Logan’s arms again and he’d pepper light kisses across your face, taking all those years without him away. Like they never even happened. Like you never lost anything or anyone.

It was still night out when you woke up. Wade's snores were keeping everyone else up, so they moved him outside. You walked by him as he was passed out in a pile of leaves, making your way towards the burning campfire.

Logan sat slumped over the smoke, chin cradled to his chest. You could’ve sworn you saw tears disappearing into the fire. But you didn’t want his dagger like words again, so you turned back around.

And then you heard your name.

It was whispered so softly, like a strong wind. You waited a few more beats, hoping to hear it again. And you did. His voice was strained. Calloused over like he had said your name so many times before that it hurt so bad every time you never said his name back.

But you did this time.

“Yes, Logan?”

“I was just thinking-” His voice was wavering, like he was on a tightrope, wondering when he’d fall off. “I was thinking about your birthday. I’ve missed so many of them.”

Your eyes glazed over, a well of spring water washing away the autumn you still adored. Before you could run to him, he was already there. Strong arms found their way around you. Those lips kissed every inch of your face. It was like returning home again.

“I’m so fucking sorry.” He was barely keeping it together. “I thought you were dead. And then I saw you and all I saw was another failure. I’ve failed you. You’ve been trapped here. And I didn't come to save you. All I did was punish you.”

“It’s okay.” You held him tight, but he held you tighter. “You didn’t know. You had to go on thinking everyone you loved was dead. Logan, you didn’t deserve that.”

He held your head, finally meeting your eyes with his own. “I love you.” He rarely said it. But he didn’t have to. You always knew. “And I’m sorry.”

“I love you too.”

“I’ll be sorry forever.”

“Then I will be too.”

A mix of sorrow and happiness clung to his face. He laughed, as if he was laughing for the first time. “You’re here. You’re not a ghost. I’m not a ghost.”

#the wolverine x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett #the wolverine #ravens masterlist

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slut4hee · 29 days ago

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Slut4Hee 2025 WIPS

——————————————————

Nevertheless Series

{Paring: Toxic Lee Heeseung x Fem! Reader

{Genre: smut, fluff, angst, toxic relationships. This fic is inspired, by one of my favorite kdramas, called nevertheless. It’s about heartbreak, love, lust, and companionship. 18+ so (mdni).

{Synopsis: Lee Heeseung was like breath of fresh poisonous air to your healthy lungs. He was the fire that ignited your flame, the missing piece to your unfinished puzzle. Lee Heeseung, was also the one who destroyed you, the one who clipped your beautiful wings off your body, and shattered your whole innocent being. But still you remained attached to him, drawn in by his dark aura, and blinded by his charming and enchanting presence. You got it bad, but nevertheless…

{Warnings: explicit themes, alcohol consumption, smoking, rough sex, unprotected sex, big dick heeseung soft dom heeseung, sub reader, creampie, breeding kink, fingering, oral (m&f receiving), spanking, corruption, manipulation, love bombing jealousy, cheating (but not really cheating?), Heeseung is hella toxic and a jerk in the beginning, reader is very emotional and down bad for this man, Heeseung has a butterfly tattoo on the back of his neck, lmk if I missed anything!!!

꩜ .ᐟ Teaser

You held onto your chest, feeling your heart beating rapidly. You feel like the air has been stolen from out of your lungs, and you physically can’t breathe, the pain is so unbearable and excruciating.

You should have known sooner or later that you weren’t the only one, but still, your fucked up head told you otherwise. You watched as their lips moved sensually, his hands gripping her waist, and squeezing the fatty flesh.

Tears slowly start to steam down your face, and you can feel yourself going into a panic attack, as the girl lets out a quiet moan, as he sucks on the flesh of her neck. You start to hyperventilate, feeling yourself drifting into the void of darkness, your chest feels tight, your head is pounding and your legs feel weak.

Your body is frozen as you watch, his hands explore her body sinfully, and he whispers to her “you’re a beautiful butterfly” you feel sick to your stomach, as your heart pleads with you to tear it out. That’s what he always called you, his little butterfly, his muse. You can’t take it anymore, you need to get out of here, before you die of a broken heart.

A part of you wonders, if he was to find your lifeless body laying here, with a tear drop running down your cheek before it dries up, would he even care. Would he laugh at your pathetic self, or would he cry and beg for you to wake back up.

And that’s when it happens, your eyes locked with his, his facial expression is unreadable, but you know exactly what’s hidden behind those stone cold eyes of his. He smirks at you, before pulling away from the girl, telling her he’s had enough for tonight.

The girl tries everything in her power, to keep the session going, throwing herself shamelessly at him to spend the night with her. He declines her offer politely, kissing her forehead before he stepped away from her. Almost like the girl was hypnotized or in a trance, she nodded, before kissing him one last time goodbye and taking her leave.

Gaining control over your body, you hurried and hid yourself further into the staircase, watching as the smiling girl walked passed you. There’s a hickey clear as day on the right side of her neck, you can hear your heart shattering into pieces.

You peaked from the side of staircase, immediately making eye contact with Heeseung. It was almost like he spoke to you, without actually exchanging words, as you managed to pull yourself away from hiding and made your way over to him. You looked up at him with tears still in your eyes, your body trembling as you stare deep into his dark orbs.

He can see the hurt and pain radiating from your body, but it does nothing to affect him, instead he just smiles at you and wipe the tear that threatens to fall from your waterline. All you want to do is slap the fuck out of him, and tell how much of a fuckboy he is, but you don’t have it in you to even lay a finger on his beautiful face.

“She just wanted to see how it feels” he looked into your eyes, staring into your soul, as he ghosted his lips against yours. You held back a sob, as you turned away from him, stepping away and looking down at the ground. He slowly walked over to you, and hugged you from the back.

“I really wanted to try it with you, my muse” he hummed, turning your body back around to face him. You looked at him with an unreadable, expression falling into the trap of his alluring voice.

He tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, before leaning down, and pulling you into a soft sensual kiss. You were so disgusted with yourself, for letting him kiss you, after his lips was just on another girl. Like a million butterflies erupting inside your stomach, you once again have given yourself willingly to Lee Heeseung.

“𝙉𝙤 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙘𝙧𝙮 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙗𝙪𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙡𝙮, 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙡𝙡, 𝙞𝙩’𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙮 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙩𝙤“....

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Land Of The Riches

{Paring: Rich Top Student Kim Leehan x Scholarship Student Fem! Reader

{Genre: smut, college au, private school au, fluff, toxic relationship, fwb?? Rich kid things, 18+ so (mdni).

{Synopsis: Stepping into a world, you knew you didn’t belong to was something you really didn’t participate doing. The flashy earrings and watches accompanied by the students, and the all black luxury cars, pulling up in front of the school with chauffeurs present in the front seat of them. Truth is, you didn’t come from a rich background, in fact your parents could never afford to pay for you to go here out of pocket, but your high IQ and your excellent grades landed you a full on scholarship spot at New Winchester University. Fitting in was going to be a hell of a challenge, but it seems you are already making progress, since the star student Leehan has taken a liking to you.

{Warnings: explicit themes, rough sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, oral (f&m receiving), fingering, squirting, face sitting, mutual masturbation, sexual acts in public (they fuck in the library, and Leehan fingers reader in class), dirty talk, pet names, bullying, manipulation, corruption kink, cheating, (no I don’t condone cheating so pls hush it’s all fictional love), Leehan is preppy cocky rich mf, alcohol consumption, smoking, lmk if I missed anything!!!

꩜ .ᐟ Teaser

“Fuuuck that’s it doll, suck that fucking cock like you mean it” Leehan grunted, his hand holding your head in place, while his other hand holds his phone up as he record you sucking him off. You don’t know how you managed to find yourself, in this situation with your head between Leehan’s legs, doing unholy things to him.

Wait in fact you do, it all started with him staring at you in class, studying you, and hypnotizing you with his enchanting and flirtatious aura. Not long after, the boy convinced you to skip class with him, asking you to have a smoke with him.

You made it clear to him you didn’t smoke, but he insisted you come with him, and that you could just accompany him. And that’s how you ended up here, with Leehan abusing your throat, with his long thick length.

“Holy shit princess, I knew you would be so good at this. Look at me baby” he groaned when your eyes locked with his and then the camera. Your eyes widened at the realization, that he was recording you. You pulled off his dick and covered your face quickly.

“W-why are you recording me, please turn it off” you stuttered out, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. He chucked lowly, grabbing your chin, and wiping some of the drool and his pre cum that drips on the side of your mouth.

“Oh C’mon baby girl, I swear I won’t show anyone, matter of fact, I pinky promise” he pouted cutely at you, caressing your chin lovingly as he manipulates you into giving him what he wants. Of course you ended up giving in. Not being able to resist his puppy dog face and menacing attics.

“Fine, just p-please don’t show anyone, please don’t” you pleaded with him, his eyes lit up and a smirk appeared on his handsome face. You felt your heart skip a beat at his stupid beautiful smile, easily falling into his trap. You grabbed his throbbing cock, pumping it a couple of times, before taking back inside your wet mouth.

“Oooh my fucking goddd, damnit that feels so good slut” he whined, bucking his hips up, causing you to gag around his dick. He groaned deeply, pushing your head roughly as he fucked into your mouth desperately. He stuggled to keep ahold of his phone, his legs trembling and shaking as he chased his high.

“F-fuck Y/n, I’m so close, you gonna be a good little whore and let me cum in your mouth right?” He cooed as he caressed your cheek lovingly. You clenched around nothing, your thighs rubbing together, as your panties became sticky with your leaking arousal Leehan noticed that and chuckled lowly.

Suddenly his phone ringed, pausing the recording, he groaned in frustration and rolled his eyes as he went to answer it. You panicked, about to pull away but he glared at you, giving you stern look as he shock his head no at you. Your eyes widened at the realization that he wants you to keep sucking him while he talks on the phone.

“Hey baby what’s up” he answered, rolling his yes at the loud girl over the phone. Your felt a churn in your stomach, at the fact that he’s talking on the phone with who you believe to be Yu Karina, aka his 𝙂𝙄𝙍𝙇𝙁𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙉𝘿!!!

You hear the girl on the other end, pouting and acting babyish, as she complains to Leehan for being late to their ice cream date. Some sick part of you, enjoys the fact that Karina is waiting for Leehan to show up to their date, meanwhile you’re sucking the life out of him. Truth is Karina has bullied you since day one, calling you an outsider, poor, and a pathetic nerd.

