#AU soulmates

[pollyna]

Mav thinks Goose's other soulmate must be really something - and all positive things - considering the way Goose is always so happy and eager to talk to him over the phone and do a lot of miles to see him even if only during the weekend.

So when a guy, not taller than Goose but definitely bulkier, approces them at the O-Club, only says "Hey dickhead" before literally picking Goose up and putting him on the counter to kiss him for the next five minutes or so, Mav doesn't know if to like the guy or to punch him then and there.

[steddie-fanfic-recs]

Maybe 10% Better

by BilbosMom

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tommy Hagan & Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Tommy Hagan, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Billy Hargrove Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Omega Steve Harrington, Alpha Eddie Munson, Protective Tommy Hagan, Tommy Hagan Being an Asshole, Minor Tommy Hagan/Carol Perkins, Good Friend Tommy Hagan, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, POV Tommy Hagan, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Alternate Universe - Soulmates Words: 38,167 Chapters: 5/5

Summary

That's when Tommy realized he was, like, the worst fucking friend ever. Because Steve was an omega and they had learned in health class that omegas craved physical contact. And Steve, a secret male omega with shitty absentee parents, wasn’t getting any love at home and he couldn't exactly reach out and ask his buddies for some cuddles. No one but Tommy knew about him and Tommy sure as shit hadn't been offering to hold his hand. So now here Steve was, getting a goddamn contact high because he was squished in between Davey Bower, who smelled like ball sweat and Cheetos, and Andrew Floyd, who looked like a fucking toe. But Steve was too blissed out on, like, happy omega hormones to care about that, and Tommy was the shittiest best friend in Hawkins. Goddammit. Tommy was going to have to start giving Steve hugs. He was going to have to give him so many goddamn fucking hugs. When Steve presents as a rare male omega he is forced to hide his status and question his worldview; he learns to be less shallow, more caring, and more open-minded. Tommy Hagan stays loyal to his best friend and is dragged kicking and screaming into being a better person too. Just a little bit, though. Like, maybe 10% better.

[clementinecrane]

My latest RP fic is finished and posted! This time for Dr Who, with the author Multifandomfuckfest. I'm so excited to share it with y'all, we had a blast writing it.

Summary: The Doctor doesn't meet Donna on her wedding day, there is no Racnoss, rather he meets her when she's temping at a high school infested with aliens and already married to Lance. When he sees she has his same soul mark, it sets things into motion the Doctor could never have anticipated.

[boniface-fiction]

No Easy Way

Rickyl - The Walking Dead - 2.5K - T+ - AU Soulmates

"No easy way to say this, so I'll just say it."

That was a hell of a lot to be printed on a kid's arm, and upside down to boot, but Daryl was nothing if not recklessly single minded when he wanted to do something, and he wanted to read his soul mark.

"Your soul mate's a talkative little thing, ain't she?" Merle teased, with his squinted eyes bruised dark by heavy fists. Other times, when he smelled like burning plastic and slurred his words; "How the hell that bitch breakin' up with you as her first words?"

Read on AO3 here

[irafook]

Baby sorcerers

[ashleyreyland]

"Sorry," Tim said, causing the man to look at him and, oh, he was really handsome, "I couldn't help but notice your tattoo on your neck…"

"Oh uh, yeah," the man flushed a little and shrugged, "Soulmate thing, you know?"

Tim did know, that was the problem, "Right. Have you met…?"

"Ah, no, not yet," the man said awkwardly, "Listen-"

"Did you have something happen to you four years ago?" Tim cut in and the man went perfectly still, staring at him in surprise.

Tim held out his left hand and the man inhaled sharply, "Oh shit I was hoping that didn't transfer since I died."

"…you what?" Tim asked in response.

"Hey, you're the one with a throat injury, you have no room to judge."

[amariram]

Do you ever stop and think about how lonely must Arthur have felt before meeting Merlin?

He had no one he could really call friend for years and then BAM one day he meets this strange, cocky, peasant boy who just calls him names regardless of his rank and like in just one day he gains a loyal servant, a best friend, a soulmate, the other side of his coin, his savior, his first true supporter and the love of his life.

Damn, the love he must feel for Merlin.

[panevanbuckley]

soulmate au where your soulmate's thoughts appear on your skin except your soulmate has adhd and your body becomes a living canvas of nonsensical, never-ending, constantly entertaining trails of thought

[dandey-lion]

Basic DC soulmate AU. Everybody has a soulmate mark. Pretty simple.

Enter Danny.

Now, he’s from another dimension. Came here for work, funsies, or by accident. The choice is yours. He doesn’t have a soulmate mark because he’s from another dimension.

Everybody around him is very confused and worried for him because that boy doesn’t have a soulmate mark! Everybody has a soulmate mark! What does this mean?

He’s out here trying to convince them everything is fine without giving away the fact that he’s from another dimension cause he doesn’t want to risk the hero community finding out about him.

Unfortunately, the bats and birds of Gotham are very curious people. And what’s more thought-provoking than the first person in their universe to not have a soulmate mark?

The Bats pursue.

Shenanigans ensue.

Bonus Points if somebody Danny cares about is in danger and he goes full eldritch.

Bonus Bonus Points if Danny’s eldritch body is covered/surrounded by runes, words, shapes, and the sort.

Bonus Bonus Bonus Points If the biggest shape on his body is a soulmate mark.

BONUS BONUS BONUS BONUS POINTS If his soulmate mark is the same as the person he’s protecting.

I think this is a great setup for a Danny x DC character plot.

[steddie-fanfic-recs]

boys trip!

by crybaby

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Steve Harrington, Alpha Eddie Munson, Friends to Lovers, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Fisting, pussy slapping, Vaginal Sex, Knotting, Locking, Squirting, it's all very platonic at first, Soulmates Words: 21,396 Chapters: 1/1

Summary

“Steve, I’m only offering because I want to help, okay? So,” he pauses, can’t believe he has to ask again. “Do you want me to fuck you?” Steve groans, squeezing his eyes shut as his face pinches up. “Yeah,” Steve says on the outbreath. “Please,” he tacks on. An afterthought. Eddie grimaces. “Gross, man. Don’t say please about me fucking you.” “I’m just being polite! You’re the one who offered!” When Steve's heat comes early and threatens to ruin their holiday, Eddie grudgingly offers to help.

[dclovesdanny]

Dead Serious

4/4

Danny had made peace with the fact he did not have a soulmate. He had! After several years of no response to the countless drawings and writing notes on his skin, he had grown resigned to the fact that he was part of the 5% who did not have soulmates. He was fine with that.

(Dash would tease him about how no one would ever love him, adding salt to an already irritated wound. His parents were soulmates, and he remembered when he was drawing on his father’s arms and watching as it appeared on his mother’s. Jazz had been drawing and writing to her soulmate for years. Her soulmates name was Jason, and she always talked about how he was with her. She was one of the few people who comforted him when he stopped drawing or writing to soulmate. )

Damien taught at an early age that there was no use for soulmates. They were only distractions. He knew grandfather had no soulmate, and his mother had never responded to her own. He never responded to the drawings on his arms notes the notes in English on his (and he didn’t try harder just because he wanted to read his soulmate writing that would be ridiculous.)

Damien never told his family about having a soulmate. Even as he slowly got used to the differences between them and slowly learned how his grandfather was he could never bring himself to respond to the slowly lessening drawings and messages.(He couldn’t bring himself to respond because deep down he knew he didn’t deserve a soulmate. He was a monster, a demon. He didn’t deserve it.)

Danny stopped trying so desperately to contact his soulmate at age 11(the age he held his sister as she cried, her soulmate’s last message scribbled in desperate frantic writing on her arm. He never resented his parents so much when they didn’t even leave the lab for two days, not paying any mind to their sobbing child on the floor above them.)(it was the first time he didn’t envy having a soulmate.)

He was fourteen when he started drawing on his arms again.(it was shaky, much more than the older drawings, but even if he didn’t have a soulmate, he wanted to leave them a mark, just in case, the same way Jazz wrote quotes from different books on her arms.)

(When he found out Vlad didn’t have a soulmate, he refused to acknowledge another similarity they shared. He refused to think about how Vlad’s desperation made Danny think of his own desperate writing for his soulmate. Soulmates were a topic he never spoke of, and Vlad must have known, must have found out about how Danny didn’t have one, but he never commented on it. (It was the only boundary that was never crossed.))

(Damian wasn’t disappointed when his soulmate stopped writing to him. he didn’t trace over his arms, wishing that he had the confidence to write back. He didn’t spend hours wondering if his soulmate was gone without knowing Damian had seen him. He didn’t trace over the drawings his soulmate made with awe after four years of silence.)

Damian always covered up, so he was the only one who noticed when his soulmate started writing to him again. Never sentences never notes like they were before, but shaky drawings appeared on his skin. They were less detailed than before, almost shaky, as if the person drawing them couldn’t hold a pencil, steady, but they were real. Damian never said a word.

