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missadangel · 3 days ago

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MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 12: You Are The Reason

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Chapter Summary: To make a fresh start, you need to deal with the struggles from the past. For Harry, this became his main goal, focusing only on the love between you two and leaving no space for anything else. Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 9,3k, FEELINGS, romance, violence, emotions, making up, redemption, intrigue, tension, mention about guns, love, propose (its happening!), sharing a bed, confessions, a little tiny angst, happy ending... authors note: Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

On a Sunday morning in Manhattan.

Waking up early can feel like the hardest thing in the world—no matter who you are. Whether you're a student, a regular employee, a wealthy CEO, or even a billionaire with an empire, the struggle is universal.

After all, Sunday is often the only day to truly unwind.

At least, that's what Harry believed. He thought he'd treat himself to a late morning, hoping to linger in bed a little longer. Sleep had been hard to come by lately, and even though he splurged on a sleep mask—something he’d never tried before—he was still nodding off at three in the morning.

Letting out a quiet groan, he fumbled around on the nightstand, his eyes still covered by the mask, trying to grab his ringing phone.

He knew it wasn’t Oliver calling; it was probably Maria or, more likely, someone else entirely. He figured you wouldn’t be calling, especially after Zoe caught the two of you in your room. But there was still a tiny glimmer of hope, so he cleared his throat and answered.

"Yes?"

“Code red, Harry,” a woman’s voice responded, urgent and serious.

Harry’s heart raced as he tore off the sleep mask. He slowly realized it was Sofia's voice. What he hadn’t realized was that he had just answered a video call from his mother. The alarm in Sofia's voice alerted him, and when Valeria appeared on the screen, he barely managed a coherent thought.

“Jesus Christ!”

Harry squinted through the haze of sleep as he tried to adjust to the bright morning light blooming across his room, puzzled by his mother’s reaction.

“Sofia, look at him. He looks utterly miserable! Oh Harry, my son, I don’t even know what to say," Valeria exclaimed.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Good morning to you too, mother.” He raised an eyebrow. “Wait, did you just call me miserable?”

Valeria leaned the phone closer to her face. “You wear a sleep mask because you can’t sleep! I can see the bags under your eyes from here; plus, waking up alone in bed is downright miserable.”

“Maybe getting you that phone with a 4k video quality wasn’t such a great idea after all,” Harry muttered under his breath.

“At least I can watch over you from here, since I can't leave the house.”

Harry frowned, noticing the clock on the nightstand reading 7:45. “If you're done with your early Sunday morning ritual of waking me up and criticizing me, I’d love to get some more sleep, Mrs, Castillo,” he muttered, sinking back into his pillow while keeping the phone propped on its side in his hand to stare at his mother.

“You no-good son! What are you waiting for? Why haven’t you made up with her yet? You should be up doing something to win her back!” Her voice rang loud, and as she leaned forward, Sofia had to catch the phone before it slipped from her grip.

“Calm down. We’ve agreed to start over. I offered to take her out to dinner, and she said yes. We’ll sort things out.”

“Sofia, hold the phone properly,” Valeria scolded, lifting it higher to frame her face. “You should ask her to marry you! Come and get the ring—unless you want me to ask Harry Winston's to give it a polish first, since it’s been stuck in the drawer for years.”

“You definitely should; it’s one of their first, rare pieces,” came another voice from somewhere off-screen.

“Is that Maria?” Harry squinted, recognizing the teasing tone.

“Hey bud,” Maria waved at the camera.

“Of course, it’s you. Who else would be spying on my life with my mother?”

“If you visited your mother more often, I wouldn’t have to keep her in the loop,” Valeria retorted.

“I’m a 45-year-old adult. I can handle my own problems,” Harry grunted.

“It’s tough to say your methods of problem-solving actually work,” Maria chimed in.

“Sofia, show him that picture on the tablet,” Valeria instructed. The image displayed was of a small child.

“Who is this?” Harry asked, squinting at the screen.

“Mateo's son—he’s five years old now.”

“His second son,” Sofia corrected, looking at the screen as if sharing a well-kept secret.

“Oh right, his second,” Valeria echoed.

Harry sighed heavily.

Valeria flicked through her phone and showed another pic of a newborn baby with a guy holding her. “Hugo just had a baby girl last week.”

“Didn’t he just get married last year?” Harry muttered, surprised.

Valeria nodded and continued, “Maybe he wanted to make his mother happy by giving her a grandchild.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Oh, and guess what? Daniel is engaged and getting married soon. Can you believe it?”

Harry was struggling with the news. “Well, it’s his second marriage; that doesn’t really count.”

“He’ll be tying the knot for the second time while you’re still single, just so you know,” Valeria pointed out.

“Come on, Sofia, why don’t you pull up Uncle Fernando’s son’s Instagram? He just got married,” Maria suggested.

Harry let out a frustrated sigh. “Enough already. I get it.”

“You do? Then it’s time to take action.”

“And don’t take too long,” Maria said sipping her coffee.

“Stop bossing me around. I’m not ignoring what she wants. She asked for time, and I’m giving her that.”

“Ugh, men... They just don’t get it,” Maria replied.

“Not at all,” added Valeria.

“They’re all the same,” Sofia said with a disapproving look.

“Maybe it’s because you’re all are more complex than the hardest riddle,” Harry retorted before ending the video call.

It was too much.

Not a moment passed without him thinking about how to win you back, and the pressure from his mother only added to his frustration. He ran his hand over the pillow and sheet, glancing at the empty side of the bed.

He sighed deeply, holding the pillow in his lap, his heart aching at the thought of wrapping you in his arms instead. Each minute without you made the bed feel as cold as ice, while it once felt so warm with you by his side.

He frowned as he remembered that you were postponing the dinner arrangement the last time you spoke on the phone.

Once again, he picked up his phone, resting his chin on the pillow as he opened your chat screen. As he did every morning, he gazed at your profile picture and sighed. You had changed it two weeks ago; you smiled sweetly at the camera, holding a tray of the cheesecakes you baked when you first opened your shop. And, like every morning, gloom washed over him, mixed with anger.

You were just a short distance away in your cousin’s apartment, likely sleeping in your own bed instead of beside him in his.

In your absence, he lost the excitement to plan his free days; nothing felt appealing when you weren’t part of it.

He couldn’t even let himself dream anymore.

How could he?

Nothing held meaning without you.

You were everything he ever longed for, and you would forever be intertwined with every dream he would have.

You were all he ever wanted.

The truth hit Harry harder than ever before. It had been four days and eighteen hours since he last saw you, since he last felt your touch, and time continued to tick away.

What the hell was he waiting for?

With a sudden burst of frustration, yet fueled by determination, he threw off the covers and climbed out of bed.

The same morning in Brooklyn...

Sunday morning wasn’t shaping up any better for you either. The moment you woke up, just like Harry, your eyes drifted to the other side of the bed, thoughts of him flooding your mind. But your guilt paled in comparison to the weight of his. You had managed to come to terms with your feelings, promising yourself there would be no physical contact until your first date—a crucial step toward reconciliation after the breakup. You resolved to avoid him as much as possible, but it was proving to be an uphill battle. It felt like your heart was trapped in an iron cage, desperately trying to break free, and you had to suppress the painful thudding for now. To help keep your mind off things, you found a new pastime: develop new recipes for the bakery. The busier you kept yourself, the more you could listen to your head instead of your heart.

You decided to enter the upcoming chef competition to elevate the bakery’s unique offerings, but you needed a standout product to present. So, you set out to shop for inspiration. Many of the fruit markets were either closed or opened late on Sundays, but the one on 14th Street in Manhattan had fresh produce and was open every day of the week.

Having finished the morning’s cooking at the store and getting everything prepped and ready, you left Zoe and the others in charge. As you strolled toward the fruit shop, your phone rang. It was Jack, peppering you with questions about Melanie. You answered honestly, but it was clear he wasn’t buying her act of being the innocent daughter.

Despite everything, he seemed genuinely grateful for your helping her work at your bakery. His mood shifted to anger when you mentioned Alan buying the shop, and his fatherly instincts kicked in. Jack often expressed that he wished you were his real daughter instead of Melanie—a sentiment that resonated with you. There were times you envisioned him as your father rather than your own, considering how strained your relationship was with your grumpy, withdrawn, hard-ass dad.

Yet, despite the differences between Jack and your father, they shared one glaring flaw: both ignored their own mistakes. Jack was blissfully unaware of Alan's involvement in drug smuggling, and you were relieved; you didn't want him to get caught up in that mess. Besides, he probably wouldn’t have approved if he knew you were helping the NYPD commissioner with this situation. It had to remain a secret.

The fruit market was quiet, most New Yorkers likely still busy with brunch. As you browsed through the aisles, your phone rang again. This time, it was a video chat from Valeria.