Your lips turned into a smirk, at the thought of Karina, finding out her so called perfect little boyfriend is currently getting mind blowing head from this so called nerd.

“I’m sorry baby girl, I had some important things to deal with, I’ll be there soon” he said in a sweet and apologetic tone, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his false claims, which didn’t go unnoticed by Leehan, him thrusting his length deeper inside your throat causing you to gag.

You heard Karina on the other line, asking him if he’s okay and what was that sound. He quickly comes up with a bullshit lie, saying that he drank something nasty and spat it out.

You decided to test the waters, sucking on his cock a little faster, and fondling his heavy balls. Leehan threw his head back, choking back a deep moan before harshly biting his bottom lip to conceal his sounds.

“S-sweetheart, I have to call you back, I’m in the middle of something” he stuttered, his composure dropping slowly, as he tried his hardest not to shoot his load deep inside your throat. He quickly hung up the phone, before grabbing your head roughly, and pushing it all the way down before fucking aggressively into your mouth.

“You fucking slut, you almost got me fucking caught. You’re that damn desperate for my cock that you have to show the fuck out” he spat angrily at you, but a shit eating grin was plastered across his face. You whimpered, and gagged around his dick, as tapped and scratched on his thighs for him to slow down.

“What’s wrong darling, can’t breathe because you have a mouth full of cock” he chuckled menacingly at you, before yanking your blouse open, some of the buttons flying across the bathroom stall.

“𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙨𝙞𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚, 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖𝙣 𝙤𝙗𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙤𝙖𝙙 𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙖𝙩. 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙖 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙥”....

A/n: Yup that’s right, slut4hee is making her return back to tumblr world🤭 these are some projects yall can look forward starting next year. As I stated before I am a very slow writer and I’m a very busy person, I work full time and go to school🙂‍↕️ but teehee I’m so excited to release these works next year, especially the Leehan one bc wtff I’m so down bad for dom Leehan like pussy is soaked rn do you hear me?! But please please look forward to these some time next year pookies mwah luv u all🫶🏽🩷 not proofreading shit😭

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Taglist:

@i03jae @ataver @ancnymcnzjy @jooniesbears-blog

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readychilledwine · 8 months ago

Text

Pieces of You pt 4

Summary - After losing Feyre to childbirth, Rhysand finds himself leaning on one of her friends much more than he'd ever expected.

Warnings- Mourning, loss of a partner, loss of a friend, loss of parent, babies and the complications that come with raising them, slight neglect, slight angst to wrap it up before Fluff and smut begin, same editing warning (friend is arc reading, Liz will catch any other mistakes when she rereads this with fresh eyes)

A/n - I promised they wouldn't be a part long. What you're all waiting for will happen in the next part. 🫣

✨️ Series Masterlist ✨️ Rhysand Masterlist ✨️ Master Masterlist ✨️

This nanny was not you.

You had the left house, as promised, Monday morning. You hadn't taken a single dress Rhys had bought his Little Mor, a single one of her toys, you didn't even take the blanket he had paid for with her name stitched into soft buttery fabric.

He watched as Nyx fought the female he had hired. He would only latch to her for a few moments before wailing, piercing the now all too quiet home with his confusion and frustration. This nanny was not you, and Nyx clearly was not going to accept her.

He had hoped by the afternoon Nyx would have been hungry enough to just latch, to cave, but that was not the case. The young heir was crying again, frustrated and hungry as he slowly wore himself out into another unscheduled nap. Rhysand zoned out the noise, his mind now on you, on the second chance of love, devotion, happiness he allowed to walk out the door.

Nyx had taken to you. He was a momma’s boy the second he was about to show preference. But Morwenna, Morwenna was Rhysand's. His own breathing filled the void of silence that had fall over the house, and as he stared at his paperwork, tears began to fall, he just hoped your mind was on him, or at least Nyx, as well.

His mind went to his Little Mor, his sweet girl. Her eyes always lit up for him, shrieks of joy and excitement were common in Rhysand's office.

You sighed and sunk into the couch, Azriel beside you as you did. “Come home,” he had been begging for the past two hours for you to see reason, to forgive Rhysand. He had explained what happened at dinner, watching as you slowly fell apart all over again. “He didn't mean a single word. I can tell.”

Azriel swallowed before standing, “I will be back. Kiss my niece for me when she wakes up. I'll come back to sing her to sleep tonight.”

You shook your head, leaning back into the couch as you did. “It felt like he did, Azriel. It felt like he just-” you stopped yourself from crying, not willing to hurt over some male who so easily threw you away. “He said I needed to stop acting like Nyx's mom.” You watched Azriel's face fall. Watched as his sun-kissed tan skin paled. “Then tried to tell me I could not take Morwenna with me.”

Screaming. Screaming was all Azriel heard as he walked into the new Riverhouse. Rhys was pacing the floor, bouncing Nyx as the sun fell and Cassian stood there, eyes watering and wide in panic. He took a spot next to Cassian, sharing a look of concern with his brother. “He refuses to latch on to his nanny,” Cassian's voice cracked. “And Madja keeps trying to tell Rhysand it's just going to be an adjustment period, but Nyx is hungry.”

Azriel nodded, mind flashing back to the subtle looks of pain on your face as you so much as moved or held his Little Mor. “And he won't just suck up his pride and take him to y/n?”

Cassian sighed. “He said he can't do that after what he has done. That there is no fixing the hurt he caused.” Anger had leaked into Cassian's soft voice. “I do not get how she can do this to Nyx.”

“You would do it to if you mate ignored your bond.” The weight of those words hit Cassian's chest, screaming in his like an alarm. “What.”

“Y/n and Rhysand are mates,” Azriel went to Rhys, stroking Nyx's back. “Let me take him to her?”

Rhys shook his head, ignoring the tears falling at his son's frustration. “I just need him to adjust.”

“Starving is not adjusting, Rhysand. It is neglect.” The High Lord turned to Azriel, glaring hard. “I know what you said to her. Go there, apologize, and have her feed him at the very least. She loves him.”

As if it was a spell place to curse Rhysand, Nyx must have caught the faint scent of you lingering to Azriel's soft t shirt. The heir calmed significantly, reaching for the material. “Give me your shirt so I can lay him down and we can discuss this.”

Azriel obeyed, hoping just the scent of you would be enough to give him a small nap while Azriel convinced Rhysand to let him take Nyx to you. Just for the night.

Rhysand sighed, laying Nyx down with Azriel's shirt underneath him. He would have been lying if anyone asked him if he had savored that soft scent clinging to the shirt. He walked out of the room and hardly made it 5 steps before the wailing began again. Rhys pulled the bottle filled with the mixture Madja had made from his pocket world before going back in.

Nyx was inconsolable. He had spent the better portion of the morning crying, screaming, refusing to sleep.

Rhysand picked him up, praying to anyone who would listen and wishing on every star that Nyx would just take this bottle. As soon as he latched, Rhysand watched his flawless little face make a deeper scowl before pushing the bottle away. You were Nyx's sole thought. Your smell, your skin under his, your voice. The piercing wail had Azriel and Cassian running up the stairs as soon as they heard.

Rhysand knew Nyx didn't fully understand the noise about to come from his mouth. Nyx didn't know it expressed exactly what he wanted, nor what the sound would mean. He didn't know that it would make his father crawl back to you less than 12 hours after you had left. The heir released a strangled cry over and over again of one of the only sounds he knew to make, "Ma. Ma. Ma!”

"No," Rhysand choked down the tears that were getting ready to fall. "He's crying for y/n. He's crying for his mama.” Rhys didn't wait for them, he didn't even say goodbye, he winnowed into your living room. You were curled up on the couch, instantly awake by the sounds of Nyx's crying.

"Is he crying for Feyre?" Cassian went to take a tentative step forward, just for Rhysand to stand and move quickly out of the room.

Rhysand didn't even have to ask. He didn't have to beg. You took the heir instantly and pulled him to you, placing him in his favorite spot to eat.

His tears had triggered Morwenna, though, and soon her soft cries filled the air. Rhysand ran to her. He ran to his daughter and cradled her tight to his chest. Her bright eyes instantly looked up at him, a smile taking place of where a deep frown was. “Hi baby girl,” her giggle instantly changed his mood. He walked her to the living room, watching as she instantly because to smile and shriek at the sight of Nyx.

“Give him a little bit, baby,” you didn't even look up from the tiny illyrian, stroking his brow as he ate. “He is very hungry and mama needs him to eat.” Rhys sat across from you, holding Little Mor tight to him. “She's been making d noises all day. To me, to Azriel, to no one. Just “dah duh deh” all day.”

“She missed her daddy,” Rhys held her up, rocking her gently side to side, “didn't you Morwenna. You missed daddy? 13 hours apart is much too long, isn't it, my little darling.” You shook your head, fighting the smile as Wen giggled at Rhysand.

You felt your heart skip a best as he kissed her cheeks and then her tummy. Rhysand was a wonderful father, and watching him in this element, this area of self-doubt, he had made all feelings of anger melt away. He looked to you instantly, claws gently tapping on the fortress of your mind before you allowed him in. “Let me take us home?” Home, the word replayed in your mind before you nodded, holding a hand to him. Home sounded so good.

He winnowed you two back to the Riverhouse, making Wen giggle even more at the starlight that surrounded you four. You walked in and stopped dead in your tracks, eyes Azriel up and down. “Where are your clothes?”

Azriel looked shameless, muscled torso on display as he held Cassian in a headlock. “I'm choking out Cassian and your concern is my lack of a shirt?”

Cassian raised a hand to you, face slightly red. His eyes had a hint of guilt in them as he tapped Azriel's abs. “Y/n,” Cassian moved to guide you to the couch, smiling at a still latched Nyx and then moved Rhysand to be next you. “I want to apologize.” You knit your brows at him as he sat and Azriel glared.

“I made some unfair statements without consideration for you and Rhysand. I did not think about how my words would affect your relationship with each other, or how I cheapend the new mating bond you two share.”

Cassian looked raw. Like months of build up and emotion hit him. “We prepared you know? We knew she was going to die, we begged and prayed for a solution, and just when hope came it crashed like a tidal wave. Nesta and I won't even touch each other. The guilt-”

“You have nothing to be guilty for, Cass,” Rhys interrupted him. “I'm the one who had sex with her. I'm the one who-”

“It was an accident,” you spoke softly, pulling the focus to you. “Feyre's death was a tragic mistake and accident. You all did not know the extent of her shifting magic. You didn't know it temporarily changed her that deeply.”