It was October 15 when Damien saw something on his arms that made his blood go cold. A message that he read over and over while commandeering the plane and ignoring the rest of his family yelling for him to explain himself. He desperately calibrated the jet while staring at the words, praying to a God he did not believe in that he would not be too late.(Unaware that Todd was following going in the same direction with the similar message written on his arm from a girl that Jason had deemed too good for him.)

Dear soulmate, even if you aren’t there. Everyone in Casper high is writing on their arms and I might as well try to warn someone. I am from Amity Park, Illinois, and we are under attack. The GIW have cut all outside communication. We are currently hiding in Casper high school, barricading the entrances, but it will not last long.

According to the government, we are not legally sentient or human. The agents outside want to dissect us, citing that we are scum. I don’t want to see my classmates die at the hands of my parents. I don’t want to see my friends and my sister die.

I don’t know if you are there, or if I really don’t have a soulmate, but I don’t want to die (fully) without leaving some sort of note.

My name is Danny. I love you. I’m sorry.

[pucksandpower]

To Hell With Duty

Lewis Hamilton x soulmate!Reader

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

Warnings: abusive family dynamics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But that’s not fair!” You protested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he speaks, his voice low and warm.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look at him, confused. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready,” you say firmly.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She sounds brave,” Lewis comments.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re running towards it.

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that ...”

“It can’t be ...”

“The princess!”

“With Lewis Hamilton?”

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

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

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

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

The questions come rapid-fire after that.

“Why did you leave the UK?”

“Are you and Lewis Hamilton really soulmates?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ve got your back, Y/N!”

“Love wins!”

“You show ‘em, Lewis!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Together.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that ...” he asks quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the only choice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wouldn’t change a thing.

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

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

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

[imaginaryf1shots]

Soulmate | Charles Leclerc Ver.

WC: 4.8K

Summery: Once you hit puberty, a red string ties both you and your soulmate together until the moment you meet.

Warning: Not edited, nothing else?

Masterlist

Charles Masterlist

Max Ver. , Oscar Ver. , Lewis Ver.

You live in a world where when a person hits puberty they see a red string. The string is tied to your ring finger on your left hand, and only you get to see the string, well… you and the person on the other side of the string anyway. Your soulmate. It’s like a delicate myth, but it’s real life. There’s a delicate, ethereal thread that connects two souls that are destined to find each other. 

The soulmate string gets tighter and more taught the closer you are to meeting your soulmate, and if you’re one of the lucky ones, the moment you touch your string it sends a ting to your soulmate. Not all soulmates can feel it and not both of them have to. 

And just your luck it seems like you’re one of the ‘lucky’ soulmates who get to feel it, you believe 99% that your soulmate doesn’t share that ability. Because no matter how many times you played with the string your soulmate didn’t touch his. But, he plays with it all the time. Sometimes, too much. Especially when you were younger and couldn’t focus on anything but the tingling going down your body.

One thing about the string is it points in the direction of your soulmate. If you follow the string it’ll lead you straight to your soulmate. It seemed like your soulmate loved travelling, because there’s no way he can be in almost every direction during a week or two, so finding him seemed almost impossible to you. 

You’ve been aware of the string for it seemed like as long as you could remember, life before it seemed to not exist. From when you hit puberty, you could feel the subtle presence that seemed to come and go. A reminder that somewhere out there, someone was connected to you.

Your life in many ways was ordinary. You had a steady job, lived in a comfortable apartment. Spend your free time indulging in your hobbies, going out, meeting friends. Yet there always seemed to be something missing.

It wasn’t that you were unhappy; you simply felt incomplete, like a puzzle with one piece missing. And no matter how much you tried to focus on other things, the string was always there, a quiet reminder that your other half was still out there somewhere.

Then, one morning, everything changed.

You woke up with a holt, your heart racing as if you just ran a marathon. You sat up in bed, breathing heavily, and instinctively placing your hand on your ring finger, where the string was tied. It pulsed with energy, stringer than you’ve ever felt before. The sensation was overwhelming, almost like the string itself was calling you out, urging you to pay attention.

You pulled up your laptop as if you were on autopilot and opened a web page you’ve never opened before, and did something you’ve never done before, all following what the string was urging you to do.

After you’re done and you lean back on the headboard do you think about what you did, you just booked a ticket to a Formula 1 race.

Why? You’ve never seen a race before, never been interested. Just watched the trailer for Drive to Survive on Netflix. But the idea is planted firmly in your head. It wasn’t just a passing thought, and you don’t feel like changing your mind, it was a compulsion, a pull so strong that it felt as if the string itself was guiding you.

This didn’t make sense and yet it felt completely right. The string was humming in approva, telling you that this is the right thing, the right path.

Now you have to book a flight and accommodation to Italy, Monza. It was all happening in a few weeks, everything was super expensive, but you didn’t think about your budget and all the things that you no longer will be able to do. Within minutes, you had booked everything you needed, your heart pounding in a mixture of excitement and nervousness. It was as if you no longer had control and just a passenger being guided by the string.

Over the next few weeks, it was like fate was playing something on you, your social media was filled with everything Formula 1, you kept dreaming of red cars, loud engines and the thrill of speed.  You gravitated towards the colour more than any other time in your life. It was as if the universe was conspiring to ensure you followed the string’s guidance, and you found herself surrendering to it completely.

As the day of the race approached, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something monumental was about to happen. The string was more active than ever, pulling you toward a future you could only imagine. It was different from the tingling you got whenever your soulmate touched the string. However you found yourself doubting it all, what had once seemed like a brilliant and fated decision a few weeks ago now felt reckless and impulsive. You had never been one to do things on a whim, especially to the point of travelling and spending a lot of money on a trip you’ll be on alone.

The strong tugged insistently, refusing to let you back out, every time you opened up to cancel your plans, the tug grew stronger, like a gentle and firm reminder that this was where you were meant to be. The undeniable force, propelling you toward Monza.

Despite this, the anxiety gnawed at you. What if you were making a mistake? What if you got there and nothing happened, no grand revelation, no destined encounter? The string might have been real, but it didn’t come with guarantees or explanations.

And so, with your bags packed and your heart full of anticipation, you set off for Monza, ready to embrace whatever the string had in store for you.

You didn’t know what to expect, but one thing was certain: the string had never led you wrong before. And now, as it pulled you toward the Italian Grand Prix, you knew that you were  about to find out just how powerful the invisible thread could be.

You spent the days leading up to your departure preparing as best you could, though no amount of packing or planning could ease the nervous tension that coiled in your stomach. You packed your bags carefully, choosing outfits that would suit the late summer Italian weather, making sure to include a few pieces that could be considered stylish yet practical, you had no idea what the atmosphere at an F1 race would be like, after all. 

Your friends, while supportive, didn’t quite understand what had driven you to make this decision. 

“An F1 race? I didn’t know you were into that.” One of your closest friends had said, a curious smile on her face when you had mentioned the trip.

“I’m not, really.” You had replied, the words sounding strange even to your own ears. “I just… I don’t know. I feel like I need to be there. It’s hard to explain.”

“Well, who knows? Maybe your string is leading you to someone important.” Your friend had teased, though her eyes had softened with understanding.

“Maybe.” You had echoed, your hand instinctively moving to the spot on your finger where you felt the string the strongest. But you hadn’t told anyone just how intense the pull had become, how the string seemed almost alive with energy, vibrating with anticipation.

The day of your departure arrived, and with it, a wave of nervous excitement. You boarded the plane with your heart pounding, each breath feeling like a step closer to something inevitable. As the plane took off, you closed your eyes and tried to focus on the rhythm of the string, letting it soothe your nerves. It pulsed steadily, a reassuring presence that reminded you weren’t alone in this, someone was on the other end, and they were getting closer with every passing minute.

The day had begun like any other for Charles, but there was a subtle shift in the air that he couldn’t quite place. As he went through his morning routine, something felt different, a lingering sense of anticipation that made his pulse quicken. The sensation wasn’t entirely unfamiliar; he had felt it before, at various points in his life. But today, it was stronger, more insistent, as if something monumental was coming.

He absently tugged at the invisible string that had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember. The string was always there, a quiet reminder that somewhere out in the world, his soulmate was waiting for him. It had been with him through every high and low, through victories on the track and moments of doubt, always steady, always present. It has always brought him comfort.

But today, the string was different. It thrummed with an intensity he had never felt before, like a live wire humming with electricity. Each gentle tug he gave it seemed to amplify the feeling, sending a wave of warmth through his chest. It was almost distracting, pulling his thoughts away from the upcoming race and toward the person on the other end of the string. Whoever they were, they were close. Closer than they had ever been before.