You sighed and glanced around before picking up. “Hello, Valeria,” you said, waving.

Her smile beamed back, brighter than your own. “Hey, cariño. I wanted to check on how you're doing—”

Suddenly, a hand reached from behind you and grabbed your phone. You turned in shock to see Harry, holding your phone and looking at his mother through the screen. “Leave her alone. You can pester me all you want, but not her.”

“What the— Harry—”

Harry ended the video call and handed your phone back to you. You stood there, trying to wrap your head around what had just transpired. “Harry, what do you think you’re doing? Why did you hang up on your mom?”

“I just saved you, darling,” he replied with that charming smile.

Oh, that smile—so disarming it made you forget everything: where you were, what you were doing, who you were.

You turned your head away, trying to shake off your attraction. “What are you doing here anyway? How did you know I was here?” You fidgeted with a package of blueberries. “Only Zoe and Nick... Wait a minute. Is he your spy?"

Harry picked up a mango, inspecting it. “Spy? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Harry...”

"Baby..."

You shared a long gaze, each lost in the other’s eyes.

“...We promised not to see each other until dinner, to create some distance between us.”

He smirked. “Darling. If we put any more distance between us, we might as well be two neighboring countries with no diplomatic relations.”

You rolled your eyes, stifling a laugh.

“Besides, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m not here to break our agreement. It’s just a coincidence.”

“Oh really? Then why are you here?”

Harry glanced around the fruit section. “Fruits. I came to buy some. This was the only place open in the neighborhood.”

“Are you saying you came here to shop by yourself? All right, Mr. Castillo, what fruit are you planning to get?”

Harry looked over at the nearby fruit display. “I think I’ll go for the blueberries. I love them; I’m going to toss them in my smoothie.”

You chuckled. “That’s not blueberries, that’s cranberries. And a smoothie might not be the best choice since you don’t like sour flavors.”

You both exchanged smiles, pleasantly surprised by the detail you remembered about him. Harry put the cranberries back, looking a bit sheepish. “I honestly thought they were unripe blueberries,” he admitted. “But what about you? I haven’t seen you with a bag yet.”

You glanced at the berries again. “I actually came here to rediscover a flavor I can barely remember.”

“Is this about your special dessert?”

“Yeah. When I was a kid, my mom would make a pie in the summer with fresh fruit from the farm. The aroma was so intoxicating; I can still recall the smell, like a warm breeze. The cream was infused with wild strawberries. Unfortunately, the ones here just don’t measure up to what I remember. I still need to buy some and give it a try.”

"You could just order online. It is a waste of time coming here, especially with how busy you are. Don’t you ever get exhausted?"

You picked a fresh strawberry and held it out for him to smell. “Take a whiff of this.”

Harry inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet scent.

“Why would I choose to order online when I can savor the vibrant colors and intoxicating scents of this fresh, succulent fruit right here? Plus, life is out here on the streets, Mr. Castillo. When was the last time you fed or petted a cat or a dog?”

He couldn't find the words to respond, instead simply smiling with admiration.

You bought the mountain strawberries, and Harry settled on the blueberries.

As you both exited the market and wandered through Central Park, you generously shared some dog food you had purchased earlier with a few stray dogs, giving one a gentle pat on the head. Harry followed suit, smiling at the experience, clearly appreciating this side of you.

“How can you be so amazing?” he murmured, locking eyes with you.

You smiled back, feeling your cheeks warm.

"Sometimes I wonder if you're a real Cinderella, a fairy tale beauty—more a product of my imagination than reality."

You giggled. "I’m not sure that’s a very healthy compliment."

You both shared a laugh.

Just then, a dog emerged from the trees, making both of you tense.

“That dog,” Harry pointed out, nervous.

“Muddy and soaked,” you said, mirroring his tone.

As you feared, the dog instinctively shook itself dry, flinging mud and water everywhere. You closed your eyes and shielded yourself, while Harry did the same for you, but it was too late. The dog’s fur sprayed you with a torrent of wetness.

Now both soaked and dirty, you caught each other’s surprised expressions. Onlookers, including children and tourists, couldn’t help but laugh at the scene.

You burst into laughter, taking in your drenched state down to your underwear. “You naughty dog,” you muttered, looking at the oblivious animal, which was too busy enjoying the food to care.

“Great, just great,” you said in exasperation.

“What was that, honey? Something about ‘life on the street’?” he teased.

“How was I to know a wet dog would come out of nowhere?” you grimaced. “Oh, I smell terrible. There’s no way I’m going back to the bakery like this.”

“Well, hello? I stink too, Cinderella,” he said with a laugh. “Come on, we’re heading to my place.”

You widened your eyes in disbelief. “What? No way, I’m going home to take a shower and change.”

“Your apartment’s on the other side of the city, and I doubt they’ll let you on the subway like that, baby,” he quipped, still chuckling.

You huffed, tugging your wet and filthy dress and sneezing unexpectedly. Harry grabbed your wrist. “Stop being stubborn. Just come with me. I’ll call the driver.”

That afternoon in Harry’s penthouse.

It was undeniably strange.

Awkward, too.

Everything about it seemed off, especially after all the promises you had made to yourself. But this was no choice you had made deliberately, was it? You never could have anticipated it would come to this.

After all this time, standing in this room where you once shared your last conversation sent a wave of memories crashing over you. You could still hear his words echoing in your mind, a haunting reminder of what had been shared that night.

To your surprise, you didn’t feel as terrible as you thought you would.

“You can use the shower in the bathroom here, and I’ll take the one upstairs,” Harry suggested, his voice laced with caution and trembling slightly as he studied your face.

He must have sensed the mixed emotions stirring within you, especially given the memories this place held—memories of laughter and deep conversations. You sighed, attempting to gather your thoughts, and nodded in response. As you made your way to the bathroom, he headed upstairs.

After your shower, you crossed paths in the hallway, both wrapped in bathrobes. The atmosphere felt strange, undeniably weird, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was anything but humorous.

“The clothes in your room are still there,” Harry ventured, breaking the thick silence. “If you want to get dressed—”

“I can wash and dry the dress I just took off in the laundry room. Besides, those clothes are too valuable to wear only at the bakery,” you replied.

“In terms of money, maybe,” he said firmly, “but they’re just pieces of fabric. They’re practically worthless compared to you. It’s you who brings out their true value.”

A shy smile crept onto your face at his compliment as you lowered your gaze. But as he stepped closer, you dared to look up at him again. “Your hair isn’t completely dry,” he added softly, reaching out to run his fingers through your damp strands.

“It’s hot today; it’ll dry quickly,” you murmured, trying to keep your cool.

Thanks to the promises you’d made to yourself, you stood frozen as he touched you. Actually, you should have pushed him away, but in this whirlwind of emotions and memories, blocking him out felt impossible.

Harry must have gauged your hesitation, as he slowly pulled his hand back. “I should get dressed. Are you sure you can wait for the dress to dry?”

“The dryer only takes fifteen minutes, Harry,” you replied, noting the edge of sadness t in his tone.

“Right,” he said, frustratingly, making his way toward the bedroom.

You returned to the bathroom to grab your clothes before heading to the laundry room. By the time you both joined again, he was dressed in a cream and beige t-shirt paired with jeans, while you were still in your robe, feeling a bit nervous. He settled beside you on the small seat in the laundry room, and you shifted slightly to make space.

The two of you fell into a weird silence, watching the washing machine spin your dress. From the corner of your eye, you felt his gaze lingering on you.

“Saturday night,” he remarked suddenly, as if a lightbulb had gone on in his mind.

You raised an eyebrow, curious.

“Are you free next Saturday night?”

You knew this wasn’t just about dinner; it was more profound, a promise of returning to each other, a step you had been avoiding until now. But in that moment, you felt ready.

Resolutely, you nodded, looking deep into his eyes. “I’m free that evening.”

He gently took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “Thank you,” he said, sincerity ringing in his voice.

At that moment, the washing machine beeped, indicating it was done. You got up to transfer your dress to the dryer, and once it finished as well, he gave you some space while you got dressed. When you finally emerged, fully changed, you found him on the phone in the living room. You waved as you headed for the door, but just then, he ended his call and called out your name.

“Please don’t leave like this.”

You froze in place.

There was more than just pleading in his voice; you could sense it, a deeper emotion lurking beneath the surface.

You turned to face him.

He stepped closer, taking your hand gently in his. "That night, I should have said that. I should have stopped you, should never have let you walk away." Suddenly, he knelt before you, and your eyes widened in surprise. "I should have groveled, begged for you to stay."

Tears blurred your vision as you whispered, “Harry.”