Rhys seemed love drunk as he handed you Little Mor, kissing both babes before you walked away. He was silent until you left, eyes trailing your body. “Cassian, I love her.”

Rhys sobbed softly, hearing words from you many had whispered before felt so different. Like a soothing balm over a wound, slowly healing it. “Cassian, Nesta did not know that the outcome of her bargaining with a God would be a cruel trick. There's no guilt to be had. She gave everything back, made herself the Cauldron’s servant. She was too young to read those unspoken lines.” Nyx finally let go, deep asleep in your arms. “I'm going to go lay him down. There is nothing for me to forgive because you did not intentionally harm me, Cassian, but maybe you three should speak.”

“I know.”

“That doesn't mean I never loved Feyre. Nor that I've forgotten her.”

A second “I know” broke through Cassian's lips, his shoulders falling as it did. “I miss her.”

Rhys felt the tears welling, felt them falling before he could will them away. “I do too. Every fucking day I miss her. I miss her hair, her laugh, her voice. I miss her correcting me.” He watched Cassian fall more, mourning the sister he had lost openly for the first time.

“But when I'm with y/n, it hurts less. When I see y/n smile, I feel more whole again. When I hear her laugh, I feel like I'm alive again. When I see her with Nyx, when I see his smile when she's holding him or playing with them, I feel like Feyre is here, nudging me towards y/n.”

Azriel's voice came, soft and slow. “Feyre would want you to move on, Rhysand. She would have wanted you to find happiness. She would probably fight all of us for being this sad.”

The thought of that made Cassian genuinely smile. His eyes sparkling with fond memories of Feyre Cursebreaker stomping her feet when he'd beat her during a sparring match. “Her and Feyre both do this thing, maybe it's an artistic thing, where they look at things really close and back away slowly.”

Rhys started laughing immediately knowing what his brother meant. “Y/n did it with one of my outfits. She said I looked great as long as she stayed 5 feet away.”

Azriel put a hand on Cassian's shoulder. “This is a roundabout way of us telling you we support you, Rhysand. We support you and y/n.”

“Two mates,” Cassian said slowly. “Imagine having two mates, Az. Two females that you get to love unconditionally and annoy whenever you'd like.”

Rhys and Azriel shared a silent look, a soft, "Not yet” coming through to Rhysand's mind. “We will leave you and y/n alone to talk.”

“There won't be much talking,” Rhysand stood slowly. “I've always been better at expressing my emotions physically.”

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @chxosangxl @dreamlandreader

Pieces of You Taglist:

@dr4g0ngirl @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @blueeclipsepaperstudent @thisblogisaboutabook @mybestfriendmademe @novalovi @rachelnicolee @sleepylunarwolf @sidthedollface2 @acourtofbatboydreams @bunnyredgirl @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @demonicbusiness @blushingfawnsposts @bookishbroadwaybish @littlestw01f @miadialila @golden-canyon @fxckmiup

@batii-skies @emma-andrea1 @buckystevelove @slut4acotar @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris @awkardnerd @throneofshadows @sevikas-whore @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @why4anne @brieflyclassymortal @aspenger @nayaniasworld @nyxbranwenn

#acotar #acotar x reader #rhys acotar #rhysand acotar #rhys x y/n #rhys x you #rhys x reader #rhys fic #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x reader #rhysand x you #rhysand fic #acotar fanfiction

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archivequinn · 28 days ago

Note

hi! i wasn't having a good day today and reading your fic made me feel better. can you write a fic where the fem reader is sad and eddie is there to make her feel better and hug her and be there for her. i really need that right now.

This is my first fic request. I hope you enjoy it and whatever is upsetting you, I hope you feel better soon. If you want to talk someone, you can send me a dm. I wish you all the best and thank you for sending me this request. 🩷🙏🏻 Summary: When you cry, Eddie is there for you, your thoughtful caring and romantic boyfriend trying to calm you down.

“I'm here” eddie munson x fem!reader

You stand at the kitchen counter as the interior of the caravan fills with the rhythmic sound of the rain hitting the tin. Every time the knife in your hand touches the wood, the sound echoes in the void, but for you it is just a desperate attempt to drown out the silence. You are trying to chop vegetables, your fingers wrapped so tightly around the handle of the knife that your knuckles are white. It's as if the sheer strength of your hands will be able to untie the huge, immovable knot in your chest. But that tie… Oh, that tie won't move. It's as if someone has pressed their hands on your stomach, grabbing the center of your stomach and you can't breathe properly. You try to swallow, and each time you swallow it sinks in deeper, as if there's a stone lodged deep in your throat.

Your eyes start to fill at that point. Vaguely at first, just like a blurred curtain, but then… the odd drop hangs on the tips of your eyelashes, just before it falls on your cheek. You try not to blink because once you let go, that dam wall will break.

Your breaths are ragged and your face is focused on the blurred sight in front of you. “Don't,” you whisper to yourself. Don't cry. But the tears don't listen. First one trickles down, burning your cheek and making its way down. And then another, and then more… First silent, in thin lines, then freer, more uncontrolled.

“Please stop, Eddie shouldn't see you like this,” you mutter to yourself, your voice sounding broken, almost like someone you don't know. But it's so hard to breathe; even when the pressure in your chest eases a little, you still can't take a deep breath. Your arms grow weak, your shoulders shake involuntarily. You lean against the counter, put the knife aside and cover your face with your hands. Your fingertips feel the warmth of your cheeks, touch your slightly damp skin.

Eddie's almost home. You shouldn't meet him like this. You take a deep breath, this time managing to draw the air fully into your lungs, but the exhalation is ragged and shaky. As you wipe your eyes with your hands, you notice in your pale reflection in the mirror that your nose is reddening and your eyelids are beginning to swell. Your lips are still trembling, but you have to hurry. You flinch as the door handle turns and the metal hinges creak open. Your back is to him, you hold your breath. Knife in hand, the sound of the vegetables you're chopping echoes through the kitchen, but your hands are actually shaking. You shouldn't face him; your eyes are red, your cheeks still wet.

“Hey, sweetheart!” Eddie's cheerful voice fills the caravan, instantly interrupting the sad rhythm of the rain. You hear the door slam shut hard and his footsteps rush in. “I'm stuck in traffic, you can't believe it! But look what I brought.”

His laughter is interspersed with the rustle of paper bags. “I wandered around the DVD store so much, I wondered which one you'd like, but…”

He pauses for a breath, then adds with sweet guilt. “…then I decided to take it all, whatever you want to watch, okay?” You hear the bags being placed on the kitchen table, and then the deep silence is broken by another excited voice from Eddie, “And this is for you.”

The smell of roses fills the air, accompanied by the sound of plastic paper shaking slightly at the end of his sentences. Eddie's proud and happy voice is soft but sure, “I saw this on the road, I know you like roses…” You put the knife down, but you still have your back turned. You force a smile on your face, “Thank you, Eddie,” you say, but your voice is so thin and shaky that even you realize it.

You try to swallow, but you can't. Your eyes, though tightly closed, are still misty, and the tears begin to roll down your cheeks one by one.

Eddie's footsteps approach you from behind, as if he realizes something is wrong. “Baby, are you okay?” he says softly at first. But you still don't turn to face him. He pauses for a moment, not knowing what to do, then gently puts his hands in your arms and tries to turn you towards him.

“Hey, look at me,” he says in a calm but worried voice. You have to turn away reluctantly. Eddie looks at your face with his brown eyes and freezes for a moment at what he sees. Your red nose, your swollen eyelids and those stubborn tears rolling down your cheeks...

Eddie's expression changes instantly. Worry shows itself in the small wrinkles on his forehead. He puts his hands on your shoulders and starts rubbing them gently, his voice soft but unable to hide his panic, “What happened?”

A moment of silence, listening to her breathing. “Baby, does something hurt somewhere? Did something happen?” he says, running his hands quickly over your face and arms, as if to check if you're hurt.

“Eddie, I'm… I'm okay,” you say, your voice shaky and close to a whisper. But your lips are still trembling and this time you don't try to hide your crying. Eddie tilts his head slightly to the side and looks into your eyes. The worry in his brown eyes is blended with a soft patience. He holds you like a piece of shattered glass, gently squeezing your shoulders with his fingertips.

“Sweetheart, please tell me.” His voice is like a whisper. “What happened to you?” All you can do is look at him helplessly. The tears in your eyes start to flow again and without a second's hesitation Eddie pulls you to him and hugs you tightly.

His arms wrap around you like a cocoon, as if to protect you. As your cheeks rest against his chest, you can hear his heartbeat, rhythmic and calm, as if he's going to make everything all right. “Okay,” he says softly, kissing you through your hair. “Okay, I'm here. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out together. Okay?” And in that moment, it's as if the tight knot slowly begins to unravel. Eddie's scent, his warmth and his reassuring voice. The peace of being with him, even when you're crying, relieves some of the heaviness in your chest. Eddie realizes you haven't told him what happened, you won't tell him. Still, he doesn't ask questions. Silently, he holds you tighter. His arms close around you like a wall of trust, as if to let you know that no matter what happens, he won't let you go. He buries his head lightly in your hair and takes a deep breath. As that breath disappears between the strands of hair, his warmth envelops your whole body.

His fingertips gently touch your face. He wipes your wet cheeks, instead of trying to stop the tears, he lets them flow, as if he carries that sadness, that weight with you. He leans your cheek to his lips and kisses it gently, once, twice… then again. He leaves small, patient kisses. The salty wetness of your cheeks touches his lips, but he doesn't care. One of his hands slips softly into your hair, his fingers running through it, caressing the strands. “Okay,” he whispers, his voice so soft that even the raindrops sound louder. He places a long, deep kiss on your forehead. “I'm here.” Without letting go of you, Eddie sits up slightly and takes slow steps towards the bed. When you sit on the edge of the soft mattress, he takes you in his arms as if you were the most precious thing in the world. He holds you against his chest, your head resting right over his heart. His heartbeat… those rhythmic, powerful beats, like a safe harbor in the middle of a storm. He holds you tightly, one arm wrapped around your back while his other hand continues to stroke your hair. Every movement of his fingers is soothing, every touch full of patience.

And you, with your head on his chest, sobbing in the warmth. Your sobs shake, your body shakes, but Eddie is there, standing firm. Every time you shake, his hands move tighter around your back, every time you breathe, he strokes your hair more gently.

He pulls you into his arms a little more, presses his lips to your hair and whispers again, “It's okay… Come on, cry. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.”