The pull felt urgent, almost impatient, as if it was trying to tell him something. He tried to push the thought aside, focusing on his training, his strategy, but the string wouldn’t be ignored.

Between meetings with the team and media obligations, Charles found himself reaching for the string, giving it a gentle tug as if testing the waters. Each time, he felt an answering pull, faint but unmistakable. It was as if the string was alive, responding to his touch like never before, and with each interaction, the sensation grew stronger. The closer the race day came, the more the string seemed to tighten, almost pulling him off balance.

Charles had heard stories from other drivers about the moment they met their soulmates—how the string had led them, sometimes in the most unexpected ways. He had always believed his time would come, but he hadn’t expected it to be now, in the middle of one of the most important weekends of his career. And yet, the string had never been wrong before. If it was this insistent, it could only mean one thing: his soulmate was near.

The thought filled him with a strange mix of excitement and nervousness. What if they were right here, in Monza? What if he was about to meet the person who was connected to him by this invisible thread, the person who was meant to complete him? 

That night, after a long day of preparations, Charles lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling of his hotel room. The hum of the city outside was a comforting backdrop, but his thoughts were miles away. The string was taut now, almost vibrating with energy, and he could feel it deep in his chest. There was no mistaking it anymore, something life-changing was about to happen, and it was coming fast.

He closed his eyes, letting his hand rest over his ring finger, where the string was most palpable. The connection was strong, almost as if the person on the other end was reaching out to him, trying to bridge the gap between them. He tugged on the string once more, feeling the now familiar warmth spread through him, and this time, the pull was even stronger, almost desperate.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he thought about the possibilities. Whoever they were, wherever they were, they were close, so close that he could almost feel their presence. The anticipation was almost unbearable, but it was a good kind of tension, the kind that made his heart race in the best way possible.

Charles drifted off to sleep with the string still humming in his chest, the last thought on his mind being the image of meeting his soulmate, finally seeing the person who had been connected to him all these years. The person who, in some inexplicable way, had always been a part of his life.

By the time you arrived in Italy, the string was humming with energy. The warm, late summer air greeted you as you stepped out of the airport, a stark contrast to the cool anxiety that clung to your skin. Monza was just a short train ride away, and the closer you got, the more the string seemed to tighten, as if your soulmate was moving as well, drawing closer.

When you finally arrived at the race venue, you were overwhelmed by the sheer size and scale of everything. The roar of engines, the excited chatter of thousands of fans, it was all a sensory overload. The red of Ferrari catching your eye. The same shade of red you’ve been dreaming of.

You moved through the mass of people, clutching your pass around your neck, trying to steady your racing heart. The string was in control now, pulling you, almost guiding your steps as you navigated through the chaos. It was a strange sensation, like being led by an invisible hand, and you found yourself trusting it completely. You followed the pull without question, weaving through the crowded as if you new exactly what you were doing, and where you’re going.

The closer you got to the paddock area, the stronger the pull became. It was no longer just a gentle tug but a firm and insistent force that you could never ignore. Your pace quickened, your heart pounding. You didn’t know what you were looking for, but you knew you were close, closer than you had ever been before.

And then, suddenly, you felt it. A strong, unmistakable tug on the string, as if someone on the other end was pulling you forward. You stopped dead�� in your tracks, startled by the intensity of the sensation. It was as if the world around you had shifted, the noise and chaos of the race fading into the background as the string took centre stage. 

And then you weren’t moving of your own merit, it was literally as if someone got a hold of the soulmate string and was pulling on it, your hand in the air and you were walking, so you wouldn’t fall straight onto your face. Each step felt heavy with anticipation of what will meet you on the other end of the string.

And then, just as you rounded a corner, you were stopped by security. A large, stern-faced guard held up a hand, barring your path. “I’m sorry, miss, this area is restricted.” He said, his tone firm but polite.

Your heart sank, and it took everything in you to not take a step forward when the next tug came. You could feel your soulmate, just out of reach. Panic began to set in, as you tried to explain, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush.

“Please, you don't understand.” You pleaded. “ I have to get through, My soulmate is inside, and the string is pulling me.”

The guard frowned, clearly sceptical. “I can’t let you in without the proper pass. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to turn back.”

But you didn’t turn around, you couldn’t. The next pull had you walking a few steps forwards.

“Please, please, just let me through, I need to find my soulmate.”

“Look, we get that a lot, the fans always come trying to act as if one of the drivers is their soulmates when it’s clearly not.” The guard said and another one came to see what was going on, both blocked your path completely.

“I’m not a-” You’re cut off but a hard tug, the guards hold your biceps to stop you from moving. 

“What the…” The second guard trails off, your legs aren’t moving but your upper body is being pushed by an invisible force. The guards share a look, this is real, your soulmate is inside. “Go with her, I’ll stay here.”

“Thank you, thank you.” You told them and followed the string. The guard walked by your side, your heart skipped a beat in thought that you’ll finally meet your soulmate.

The paddock was a flurry of activity, with team members rushing about, media personnel setting up cameras, and the roar of engines echoing through the area. For most, it was just another thrilling race day at Monza, but for Charles, today felt different. The string tugged at him with a force that was nearly overwhelming, its intensity far beyond anything he had ever felt before. 

It was like a constant thrum in his chest, an insistent reminder that something, someone, was close. Every nerve in his body was attuned to it, and he couldn’t focus on anything else. He had tried to go through the usual pre-race motions, but his concentration kept slipping. His thoughts were consumed by the string and the strange sense of anticipation that had been building for days.

Charles wandered through the paddock most of the day, pretending to be busy, but his mind was elsewhere. He kept glancing around, searching for something he couldn’t name. He tugged at the string absently, the familiar gesture now charged with an electric energy. Each pull was met with an answering force, stronger than ever, as if the person on the other end was tugging back, trying to reach him.

Carlos and his team noticed his distracted state, but none of them said anything. They knew Charles well enough to understand that something significant was going on, though they couldn’t begin to guess what it might be. 

Charles paused for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He needed to get a grip on himself, he had a race to focus on. But no matter how hard he tried, the string wouldn’t let him go. Charles allowed himself to follow the tugging of the string, he got out of the garage and into the pitlane, the string wasn’t loose on the ground anymore, it was taught, touching it softly, Charles just followed his heart and started pulling. It looked strange to those standing around him but he just pulled, he didn’t care.

The tugging grew worse the more you walked. You definitely gained more than a few weirded out looks from people standing and walking around. You came out onto the pitlane and followed the string through a few people standing around, and then you saw it. Right there is your soulmate, he’s pulling on the sting with a cute but confused look on his face.

“You can stop pulling now.” You say once you were close enough so he could hear you. Charles looks up at the sound of your voice, his heart skipping a beat, there you stood. The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, the sun was coming up from behind you, making you shine. 

You weren’t prepared for the sight of the man standing before you, the man who was connected to you by the same string that had been with you for so many years.

The world seemed to fade away, the noise of the paddock reduced to a distant hum as the two of you stared at each other in disbelief. The string shimmered between you, a tangible symbol of the connection that had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to bring them together. 

Charles followed the string on your finger to his, making sure that you’re his actual soulmate, even though the fact that he can see the string in the first place is an indication of  your connection.

Charles took a tentative step forward, the string tugging at him with a gentle insistence. The tension in the string eased slightly, as if satisfied that its work was nearly done.

Finally, Charles found his voice. “It’s you.” He said softly, the words coming out almost as a whisper. “You’re the one.”

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. You could feel the truth of his words in every part of your being. The sting is shorter than it’s ever been, brighter than it’s ever been.

As his fingers brushed the glowing thread, it dissolved into a soft light, disappearing from view but leaving behind a deep, unbreakable bond. The moment your hands touched, a surge of warmth flooded through both of you, a sensation of completeness that neither had ever felt before. It was as if a missing piece had finally clicked into place, and you were whole for the first time in your lives. When did he even get this close?

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You simply stood there, gazing at each other, the reality of what happened sinking in. The noise of the paddock fading even further into the background until it was just the two of you. Looking at your hands, you see the last of the string dissolve into nothing, and in its place a tattoo-like line wrap around your finger where the string once was, the mark on  your finger an exact replica to the one that made itself at home on Charles’ finger.

For a brief moment, it was as though time had stopped. But soon, reality began to seep back in. The sounds of the paddock returned to normal, the chatter of people, the hum of engines, and the distant roar of the crowd became more prominent. Yet even as the world resumed its usual pace, you and Charles remained locked in the orbit of their newfound connection.

"Would you like to... go somewhere quieter?" Charles finally asked, his voice gentle, almost hesitant. Despite his fame and confidence on the track, this moment felt far more significant, and he was suddenly unsure of himself in a way he hadn’t been in a long time.

You nodded, grateful for the suggestion. “Yes, that would be nice.” You replied softly, your voice still trembling with emotion. It’s then that you notice the amount of people standing around you that saw what had just happened. You have no idea why they were all watching the two of you with intensity.