He gripped your hand tightly, as if it were his lifeline, his expression pained. "You were right. I am like a child... when it comes to love. I've always felt that way, like an idiot. It's so hard for me to process. It's as if figuring it out is a math problem, but with you, everything changed. I saw how cowardly I really was, because with you, love felt easy—natural, free of complications." You touched his cheek softly, brushing away the tears that threatened to spill. He sighed, closing his eyes to savor your touch. When he opened them again, a single tear slipped down his cheek. "Baby, I beg for your forgiveness. Without you, I’m a ship adrift in an endless ocean; you're my beacon, my only compass. The love I feel for you is unlike anything I’ve ever known."

“Harry,” you murmured, kneeling beside him. “What I should have said that day was that you hurt me so much I might never be able to forgive you.” The truth burst forth from your heart. “I should never have allowed you to get close, should never have slept with you, should never listened to what my heart was saying."

Harry swallowed hard. “And what does your heart say now?”

You smiled softly. “It says I should forgive you and wrap my arms around you.”

"Will you follow your heart?"

You sighed, sinking down onto the floor. “I don’t know. Maybe I should, but it doesn’t feel the same as before.”

“Let it be then. We’ll start over,” he murmured.

“That’s the problem, Harry,” you said, wiping the tears away. “You can be impulsive and sometimes a bit materialistic, especially when it comes to making amends.”

"What do you mean by that?"

“Like when you planned to go to Paris. Leaving me your shares and your penthouse as if that would fix everything instead of just apologizing.”

“Would you forgive me if I simply said I was sorry?”

“At least that would show me you’re trying. I’d recognize the effort, not just in a material way, but something deeper.”

He grasped your meaning. “I’m such an idiot, aren’t I?”

You leaned in closer, cradling his face in your hands. "We’re both to blame. I shouldn’t have gone there that night; we could have found another way."

You both sighed deeply at the realization, feeling lighter for sharing it.

"I think we’re in phase five," Harry said as he sat beside you, stretching his legs out.

You knew he was referring to the fifth stage of grief.

"Yeah, which means that what we did last week was merely a sign of depression. All that sex we had."

"That’s right. We chose physical intimacy over conversation," he said, a mischievous smile creeping onto his face. "But admit it, it was amazing."

“It truly was,” you confessed, chuckling together.

Another heavy sigh escaped from both of your lips.

“So, Saturday night,” he murmured, standing and offering you his hand.

“Saturday night,” you echoed as you took his hand and stood up. He watched attentively as you straightened your dress.

“I have to head back to the shop,” you mumbled, your heart longing to stay, but you forced yourself to move on.

“Sure, I’ll see you then,” he said, his tone hesitant, a flicker of something in his gaze.

“Yeah, bye,” you said with a shy smile, leaning in for a kiss on his cheek as he leaned in at the same moment.

So awkward.

Again.

Come on, why was it so tough to just give a simple kiss on the cheek?

Each time you aimed for it, he instinctively found yours, your lips almost brushing together in perfect unison, dangerously close.

You knew you must look silly.

Neither of you could contain your laughter at the absurdity of the moment.

Then, your lips met in a kiss, and the playful mood shifted to serious.

Harry's hand found its place on your waist, pulling you closer.

He was kind, and yet you found it all too easy to lose yourself in that kiss.

It ignited a fire within you, turning passionate and hungry, enveloping you completely, as if you had poured gasoline onto a flame. You clung to him, pressing closer, desperately craving that connection.

Then your phone rang, breaking the spell.

For the first time, you were relieved for the interruption, reminded of the promises you'd made to yourself.

You pulled your lips away just enough to speak, breathless. “Harry, we better stop.”

He placed a tender kiss on your neck and nodded, reluctant to let you go. When he finally withdrew, it was with pain as he felt the loss of your warmth.

The ache continued as you answered the phone and stepped out of the penthouse, both of you left in a whirlwind of emotions, the connection still lingering in the air.

On Wednesday morning in your bakery.

You couldn't help but chuckle at one of Harry's classic, humorous texts that popped up on your phone after you arranged the sweets in the display case. Ever since you two decided to start fresh, he had been sending you a string of funny messages and reels that brought a lightness to your heart.

One of the messages read:

"My Crush: I'm not that cute. Also her: A photo of an adorable kitten with a pink bow clip by its ear."

You laughed a bit too loudly, catching the attention of some customers at a nearby table who turned to glance your way, prompting you to offer an apologetic smile.

“At least one of us is in a good mood today,” Zoe remarked as she approached you, while Melanie and Nick tended to other customers.

"Has John called yet?"

"Who cares? You know what? It's better this way." she put the tray on the counter. "Now tell me. What had you cracking up so much, Miss Happy?"

Right, you hadn't mentioned that you saw Harry last Sunday. You couldn’t let Zoe know you were on better terms with Harry while she was dealing with her fallout with John. “Oh, just some funny videos online,” you shrugged, sending Harry a laughing emoji before slipping your phone into your pocket.

"Isn’t that Lucy, the matchmaker bitch?" Melanie said.

You both turned to her voice. It was her, and you instinctively tensed. What was she doing here? As Zoe squinted at Lucy in annoyance, you stepped out from behind the counter to join her.

Lucy glanced between the three of you, surprise flickering in her eyes as she stopped on Melanie. Then she looked directly at Zoe. “Can I have a word with you?”

Zoe hesitated at first, but after a reassuring look from you, she agreed. Your jaw dropped when you noticed the car parked out front. Theo was here.

Great.

You realized you hadn’t been fair to him, especially after you’d ditched him last time.

Melanie smirked at the sight of Theo entering the shop. “Looks like I picked the best place to work—there's never a dull moment around here.”

You shot her a dirty look and turned to greet Theo with a smile. “Hey. What brings you here?”

"I stopped by to check just how swamped you were, hoping it would explain why you haven't replied to my messages," he said with a grin as he glanced around the bustling shop. "And, wow, you really are incredibly busy."

“Yeah, sorry, it’s been a hectic week,” you admitted, eyeing the flashy sports car behind him. “A Lamborghini? Are you, like, the son of someone famous or something?”

“Kind of,” he said, smiling “There are things about my family I haven't told you yet, stuff I would have shared if you’d come over that night.”

You felt a flush of embarrassment remembering why you hadn’t gone to see him. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

“Would you like to talk outside for a bit? Maybe take this beauty for a spin? I remember you mentioned you love sports cars.”

It was an exciting offer, and you knew you should have a serious talk with him before things went any further. Zoe and Lucy had wrapped up their conversation by now, so you asked Zoe to cover the shop for a bit and hopped into Theo’s car.

After an exhilarating ride on a private, traffic-free track, Theo treated you to coffee and began sharing stories about his family. He explained that his father, a well-known senator, was unaware of his acting aspirations, as Theo wasn’t ready to come forward and share that side of himself. Despite the circumstances, you sensed his genuine interest in you.

Deciding it was best to be honest and end things on a good note, you leaned against the hood of the car, gazing out at the cityscape. “I think I already knew,” he said softly. “You’re still in love with him.”

You couldn't deny it; your silence confirmed his intuition.

“Can we stay friends? You’re a wonderful person, and I enjoy our conversations. When others find out I'm a senator's son, they often act differently, but you’ve treated me just like anyone else, and I appreciate that.”

You laughed, “I’ve heard that before. Did John know?”

“Yes, he has been known for a long time. He introduced me to the agency. You, Zoe, and he are such kind people. I’m glad to know you all.”

“You’re kind too, Theo. I have no doubt you’ll find the true love you’re looking for someday.”

After sharing a friendly hug, you exchanged warm goodbyes, promising to see each other again.

Thursday evening in your apartment.

You and Zoe were lounging in separate couches after a long day, chatting about yesterday's events. "So Lucy mentioned that John helped her with something, but he won’t say what it is?" What could be so crucial that he couldn't reveal it? "Maybe it really matters; John cares about you, after all."

"Then why isn’t he doing anything to make it right?" Zoe replied, frustration evident in her tone.

"Some guys just aren't all that romantic, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you."

"I don’t care. He promised me his ex wouldn’t be a part of our lives, and I can't be with someone who breaks that promise even before we’re married. And that woman? She's no saint."

You had to admit Zoe wasn't wrong; you didn��t have the best impression of Lucy. But still, John had always seemed like a good guy to you. You believed there must be a reasonable explanation for all this. Your thoughts were interrupted when you noticed a message from Harry pop up on your phone.

"I can hear your heart racing for Saturday. I have several surprises planned—want a hint?"

Curious, you quickly typed back, "Surprises? Hmm, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued."

His reply came just as fast: "Check the door."

As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

You jumped up excitedly from the couch, and Zoe squinted her eyes, sizing you up. "Were you expecting someone?"

With a mischievous smile, you headed to the door, but when you opened it, nobody was there. Puzzled, you glanced around before spotting a teddy bear on the floor, holding a red heart-shaped balloon and an envelope on its lap. As you bent down to retrieve the envelope, you tucked your hair behind your ear. Inside, you found a polaroid photograph of Paris, featuring the Eiffel Tower in the distance—exactly the view from your hotel room that day, and the same picture Harry took back then.