Time stops for a while. The sound of the rain is a distant backdrop, nothing in the room but Eddie's scent, his heartbeat and the calm rhythm of his breathing.

Your cry echoes in his chest, but he still holds you still. He envelops you in his love, as if he wants to take the weight of the world off your shoulders. And you feel that it is once again possible to breathe in his arms, even if your tears don't stop.

taglist: @nicholaschavezslut69

#eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fic #eddie munson request #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #angst with a happy ending #eddie munson angst

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lostintransist · 2 months ago

Text

Fallen Angel | Scorched Earth

AO3

"If you are asking me to choose, my answer is no." The words burn as they pass from the fire in your chest and over your tongue.

"What do you mean no?" John chews the end of his cigar as he and all the guys stare at you.

"I mean no." You glare at all of them, eye contact before moving on. "If you are asking me to choose one of you over the others my answer is no."

"Donne understand lass." Johnny speaks up now.

"What is there to misunderstand?" You fold your arms across your chest, it doesn't stop the feelings raging in your chest reaching the melting point of glass.

They sat in your coffee shop, an hour before the doors opened, all staring at you as if you were supposed to chose which bones to break and which to keep whole.

"Well, the answer of no is not entirely clear, so..." Kyle lets the silence linger after his comment.

Glancing at Gary he shrugs, his way of agreeing with what they have already said.

Tears prick your eyes. You find Simon, seated at the edges of your guys. He held his face impassive. Guess you hadn't moved past the emotional masks.

Unfolding your arms you rub your hands together. The tension in your body clear as you watch your hands, muscles fighting what should be an easy movement.

"I will not choose one of you over the others. If you ask me to choose my choice is to pick myself."

"Explain that." Now Simon decides to speak up.

You stare at your hands, the burns and dry patches from working here giving you a focus point.

"If I pick one of you I hurt the others. If I pick one of you I become a crack in the relationships that keeps you all coming home alive. If I choose one of you I have to cut off the relationships I have with the others. If I have to choose I have to hurt everyone. If I have to hurt everyone I might as well cut and run." A bitter laugh falls from your lips. "It's not like I have much to hold on for here. My shop is three weeks from shutting down unless we get an influx of clients on the regular."

You didn't have to see them to know they were all sharing speaking glances. Wiping your palm across your face you continue.

"It's not like you even know my real name. I could disappear, and I would if you asked me to choose."

"What do you mean about your name?" John's intense question draws your eyes to him without thinking about it.

"The name you have, the name I give out? It's my preferred name but it's not my legal name. Everything I've given any of you about me is what I choose to give. A curated version of me."

The tinge of sadness in John's face is echoed in every shift of your guys; of Johnny leaning forward onto his knees, Kyle scooting forward to stretch out further in his chair, in Gary crossing his arms, and in Simon's utter refusal to look at you.

"You wanna explain that last comment?" John is still taking the lead. It would make you smile if the idea of this whole conversation didn't make you want to peel off your skin and escape into the void.

"Not much to explain, I tend to say what I mean." Standing you try to leave the seating area to head into the kitchen.

None of them are allowed behind the counter. They know it and respect it. You need a bit of space to deal with the nuclear reactor of emotions in your chest.

Simon full names you as your back is turned. First, middle, last. Johnny spells your first name, Kyle your middle, John your last.

Your chin starts to quiver. Gary takes your hand, three quick squeezes. All the guys did that. Three quick squeezes anywhere they could hold onto you. No one would confirm what it meant but you knew.

"I love you all. If I choose one of you I lose all of you. At that point there is no reason to stay."

You move forward, letting them fall behind you as you turn the corner and into the kitchen. Heading for the walk-in fridge you shut the door tight behind you, praying that it is sound proof enough to hold back your sobs.

Fallen Angel Masterlist | Masterlist

#Fallen Angel COD #cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #price x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap cod #roach x reader #gaz x reader #john price x reader

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temiizpalace · 3 days ago

Text

★┊"THANK YOU FOR PLAYING WITH ME.”

SUMMARY: you lose the marbles game, lookig at jamil one final time.

CHARACTERS: jamil viper

GENRE: angst, squid game au

WARNINGS: mentions of death, gunshots and cursing. spoilers for squid game season 1. please read at own risk.

NOTES: my friends wanted to watch squid game together and there is material to work with. please enjoy, this idea was fun, despite not being much. (readers player number was selected randomly).

reader is g/n

★˙∘

you watched as your marble rolls across the field, only falling slightly behind jamil’s. staring at the small ball, you smiled to yourself, turning to jamil who couldn’t bear to look at you.

his head was turned, looking toward the wall. he should’ve known. of course they’d pit allies against each other, making them turn against one another all for the sake of cash, it was inevitable, you could see it from miles away.

..and yet, he still fell for the stupid trap. he clenched his fist, cursing himself. why.. why did he feel so strongly? strongly for someone he had met recently? it’s dumb, idiotic, and foolish.

so why?

“jamil.” you call out, making him flinch. failing to respond, you call out once more. “jamil,” you smile, putting the bag of marbles in his hand. “you win, you’re one game closer to traveling the world!” hearing your voice, there was a certain contempt within it, like you’re satisfied with the outcome.

that tone infuriated him, causing him to grit his teeth. “you..” he mutters, turning abruptly and grabbing your collar. jamil nearly slams you against the wall, eyes holding a certain look of pure fury. “..you tried to lose?” as he raised his voice you flinched, not expecting the outburst.

“you’re fucking serious?! you’re just giving up?!” he shouts, scowling and shaking you back and forth. you hadn’t expected such a reaction from someone as calm and composed as jamil, so seeing him like this was certainly a shock.

during every game, he had kept a straight face. you admired him for this, keeping so collected and straight faced, even in the face of death. yet, here he was.

he shoves the marbles back into your hand, glaring at you with a hardened expression. “..throw it again.” he demands, his hands shaky. you stare at the bag in your hands, void of any look of sadness. “i lost.” you shrug, holding the bag loosely in your hands. “i said throw it again.” he hissed, his grip on your collar tightening.

you chuckle, slipping the marbles into his pockets. “even if i did, id still lose.” he bit his lower lip, trying to bite back his hurl of aggressive pleads. “why..” he grunts, his voice cracking.

“why?” you repeat, moving your hand to hold his. “..you deserve to win. you had ambitions, hopes, dreams, it inspired me.” you state, holding his hand in a tight grip. “i had nothing outside of these games. nothing to win for.”

“don’t say that.. don’t you dare fucking say that,” he quivers, shaking his head. he choked back the tears threatening to spill, shutting his eyes tightly as you pat his back. “..maybe, in another universe, we’ll be able to travel the world together.” you pull him in, feeling his hands move from your collar to wrapping around you.

“we can’t be together in this universe, but perhaps in another, we’ll be able to do so much more.” you eye the guards approaching giving jamil one last squeeze.

they pull him away, his back turned from you. the guards approached you, but before they pulled the trigger, you decide to deliver your final words. “jamil!”

he freezes, as do the guards.

“thank you,” your eyes crinkle, eyes watering as you began.

“thank you, for playing with me.”

taking your final breath, the guards placed the weapon to your head. jamil flinches as he heard the gunshot, wiping his tears as he walked away. he couldn’t turn to face your lifeless body.

ah, he realizes why he liked you so much now.

you were the only person willing to understand him. the only one who saw him, to lookout for him. for once, he actually dreamed. even in these terrible games, you were a beacon of hope he could follow in these dark times.

you taught him how to dream.

PLAYER 298, ELIMINATED.

A/N: guess which death this is based on lol im not coping you are lol (tbh not exactly what i expected but it’s almost 1AM and i am writing this all on memory and caffeine) anyways how do we feel abt the angst fic

date published: 01/11/25

#disney twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland angst #twst angst #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper #jamil viper ily #jamil i love you please #squid game au #squid game #character death #twisted wonderland jamil #twst jamil

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ghouldump · 2 months ago

Note

Oh my goodness I’m so used to writing kind of forgot how to request?? would love a fic with Armand where he reveals his true nature not the soft version that he shows the reader but what he doesn’t and how she responds to that happy ending possibly?

I just need more Armand please and thank you

🎀💕🌸

Beautiful Deception, Untold Truth | Armand x Reader

ෆ remembering the truth sometimes hurts, but perhaps love will prevail

your request immediately made my mind go to beautiful deception, so i hope you don't mind me twisting that story a bit. so happy to be back writing, enjoy! xoxo

Waking up, you lightly groaned, looking over at Armand. He slept soundlessly, his arm loose around your waist. Slipping away from his grasp, you climbed out of bed and quietly made your way into your private office.

A large desk, a swivel chair, an up-to-date desktop, and a few wall decorations — although, you both preferred the minimalist scenery. Clearing your throat, you sat in the chair, rubbing your temples. Opening the drawer, you stared at the envelope, sent from Daniel Molloy.

‘I’ve done some digging, and I found something I thought you might enjoy,’ the note said, attached to the envelope.

Pulling the photos from inside, you had examined each one over a thousand times, since getting them a few weeks back. Older photos of you and Philip, some from your short time at the Grand Cabaret, a few random photos from your time in Paris, and your wedding photo. You remembered the day so vividly, your mother had been so angry, but you were delighted to be marrying him. You looked like a princess, and he, a prince. You could recount times people praised how beautiful of a pair you were together.

“You couldn't sleep?” Armand asked, standing at the door, making you jump.

“No,” you shook your head, laying the photos face down.

“Perhaps I should’ve cuddled you better,” he said lowly, peering at you.

“You were perfect, I guess I’m a little anxious about the book,” you said, as you began to put the photos away, a small note catching your attention. On the back of the wedding photo was written, try to remember your last night.

“There is nothing for you to stress about if anything, they will critique Daniel’s repetitive usage of the word, monster,” he said, watching as you slipped the envelope back into the drawer, accepting his hand. Grinning, he brought your fingers to his lips, placing a soft kiss on each knuckle.

“I love you,” you whispered, as he led you back into the dim bedroom.

“Not nearly as much as I love you,” he said, his free hand snaking around your waist, pulling you closer.

“You don't know that”

“I’d burn the world down, and build it back up, to prove my love for you,” he said, smirking as you raised an eyebrow.

“And I would be by your side if it took an eternity,” you told him.

“I know, come now, you need your beauty sleep,” he said, watching as you climbed into the king-sized bed, before following suit.

Wrapping his arms around you, he kissed your forehead, as you closed your eyes, allowing sleep to embrace you, and welcome the deep slumber.