Charles led you through the busiest parts of the garage, with practised steps. Once you were alone in his driver’s room, Charles turned to face you, his expression a mixture of awe and uncertainty.

“I don’t even know where to start.” He admitted with a slight chuckle. “This is… well, it’s a lot.”

“It is.” You smiled feeling a little more at ease now that you were away from the chaos. “I’ve imagined this moment so many times, but now that it’s here, I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s a bit much.” Charles takes your hand in his as if he’s been doing it for years, it all felt familiar, yet new and warm. “Have you always liked Formula 1?”

“No, I was never interested until a couple months ago when I woke up and booked the tickets.” You confess suddenly feeling shy. “All I know is from the few videos I watched since booking the tickets.”

“So… Do you know who I am?... That sounded a bit like I'm arrogant." Charles' face went red, he rubbed the back of his neck feeling embarrassed by how the words came out.

"No, no, not at all." You tell him with a soft smile. "I feel a bit embarrassed that I don't."

"Don't be, that means we'll get to know each other from... well, each other." Charles squeezes your hand and you smile and nod.

"I guess we will." Your smile was blinding, Charles can't believe he's spent all his life without having you in it, now that he met you it feels like he just started living, this is a feeling unlike any he felt before. You look around and realise something. "You know red has been such a big colour in my life for so long, but recently the presence of red has been overly so."

"I guess it's because I bleed Ferrari." Charles said.

"What exactly do you do?" You asked him, looking at his clothes, he was just wearing a Ferrari team shirt and jeans.

"I uh, I drive for Scuderia Ferrari." Your mouth makes an 'O' shape and you nod to yourself.

"You're one of the 20 drivers?" Charles lets out a yeah, his smile didn't drop from his face. "We'll have to sit down so you can explain everything to me."

"We will, after I win for you today." Charles promised you, your eyes went wide.

“Do you have to go? You don't have to stay with me, I have tickets for the FIA hospitality." You say pointing at the pass around your neck.

“Not happening, you'll stay in Ferrari, I'll get you a pass before I have to go in a bit." Charles didn't want to let you go and it was obvious. "Give me your phone, just in case."

“Want to get my number already." You tease him before you unlock your phone and give it to him, he puts in his number and calls himself. Charles takes you out of his room, his hand in yours, gaining smiles from everyone he meets. Charles is loved by anyone that has ever come in contact with him, so seeing him with his soulmate makes everyone happy for him. You're given a soulmate pass, teams always had those on hand just in case something like this happens.

Charles leaves you with Rebecca, Carlos' girlfriend, before he has to go. You admit to her your ignorance when it comes to Formula one, she takes it on herself to explain the basics. Charles comes over before he has to get onto the track for the start of the race, and pulls you in for a hug. You sigh in content and return his hug, feeling warm and happy.

"Good luck." You say smiling up at him, your eyes taking his in.

"Thank you." He says, kisses your cheek before he leaves, your face goes red. Rebeca bumps her shoulder with yours and gives you a teasing smile.

“Wait, he's first.” It takes you longer than those around you to realise what has happened.

“Yes! Oh my god!” Rebeca is excited, this is a big win for the Tifosi, currently Ferrari is 1 and 3 and there's 3 more laps to go. “This is Ferrari's home race, this means so much to the team and fans.”

You all watch the last few laps with baited breath, when Charles crosses the line, the garage erupts in cheers, jumping, clapping, and patting on backs. It's chaotic.

“Come on, we get to meet them in Parc Ferme.” Rebeca takes your hand in hers and pulls you with her through the crowd, leading you to the front of the barriers, Lewis in second place is the first to come back followed by Carlos. Carlos jumps from his car and runs to the team, they shout and pull him up so he's part crowd surfing before they place him down, he then goes to Rebeca for a hug and kiss. Meanwhile Charles comes back, he stands in the car with his arms up in celebration, the whole crowd cheers, the team cheers, you clap and smile at your soulmate, you feel his happiness from where you stood, you don't know if it's because of the mate bond or whatever but you feel it. Charles jumps from his car and launches himself into the arms of the team, they pull him up and higher than Carlos, cheering and screaming, they place him down before too long and pat his back in congratulations, Charles looks around until his eyes fall on you, his eyes are scrunched under the helmet no doubt he's smiling. He takes it off while he walks toward you, with determent steps. Charles only hesitates for a second when he's stood in front of you before he puts his hands on your cheeks; they're so big, his fingers are in your hair. You lean in and up and Charles meets you halfway. You've known each other for barely any time, but you're soulmates, you're meant to be. The feeling you get once your lips touch is unlike any you've ever felt before, it was like you were connected, like you could feel his emotions and he could feel yours in that moment. Everything was amplified.

"My lucky charm." Charles says once he pulls back and places his forehead on yours.

"Good thing you're stuck with me then." You say breathless and smile, Charles returns the smile, another kiss and he's pulled away from you for the weighting, interviews and then the podiums, before more interviews and ending with debrief.

Main Taglist:

@gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3 . @xoscar03 . @schniti-is-in-the-house . @lottalove4evelyn . 

[cordeliawhohung]

Thoroughfare

interwoven; maledicted || ao3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader

Undone fibers and tissue — you are Simon’s magnum opus. The greatest mess he’s ever created.

cw: fucked up soulmate!au, dub-con, smut, alcohol, forced breeding kink, dacryphilia, implied kidnapping, implied baby trapping, simon is a little insane, bound by dreams and memories trope, reader is hyperfeminine

In his dreams, Simon rips you apart with bare hands and teeth.

Sinew and fibers undone, iron on his lips, flesh filling the chasm of his belly. Fingernails grow short and bloodied as he delicately picks apart every inch of you that the universe reveals to him. Easy as tearing through wrapping paper. You are a gift. The only glimpse of light that can make it through the depths; the suffocating layers of earth and soil he’s buried under. 

At first, he is convinced you are just like any other dream. A figment of his imagination. You appear after he kills Roba, with his skin still slick with the viscera of the men he had slaughtered in the name of revenge. A fine thing to look at. Soft — softer than him — with untainted eyes. A gaze not stained by death and horror. His first dream of you is the first time in a long while that he sleeps through the night without a nightmare. Domestic. You smile and laugh for the entire dream. Gentle. An angel. 

It is not your only appearance. Somehow, Simon is lucky enough to be blessed with weekly dreams of you, if not more. He dreams of warm tea, and hands smaller than his wrapping around a cup. He dreams of bright smiles and flowing dresses. Of liquor sweeter than he’d ever order. A chaste kiss with a stranger. Expert fingers typing at an office keyboard. A scraped knee from missing the landing to your apartment. 

You have become his only solace in a world that wants nothing more than to smother him. Crush him and grind him up until there’s nothing left of him — a red paste to feed the worms. For once, he gets to look at the world and enjoy it in ignorance, just as you do. Soak up the beauty of it without glancing over his shoulder. Smell the roses and not worry about pricking his fingers. He sleeps, so he can dream of you; his strange little visitor. 

It isn’t until a few years after your sneaky arrival into his mind that he entertains the fact that you exist in the conscious plane. Something living and breathing. A tangible being. This revelation invades his mind when he dreams of you in front of your vanity, skin clean and fresh from the shower that still wets your skin. A perfect canvas for the makeup you paint yourself with when you go out with friends. 

If he were conscious, his pupils would swallow his irises at the way the wand of your gloss drags across your lips. His thumb would twitch, wanting to replace it, to feel your breath against his skin. Warm him up until he melts. A dripping mess to pool on the floor and ruin that lovely, pristine blouse. 

Goosebumps ripple over your exposed skin halfway through your routine, and you freeze, fingers still gripping your applicator. The features in your face harden — growing cold as if you’ve seen a ghost — before relaxing as your eyes find yourself in the mirror. Your lips press together, then split open to speak. 

“Do you dream of me too, Simon?” 

He wakes with a start. Thick sweat coating his bare chest, scars angry and searing, heart throbbing against his ribs. It’s impossible to tell if it’s fear or infatuation that has his blood singing the way it is, reverberating through tight veins and arteries like a gushing river. He doesn’t care to attempt to differentiate the two feelings. In his mind, they’re both the same; they both feel like impending death. Instead, he keeps his eyes glued on the cigarette-yellowed ceiling above him as he tries to recall the way your lips moved when you said his name. 

There is not a religious or superstitious bone in Simon’s body. He has seen the brutal truth that if there is some superior power holding the cards, they certainly haven’t cared enough to lend him a hand. But he believes in you. In your existence. He believes there is a heat that dwells underneath your skin that will sear away everything that ails him. A softness to you that counteracts his puffy scars and calloused hands. A sweetness that he wants to siphon out of you and devour whole. 

All he has to do is find you. 