"Who's there?" Zoe called from the living room, making you jump. Just then, you noticed John lingering in the hallway -lost in thought- and invited him over.

What a lucky coincidence.

"Tell Zoe you got this for her; I haven’t told her I made up with Harry yet," you whispered quickly, pressing the teddy bear into John's hands and slipping the envelope into your pocket.

"But I already bought flowers," he muttered, holding up a bunch of pink roses.

"So? Listen, she needs all the romance she can get right now," you insisted.

"John?"

You both turned to Zoe, who was giving you a curious look. "Oh, and you said John wasn't romantic," you teased, nudging him lightly.

Zoe crossed her arms and eyed the flowers and teddy bear in his hands. "What do you want?"

"Can we talk? Please?"

"Yes! Talk! Great idea!" You took John by the arm and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. "Oh, I just remembered—gotta make an important phone call in my room. You two talk."

Zoe called after you, but you ignored her and dashed to your room; John's timing couldn’t have been better.

Quickly, you pulled out your phone and called Harry. It rang twice before he answered.

"Hey, beautiful. Did you get the clue from the teddy bear?"

"Yes, but Paris? Really?"

"It all started there, and I thought it’d be the perfect place for us to start fresh."

You smiled at the sweet memories. "But Harry, I can’t just leave the shop, and you have work at the company. We’re both swamped."

"Can’t you leave it with Zoe for a few days, or at least shut it down? We at castillofunds.co would be more than happy to cover any losses for The Vanilla Vine."

You chuckled at the idea. "Hmm, well, but I do have a competition at the end of the month."

"Only three days, sweetheart. Just you and me," he replied in a low, enticing voice.

You smiled back playfully. "Alright, ol'man."

As soon as you ended the call, an incoming call interrupted you—an unknown number.

It was Gerardo.

You’d almost forgotten about him. He informed you that they had received word that Alan was leaving NYC tomorrow morning, and this was your only chance to take him down. You felt a wave of annoyance at yourself for agreeing to help, but you knew you had to.

That bastard had gotten away with too much.

You remembered Harry's outburst from last time when he had angrily said he wanted to kill Alan—not literally, of course. However, Alan was different; his demeanor was chilling, indicating that he was not just a nuisance but a real threat. If helping the NYPD meant you could finally rid yourself of him once and for all, then you felt you had no choice.

Friday morning at Alan’s hotel.

The plan was straightforward: break into his penthouse and access the safe containing crucial documents, including details of his illegal drug shipments. While the police had the combination, simply entering the hotel posed significant risks. Alan wasn’t naive; he had connections with nearly every NYPD commissioner, carefully keeping his enemies close and collecting intelligence on them whenever he could.

Some of the hotel staff recognized you, while others did not. You were familiar with the kitchen team, but you needed the cleaning staff to gain easy access to the elevator and the upper floors. When you approached the head of housekeeping and laid out your situation, he appeared apprehensive at first. Yet, his allegiance to the police prevailed, and he agreed to help.

The housekeeping team had access cards to reach the penthouse, allowing you to use the inconspicuous service elevator—after all, no one ever paid much attention to them.

This was a benefit you appreciated from your time as a maid.

With the chief's assistance, you donned a cleaning uniform and rolled the service trolley into the elevator. You couldn't help but chuckle nervously as you gazed at your reflection. You never thought you’d find yourself in this outfit again. As the elevator ascended, your anxiety mounted, your heart pounding in your chest. You held your breath when you reached the penthouse floor, mentally replaying the the commissioner's instructions: find the safe, use the code breaker, retrieve the document, and make a swift exit.

Easier said than done, of course.

They had briefed you thoroughly and would be watching your every move from outside, providing a phone similar to those seen in movies for communication.

Still, you felt a wave of nerves wash over you.

The elevator chimed as it reached the penthouse, replacing your fears with a different brand of anxiety. Adrenaline coursed through your body, and your palms grew slick with sweat. Memories of the last time you were there ignited a flicker of anger, fueling your determination to carry out your mission.

The question remained though, where was Alan’s private safe?

Having cleaned numerous hotel rooms, you had a good sense of where it might be, yet it eluded you. After about half an hour of searching, exhaustion set in, and you collapsed onto the couch.

Gerardo called for a status update, and you told him that despite your efforts, you hadn’t found it. He suggested a few other spots, but none of them panned out.

As you leaned against the bar counter, a memory flickered in your mind. That night—when Alan approached you from behind the bar with documents in hand...

Could it be?

It struck you as ridiculous, but what if Alan had a safe behind the bar? “I feel like I’m starring in a crime movie or something,” you murmured to yourself.

You slipped behind the counter and bent down to inspect. Lifting lids revealed nothing but glasses and barware, but as you were about to close it up, you noticed something sticking out from behind the glasses on the bottom shelf. Carefully, you removed the glasses one by one, exposing a hidden hatch. With a determined tug, you pulled it open.

“I found you,” you whispered with a sense of triumph. Beneath the hatch lay a safe with a digital keypad—just what the cops had described, a fingerprint unlocker. Remembering your instruction, you placed the code breaker against the lock. You marveled at this device, intrigued by its technology. In just minutes, the lock switched from red to green, and the safe door creaked open.

“Please be certain to pick up the correct documents,” the commissioner’s voice came through the phone, steady and authoritative.

You froze as you peered inside the safe.

There was a pistol, 9mm ammunition, valuables, cash bundles, and various documents. Even though Alan was a criminal and a jerk, rifling through someone’s personal belongings felt wrong, but you had a job to do. While examining the files, the commissioner interrupted once more, reminding you of how the file should look. Just then, someone called his name and whispered in his ear. He picked up the phone to speak to you again. “Get out of there now,” he urged sharply.

“What did you say?” you asked, startled.

“Finnegan has returned to the hotel. He left the airport before boarding his jet. Mission’s off. You need to get out now. I repeat, get out now.”

“Hurry up,” Gerardo added urgently.

“Damn,” you muttered, realizing you had gone to great lengths for this. But just then, as you skimmed through one last file, you found what you needed: everything—drug routes, sellers, suppliers, schedules—was there.

You placed the file into the bag, organizing the remaining papers back in their proper spots.

Time was slipping away as you locked the safe, closed the lid, and carefully rearranged the glasses one by one, your hands trembling, head spinning, heart racing, and palms sweating. Just as you were about to throw the bag over your shoulder and make your way to the elevator, the chime of the other elevator and Alan’s voice made you freeze.

You quickly crouched down, hiding in the most secluded corner of the counter, muttering a curse under your breath.

Why did he have to come back?

Fuck my luck, you cursed.

Alan was arguing with someone; his voice was laced with anger, and fortunately, he was too furious to think about drinking. But that didn’t ease your nerves. You felt a jolt when you heard the other voice.

“Lucy, what the fuck? Who do you think you are? I had to cancel my flight because of you!”

Oh great, thanks a lot, Lucy.

“You will listen to me this time.”

“I told you, that baby isn’t coming into this world. Get rid of it, or I’ll do it myself.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing; your mind was racing.

“She’s almost four months along. It’s too risky to abort now.”

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? Not taking your pills to blackmail me? You’re pathetic!”

“No, you’re the pathetic one! You’re so obsessed with him that you’re willing to reject your own child!” Lucy shouted.

“Shut up,” he snarled through gritted teeth.

You didn’t need to see his face to feel how furious he was.

“If I had known you were this obsessed with Harry, I would have never dated you. You’ve made hating him your life’s mission; it’s sick.”

“I told you to shut up,” he warned again, his anger palpable and even more menacing this time.

“You watched us from a distance while we were together; you were thrilled when I dumped him, weren’t you? I know you roped John into all this too. You are responsible for everything. I lost them both because of you. Then you threatened me over my job just so I could pretend to be with you. But when Harry fell for that girl, you tried to get rid of me, didn’t you? She became your next target.”

“Don’t even put yourself in the same category as her. I genuinely love her.”

“Love?" She laughed, her voice tinged with distress, and you could hear her trying to stifle a sob. "No, you don’t know what love is. If you truly did, you wouldn’t treat her like this. All you want is to watch Harry suffer. You’re the most obsessively twisted person I’ve ever encountered.”

Alan let out a chilling, unnatural laugh. “Maybe you should stop talking to me that way. You have no idea what a truly twisted person is capable of.”

He moved closer, and you felt Lucy’s fear echoing your own. "I will kill you, and no one will ever find your body. Do you understand me?"

This was beyond what you could stand; you should have acted instead of just being afraid. Looking around, you spotted several liquor bottles. Grabbing one, you knew you had no other choice.

“Get rid of that baby, or I swear I’ll kill you.”

“No, I can’t, I won’t.”