“Remeber your last night”

“Daniel?” you sat up, confusedly looking around, but were met with utter darkness. Armand was nowhere to be found, your penthouse, both gone. Standing up from the bed, you fell into a pit of nothingness. Screaming, you flailed around, grasping at the void. Falling onto the cushion, you sighed in relief.

“Y/n, remember your last night,” you heard again.

“What-

Sitting up, you froze as you stared at…you, or what looked like you. At the small desk, you wrote a letter, a few tears slipping from your eyes. Suddenly, it dawned on you, the night you were turned into a vampire. Your last night alive. It was only a few more moments before-

Suddenly the door burst open, Philip rushed in, terror covering his face. Locking the door, he immediately went to the small kitchen, pushing the stove in front of the door.

"Philip?"

You stood from the bed, watching him. It seemed like they couldn't see you, as you analyzed the situation.

Hearing his name, his head jerked around as he met your gaze. Rushing over to you, he stopped, seeing you back away nervously.

"Baby, please, I won't...just let me explain," he said, opening the manila folder.

"It started when you wanted to work at the Cabaret, I was so excited for you. You were going to have an entire page. My thoughts- I can’t explain how, but my brain began to get distorted and fuzzy, I can hardly think. Before I knew it, everything I wrote always ended up on fire. I came to your show and I noticed someone"

"You came to see me perform?"

"Always, this is your dream, and I will always support you, I promised," he said, pulling out the stack of photos he continued.

Rubbing your temple, it was like a memory was unlocked. He had come to your second show, the loudest voice and clapping in the audience, as he let everyone know the beautiful star was his wife. However, before you could ever see him, you would become distracted, talking with Armand — who brought along the extravagant bouquet of flowers.

"This man, he has come to nearly every show, since you’ve started working there. Front row, bringing you flowers," he showed a series of pictures of Armand, some of the photos you were in. His arms around your waist, his lips pressed against your own.

"Philip-

"Just listen," he shook his head, stopping you.

"I went to his theater, to confront him, to be a man and win my wife back, when I found this, in his office," he pulled out more photos.

"He has been watching you since we arrived here, from the moment you stepped off that ship, there are photos of you. Then, I searched around, and what I found is incredibly disturbing. Those aren't plays, they're actual murderings," he cried, showing the hardly developed pictures of the coffins and corpses in a box full of rats.

"I think he has been getting in my head, he can’t possibly be a normal human. Since I began to suspect him, I've felt like another person is living inside of me," he said, wiping his tears, going to his knees, laying his head in your lap.

"I waited until they all settled in for rest and I set the hell house on fire, I could hear the screams of all of those monster. We have to leave, now, we can go home, beg your mother for forgiveness, have a start fresh, leave all of this behind," he stressed, standing up.

Moving to your shared closet, he began to rip all of your clothing from the hangers, throwing them on the bed. You stood with your hand on your stomach, trying to process the photos. Indeed, there were photos of you from the moment you stepped off the ship. You didn't want to believe any of these bizarre claims, but here was the proof right in your face.

Watching all of this unfold, you were trying to not accept what your memories were telling you. Armand wasn't the type to mess with someone’s head unless they pushed him to that point of anger. However, he had shared what his gifts entailed, and it was all seemed very familiar.

Unexpectedly, the stove was pushed out of the way, as the door burst open. Armand walked in, his hair slightly disheveled, the most horrifying glare set on Philip.

“Armand, stop it,” you said, but he couldn't see you, walking towards the you of the past.

"Armand?" you called his name, hesitantly.

"Y/n, run," Philip told you, as you jumped away from the table, the paper catching ablaze.

"Philip-

"Run, now," he shoved you, right as Armand grabbed him. His hands around his throat, lifting him off the ground. Philip struggled, trying to free himself, gasping as fangs came out. Armand seemed to be growling at him, before sinking his teeth into him, determined to drain every ounce of blood from him.

"Run," Philip strained, as you covered your mouth, rushing out the door.

“You’ll never have her, you think she’ll love you when you're a monster” Philip choked up blood. Your hand went to your mouth, as the tears filled your eyes.

“She’s already mine,” Armand said, before setting Philip on fire.

Turning to run out of the apartment, it didn't take long to see yourself limping, barefoot, sprinting toward the small store.

"Sir," you called out, as you jogged to him.

"No, no, I'm closing," he pointed at the sign.

"Please help me, he killed him, he's going to get me," you cried, as the man finally turned to face you, genuinely concerned.

"Come in," he said, letting you into the store. As you came in, he locked the door behind you. With the adrenaline coming down, you could feel pain in your foot from stepping into the glass.

"We have to hide," you told the man, tugging at his sleeve.

"You go," he pointed to the back, before he went behind the counter, pulling a shotgun out.

Limping to the back of the store, looking back one more time, you screamed as the door burst open, the shop owner being killed instantly. As the elderly man fell to the floor, you cried out, before he appeared in front of you.

"Y/n," his eyes softened seeing your tear-stained face, all of your makeup running down, mixed with the tears.

"Please, don't kill me," you cried, shaking your head.

"Shh, shh, there is no need to cry," he consoled you, forcing your head into his chest.

"Why did you kill him?"

"Because he married you," he admitted.

"What are you?"

"A vampire," he shifted his eyes as you looked at his face.

"They weren't acting," you shook your head, trying to shove him away.

"Not at the end, no," he confessed. Wrapping his arms around you, he walked you out of the store. You continued to try to fight him, but he was much stronger, holding you effortlessly. Following behind them, you wanted nothing more than to wake from whatever this was, to question Armand.

Lifting into the air, you gasped in fear, realizing he was floating, no flying. Wrapping your arms around him, you shoved your face deeper into his soft coat. He smiled as one of his hands held your head. As your feet came from off of the ground, you flew behind them, to the museum building.

"We were out hunting, when I noticed you, stepping off of the ship. I could hear your precious thoughts, you were sure you'd be the next big star. You had dreams with no plan, so l sent Edward to you, and I made sure he paid you like the star you are," Armand said, as his feet landed on top of the museum.

"I showered you with praise and gifts of all kinds, and yet you left every night, going back to him, what is it that he could possibly have that I couldn't give you?" he asked, his eyes drowning in melancholy.

"He was my husband, he didn't have much, but I loved him," you cried.

"He wouldn't have given you the opportunities you can have, that you deserve. He would work himself to death, not without cheating on you to fill the void within himself because he knew he could never give you the life he promised"

"You killed him," you continued to cry. Rolling his eyes, he felt himself growing frustrated with you. Furrowing your eyebrows, you didn’t remember him having that reaction.

"Y/n, I love you, I love you more than his wretched human mind could ever think to fathom. I can give you the eternal gift, lavish you, treasure you, why can't you see, has your love for me left so quickly?" he asked, as he grabbed your face, forcing you to look into his eyes.

Glamouring you, he hoped to find the truth, that your heart hadn’t turned cold at the sight of him. Wiping the tears from your eyes softly, his hand trailed to your lips, brushing against them softly.

As frustrated as you were with him, seeing the situation to be a little more tainted than you thought to be — his confession warmed your heart. After witnessing him gruesomely kill Philip, something you didn't remember, you knew the beginning of your beautiful companionship was soon to com-

“I could never love you, after all you've done,” you said, crying. Your eyes widened, where was this coming from? Then you realized, could this be the truth, had you forgotten what truly happened?

“As beautiful as you are, you are a foolish girl,” he said, his hand going to your throat.

“Philip was right, you are a monster,” you struggled to speak, as his hand pressed against your throat.

“I hand-picked you, I chose you over hundreds of ancient vampires, to be worthy of my love, and you want to throw it away over one human? Don't be pathetic,” he said, through his teeth, you could see the tears building up in his eyes, the angry expression set on you.

“I’d rather die,” you spat, making him scoff, releasing you to fall from the top of the museum. Turning away as you screamed, reaching to clutch the air, a single tear fell from his face. Holding your hand on your chest, you cried, screaming at Armand, unable to believe this was what happened, but as time went on, it became more evident that it was true.

Just as you jumped in hopes of trying to save yourself, Armand flew off the building, down to you. The flowers in the extravagant garden broke only a bit of your fall, but couldn't stop the fatal landing. Lying in the rose garden, a few thorns pressed into your skin, your breathing was shallow, as your blood painted the white rose red. Attempting to shake your head as Armand approached you.

“What have you done?” You cried, staring at yourself, this version of you felt unrecognizable, yet undeniable.

“Leave me,” you said, your breath ragged, blood leaking from your mouth, but he ignored your words, lifting you into his arms.

“I can’t let him have you in this life and the next,” he cried, the fangs coming out.

“No, no, p-please, Armand,” you struggled, crying from pain and refusal, if vampires were anything like the stories — they could turn humans into their kind.

“Look at me,” he said, caressing your cheek, as you shut your eyes, you would rather wait for death to collect your soul than join him.

“Y/n, look at me,” he commanded, you couldn’t believe your eyes, he had used his gifts against you.

Opening your eyes, you faced him, as he caressed your cheek. “You have no need to fear me, we will soon be companions, equals, I, your maker, and you, my angel. You won’t remember what happened tonight, but I will explain to you later. Your love for Philip was not genuine, nothing more than a childish passion. I may be a monster, but I love you. Centuries, I have walked this earth, hundreds of years, of yearning and desiring what was mine. I hate him, and I would kill him a million more times if it meant having this moment with you,” he said, a few tears slipped from your eyes, as you stared hypnotized.

"This will hurt for a short moment, but our eternity together will make up for it," he told you, softly pecking your lips. Leaning down, he hovered over you, as his fangs sank into your neck.

Falling to your knees, your hands went to your face, and just as you cried out, you fell through the ground. Except instead of slipping into the dark abyss, you sat up, back in your bed, alone. The windows open, as the moonlight shined. Climbing out of bed, you grabbed your phone and rushed to your office.

“Miss Y/n, your meals-

“Get away from me,” you shrieked, shutting yourself in the office. Dialing Daniel’s number, you paced the floor, stopping to grab the envelope from the drawer.

“Y/n?” Daniel answered, surprised by the unexpected call.

“I remembered, everything, like you told me too, I married a him, after what he has done,” you cried.

“I’ll catch the soonest flight out there, just, try not to kill him,” Daniel said, sounding exhausted, before ending the call.

Sitting down, you opened the envelope, pulling out the photos to stare at. Suddenly, the door opened, and Armand entered.