It’s an impossible task when he’s usually on the other side of the planet. Heavy gunpowder, disgusting residue, the recoil of his 1911 in the palm of his hand. Simon is the antithesis of you. Sharp where you are gentle, bitter where you are sweet. He thinks that’s why he’s so drawn to you, polar opposites pulling to one another until they crash and burn; superheated sugar melting and blazing through his skin until all he can think about is the pain and you. 

Your voice speaking his name rings loud and clear on his ears as he drags himself through the threshold of his flat. He wonders if you would say his name in real life just as sweetly as you did in his dream. Dead on his feet, he hasn’t slept in a proper bed in weeks, and the plush mattress almost feels foreign against the ache in his back. Usually he knows better than to try and sleep fresh off of deployment. High anxiety and fried nerves force him to toss and turn for a majority of the night, reliving the feeling of gore soaking the threads of his uniform and gloves. 

Countless weeks of long nights have meant there’s been no time for him to sleep, and if he can’t sleep, then he can’t see you. Whether you know it or not, you’ve become his anchor. His gift. The one thing he can focus on that brings him pleasure instead of pain. So he forces his eyes shut and —

He hates what he sees. 

Fresh, unclaimed skin glistening in the faint lighting of a stranger's room — your skin, that soft and beautiful flesh he dreams of every night — you’re in perfect view of a man he doesn’t recognize. Synthetically sweet moans pour from your lips as this stranger — this son of a bitch, this bastard — lazily pumps his cock into you. Even in his unconscious state, Simon can feel the unbridled rage ignite in his chest, flames licking up the cells of his heart until it’s nothing but embers and charcoal. 

Who the hell is fucking his girl? 

Even from an outsider's perspective, he can tell the sex is terrible. Knees bent awkwardly, heels in the mattress as you lay on your back, hands pawing at your own tits for some sort of stimulation as this man fucks you with the slowest speed Simon has ever seen in his life. There’s no friction. No build up of pressure to get you to keen and whine. Your moans born of pity quickly drown in your flings own euphoria as he whines, cock half buried in your cunt. 

He’s finished already.

An unsatisfied but cleverly covered moan leaves your lips as your fling carefully holds onto the condom as he pulls out of you, being courteous enough to not spill. (It’s the least he can do, saying as how he obviously couldn’t make you come). He quickly ties it off, having already caught his breath (he hadn’t worked that hard anyway. Not nearly as hard as you deserve) before he smiles at you with a sigh.

Then there’s the awkward conversation. A terminal lack of chemistry. Polite laughter and reassurances fall from your lips, rehearsed so well it’s almost painful. Too thoughtful for your own good for someone who couldn’t even consider you in such an intimate exchange. A smile swells in the apples of your cheeks as your partner excuses himself to shower, to rid himself of any evidence of you on his body, like he refuses to bask in what little glory he was able to pull out of you. 

Metal squeaks, and the water heater sputters to life. You lie alone in that bed, half spun, yearning to grow tighter. Simon should have seen it coming — your hands slipping between your legs. It’s only natural for the pads of your fingers to dip and toy with the furious, worked up flesh of your clit. There is nothing leisure about it. No teasing yourself — no, everything you do is expertly done. 

Now, it’s an actual task to keep quiet, to not moan and groan as you fuck yourself open on the three fingers you hastily shove inside of yourself while your other hand works at your clit. You’re a better solo performer than you were with that stranger — that motherfucker, that transgressor — and it doesn’t take long at all before your eyes are fluttering shut. The steady rise and fall of your chest heaves with your breaths as you pulse and writhe around your own fingers. You stay like that for as long as you’re willing to risk until you quickly wipe the lingering wetness on your fingers into your thighs before —

Simon stirs, cock painfully hard, straining against his boxers, throbbing. It’s normal for him to sweat when he wakes up from dreams, but not like this. Sticky, thick, heavy; his want taints him to the point of ruin. Seeps from his pores where it soaks into his bedsheets. He grunts as he props his body up on his pillows, heedy desire too heavy on his body. 

There is not a single speck of shame to be found inside his conscience as he yanks the band of his boxers past the crest of his hips. He wastes no time wrapping his hand around himself, blood pulsing through the veins of his cock, searing his hand with each stroke. Unlike you, with your desperate, quick fingers and unrestrained desire to get yourself off, Simon teases himself. Thumbs over the raging nerves in the head of his cock, lazily bucks into his own hand, squeezes just as hard as he thinks your cunt would. 

You. You. Christ, you’re all he can think about. All he dreams about. Haunting him like the grass stains on his uniform or the echo of a gunshot in a small room. Deafening. All consuming. 

It’s only fair that he consumes you back. 

He imagines what it would be like to undo you. Watch your eyes glaze over until you’re nothing but a content, mindless thing. He wonders if you’d cry trying to take his cock for the first time. There’s a certain girth to him that your lover certainly doesn’t have, and he thinks he’d enjoy the brine of your tears. Salty. The only thing on you that isn’t sickeningly sweet. Something that can match his abrasiveness. 

“I dream of ya. All the fuckin’ time,” Simon hisses. Fatigue coats his vocal chords with thick gravel, rumbling deep in his chest as he groans. Glossy lips around his cock, hands rubbing at the length of him that you can’t reach — he craves it. Imagines it so vividly he can almost taste the sex in the air of his stale, hardly lived-in bedroom. “Dream of you fuckin’ other men. Dream of how I could do it better. You’d like that, yeah?” 

Umber eyes peer through the darkness and land on the vague, fuzzy outline of his body. Wide hips, meaty hands, pulsing cock — he hopes you’ll be able to see it when you sleep. He wants you to wake up with that same burning want that you’ve bequeathed to him. 

“Sweet thing, so soft, arent’cha? I know you. Know what you need. Sweet girls like you always need it rough. Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’ll get you askin’ for it. Have you on your goddamn knees beggin’ for me.” 

Simon doesn’t make a show of it when he comes. There’s no need to overperform for you. He just makes sure to take in every detail. The steady dribble of cum that slides down his cock into the unruly hair at the base, the angry protruding veins, his own hitched breath and panting. He stares, and stares, and stares until he starts to go soft. 

“Hope you dream of this tonight, sweetheart,” he purrs. 

That’s the only name he calls you by. Sweetheart. Whispers it to the void in the morning when he pulls himself out of bed just before dawn. Asks if his scars turn you on as he lazily shaves his face in the mirror. Mutters wish me luck, sweetheart with a gun in hand, and the sound of roaring plane engines drowning his voice out. 

You leave him treats. Luring a dog with a still wet bone. Twirling in the mirror in cute outfits he craves to tear through with a knife. Popping your lips in the mirror after applying a fresh layer of gloss. Your fingers in your cunt after another failed hookup.

He kills a mercenary in Mexico and wonders if the shade of his blood would look good on your lips. Wants that same shade to stain the base of his cock in smeared lipstick and spit. He sees the bright, piercing pink of brain matter and he thinks about your tongue — what it would look like lulling out of your mouth as you moan. Simon expertly weaves the destructive nature of his hands with your delicate existence until you are nothing but a corrupted glitch in his mind. His cherished gift he can’t help but ruin because it’s the only thing he knows how to do. 

There are some nights when mere thoughts and dreams of you alone aren’t enough to quell the tempest that makes his hands itch with the urge to shred and devour. It’s an easy affliction to satiate on the field when he’s got a knife in his hand. It’s significantly harder when he’s on his third week on leave and he hasn’t heard the death rattle of an enemy — his favorite song. While you are mouthwatering, you aren’t quite tangible enough to pick apart the way his fingers yearn to do so, so he wanders to someplace a bit more stimulating. 

Terminus. The end of the line. He always finds his way back to this bar one way or another. Never to drink, oddly enough. There’s always going to be the rough parts of him he refuses to uncover; the rigid scars on his skin, and the sharpness of his teeth. A thick balaclava always covers anything that would give him away as the blood thirsty devil he so desperately attempts to suppress. No, he never goes to Terminus to order a pint and sit in some dark, sour corner of the building while all other patrons crowd around the dart boards or billiard tables. Simon goes to Terminus because it’s a close walk from his rental, and they sell Kentucky bourbon by the bottle.

A heavy wave of heat hits him as soon as he enters the building, but he doesn’t even stumble as he makes a beeline for the counter. Friday night brings a thick crowd with bodies that pulse and dance to their own tunes as liquor courses through their body and rids them of all the pain and filth of the week. He’s waiting for longer than usual as the bartender — a man who Simon reckons is about as old as the establishment itself — zips between customers as they stumble along and order more poison to cure their pain. Normally, he doesn’t show up on a weekend; he knows better than that, but he’s drowning in a special kind of storm tonight.