“Is that so?” Just then, Alan lunged at her, gripping her neck tightly as you were startled by the sound of her bag hitting the floor.

You stood up, shocked by the scene.

What should I do? What should I do?

You glanced at the bottle in your hand—there wasn’t a choice.

You came up behind him and brought the bottle crashing down on his head with all your might. "Let her go, you piece of shit!"

He staggered from the blow and released Lucy, who gasped for air as she fought to recover, coughing.

Alan groaned and placed his hands down for support, struggling to regain his balance as blood oozed from his head. In that instant, only one thought raced through your mind: grab Lucy’s wrist and run for the elevator.

It wasn’t exactly professional, but that didn’t matter right now. You just needed to escape. As you pressed the button for the elevator and selected the ground floor, Lucy looked at you, confusion etched on her face, trying to make sense of everything.

“He…” she croaked.

“No, no, he’s not dead. Don’t worry,” you replied, even though you couldn’t be entirely sure that was the truth.

“You saved me,” she whispered, nearly fainting, her face ghostly pale.

You gently touched her cheek. “Are you okay? Hang in there; we’re almost there. The police are outside. Don’t worry, I’ll ensure they call you an ambulance.”

As the elevator dinged and reached the ground floor, you used your private key—one the maids had access to—to lock it behind you before rushing out. Once in the lobby, you dialed Gerardo's number. "I've got the file. I locked Alan in; he can't escape. And we need an ambulance for a pregnant woman who was attacked here," you said, glancing at Lucy.

Lucy stared at you with wide eyes, mumbling. "Who exactly are you?"

Just then, police officers burst into the lobby, and a nervous laugh escaped you. "You mean right now? Well, I’m the girl who just saved your ass."

She smiled back in response.

Your statements were taken later at the police station, alongside Lucy's, after she was cleared by the medical team. Alan was officially apprehended, and thanks to your efforts, the police now had concrete evidence of his crimes. His offenses included attempted murder, leading to his detention until the upcoming court date. It felt like a weight had been lifted; after everything you had been through, you had finally succeeded.

Zoe and John arrived at the police station simultaneously, both concerned and surprised to see Lucy there. While you quickly filled her in on what had happened, John engaged Lucy in conversation, revealing why they had been seeing each other so much lately. Given Lucy's delicate situation, it was evident this had been a tough time for her.

The commissioner and his team came over to thank you, you missed seeing Harry watching you from a distance, filled with both concern and relief.

As he called your name, you turned to see him, his anxious voice resonating throughout the police station and catching everyone’s attention.

He hurried towards you, wrapping you tightly in his arms and pressing you against his chest. The moment felt even stranger than everything else you’d experienced leading up to this point.

“Are you really trying to kill me?” he grumbled, his hand resting on the back of your head.

“Sorry.”

But just then, he noticed Gerardo, pulling away and fixing an angry glare on him. “How dare you put the woman I love in danger?” he asked, stepping towards him. “Isn’t what you’ve done enough?”

Gerardo stayed silent.

The commissioner cut in, “Mr. Castillo, please remember you’re at a police station.”

Harry retorted, “I’m well aware of that. I’ll sue all of you. What if something had happened to her?”

“Your girlfriend agreed to help of her own free will. Neither Mr. Alvaro nor anyone else forced her.”

“Harry, they’re telling the truth. I asked to help.”

He turned to you, confusion etched on his face. “Why?”

“Yeah, why?” Zoe echoed, both of them looking for an explanation. John and Lucy were equally puzzled.

“I wanted to help them catch Alan.”

So, you recounted everything from the beginning but Harry's anger just wouldn’t subside. Just then, Maria arrived and quickly got up to speed on the situation. After a brief discussion with Gerardo, you bid them farewell. John took Lucy home, and Zoe decided to join them. Harry walked you to his car to take you home.

“What a day,” you murmured, resting your head on Harry’s shoulder, fatigue washing over you.

“You really are incredible. I can’t believe you had the courage to do something like that.”

“But it worked,” you said, smiling at him.

"You've obviously seen your fair share of James Bond films; otherwise, I couldn't explain your foolish bravery," he quipped.

"You know, being a spy must be a real challenge. I don't think they live long."

“Why do you say that?” he asked, running his fingers through your hair.

“When I was there, the fear of being caught was so intense I felt like my heart would burst. Living with that kind of stress every second can’t be good for the heart.”

“Thanks to you, I think my heart’s going to give out too; it raced all day, worrying about you. I was going crazy."

You gazed at him. “I’m sorry; that wasn’t my intention. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“Hm, a kiss wouldn’t be a bad start,” he said teasingly.

You giggled and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. His frown melted away, replaced by a bright smile. “That felt nice,” he said, grinning.

“Our plans for tomorrow are still on, right?” you asked.

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

“I don’t know; maybe you don’t like me anymore now that you know my secret agent identity. Perhaps you’re thinking of running away,” you teased.

He laughed and sighed, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “You silly woman, nothing you do could make me give you up. I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to.”

You smiled back at him. "So, that means never then. ”

“Never, my love, never.”

Saturday evening in Paris.

As you gazed out the jet window at the enchanting city below, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, you couldn't help but smile and sigh. Coming back here with Harry felt both meaningful and unique—your emotions were deeper this time, infused with a renewed sense of hope that you would both make it home together.

Really together.

As the jet began its descent, Harry sat across from you, fastening his seatbelt.

“Are you hungry, baby?” he asked.

Considering you hadn’t eaten since breakfast, you nodded enthusiastically. “Starving,” you replied with a laugh.

He chuckled too. “Everything’s set. We’ll head straight to the restaurant while Oliver takes care of our bags at the hotel.”

You smiled as he reached out and held your hand.

“It’s going to be perfect this time. These next three days together will be so much better than before, I promise.”

“I know, and I believe that with all my heart,” you said, returning his smile.

His grip tightened around your hand until the jet touched down safely.

The restaurant where you dined that night offered the same breathtaking view as before, the Eiffel Tower standing beautifully in the distance. While enjoying dessert, Harry reminisced about the treats you had made — he claimed they were the best desserts he had ever tasted, and you both shared a hearty laugh.

Although you were both excited upon arriving at the hotel, exhaustion had set in. You missed him deeply, and the feeling was mutual—his body language spoke volumes of his love for you. But instead of giving in to desire that night, you chose to simply lie in bed in your bathrobes after a shower. This intimate moment held more significance for both of you than any physical act. You felt you were making real progress together.

In contrast to weeks ago, when your interactions were guided more by physical urges, tonight was about connection. You both wanted to enjoy the thrill of make-up sex, but not just yet; tonight was dedicated to understanding each other through quiet moments and meaningful glances.

As you shared a long laugh and finally drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, your heart felt content.

Upon waking to the warm light streaming into the spacious room, you suddenly realized it had been ages since you had slept so deeply for such a long stretch. As you stretched and lifted your head from the pillow, it struck you that Harry was nowhere to be found; the other side of the bed lay empty. That sight was unsettling. Where could he be?

Checking the clock, you noted it was around ten o'clock. “Wow, did I really sleep that long?” you murmured as you climbed out of bed. “Harry!”

The stillness of the room greeted you, your voice echoing back. Noticing his bathrobe draped over the chair, it was clear he had gotten dressed and slipped out. But where had he gone? You quickly grabbed your phone and called him.

“Good morning, Cinderella. I'm waiting for you near the Eiffel Tower. To find me, just follow the trail of flowers and breakfast,” Harry's voice rang with cheerfulness.

“Flowers? Breakfast? What do you mean? Harry—” But before you could finish your sentence, he hung up.

What the hell?

The Champ de Mars, where the Eiffel Tower stood, was vast—where exactly was he? Questions buzzed in your mind as you got ready. You slipped into a summer dress, perfect for the warm day, ran a comb through your hair, applied some light makeup, grabbed your bag, and made your way out of the room.

As you stepped outside the hotel, you were greeted by Oliver. “Ollie, what's going on?”

"Sorry, I’ve been told to keep quiet about it, and I really love my job."

You narrowed your eyes. "Harry's going to fire you? No way."

He chuckled. "I know it would’ve all fallen apart without me."

"Exactly," you said, laughing again.

"Go on, he’s waiting for you," he urged.

Was Harry planning a surprise?

Your curiosity piqued. As you stood in line to buy ticket for the Eiffel Tower, a man approached and handed you a red peony. "No need to buy a ticket, ma'am; it's already taken care of, this way," he said in a charming French accent.

"All right," you murmured, following his direction.

As you stepped towards the tower, a little girl handed you another peony. Moments later, a boy came up and handed you both a peony and a small package. "Bon appétit," he said in French.

"Thank you," you replied. Inside the package was a croissant that smelled absolutely divine, tempting you to take a bite.

Just as you did, another boy presented you with a steaming cup of coffee.