“You didn't want to eat-what is the matter?” his face softened, taking in your face, puffy and stained with dry blood.

“Stay away from me,” you stood, backing away, as he looked confused.

“Did something happen? Did you have a nightmare-

“I don’t even know who you are,” you shook your head, as he slowly approached you.

“Love-

“You couldn’t stand the thought of him having me in life and death,” you said, realizing crossing his face.

“Y/n, angel-

“No, how many times have you had me forget, changed the story, made me into your brainless pet,” you said, backing away from him.

“I know, and if I could go back and change it, then I would-

“But you can’t Armand, you killed my husband-

“I am your husband-

“You killed my first love, and killed me after,” you said, making him stop in his tracks.

“I love you, Y/n, and I’m sorry for my actions,” he shook his head.

“Get out, I don’t want you back here until Daniel arrives,” you screamed.

He stared at you for a moment, before nodding in acceptance. Backing away, he glanced at you once more, before he left the penthouse.

“Daniel, thank you for coming out,” you said, embracing him. He was taken by surprise before he slowly began to rub your back. You weren’t dressed in your usual extravagant fashion, wearing bland loungewear.

Opening his mouth to speak, he stopped as the headache was coming back. Turning his head, he met eyes with Armand who stood in the entrance.

“I appreciate this, the readers deserve the truth,” you told him, before you turned your head, looking to Armand.

“Y/n-

Ignoring him, you walked to the table in the study, watching as Daniel took out his laptop and notebook. Armand followed behind slowly, sitting across from you.

“Y/n’s memories were suppressed and changed by her maker and companion, Armand. As of 48 hours ago, she has remembered everything from that night,” Daniel spoke into the recorder.

“Armand, is there anything you want to say…” Daniel continues.

“Five hundred years, I’ve wandered, loving others, but never receiving that same love. I admit, that my past has stunted my empathy toward humans. If I wanted something, I knew to take it and you were no different. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew, I would love you forever and unconditionally. As much as I desire your forgiveness, I will not force it. I ask that you remember after you were turned, our first hunt together, first time making love, our matrimony,” he said, his gaze focused on you, as the tears built up in his eyes.

“How different is your reality, from what you were told?”

“He was…unfamiliar and gruesome. He had been in Philip’s head for months, before it happened,” you said, turning your head. You couldn’t stomach talking about it, let alone looking at Armand — who couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Now that you are aware of what is true, has future changed? Do you see Armand still being a factor in your life?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, as he widened his eyes, staring between you and Daniel.

“You don’t know? Perhaps a legal separation or divorce-

“Divorce? Y/n, none of this is necessary, love,” Armand interrupted.

“You set Philip on fire, and threw me from the top of a museum-

“I didn’t throw you”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you let go after I called you a monster,” you replied harshly.

“Why did you do it, Armand?” Daniel asked.

“I was angry, it isn’t an excuse, but I was. He- Philip had burned down the theater, and the woman I loved, sided with him. I let her go, but the thought of her being with him again, I detested, when I needed her. My piece of humanity, only hours with her, left my cold heart feeling more alive than it ever was. When she hit the ground, I heard her bones break, her crying, it shattered what was left of my soul. I couldn’t believe what I had done to my angel, I had to turn her. I am sorry, but making you my fledgling, I will not apologize for, you are my greatest creation,” he shook his head, looking away as a tear fell.

“I need a moment,” he continued, standing to leave, as Daniel paused the recorder.

“How are you?” Daniel asked, hesitantly. You sat stiff but upright.

“My heartbeat is synced with his, he has been all I’ve known for almost a century, I just…don’t get it,” you said, accepting the Kleenex from Daniel.

“On your blog, you explained how ruthless the vampires were and how he seemed different, ‘Armand was my shield, he was feared by many, and being his companion, I was safe’,” he quoted.

“Yes,” you nodded.

“And suppose you forgot that he was a vampire of that time, he too was just as heartless, if not perhaps more. I mean, he had done a fair share of generosity, but it was all for personal gain”

“I don't understand what you're saying Daniel,” you told him.

“I am simply trying to break down every perspective of this story”

“You were having an emotional affair with him, while he pulled the strings behind the scene, sounds like something he'd do. I just have to ask, what hurt your worst, was it him killing Philip, or killing you?” he asked. Opening your mouth to speak, you stopped as Armand entered the room, keeping his eyes down. Pressing play on the recorder, Daniel cleared his throat.

“We left off with Armand’s excuse, although, he didn't explain why he wiped and changed Y/n’s memory. Would you like to elaborate on that?” Daniel asked him, making him glare at him. Groaning, he held his head, feeling another wave of the terrible headache.

“Stop it,” you yelled at him, catching him by surprise, before he put his head down.

“If she didn't remember, then we could pick up where we left off. As monstrous as it seems, it was very simple. My hatred and jealousy for him was far too strong, it was bound to come to pass. I apologize, Y/n, you did love him very much. I just ask that you would look past all of this and see that you were and will always be my angel,” he said before he walked away.

“Armand, you can't just- and he's gone. Armand has left the penthouse, and no longer wants to discuss what happened,” he said, before pausing the recorder.

“Continuing where we left, what hurt worst?”

“I-I don’t know, I would say him letting me go, he was my haven, and to just release me. The look on my face, as I screamed, reaching for him, I was so afraid,” you stated, as he quickly made a small note.

“Are you able to continue tonight?” he asked, setting the pen down.

“Of course, I will be fine,” you nodded, as he pressed play on the recorder.

“Now that you remember your concealed memories, start from where they had been changed”

“I was writing a letter…”

Waking up, you lightly groaned, looking over at the bare space. Your undead heart ached at the lack of his presence, despite your anger towards him. Two weeks had come and gone, the longest you had been away from each other, and as concerning as it may have been, you missed him, dearly.

Sluggishly climbing out of bed, and leaving the room, you couldn't remember the last morning you had been asleep, or the night you’d been awake. Raising an eyebrow at how chaotic the house staff seemed, you tried to think of what made today special.

“What is going on?” You said, stopping a staff member.

“I-for you miss,” the young girl said, directing you to the folder on the nearby table.

“This is a will…” you frowned, staring at the paper inside.

“Yes, from Armand, I believe he left a note,” she nodded, hesitantly. Flipping through the pages, your frowned deepened, skimming the contents. All of his assets going to his spouse, you. Just as you were about to question his motives further, you noticed the small note against the folder.

My angel, a star I thought was only meant for my stage when in reality, you are worthy of much more. Selfishly, I have sheltered you away, when you shine brightly. This time away, although agonizing, has given me a chance to think. There are no excuses I have for myself, I have found myself guilty, and I will deliver justice for you. To experience only a small amount of pain I have caused you is all I can lastly do for you in my final moments. You have made me feel more alive in our century than when I was mortal. I’ll love you in this life and the next, Armand.

Your fingers traced his unique cursive handwriting, as the bloody tears hit the paper, smearing the ink. It looked and felt fresh. Despite being so angry with him, you didn’t want this for him. He had done heinous things, but no vampire was innocent, and you still loved him.

“Do you know where he is?”

“I believe he may be on the roof,” she said, her eyes widening as you rushed out of the penthouse. The sun was set to rise shortly, and you had to get to him quickly.

Anxiety crept up from the depths of your stomach as you ran to the rooftop. Your time in Paris flashed across your mind. First meeting him, the terror as he murdered Philip, the first time he brought you flowers, the fear as you learned that he was a vampire, your first kiss, the pain caused by his fangs as he made you into his fledgling. He consumed your mind and you didn't know if you could take losing him.

“Armand,” you yelled, as you rushed outside.

“Has this view always been this beautiful?” he asked, his back to you.

“Come inside, Armand,” your breath hitched as he faced you. His beautiful stained with dry blood.

“I hurt you,” he said, disgust flashing across his face.

“I know, but you’ll hurt me again if you do this,” you told him.

“Releasing you from my grasp is what you need most,” he said, as you anxiously watched as the sun inched close and closer.

“What I need is for you to come inside with me, now,” you yelled at him, tears pouring from your eyes.

“Go inside-

“If you won't come along, then I will stay,” you argued.

“Y/n, don't be absurd”

“I forgive you, is that what you want to hear? It was a stupid mistake almost a century ago and if you can't accept that, then we will meet the sun together,” you said, as the sun began to move up your legs.

“Please, Y/n”

“No, I will not leave you to burn-

Armand hissed as the sun moved up his arms, but as it came across your skin, you immediately screamed. It burned, it was excruciating. In an instant, Armand had you in his arms, bringing you inside the building.

“I’m sorry,” he comforted you, examining your arms, as he held you close.

“Don’t go,” you cried.

“I won't,” he reassured you.

“Make me forget-

“No-

“Just once more, I’d rather oblivion than another moment of this mental warfare”

“I am sorry”

“I know,” you said, as he lifted your head, to meet his eyes, as he began to wipe your memories.

“Let me get this straight, you're recanting everything you told me?” Daniel yelled over the phone.

“Yes, I would like to keep the original story, Daniel, I will be sure to reimburse you for the inconvenience”

“Where is this coming from? What happened to the readers knowing the truth?”

“The truth is subjective, depending on who is reading will determine what they think is true. I will be in contact soon, bye now,” you said, ending the call.

“Daniel wasn't very happy with me,” you pouted, accepting the champagne glass, filled with blood.

“He will get over himself,” Armand said, as his hand wrapped around your waist.

“I suppose, I still feel bad I’ll have to make it up to him,” you said, leaning into his chest, as you both stared off into the beautiful lights of Dubai.

“Perhaps and what would you like to do about his gifts?” he said, motioning to the stack of old photographs.

Glancing over that the wedding photos, you picked up the only picture that included your mother and brother. Turning back to the window, the stack caught ablaze, crumbling into ash. Armand tensed up at the action, but you turned to face him, kissing his cheek.

“I love you”

“Not nearly as much as I love you”

“Oh but I think I do”

“Really now?”

“I think I could show you better physically, than with words,” you said, lust clouding your eyes.

“After you, angel,” Armand smirked, as you held his hand, leading him to your shared bedroom.

Guilt lingered at the back of Armand’s mind. He was inherently selfish, it was his prerogative — but you were the same. You didn't even realize you were just as messed up as him. You preferred having your memory wiped than to recognize the monster he was. The truth, your past, and death would remain untold, as you accepted your perfect life with Armand — your companion and maker, a beautiful deception.

a/n: guys, it feels so weird posting again lol, i enjoyed my break, but i missed writing on here so much!