Simon is a patient man. He has to be, with his line of work. Relentless in his endeavor to beat his enemy to the mark. Yet, even a man as stoic and persevering as Simon gets antsy when his back is towards the entrance. Door swinging open and closed, allowing the slightest summer breeze to waft through the tight room. The urge to glance over his shoulder and assess every inch of that room haunts him, but he ignores the itch underneath his skin. 

Instead, he focuses on the sounds. The idle chatter of guests as they slip throughout the room, crawling over the establishment like insects. Thick wood splintering as tiny needles drive tip first into the dart board to his left. Laughter and heavy accents, shitty jokes, clinking glass, hoppy beer, body odor, dense nicotine —

A giggle. 

Simon Riley never freezes, but he does the first time his ears are graced with your voice outside of his dreams. He’s in limbo. A terrible purgatory that makes his ears ring as his dark eyes scan the bar with the skill of a bloodthirsty dog. Deadly. Efficient. Your blood sings to him, and he follows the song until he finds you leaning against the wooden wall next to a billiards table. You’re watching some nameless freaks play a game as you sip on some fruity drink through a straw. 

Dark, mid-rise jeans sit satisfyingly low on your hips, and the flesh on your stomach is poorly covered by a thin tank top that doesn’t want to roll past your ribcage. You’re melting, sugar sweet sweat coating your chest, caramelizing deliciously on your skin. Cute, dainty, dull, teeth flash as you giggle again, laughing as some poor sod misses an easy pocket. 

He wants to run his tongue along your neck, lick up that nectar glinting in the dim lights before ruining you. Fingers twitch in time with his pulse as his heart beats harder now than it ever has in any other moment — if he doesn’t move soon, it’ll rip free from his chest and run off without him. 

He didn’t even have to track you down. Like a true gift, you fell right into his lap. 

“The usual?” 

The ancient bar hand grabs Simon’s attention and pulls him back to earth with a swift yank on his leash. Sharp eyes shoot back at him — seemingly annoyed he was pulled out of his daydream — before they soften and he huffs. The man looks impatient, irritated that he’s taking up his valuable time during such a busy night. 

“Bourbon. Angel’s Envy. Neat,” he responds. 

Bewildered, the bartender shrugs as he slinks off to get Simon’s drink, and the moment the glass is in his hand he tosses a few quid on the counter before stalking off into the crowd. He approaches you from the side, though he’s certain you wouldn’t notice him if he came from a more direct route. He waits for everyone to crowd the table, waits for you to be shoved to the back, content against the wall, drink in hand — ripe for the picking. 

You don’t flinch when his hand wraps around your waist, thick pads of his fingers digging into the tender flesh of your waist. He wants to grin at that fact — like you already know that you belong to him — but he doesn’t. Cold. Collected. You look up at him with glinting eyes that quickly grow wide with recognition. The beginning of his name forms on your glossy lips, but doesn’t quite roll off of your tongue. 

“Been lookin’ for you everywhere, sweetheart,” he says, voice a harsh whisper. 

Your eyes flutter, enticing and sweet, like you’re trying to blink sand from your eyes. “I… I didn’t think you actually existed,” you admit. 

He raises a brow, and it dances underneath his mask in a challenge. “Yeah? Is that why you asked if I dreamed of you, too? Were just takin’ the piss outta me?” 

“No- well, I mean… I had a feeling. That you existed,” you say, laugh hissing between your teeth as your gaze drops. 

Melting already, and he’s hardly got his hands on you. 

Amber liquid swirls in the glass in Simon’s hand as he holds it out for you to take. You look at it with cautious eyes, teeth sinking into your lip before you look back at him. 

“This is… this is insane, isn’t it? I mean, you’re real. And I’m real.” You swallow thickly, skin heating as his thumb slides underneath the hem of your tank top. “So everything I saw… was real? Your work, you- you’re in the military? You’ve seen me at my most… open. I’ve watched you… you know… And, uhm… I don’t know what…”

He smirks, breath pushing out of his lungs, fanning across your face even through the fabric of his balaclava. “I told you, didn’t I? I know you. I know what you need, sweetheart.” 

You have no time to answer before he’s raising the glass of bourbon up to your lips, and there’s no choice but to drink. Simon tips the glass, and you let the liquor wash over your tongue. He chuckles at the face you make — it’s too brash for something as sweet as you — yet you swallow every last drop. A thin bead sits on your bottom lip, threatening to dribble down your chin, and he uses the knuckle of his index finger to wipe it clean. 

“I know what you need, and you know what I want,” he continues, head tilting to the side — a predator sizing up his prey. “Let’s not draw this out any longer, yeah?”

Once the door of Simon’s apartment is shut and locked behind him, he’s got your back against the wall. Exposed flesh of your arms pinned beside your head, moans muffled by his lips on yours. Despite the bourbon, he can still taste the mixed drink you were nursing before; syrupy sweet. So fitting. His fingers release your hands before they’re ghosting down the center of your chest, tracing your sternum with professional precision. If he presses any harder, he’ll tear through skin and bone, sink into your blood, into the muscle of your heart, fresh ichor coating his hand with a delicious treat. 

Instead, he yanks your tank top up to your collar bones before pulling down the hem of your bra. Your tits fall free with a gasp from your heaving lungs, and he sinks his teeth into his prize. Bite after bite. Sweet as a peach, just like he knew you would be, and you bruise just as easily as one too. You whimper as he marks you, sharp canines staking claim with pressure harsh enough to draw blood. If it’s too much for you, you don’t say anything. 

You try to return the favor. Palm of your hands pressed against the firm, thick muscle of his chest, pawing at him, trying to feel him through his clothes. You’re not intimidated by the scars that paint his skin, or the roughness of his character. He’s always been like this for as long as you’ve known him, and you’re very familiar with Simon Riley. 

So you trust him completely as he yanks you down the entryway and toward the kitchen. It’s implicit. In your nature. Soft, pliable. Bending. And it’s in his nature. Rough. Demanding. Forceful — your lower back collides with the counter where Simon usually prepares his meals, and he’s aggressive when he unzips your jeans and pushes them past your hips. 

“You’ve been dreaming of this too. I know you have.” Simon grunts as he turns you around, hip bones pressing against the unforgiving countertop as his clothed cock grinds against your bare ass. You try not to wince at the sting of the corner cutting into your thin skin. “Every night. Been watchin’ me just as long as I’ve been watchin’ you. My gift. My sweet fuckin’ angel.” 

Though he assured you that he would have you on your knees begging for him, Simon doesn’t have the time to waste. He crouches down, face level with your ass as he spreads the meat of your thighs apart as far as they’ll go with your jeans restricting your knees. There’s no hesitation as he dives in, tongue lapping at your hole, saliva mixing with your wetness. Muscles tense, throat constricts, and heat courses as you bend forward, elbows resting on the counter to give him better access. 

Searing heat builds in your cunt as his tongue explores around your clit. It’s messy, hardly put together. Like a dog that can’t keep the food in his mouth as he’s chewing.

He wants to stay there forever, lapping at you like the bad dog he is, but he can’t. There’s an incessant pressure building inside of him, broiling, threatening to melt you in the very palm of his hands if he’s not quick. So he pulls away, still aching for you, and spits a thick glob of saliva on you for good measure before standing tall behind you. 

Metal grinds together as he unzips his jeans, and your own ears perk up at the sound. “Do you have protection?” you pant. “I’ve got a few rubbers in my bag if- hey- Simon!” 

Flesh burns and stretches as Simon bullies himself into you. It steals the air from your lungs as he presses, and presses, and presses, until there’s nothing left of him that you haven’t swallowed whole. It’s easy. Slick. He forces you open, giving you no choice but to give in. A strained whine leaves your lips as he rocks his hips, thick cock splitting you apart, legs too restricted to even give him more room inside of you. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout that,” he grunts, hands pulling you back against his chest by your shoulders. “We already confirmed, I know what you need, and you know what I want, yeah?” 

Your mind blanks the moment his thrusts bear weight. So full, then void, and then spilling. It racks your nerves, renders them fuzzy, bogged down with too much syrup that you can’t move fast enough through the stickiness to connect the dots. Gooey. Soft like taffy. You stretch and pull for him as his relentless pace renders you as a puddle in his hands. 

You know what I want. 

You know what you need. A good fuck. That’s why you’re here to begin with, isn’t it? To make love to the man who’s been haunting your dreams with gore and violence. To fall into the gravity of him that you couldn’t escape even if you tried. You thought you knew what he wanted. Same as you. To fuck the girl who’s been giving him a toothache from the sweetness of her voice. But now? As he’s grunting in your ear, hands pawing at your tits, fingers gripping your throat? 

Now, you’re not so sure. 

Still, the pleasure rips through you with a demanding ache you can’t ignore. So needy and worked up from the neglect of your failed love life and array of shitty partners, he feels you start to unwind. Melt and separate as your moans fall free — pleasant and the only filling thing he’s had in his entire life. Your face contorts from the intensity of it all, diaphragm spasming as you hiccup and cry, fresh and hot tears streaming down your face. 