That’s when it clicked—you understood what Harry had meant.

Follow the flowers and breakfast.

But where was he?

One boy after another approached, and you felt a mix of excitement and intrigue. As your view of the tower opened up, flowers in hand along with your breakfast, you turned towards the voices behind you. The children who had gifted you the flowers were all happily following along.

You were surprised but found it delightful. A little further ahead, you finally spotted him.

Harry stood there, waiting for you in his light-brown jacket, his signature smile lighting up his face. "Welcome," he greeted as you reached him.

You smiled, responding.

"Did you enjoy your breakfast?" he asked.

"Yeah, it was wonderful, but I wish we could have shared it together," you said, smiling at the kids surrounding you, though your expression was puzzled. "Harry, what’s going on?"

All the kids are now holding heart-shaped balloons, leaving you to gaze at them in wonder.

He gently took what was in your hand, handed it to one of the boys beside you, and turned back to you, taking your hands in his.

"I want to say a few things now. I hope it doesn't sound too cliché."

You laughed, shaking your head. He looked deeply into your eyes.

"My darling, my light, the moment I first saw you, I knew you were the one."

"Cliché," one of the kids chimed in.

You all burst into laughter.

"Give it another try, sir," a girl encouraged.

Harry sighed and cleraed his throat. "My love, you are the most beautiful, intelligent, resourceful, and extraordinary woman I know. Not a moment goes by that I don’t think of you. You’re a wonderful person—helpful, clever, and a bit stubborn and reckless all at once. You've pushed me to do things I never imagined possible, and the most thrilling and beautiful moments of my life began the day you walked into it. I could never have envisioned giving this speech in front of so many, thinking it was embarrassing, but now I realize it’s because I had never truly fallen in love before."

With a swift motion, he drew a small velvet box from the depths of his jacket pocket, and your breath caught in your throat as your heart began to race wildly. As he sank to one knee, a ripple of anticipation swept through the crowd surrounding you, their whispers filled with excitement and joy. With trembling hands, he carefully opened the box, unveiling a dazzling diamond ring -you saw it before- that sparkled brilliantly, reminiscent of a thousand stars scattered across the night sky, now glimmering in the warm embrace of the sunlight. Locking eyes with you, he said your full name. "I love you with my entire being, more than anything else, and I promise to love you for as long as I breathe. Will you honor me by becoming my wife?"

"Harry," you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks.

An intense fire dancing in his gaze, and spoke with a conviction that made time stand still. He uttered two simple words, often brushed off as clichés, yet they carried a world of meaning within.

"Marry me."

You could hardly find your voice, overwhelmed with emotion.

"Say yes! Say yes!" The crowd cheered, urging you on.

You both looked around, emotions bubbling up as you realized the moment was being witnessed by so many. "Just so you know, I hope you won’t say no—there are a lot of people with their phones out. This could be live on Instagram right now!"

Through your sniffles, you let out a laugh before taking a deep breath. “Yes! Harry Castillo, I will marry you. So, absolutely yes!”

At that moment, cheers erupted from the crowd, with a few whistles for good measure.

Harry stood up, slipped the ring onto your finger, and pulled you close, kissing you passionately.

The crowd erupted in applause.

The children's laughter rang out as they released red, heart-shaped balloons into the sky, the cheering surrounding you in a wave of joy.

You broke the kiss, gazing at the floating balloons and the crowd celebrating, then back into each other’s eyes, relishing this fairytale moment. Harry wiped your tears away just as you did the same for him, and you kissed again, more deeply this time, as if the world around you had faded away.

It was just the two of you.

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate your comments, likes, and reblogs. I'd love to hear what you think about the chapter!

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prettylilyanime · 3 months ago

Text

Our Blessing ♡ Chapter 03

♡ Pairing: Toji Zenin x reader

♡ Synopsis: in which your ex boyfriend left you with your biggest blessing in life, or- a bundle of a blessing. And he doesn’t even know it.

♡ tags/warnings: 18+, (explicit content in later chapters) angst, and drama, exes to lovers, hidden baby trope, Toji is an asshole (but we love him), Reader just wants to raise Megumi in peace, CEO Toji, possessive Toji, emotionally constipated Toji, Tension, misunderstandings, Flashbacks to past relationship, Heavy themes of abandonment, trust issues, and redemption, baby Megumi is a cutie, Megumi is a mama’s boy, reader works at a flower shop, Hidden Baby Trope

♡ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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Time moves too fast when your child starts school—uncomfortably so.

The golden hues of autumn have long faded, leaving behind bare branches and streets swept clean of crisp, fallen leaves. In their place, the first snowfall of the year drifts down in soft flurries, delicate and hesitant, barely enough to dust the pavement.

The world outside is quiet, muffled by the chill. The kind of cold that seeps deep, settling into your bones.

“Okay, Megumi, arms up,” you murmur, holding out his tiny puffer jacket.

He obeys without protest, shoving his arms through the sleeves, his little fingers wiggling out from the cuffs. His cheeks are flushed from sleep, and his dark hair is tousled in soft, stubborn tufts from his pillow.

You glance out the window as snowflakes swirl gently past the glass, vanishing on impact. The sight should be pretty. But instead, it feels like a reminder: the world is shifting again. The seasons are pressing forward, indifferent to the fact that you’re still catching up.

“Mama, I’m gonna make a snowman today,” Megumi announces, voice muffled as you loop a thick blue scarf around his neck.

You smile and tuck the ends securely. “That sounds so fun, honey! Are you and Yuuji going to build one together?”

Megumi scowls slightly, crossing his arms. “He can make his own.”

His chubby cheeks puff out with determination. He wouldn’t dare let Yuuji near his snowman—not when his best friend would probably stick the carrot where the arms are supposed to go.

You snort, trying to hide your grin as you sling his backpack over one shoulder and grab his lunchbox. “Well, I’m sure you two are going to have the most unique snowmen in class.”

Satisfied, he nods, clutching onto the fabric of your pants as you reach for the door.

But just then, a sharp gust of wind rushes through the hallway as you open it, curling around your ankles and stealing your warmth. Megumi stiffens instantly, his expression shifting to something stern.

“Mama! Put on your coat!” he scolds, voice small but full of authority.

He fumbles toward the hanger, trying to tug your jacket down with his mittened hands. You laugh softly and ruffle his hair. “Alright, alright, my bossy boy.”

Truthfully, the cold has already begun to sting your skin. You shrug into your coat, letting him help tug the zipper up to your collar. He nods in approval once it’s zipped.

Hand in hand, you step out into the morning chill. The air nips at your cheeks as you make your way to the car, boots crunching softly on the thin dusting of snow.

The drive to school is peaceful. The hum of the heater fills the car while Megumi chatters about recess and the snowman he’s planning. You nod, offering the occasional “Wow!” and “That’s going to be so cool, baby,” but mostly you just listen��savoring the warmth of his voice, the smallness of him, the fleetingness of mornings like these.

When you pull up to the school, you brace against the cold and lift Megumi into your arms. He’s heavier than he used to be—solid, growing—but you still carry him close, lips pressing against his forehead.

“Okay, Megumi. Have a beautiful day, baby.”

He lingers in your arms for a moment longer before slipping down to the ground. You wish you could scoop him back up, take him home, swaddle him in a blanket, make cocoa and watch cartoons. But he’s a growing boy. He has a world to explore.

And you? You have responsibilities waiting for you, too.

“Bye, Mama,” he calls, giving you a little wave before turning to run toward the building, backpack bouncing with each step.

You linger, watching until he disappears inside. Only then do you tug your coat tighter around you and hurry back to the car, the wind slicing through your layers. Your fingers are stiff by the time you start the engine.

The warmth of the heater slowly creeps in as you sink back into the seat.

Snowflakes drift across your windshield, melting into tiny rivulets.

Winter was never your favorite time of year.

As a florist, you’ve always favored spring and summer—the seasons of life. Color bursting from every corner of the city. The air thick with the scent of new blooms. Warmth lingering on your skin like a lover’s touch.

But winter?

Winter has always been the absence of that. Cold. Quiet. Stark.

It’s gray skies and pale light, bare branches and biting wind. Streets washed in colorless tones, a hush across the world like it’s holding its breath, waiting for warmth to return.

You never had a reason to love it.

Until Toji.

Toji—your first love, the man who made your heart bloom brighter than any flower—was born in the winter.

And slowly, that season became something else.

It became warmth pressed skin-to-skin after braving the cold. It became burrowing into his arms with hot drinks and sleepy smiles. It became baking a birthday cake from a half-burnt recipe on your phone and laughing at how uneven the frosting was. It became more than the fleeting joy of holidays.

It became love.

And then he left you.

Ironically, in the spring—when everything else was coming to life, and you were wilting.