#amc iwtv #interview with the vampire #armand the vampire #armand x reader #amc armand #iwtv

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minhosbitterriver · 6 months ago

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𑁍ࠬܓ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ( stray kids )

❛ In which the members of Stray Kids navigate the world of fatherhood without you.

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) 4.4k

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This request was absolutely devastating to write, thank you! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Y/N has passed away, each member is a single father still in love with you, mentions of grief, some of the kids fall under the LGBTQ+ community.

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

방찬 ── BANG CHAN.

Chan's office was bathed in the soft, amber glow of the desk lamps, casting a warm yet somber light across the room. The gentle hum of the night time silence was broken only by the rhythmic, soothing breaths of his three-year-old daughter, who lay peacefully on the worn leather couch. Her tiny face, so serene in slumber, was a haunting mirror of your beautiful features, stirring a profound ache in Chan's heart.

As he watched her, tears began to silently trace their way down his cheeks, each drop carrying the weight of his sorrow and longing. He could still hear your final, trembling words: "Love her twice as much in my absence." The memory was a dagger, twisting with the relentless guilt and grief that had become his constant companions. The sight of his daughter's innocent face, so reminiscent of you, only deepened his anguish.

Today had been especially trying. Chan had promised his little girl a joyous outing to the park, a precious respite from his hectic work schedule. But the day took an unexpected turn when Changbin called in a panic, frantically searching for the nearly completed recording of their latest song. What Chan had hoped would be a swift resolution morphed into hours of desperate searching, only to end in the devastating realization that they would have to begin the recording anew.

All the while, his daughter’s patience wore thin. She had no toys, no distractions, just the suffocating boredom of waiting. Her disappointment was palpable, a silent reproach that cut deeper than any words could. Chan felt like he was failing her, failing in the promise he had made to you. Driven by the need to make amends, he gently woke his daughter. Her initial crankiness gave way to curiosity as he apologized for breaking his promise and proposed a sleepover at home. Movies, games, a fort, and endless cuddles — her eyes sparkled at the thought, and her frown dissolved into giggles.

At home, they transformed the living room into a magical fortress of pillows and blankets, a sanctuary just for them. They watched animated tales, played games, and reveled in the simple joy of being together. Wrapped in the cozy embrace of their fort, she eventually succumbed to sleep once more, nestled against him. Her hair, a tousled mess, and a small trail of drool on his shirt were endearing reminders of her tender age and boundless trust in him.

Chan held her close, his heart swelling with love and a bittersweet yearning. She was the living embodiment of his heart, and as he gazed at her, he whispered a vow into the stillness of the night. He promised to love her with all his might, carrying the weight of both his love and the part of you that would forever reside in their lives. In that quiet moment, amidst the echoes of his promises, he felt a fragile sense of peace, knowing that as long as he held her, he was keeping your memory alive.

이민호 ── LEE MINHO.

Minho lay in the dim, soft glow of his bedroom, shadows whispering across the walls as the twins slept peacefully beside him. Their tiny forms had claimed your side of the bed, filling the void where your presence once brought warmth and comfort. The night he returned home with the babies, he had attempted to sleep alone, but the emptiness was unbearable. He tossed and turned, haunted by the silence, until one of the babies began to cry, inevitably waking the other. In his desperation to soothe them, he gathered every pillow he could find, crafting a makeshift crib in his bed. Their delicate features softened in the calm of his presence, and they finally drifted off to sleep.

As Minho gazed at their angelic faces, hands entwined even in slumber, his heart ached with the weight of your absence. How could he begin to process this loss? You had spent almost ten months nurturing these little miracles, only to be taken away before you could revel in the beauty of their existence. Ten months of creating life, and you would never witness the serene way they held hands in their sleep. Ten months of dreams and hopes, and you would miss their first birthdays, graduations, weddings. It was unbearably cruel, and Minho’s soul was tormented by the thought.

You wouldn’t even be here to laugh about the pregnancy mix-up that had both of you convinced it would be a boy and a girl, only to welcome two beautiful baby girls into the world. His friends had offered to stay and help, but he had declined, needing the solitude to grapple with his grief. Now, in the stillness of the night, he questioned if he had made the right choice.

Tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks as the full weight of his new reality settled over him. He was to raise these precious little princesses on his own, and the responsibility felt crushing. Yet, as he watched their peaceful slumber, he knew he had to summon every ounce of strength for them. They were his world now, the living, breathing remnants of your love. He vowed to cherish them, to love them fiercely, and to guide them through life with unwavering dedication, for they were all he had left of you, and he was all they had.

In the hushed silence, he whispered promises into the night, pledging to be the best father he could be. He would ensure they knew how deeply you loved them, even if you couldn’t be there to tell them yourself. And as he held them close, feeling the rise and fall of their tiny chests, a fragile peace washed over him. He knew that in every laugh, every tear, and every milestone, you would be there in spirit, guiding him, loving them, always.

서창빈 ── SEO CHANGBIN.

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the park as Changbin and his 13-year-old son sat on a weathered wooden bench, savoring their ice cream. The park buzzed with the laughter of children, their joy mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves in the summer breeze. Parents lounged on the grass, basking in the last light of day, while Changbin watched his son’s face light up with a blush as he received a message.

Changbin couldn’t resist teasing him. "Who’s got you smiling like that?" he asked, his voice laced with playful curiosity.

His son’s cheeks reddened further, and he looked away, trying to hide his smile. "Just a girl from school," he mumbled, glancing at his phone. "She texted to congratulate me on today’s soccer game."

Changbin’s interest was piqued. "A girl, huh? Do you like her?" he inquired gently, but his son just rolled his eyes, keeping his thoughts to himself.

After a while, his son broke the comfortable silence with a question that took Changbin by surprise. "Dad, how did you know Mom was the one for you?"

Changbin's heart swelled with a bittersweet mix of love and nostalgia. He took a deep breath, the memory washing over him like a tender wave. "Well," he began softly, "it was before you were born. Your mom and I had only been dating for a few months. One evening, we decided to take a ride on my motorcycle to grab some food. On the way back, she spotted a bookstore and got all excited. She tapped my shoulder and pointed it out, her eyes sparkling like a child's. I couldn't say no to that."

He smiled, lost in the memory. "We stopped, and I handed her my card, telling her to get whatever she wanted. She promised she’d come out empty-handed, but I knew better." He chuckled, remembering your sheepish yet triumphant expression as you emerged with a bag hidden behind your back. "She ended up buying two books and couldn’t stop talking about them, her excitement contagious. When I told her I was glad she found something, she did this little dance of joy before climbing back onto the bike. She had to hold the bag since her backpack was already stuffed with our food, but she was too happy to care."

Changbin’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. "That’s when I knew she was the one. It wasn’t some grand gesture; it was her pure joy in the little things, her passion for life. I wish you could have known her. She loved you so much, even before you were born."

His son’s eyes mirrored his own longing and admiration. "I wish I’d known her too," he said softly. "My goal in life is to find my soulmate, like you found Mom. I want to love someone as much as you loved her."

Changbin’s heart ached with pride and sorrow. "You deserve to have someone by your side for a long time," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added, "Who knows, maybe this girl from school is your one."

His son groaned, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he nudged Changbin, causing his ice cream to topple onto the ground. Changbin laughed, a deep, hearty sound that echoed through the park. His own ice cream slipped from his grasp, joining his son’s on the pavement, and they both burst into laughter, the joy of the moment a soothing balm to their hearts.

In that golden hour, surrounded by the simple pleasures of ice cream and shared memories, Changbin felt a profound sense of peace. Despite the heartache and loss, he and his son would continue to find love and joy in the little things, just as you had taught him. And in those moments of laughter and connection, he felt your presence with them, a silent guardian watching over their journey, smiling at their shared happiness.

황현진 ── HWANG HYUNJIN.

Hyunjin sat alone in the dimly lit room, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, golden hue over the familiar surroundings. The air was thick with memories, each piece of furniture and every stroke of paint a testament to the love and labor he had shared with you. His heart ached with a bittersweet nostalgia as he looked around, his mind filled with the echoes of laughter and the whispers of cherished moments.

He remembered the countless hours spent building the furniture, the frustration and triumph mingling as he struggled with stubborn screws, while you sat nearby, reading the instructions with a patience that never failed to calm him. The nursery walls, painted in a tapestry of happy themes, bore the marks of your combined artistic talents, creating a sanctuary for the new life you both awaited with eager anticipation.

The night he returned home with the baby, your absence a gaping void beside him, was etched into his soul. He had sat in the rocking chair, the one he had bought especially for you, cradling the fragile bundle in his arms, paralyzed by the fear of being alone. Many nights, he had dozed off in that chair, too afraid to leave its comforting embrace, haunted by the silence that your departure had left behind.

A wistful smile tugged at his lips as he recalled the day he found your child drawing on the walls, their tiny hands busy creating a colorful mural over your delicate paintings. It had pained him to see your work altered, but the sight of their concentrated little face, so much like yours, had softened his heart. He had chosen to let them be creative, to express themselves freely, even if it meant sacrificing a piece of you.

He thought of the time his six-year-old had cried in his arms, their tiny body trembling with confusion and hurt because they didn't fit in with the boys or the girls. Hyunjin had held them close, whispering reassurances, his heart breaking at the familiar pain. It had been a long journey, but he had worked tirelessly to make their home a sanctuary of love and acceptance.

The memories came in a flood, each one a cherished gem: the summer in middle school when they returned home with bags of new clothes and put on a fashion show, proudly displaying their androgynous style; the pride parade, where he meticulously placed sticky rainbow gems on their face, their giddy excitement lighting up the day; and finally, the day they graduated and moved out, leaving behind an empty room filled with the ghosts of the past.

Tears rolled down Hyunjin’s face as he sat in the rocking chair, now old and creaky, thinking of all the moments he had cherished yet wished he could have shared with you. The weight of the memories pressed down on him, a heavy, inescapable burden.

Suddenly, his phone rang, startling him from his reverie. He hastily wiped his tears and saw it was a FaceTime call from his child. He answered, and their beaming face filled the screen, the excitement in their eyes mirrored by the twinkling fairy lights in their new apartment's bedroom.

“Hey, Dad! Look at my new room!” they exclaimed, panning the camera around to show off their new space, their voice bubbling with pride and joy.

Hyunjin’s heart swelled with pride and love. “It looks amazing, sweetheart,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“I miss you,” they confessed, their eyes shining with unshed tears. “Can we spend the first night together, through the phone?”