Simon coos and coddles, fingers reaching for your jaw as he turns your face to the side. Hot breath tickles the fresh streaks on your cheeks as he chuckles, patronizing. 

“Cryin’ sweetheart?” he asks; a question he already knows the answer to. 

His tongue lies flat against your skin as you whimper, and he licks your tears like it’s fresh bourbon from the cask. He prepares himself for the salt, the addicting brine, but it doesn’t hit him. Even as you’re being torn apart, flesh pinched free from bone in his hands, you’re just as sweet as you always are. 

“S-Simon, please,” you babble, face trying to wrench free from his tongue. 

“Is there a damn thing on you that doesn’t taste this good? You’re a fuckin’ mess and still… could live off of you forever,” he promises into the raw skin of your cheek. 

There’s a few more minutes of nonstop, demanding thrusts from Simon before the pressure snaps and floods around you. You come with a sob, eyes screwing shut as his cock continues its assault — that demanding rhythm that saps you for everything you’re worth. Liquid. Mush. Bone with the marrow sucked free. Undone fibers and tissue — you are Simon’s magnum opus. The greatest mess he’s ever created. 

He finishes not too long after you in a fury of thrusts and a growl you can feel rumbling in his chest. It leaves you raw. Muscles tingling and dancing underneath your skin. Body spent. Eyes blurring with tears. He keeps himself plugged inside of you, grip slowly becoming loose as he trails kisses along the side of your neck — like he only acknowledges how fragile you are after he’s done breaking you. 

“Sweet angel,” he whispers, cock twitching inside of you as he speaks. “Let’s clean you up.” 

You wake up in his bed the next morning with the window open and the birds attempting to chirp over the sound of car engines and city white noise. Soiled clothes cling to your skin, cum staining your panties and the insides of your thighs from the two other rounds Simon insisted on going for. You’re spent. Licked clean until your sugary crust dissolved, and now you’re nothing but a bare, gooey center. Sheets stick to your body as you sit up, body yearning to stretch, only for a tattooed arm to yank you back onto the mattress. 

You’re face to face with Simon, and your muscles are too mushy to argue with him. His fingers trace your makeup-stained face. Old mascara sitting in the creases of your eyes from heavy tears, glitter from your lip gloss seeping into your chin and cheeks. He adores it. A beautiful mess — the only chaos he can create that is still worth loving. 

But you’ve been here long enough. 

“Morning,” you greet, voice faint. He does nothing but hum in response. “If uh… I can shower and maybe borrow your clothes, I can head home here soon. Get out of your hair.��� 

“Not happening,” he replies, voice so sharp you flinch. 

You clear your throat in a poor attempt to regain your composure. “Well, uh. We should probably head to the pharmacy. The morning after pill would be a good idea considering-”

You’re silenced by his hand gently grazing your cheek. He looks human lying there next to you, half of his face smushed into a pillow. Almost. There’s something wrong with his eyes. A darkness lurking there that you hadn’t noticed before. Or had you just forced yourself to be blind to it? You watch him with wide eyes as his gaze narrows, a seething question burning on his tongue. 

“The fuck do you think this is, sweetheart?” You swallow, and it feels like razors tear you apart the whole way down your throat. “Dreamin’ of each other? I’ve been craving you for fucking years. Think this is all just a coincidence? Think this was all for one good fuck?”

“You… don’t seem like the type of man to be superstitious,” you admit. 

His glare undos you as the muscles in his jaw tense. He leans up, towering over you as you lay under him, face mere inches from yours as his upper lip fights back a snarl. 

“We’re in this for the long run, sweetheart,” he says as if he’s staking a claim. “I’ll get you nice and fat with my kid if you aren’t already, and I’ll take good care of the both of you. Protect you. Make sure I never have to dream about you again because you’ll always be right here.”

“That’s crazy, you’re speaking nonsense,” you say, “I-I hardly know you.” 

“We’ll go down to the registrar's office,” he continues as if you never even spoke in the first place. “Next month you’ll be my wife and we’ll make good on the mess our minds have been making of each other for the last few years.” 

Palpable fear plagues your body, forcing your bottom lip to quiver as you shake your head at his utter nonsense. This… this is insane. He’s insane. But weren’t you aware of that much? How many men have you watched him kill? How often have you watched him wash the blood from his gloves, or claw out of an early grave? Heard him chuckle as a man groveled and sobbed, begging to be let go, just for him to skewer him with his knife anyway? 

What else did you expect from a man you met at Terminus? 

While Simon dreamed the good dreams — the fair dreams of sweet smiles and smooth liquor — you’ve been the antithesis of him. You’ve had the nightmares, the sweats, the anxiety. Every single image you ever saw of his life had been a warning. A siren screaming for you to run. A premonition of the trained hunter that’s been on your savory scent for years. And still, you fell right into his trap as if you weren’t taught the exact way to wiggle out of it. 

“What else have these dreams been for, sweetheart? I’ve been huntin’ you for years. Not lettin’ you go now just ‘cause you’ve got cold feet.”

Teeth embedded in flesh, now all you can do is squirm as Simon’s lips press against yours. He no longer needs to dream of ripping you apart. Flesh from bone, sinew shredding and snapping. Now, he can do that all from the comfort of his bed as he devours you — his lovely wife — soul and all. 

[c7arisse]

in my bsd era (once again...)

[darkstaria]

Yandere Batfam - Soulmate Soul Animal Au.

Chapter 6:

Summary: After being ambushed previously in Gotham's streets, you awake alone and afraid, in a strange building.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5.

----

A furious pounding beat at your skull, a liquid of some kind dripped down from your head. You blinked your eyes open, greeted by what could only be some kind of warehouse.

You were in a daze, barely recognising what was in front of you. What vision you had was muddled by pain and your hearing was drowned out by a piercing beat in your ears.

What...?

You could hardly think.

The world was a messy tsunami of pain and confusion. That is... Until a flash of green, white and red beamed into your eyes, a sneering smile on its face.

You gasped. Breath caught in your throat, as your chin was caught in his hand.

The Joker.

"HahahahahahaHAHAHAHA!" The laugh echoed throughout the building as your surprise turned into shakes. The hand left go as Joker's chortle turned into a full laugh, but that was hardly a relief.

This was, quite literally, the worst situation you could have ever gotten into. Out of everyone who would have an interest in Batman's soulmate, why must it be him?

You instinctively try to move, but soon realise you've been restrained, ropes tying you down to an iron chair. They don't budge.

The stomping of shoes drew your attention back to him, as the Joker approached you again.

"Well now." He began, a beaming grin stretching his face. "Lookie what we have here. You know, I was having a wonderful night, finally out on the town, able to meet all my old friends again. Then I meet you, and you know what I think?"

He rested a hand on your shoulder. You fought a shiver.

"What a... great new friend?" You try. You go for a smile of your own. You're certain it looks more like a grimace.

A mocking laugh is his response. Then, with a sudden twist, his hands grasp your collar, bringing you to his eye level. The movement forces you against the ropes that constrict your stomach, suffocating you.

"I find... a sniveling little brat, that just so happens, TO HAVE A BAT PROTECTING-"

A screech cuts him off, a flurry of wings diving directly into his face, what you could barely make out as a beak aimed at his eyes. The pain you're under causes you to take a moment to understand what's going on, as Joker swings a crowbar at the flying figure.

It was... Hood. Pecking and clawing at the Joker, doing whatever it could to draw him away. And it was working too.

That is, until Joker pressed down on his flower, causing a spray of gas to surge outward directly into Hood's line of flight. It slowed it down, a pause as Hood squawked in pain. A pause that was swiftly taken advantage of, as Joker swung a brutal arc into Hood, the crowbar sending the bird flying across the room and into a crumpled pile on the ground.

"No!" The scream tore itself out of you, a primal sort of agony you never thought you would ever feel after you had withdrawn from thoughts of your soulmates. It was like losing him all over again. Vigilante or not, Hood was a bird. Birds didn't typically survive a hit from a crowbar. If Hood died here, what would you do? One of the connections that had tormented you all your life, over just like that.

The scream drew Joker's attention back to you, a realisation that sank deeply in your throat. He approached you again, an air of casualness across his figure.

"Birds, what little pests. Good thing I always carry around pest spray." He laughs, adjusting the flower resting on his lapel. "I've always preferred bats." A thunk noise sounded out as he spoke, drawing your attention to a small cage he dropped.

It was a birdcage. Inside that birdcage was...

"Batman?!"

The bat inside was still, its gaze fixed on Joker's movements, but it did shift briefly to watch you for but a second as you spoke its name.

"Hahaha!" Joker's laugh was like nails on a chalkboard. "Turns out all you need to capture a bat is the right bait."

"How..?" You mumbled, the words unconsciously forming on your tongue due to the shock.