Winter returned to what it had always been before him. Empty. Cold. Something to survive, not something to savor. And as if the universe hadn’t twisted the knife deep enough, you found out you were pregnant just as the flowers began to bloom.

But then—there was Megumi.

And winter was never the same again.

It became the press of tiny mittened hands in fresh snow. The determination of little fingers shaping crooked snowmen in the yard. The flicker of birthday candles reflecting in his emerald eyes. The excitement on Christmas morning, the way his laughter echoed through the house, warm enough to thaw even the coldest days.

Winter became Megumi.

And for the first time in years, you found yourself falling in love with it all over again.

But as you drive away from the school, one thought cuts through the warmth like ice:

Megumi is turning six soon.

The realization drops like a stone in your chest.

Six years since he was born.

Six years and nine months since Toji walked out of your life.

Toji.

God, damn it.

You’ve tried not to think about him. Not since Suguru. Not since Sukuna.

He left. Disappeared. No contact. No way to reach him.

You tried. You tried your hardest to bring him back into your son’s life—but you couldn’t find him. So you made peace with that. You let yourself move forward. Guilt wasn’t something you let yourself carry. Not when you had done all you could.

But now?

Now, Suguru pressed Toji’s number into your palm.

Now, Sukuna—Megumi’s best friend’s uncle—is someone you’ll be seeing at every event, every birthday, every class performance.

And suddenly, the guilt won’t stop gnawing at you.

Toji isn’t gone. He’s just a phone call away.

Megumi is turning six this year. Will you really let another year pass—knowing you could change everything?

You could reunite them.

You could give your son a father, no matter how much he pretends not to care.

And Toji...

God, Toji.

You could tell him he has a son.

So why haven’t you?

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The Zenin Tower stands like a dagger in the heart of Tokyo—a gleaming skyscraper of glass and steel, sharp-edged and cold, looming over the city like it owns it.

And on the very top floor, the man who practically does own it sits hunched over his desk, eyes locked on the glow of his screen.

Toji Zenin.

His fingers hover over the keyboard, unmoving. The only sound in the room is the faint hum of his computer, casting a pale light across his dim office. His gaze is fixed—zoomed in on a single photo. A tiny square image.

Your profile picture.

It's stupid. He knows it’s stupid. He has no reason to be looking at you, no business even thinking about you.

But there you are. Smiling.

And here he is. Staring.

He tells himself it’s just curiosity. That’s all. After all, ever since Sukuna—loud, smug bastard—started randomly bringing you up in conversation, it’s like your name’s been carved into the back of his skull.

He can’t shake it.

Five years. It's been five goddamn years.

He figures... he can look now, right? Just one little peek. Not like you're going to know.

But then the door creaks open.

Toji jolts, snapping out of it, and turns just in time to see Maki walk in. She stops cold.

“Mr. Zenin? I brought the files you—” Her voice halts mid-sentence, eyes flicking from him... to the screen... and back again.

Her brows lift. A slow, mischievous smile creeps across her face. “Is that Auntie Y/N?”

Toji’s whole body goes rigid.

His jaw clenches, fingers curling into a tight fist. He resists the urge to bark at her for barging in unannounced.

On the screen, your face is still lit up. That same damn smile.

He snatches the files from Maki’s hands and slams them onto the desk. “You’re a terrible intern,” he mutters. “Get out.”

But Maki, being Maki, doesn’t budge. She strolls over and plops herself into the chair across from him, peering at the monitor like she’s watching a movie.

It’s been years since she’s seen you. Back then she was just a kid, too young to grasp why you left, only old enough to know she liked having you around.

“If you tell your sister, you’re dead,” Toji growls, not looking at her. “Mai can’t keep her mouth shut. If Gojo hears about this—”

“I know, I know,” Maki says, adjusting her glasses with a smirk. “Gojo will never let you live it down.” She leans back in the chair, tone softening. “Relax, Uncle Toji. Your secret’s safe with me.”

A beat passes.

Then, casually: “So... are you guys back together, or...?”

Toji freezes.

It’s the kind of question that would normally earn someone a broken nose—but coming from Maki, it just... digs. There’s something vulnerable in the way she asks it. Almost hopeful.

He doesn't answer. Just glares at her until she raises her hands in mock surrender and finally gets up to leave.

The door clicks shut behind her.

He waits, making sure she’s actually gone, before turning back to the screen.

Your account’s private. All he has is that damn picture. So he took a screenshot. Zoomed in until the pixels started to blur.

Every detail—your eyes, your smile, even the curve of your jaw—burned into his mind like a brand.

But it’s the necklace that ruins him.

A thin chain, delicate. And hanging from it... a small pendant.

The letter M. Toji’s stomach twists. Who the hell is M?

He shoves the thought away, slamming his computer shut with a grunt. No. He’s not doing this.

He grabs his phone and fires off a message into the group chat “Horizon tn?”

Horizon—the sleek, members-only bar perched on the top floor of a neighboring skyscraper.

It's where they always meet. High ceilings, panoramic city views, and shelves of liquor that cost more than most people’s rent. Opulent, discreet, and just far enough from reality to let them pretend.

The response is immediate.

Satoru: “I’ll be there. Need a drink ASAP.” Suguru: “That was way too fast. Are you even at work?” Satoru: “...I may or may not be in the parking lot of your building rn.”

Toji snorts. Idiots.

But maybe that’s what he needs tonight—mindless distraction, great views, too much whiskey, and people who talk too much. Maybe it'll be enough to shut his brain off.

At least for a few hours.

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“Okay, and here’s your bouquet! Thank you for trusting me with this—I’m sure she’ll love it.” You offer a warm smile as you hand over the arrangement, a delicate bundle of soft pinks and creams wrapped in craft paper and tied with silk ribbon.

The younger man nods gratefully, checking his watch before practically bolting out the door. You blink, watching him leave in a frenzy, eyebrows lifting slightly.

How does someone look that sweaty when it’s below freezing outside?

Still, a sale is a sale, and you’re grateful. Business always slows in the winter. You’ve learned to rely on early brides with long timelines and your own careful budgeting to keep the flower shop afloat during the cold months.

You glance down at your watch and sigh. A few more hours until Megumi’s school pickup. A small smile plays on your lips.

Has he started working on his snowman yet?

The thought lingers sweetly as you decide to use the lull to get a few things done. From the back room, you pull out an old cardboard box that’s been collecting dust.

It’s part of a shipment you never got around to unpacking. Brushing it off, you slice it open to reveal rows of colorful packaged ribbons, neatly coiled and still untouched. You start sorting through them, placing each spool into its designated drawer.

Time passes easily like this—your hands busy, your mind wandering.

Megumi’s birthday is coming up. You really need to start prepping for it.

His birthdays have always been quiet. Your family lives far from Tokyo, and your social circle all but disappeared after the breakup with Toji. You’re introverted by nature, and after everything that happened...well, letting new people in hasn’t been easy.

But this year is different.

Megumi’s in school now—and not just attending, but thriving. He’s formed real friendships. You used to worry that he’d inherit your shyness or Toji’s stoicism, but he’s surprised you in the best ways.

His best friend is Yuuji, of course. And then there’s the sweet girl in his class, Nobara, with her ginger-brown hair and maple-colored eyes. He talks about her all the time.

He has others too. A whole group. And the thought of finally being able to throw him a proper birthday party fills you with a quiet excitement.

Well—proper in your terms.

Which really just means decorating your small apartment, ordering too much pizza, and buying themed party cups and napkins. But still! It’s something.

Still, beneath the excitement… a gnawing pit of guilt twists in your stomach.

Yuuji’s of course going to be there.

Which means there’s a very real possibility Sukuna might find out.

And if Sukuna finds out about Megumi’s birthday… does that mean Toji might, too?

You don’t even know how to begin to unpack that thought.

How does he not know?

How does Sukuna—a chaotic, unfiltered menace—stand a better chance of knowing the day your son turns another year older… than his own father?

The thought is haunting.

You press your palms into the wooden counter, steadying your breath.

It’s been years. And yet... sometimes, it still feels like you’re picking up the pieces of a life that no one else remembers breaking.

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Horizon is bustling tonight, still relatively quiet compared to other bars, but the energy is undeniable.

The soft hum of conversations mixes with the clink of glasses and the low thrum of music.

Despite the liveliness, the group of four lifelong friends is immediately escorted to a prime table located toward the back, next to the floor-to-ceiling crystal windows that offer an expansive view of the city below. No wait time needed.

Moments later, the suited-up waiter arrives, setting down their drinks with practiced precision, only lingering long enough to make sure they’re satisfied before disappearing into the shadows of the bar.

Toji doesn’t bother looking at his drink, his eyes fixed on the city lights. The glass in front of him remains untouched, a token of the evening, but his mind is elsewhere.

Satoru leans back in his chair, his usual mischievous grin in place “Toji, man, what’s with the sour face tonight?”