Hyunjin chuckled softly, trying to mask his lingering sadness. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of moving out?”

They laughed, a sound that was pure and unfiltered joy. “Maybe, but I know you’re in my old room crying already.”

He laughed too, the heaviness lifting just a bit. “You got me there.”

They didn’t hang up, staying connected through the screen as the night deepened. Hyunjin lay back in the rocking chair, his child propped up in their new bed, both finding solace in the familiar presence of each other. As they talked and laughed, Hyunjin realized that though you weren’t physically there, your spirit lived on in these moments, in the love that continued to bind them together. And for now, that was enough.

한지성 ── HAN JISUNG.

Jisung found his seven-year-old child hidden within the treehouse that the three of you had built together. This small wooden sanctuary, once filled with laughter and joy, now bore the heavy weight of sorrow. They were still in their funeral attire, the black clothes contrasting sharply against the soft glow of the setting sun. The murmurs of the guests lingering in the backyard became a distant, indistinct hum as Jisung climbed into the treehouse, his heart burdened with grief and a simmering anger at the universe for taking you away so cruelly.

His son's youthful face was etched with a grief that seemed too profound for such a young soul. Jisung felt a surge of helplessness as he reached out, pulling his child close, wrapping him in an embrace meant to shield him from the cruel world outside. “I miss Mom,” came the soft, heart-wrenching whisper, each word a dagger to Jisung’s already shattered heart.

“I miss Mom too,” Jisung murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. They sat together in silence, the weight of your absence pressing down on them like an insurmountable force.

It had been nearly a year since you had fallen ill, the sickness so severe that the doctors had given you only a few months at most. Yet, you had defied their grim prognosis, your spirit burning brightly despite the frailty of your body. Jisung remembered the countless nights spent by your side, swallowing his fears and anger as you spoke of your impending death with a calm acceptance that had always made him furious. To him, it felt as though you had given up, but he knew deep down that wasn’t the case. You hadn’t wanted to waste what little time you had left fighting an unwinnable battle. Perhaps if he had truly listened, if he had embraced those fleeting moments instead of railing against them, he might have cherished your final days more deeply.

His son, too young to fully grasp the concept of death, struggled with the finality of it all. He understood that you would never return, yet accepting it was a different matter entirely. Jisung’s heart broke anew each time he saw the confusion and sorrow in his child’s eyes, a mirror of his own torment.

Holding his son tighter, Jisung wished he could find the right words to ease the pain, to make sense of a world that had suddenly lost its light. But words failed him, crumbled under the weight of their shared grief. Instead, he let the silence speak, hoping the strength of his embrace could convey the love and comfort his words could not.

The treehouse, once a symbol of their shared joy, now held their sorrow. The walls, which had echoed with laughter and dreams, now seemed to absorb their pain, standing as silent witnesses to their loss. But within this small, sacred space, surrounded by the memories of happier times, Jisung hoped they could begin to heal. He would be there for his son, a steadfast presence in the storm of their grief, guiding him through the darkness with a love that, while tested, remained unbroken.

As the last light of day faded, Jisung held his son close, both finding a semblance of solace in each other’s presence. In the quiet, grief-stricken aftermath, they began to forge a new bond, one tempered by loss but strengthened by their enduring love. And in that silent communion, Jisung found a glimmer of hope that they would eventually find their way through the darkness together.

이용복 ── LEE YONGBOK.

In a home where the relentless energy of three young girls and their single father painted every day with hues of joyous chaos, peace was a fleeting visitor. The air thrummed with the symphony of exuberant laughter, the vibrant discord of simultaneous chatter, and the relentless rhythm of youthful exuberance. Yongbok would never trade this tempestuous world for anything, yet a hollow ache lingered for the presence of the one who had been the steady heartbeat of their lives.

Your sudden departure had cast a profound shadow over their once lively abode, transforming it into a quieter realm where your laughter’s echoes were replaced by an oppressive silence. As time wove its delicate fabric over the jagged edges of grief, the house gradually adjusted to a new cadence, yet the weight of your absence hung heavy in every corner.

Despite this, Yongbok discovered fragments of you embedded within the fabric of their daily lives. He saw your essence in the selfless nurturing of his eldest daughter, who had seamlessly stepped into the role of co-caregiver. Her quiet acts of love and responsibility were a poignant echo of the devotion you had always shown, a continuation of your spirit in her every gesture.

In the middle child’s vibrant monologues about obscure topics, Yongbok glimpsed your enduring influence. Her unquenchable thirst for knowledge mirrored the intellectual curiosity you had nurtured, each passionate explanation a living testament to your legacy.

The youngest, with her mischievous gleam and boundless spirit, kept Yongbok perpetually on his toes. Her playful antics and joyful mischief were a vivid reminder of the vivacity you had infused into their home, a living echo of the light you had brought into their lives.

In the quiet moments, Yongbok could still feel your presence. The post-it notes left in his lunch bag by his eldest daughter, each inscribed with a simple message of love, were imbued with your warmth. The tender strokes of his middle daughter’s fingers through his hair during their movie nights were a silent connection to you. And in the gentle inquiries of his youngest, her head peeking around the door to ensure he was alright, he felt the deep compassion you had instilled in her.

Though you were absent from the milestones and daily rhythms, your essence lived on through them. In the small, tender acts of affection and love, you continued to be a cherished part of their lives, an enduring presence in their hearts.

김승민 ── KIM SEUNGMIN.

Seungmin had been absent through the vast expanse of your pregnancy, the relentless demands of touring keeping him away. He returned just in time to witness the birth, only to be swallowed by the crushing weight of your absence. The pain of missing those precious moments with you, of not being there to share in the miracle of your last days, was a wound that never healed. This haunting regret followed him, a constant reminder of a future lost.

The day you passed, Seungmin left Stray Kids, unable to bear the weight of the stage without you by his side. He couldn’t find solace in the bright lights or the rhythms of his music. Instead, he focused on his two sons—an older one, now sixteen, and a younger one, now twelve. The older boy, once a vibrant spirit, had retreated into the shadows of his room, his once lively demeanor replaced by a sullen silence. The baseball games that had once bound them together now lay abandoned, and Seungmin, despite the storm within, knew he had to reach out.

Determined to bridge the chasm that had grown between them, Seungmin planned a day just for the two of them. He left the youngest with his closest friend, Jeongin, and took his older son out. The car ride was a quiet procession of unspoken thoughts, the weight of their shared grief hanging heavily between them. When they finally arrived at their destination, Seungmin braced himself, ready to face the tender fracture of their relationship.

It took patience, but eventually, the silence broke. The older boy revealed his feelings for a boy at school, emotions that he struggled to understand. Seungmin was taken aback, but he remained calm, his heart aching with a blend of surprise and concern. As his son’s tears fell freely, Seungmin pulled him into a tender embrace, his own heart aching with a mixture of empathy and love. He whispered reassurances into his son’s hair, promising acceptance and protection, vowing to stand by him no matter what.

The boy, still tearful but comforted, then showed Seungmin a small journal. Inside was a song he had penned, a poignant melody woven with the threads of his conflicted feelings for the boy at school. The song was hauntingly beautiful, a reflection of his son’s delicate soul and burgeoning talent. Seungmin’s heart swelled with pride and love as he listened, recognizing the echoes of his own musical spirit in his child’s creation.

As the day drew to a close, Seungmin received a snapshot from Jeongin—his youngest child, covered in dirt and beaming with the joy of a day spent playing baseball. The image was a burst of pure happiness, a vivid reminder that even amidst the sorrow, moments of light and joy persisted.

As the sun set, Seungmin felt a renewed connection with his older son, a fragile yet precious bond rekindled through their shared experiences and heartfelt conversation. Though the regret of not being there for you lingered, he found solace in the fact that he was striving to be the father you would have been proud of. In the quiet moments of the evening, he hoped, with all his heart, that wherever you were, you watched over them and felt a deep pride in the man he was becoming—a father striving to honor your memory through the love and strength he gave to your family.

양정인 ── YANG JEONGIN.

Jeongin’s youngest daughter was a restless spirit, her stubborn yet carefree nature a constant reminder of the love she once shared with you. Each burst of laughter, every defiant flicker of joy, was a living echo of your vibrant presence. In contrast, his oldest son was a mirror of Jeongin’s own meticulous nature, his life meticulously ordered, each ambition carefully planned.

Lately, Jeongin’s heart had been heavy with worry. His daughter, brimming with reckless exuberance, frequently dashed off to meet a boy Jeongin knew was unworthy. The thought of her entangled with someone without a future gnawed at him, leaving him adrift in a sea of concern. As he lay awake at night, the silence seemed to taunt him, and he often found himself wondering how you would have navigated these troubled waters if you had still been there to guide them.

One night, as the moonlight spilled softly through the window, Jeongin was wrenched from sleep by the unmistakable sound of muffled sobs. His heart raced as he followed the cries to his daughter’s room. He paused at the door, the murmur of his son’s voice cutting through the silence. The room, once a sanctuary of dreams, was now a cocoon of whispered regrets and stifled tears. His daughter’s voice wavered with the weight of her shame, confessing her feelings of foolishness for having trusted the boy. His son, with a soothing calmness that mirrored your gentle strength, reassured her that she wasn’t foolish, merely swept up in the exhilarating tide of young love. He told her she deserved better than a boy with no future, his words a soft balm to her wounded spirit.

Jeongin’s heart ached with a mixture of pride and sorrow as he heard his son’s comforting tones, the echoes of your nurturing spirit resonating in his voice. After a few moments, he gathered the courage to step into the room. His eyes were tender with understanding as he took in the scene: his daughter’s tear-streaked face, her hands buried in her lap. Her cries grew louder as she saw him, her embarrassment palpable as she shielded her face with her hands.

Jeongin knelt before her, his expression a blend of love and compassion. Gently, he reached for her hands, drawing them away from her face to hold them in his own. His touch was a lifeline, a silent promise of unwavering support.

“You told me so, I know,” she choked out, her voice a trembling whisper.

“I would never say that, my love,” Jeongin murmured, his voice rich with tenderness. He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close against his chest. His gaze met his son’s, a shared understanding passing between them.

“I know it hurts,” Jeongin whispered into her hair, his voice a soothing melody against her ear, “but this isn’t the end.” His embrace was a warm cocoon, a sanctuary of love amidst the storm of her emotions. The night unfolded in a delicate tapestry of comfort and hope, a testament to the enduring love that bound them together, even in the quiet absence of your guiding presence.

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