"Within a moment of my crowbar's acquaintance with your dear old head, Bats appeared! A bit of a nuisance at first, but a few threats at that neck of yours calmed him right down!" Joker admitted, the biggest smile you had seen yet on his face. He chuckled at the mere memory of it, as you shook in horror.

Two of your soulmates were now down. You couldn't stop shaking, horrified. All your options were dwindling and Joker looked more... murdery by the second.

Your attention was caught by a feeling of feathers brushing against your arms, the shaking making the thing touch you. You paused for a miniscule second, as you tried to think of what it was. Wait.

Was another one of your soulmates here? But rather than fight, this one was untying you? Or maybe gnawing at the ropes, whichever option was more plausible for a bird/bat.

Could you stall long enough to get out? It seemed like the only possibility left.

"Why...why do this? What enjoyment are you finding from this?" Maybe not the best line of questioning, but it was all your pounding head could come up with.

"Why?" Joker echoed, pausing for a moment. "Because I don't take kindly to cheaters. Me and Bats have something special. I dealt with my soul chain long ago, and yet! I find him cheating on me with this lousy excuse for a time waster!" He ends his shout pointing at you, a scowl on his painted face. It's possibly the worst expression you've seen on Joker yet.

"Aren't the other Robins his soulmates too? Why are you only targeting me?"

"I dealt with one of the flying rats long ago, quite a great plan if I may say so, but he just came back! I don't feel like wasting my time with this eternal game of wack-a-mole, so I've decided on a new method."

What's the method...?" You ask, reluctantly.

"You." He smiles.

He steps closer, withdrawing a gun from his pocket. "Thanks for the opportunity to capture Bats, my dear, but I've had enough of his chains getting in the way of our little game. I'll take much better care of little Batsy once you die, well, to an extent anyway! Hahaha!"

He tosses the gun up and down, carelessly as he walks towards you.

Up.

What could you do?

Down.

Hood was still crumpled in the corner, likely unconscious.

Up.

Batman was shaking the cage, unable to do anything else in its rage.

Down.

The unknown soul animal hadn't finished removing the ropes.

Across. The gun meets your temple, a few inches away from your head. You lock eyes with him. He pulls the trigger.

Pop! You flinch, coming face to face with a little Bang! flag that popped out of the gun.

You sigh, a momentary relief. You've been spared. You shift a little, feeling the ropes loosen. Your soul animal was doing its job well. You intake a few breaths, as Joker slaunters away from you, chuckling under his breath.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to regain yourself amidst all the pain.

BANG!

"Agh-!" You jolt, shooting straight up. There's a pain in your cheek, a metallic liquid dripping down.

Turning your head ever so slightly, you spy the Bang flag lodged into the wall. It was a real gun after all.

But..

Why didn't he shoot you?

"Guns are a little too dry, don't you think?" You turn back around, immediately coming face to face with the Joker, an image that makes you flinch.

There's a crowbar in his hands.

"I don't ever repeat jokes, but, my first attempt with this weapon didn't stick too long. I don't want to lower the bar of my comedy, but maybe it'll work this time? Second time's the charm!"

"It's actually the third time.." You speak, nerves causing your words to tumble out. So that's why he didn't shoot you. He intends to make your final moments as painful as possible.

He smiles in response to your quip, lifting the bar up.

"W-wait!" You cried out, desperation pooling into whatever would give you a chance at survival. "Couldn't you do anything else?! Brainwash me, use me as a hostage, isn't it just a waste if you kill me?!" You practically scream the final words, your panic reaching a crescendo of horror.

The Joker's reply is simple.

"Nope!"

He swings.

BANG!

A bullet flies through his hand, forcing him to drop the crowbar as he pulls back.

You both turn, spotting a bulky man in black at the entrance of the warehouse.

He's wearing a red helmet.

"Joker.." The voice is deep, a threatening timbre you'd only hear replicated in nightmares.

"Let. The civilian. Go.” His gun clicks.

“Urgh. Speak of the devil.” Joker complains, unphased. “My plans are being ruined and it's not even by Bats. What is the world coming to?”

“Wait…” The Joker pauses, noticing a fallacy in the vigilantes’ words. “Civilian? Oh, HAHAHA! OHHhhh you have no idea what’s going on here do you?” The Joker snickers in delight, giving you a conniving glance.

“Oh my, oh my. I didn't realise you were also a jokester.” Joker squishes your cheeks, a little too harsh to be anything but painful. He laughs again at the expression on your face.

There's no response from the figure, but the bullet that Joker barely dodges the next second later is answer enough. It grants you and the Joker some distances, so you're grateful.

A flapping of wings draws your attention, a dark blue blur sailing through the room before landing on your lap. Nightwing.

You blink in realisation, finally understanding why not all your soul animals had appeared to help you. Wing had led one of the bats to you. You glanced over. Judging from the helmet, was this Red Hood.

Uh oh. You hoped he didn't notice Hood in the corner.

Or Batman. Or the soul animal freeing you- oh no you were absolutely screwed weren’t you?

You gulp.

“Wait.. You?” Red Hood’s modulated voice didn’t convey any emotion, but it couldn't disguise the hesitance in which he spoke.

Exposed.

“Uhmmm… no?” You tried.

Wing nuzzled your cheek. Hood’s gaze intensified.

“Okay! Okay yes, but I swear there's a reason why I never came to any of you- it wasn't because of you-” Oh dear that one was a blatant lie.

“I.. I mean, I just didn't want-” What could you do, what could you say? You didn't want to lie, but the truth wasn't good either.

In-between your frantic ramblings however, the Joker had snuck up on Red Hood, taking a lucky swing that missed by about a centimeter.

Red Hood’s retaliation was swift, the two suddenly engaging in a battle of force that was very much leaning in Red Hood’s favour. Although, ever so often Red Hood gave a wince of pain. Did Hood’s soul animal form’s state injure him slightly?

That question would go unanswered, as the ropes around you crumpled, revealing Red to be the soul animal that had been bailing you out all this time.

Well. You weren't going to get a better opportunity than this. Pushing Red and Wing off your lap, you rush out, aiming for one of the broken windows.

Batman makes a slight growling noise as you pass his birdcage. You try not to think about it.

“Hey!” A batarang flies past you, the rope attached to it meeting no target as you trip on some broken glass.

“Ah!” You mumble, surprised at your good (?) forture. There's now a cut on your leg. Great.

Red Hood is subsequently distracted from any more attempts to detain you, as the Joker takes another swing that gets a little too close for comfort in response, laughing all the while.

Clumsily falling out of the window, you thank Lady Gotham that the Joker kidnapped you on the ground floor, so there’s no drop whatsoever.

You sigh, injuries now taking a toll as the constant adrenaline was wearing off. You stumble forward.

Red and Wing land on your shoulders. Of course.

You limp out into Gotham’s alleyways, oblivious to the movement of a lithe figure on the rooftop, watching you.

----

Yeah those who guessed Joker were correct! Enjoy a cookie if you did! It seemed criminal to not have a chapter that explored how a soulmate universe would influence Batman and Joker's relationship, so that's what I did!

Oh and yeah, poor Reader. They are not having too good of a time rn. All these injuries aren't really gonna help them plead their case either.

A bit more of Jason this time too! How funnnn. I definitely feel bad for birdy Hood though. Red Hood may be super skilled but it's a little too unrealistic for him to solo as a bird :(

Taglist: @moonchild-artemisdaughter @jjsmeowthie @madine11-blog @xxrougefangxx @hadesnewpersephone @neerathebrightstar @mel-star636 @jaythes1mp @rosecentury @lov3vivian @gaozorous-rex-blog @victoria1676 @vrsin @silverklaus @ryukyuin @kurai-hono-blog @thisisafish123 @isawyourbrowserhistory @ain-t-no-way-bsfr @realifezompire @lunaluz432 @nickey-diano @sukiiluvs @sara0055 @alleakimlala @kdidgg @paperhermits @alishii @emmbny @sirenetheblogger @fantasy-angelo @andrasia @vinnvinnvintage @nyra-42 @armystaysatnct @beyond-your-stars @starsdotalk @adeptusxia0 @jailbimbo @yandereheros @sxftiebee @i-have-three-feelings @toast-on-dandelioms @lyl-3 @sitepathos @pato-spoiler-27 @ghostdoodlen @phoenixgurl030 @problematicreblogger

@sociallyakwardpanda @imaginarydreams @zanzie @yuyuzi-ling @soriansick @f1lover4ever @kiikkey @elizzsush @raincxtter @luoyi85 @yune1337 @erikasurfer @thekingofsimps @chaosbeanuwu @snowy-violet @nommingonfood @yandere-enthusiast @nb-babygirl @demonqueen-1 @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @winter67890-blog

Tumblr just told me I can't tag anyone else, so the list ends here. Hopefully I can tag the remaining people in a comment!