“His face is always like that,” Sukuna shrugs, his voice smooth as always, though his gaze is sharper than usual, eyes flicking between Toji and the others.

Toji doesn’t even flinch. He’s heard it all before.

But tonight is different. His posture is tighter, his gaze further off. The air around him is thick with something unsaid.

“I saw Y/N today.” The words come out gruff, almost reluctant, slipping out before he can stop them.

The table goes silent. Well, the table freezes, except for Suguru, who’s halfway through a drink and ends up choking on it. He sputters, trying to regain his breath.

“You what?” Satoru gasps, eyes wide as if the room just tilted. His voice is loud, carrying the shock, and Toji shoots him a glare, annoyance flashing in his eyes.

Suguru, still struggling to breathe, looks between the two men, mind racing. The tension builds in the space between them.

Toji rolls his eyes. “Not—I didn’t see her. She just popped up as a recommended account on my phone. I looked through her profile.” He says it with a nonchalance that doesn’t match the weight of the words hanging in the air.

The lie is faint but there, a quiet undercurrent of denial.

He won’t admit that he spent hours, hunched over his work desktop, memorizing every detail of your face as it is now—without him.

Sukuna, who’s been quiet up until now, blinks, his eyes widening slightly. Whether it's interest or amusement, it’s hard to say.

“…Well, tell us!” Satoru leans forward, his grin widening “What did you see? Still giving off that ‘hot girl next door’ vibe, or has time changed things?”

Toji glares at him, narrowing his eyes. “Shut up, Satoru.”

He takes a long drag from his cigar, the smoke swirling around him like a personal storm. “I only saw her profile picture. She’s moved on, too. Some guy whose name starts with the letter M.”

The table falls into absolute silence. The shift in the mood is palpable, like the room itself is holding its breath.

Suguru freezes, his grip tightening around his glass. “She… the letter M?” The words barely escape him, his mind already connecting dots too fast for comfort.

Toji shrugs, his face unreadable. “Didn’t look too deep into it,” he mutters, but the weight of his words is obvious. The regret is there, barely concealed in his jaw's tightness.

The silence stretches. Suguru’s eyes flicker across the group, briefly landing on Sukuna. But Sukuna’s eyes are cast downward, not meeting anyone’s gaze. His tongue prods the inside of his cheek, as if he’s chewing on something unspoken.

Suguru watches him, suspicion settling in. Something doesn’t feel right.

Sukuna’s gaze lifts, meeting Suguru’s. A shared understanding passes between them. It’s unspoken, but it’s there.

Suguru’s mind drifts back to the last time he spoke with Y/N. She had mentioned her son. Megumi.

Shit.

Sukuna knows about Megumi.

Suguru’s brow furrows, his stomach twisting as he connects the pieces. He’s about to say something when Satoru cuts through the tension, his voice light but carrying a more serious undertone.

“Forget her, man. You need to get over this.” Satoru leans back in his chair with a casual grin.

“Y/N? She’s not worth it. Look, you’ve been carrying this shit around for too long. There’s a whole world of women out there, and you’re an eligible bachelor, Toji. You’re not getting any younger.” He shoots a wink around the table.

“But hey, don’t take my word for it. Look around.”

Satoru gestures toward the bar, where a woman in a red dress stands out with her long legs and confident stride. She briefly glances over at their booth, her eyes meeting Toji’s for a split second before she moves on.

Satoru leans closer, nudging Toji’s arm. “That one. Nine o’clock. Red dress. She’s been eyeing you since we walked in. You could do a hell of a lot worse than her.”

Toji glances toward the bar, his gaze catching hers for that fleeting moment.

“I’m not interested,” Toji mutters, his voice low.

“Not yet,” Satoru counters, his grin still wide. “But you could be. You can’t keep living in the past. Move on, man. Get a fresh start.” His sunglasses stay perched on his nose, despite it being nearly 10 PM. “The world’s full of new faces, and she’s giving you the look. Don’t waste it.”

Suguru observes silently, his thoughts still lingering on the implications of Toji seeing Y/N’s profile.

It’s clearly weighing on him more than he’s letting on. Something’s off, and it’s not just about the woman in the red dress.

“Honestly,” Satoru continues, his expression sobering a bit, “you’ve got to stop torturing yourself. If she’s moved on, so should you. Don’t waste your time on someone who doesn’t even think about you anymore!”

Toji’s grip tightens on his glass again, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

Satoru’s voice slices through the fog in Toji’s mind. “You know what I’m saying, right? Y/N’s just a chapter. The rest of your story’s still unwritten.”

The table falls into a heavy silence, even Sukuna seems mildly uncomfortable, the weight of the moment settling in. Suguru’s fingers remain tight around his glass, his unease growing.

After what feels like an eternity, Toji exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“Yeah,” he mutters, quieter now, “I hear you.”

His gaze drifts back toward the bar, the woman in the red dress still lingering in his peripheral vision.

This time, he doesn’t look away.

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The morning light filters through the curtains as you sit at the small table in your cozy home office, a cup of tea cooling beside you.

Megumi had already been sent off to school, his tiny school bag slung over his shoulder with a quiet goodbye and a kiss to his cheek.

The day stretches out in front of you—one that should be filled with excitement as you prepare for your son’s upcoming birthday. But instead, you find yourself distracted, too caught up in your thoughts to focus on much else.

Today, you’d decided not to open up the shop.

There was no rush. The quiet hum of the day gave you space to focus on what mattered most: the little things that would make Megumi’s birthday special.

You had spent the morning working on the invitations, carefully cutting out star-shaped glitter and drawing planets by hand. It was a space-themed party this year—his favorite.

The thought of his face lighting up when he saw everything come together made your heart swell with anticipation. It was going to be perfect!

But after a while, you felt the weight of exhaustion creeping in, a dull ache in your back from bending over the crafting table for too long. You needed a break.

You let yourself slump back in the chair, your fingers instinctively reaching for your phone.

Scrolling through your social media feed, you absentmindedly flicked through posts about upcoming events and news. Until a headline stopped you cold.

“Japan’s Top Bachelor, Taken?”

Your eyes flicker to the article without thinking much of it.

It’s something you’ve seen before—rumors swirling about Toji, the man who once held your heart. But this time, it’s different. The accompanying picture catches your eye immediately: Toji, dressed in his usual sleek suit, his tall figure almost impossible to miss. But what freezes you is the woman standing beside him.

Her red dress—a flash of color that pops against the dark interior of the bar. She’s holding his hand.

A tight knot forms in your stomach, the familiar ache making its way back to your chest. He’s moved on. Of course he has.

It’s been years!

The two of you hadn’t spoken in ages, and yet, seeing him with someone else feels like a punch to the gut, a reminder that you’re no longer a part of his life.

Your finger hovers over the phone screen, the headline now a blur as your eyes focus on the image.

His hand is entwined with hers, the kind of intimacy that once felt so natural between the two of you. The way he held you, so easily, so without hesitation. The look on his face, carefree, almost like he belongs in this world of flashy lights and shallow glances.

A soft sigh slips from your lips before you even realize it.

Why does this hurt so much? You’ve done your best to let go of him, to bury all those emotions that once felt so real, so impossible to erase.

He’s been gone from your life for so long, replaced by a new reality, one that revolves around Megumi and the quiet routine you’ve built.

So why does it feel like your heart is shattering all over again?

You try to shake it off, forcing yourself to move past the photo, to focus on the tasks at hand. You look at the half-finished invitations, the space-themed designs scattered across your desk.

The small part of you that is still you pulls yourself together. Megumi’s birthday is what matters today. That’s your priority.

But even as you return to the crafting table, the ache in your chest doesn’t go away. You can’t shake the feeling of his absence—of the life that once existed between the two of you. The ghost of it lingers, no matter how much time has passed.

Toji’s hand in another woman’s. It’s a picture you never thought you’d see.

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435 notes · View notes

5sospenguinqueen · 1 year ago

Text

Bedtime Stories Pt 2 | Daniel Ricciardo x Author! Reader

Summary: Daniel made a silly little comment that lost him everything. Over a year later, he tries his hardest to fix his mistakes.

Warnings: Swearing. A tiny smidge of angst but mainly fluff. Redemption for Daniel.

Female reader with various faceclaims (pics found on pinterest). Takes place in 2023. For the purpose of this, Daniel has been with AlphaTauri the whole time.

Main Masterlist

prev.

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28•05•2023

danielricciardo just posted

liked by redbullracing, YourUserName and others

danielricciardo monaco, always a delight. P11. so close to the points but racing through your streets feels like being on a podium

4,337 comments

landonorris and whose attention are we trying to grab with that sexy last pic 👀

→ danielricciardo only yours, mate

→ User1 don’t act like you’re not dying inside because y/n liked this

→ User2 relax, they never unfollowed each other 🙄

maxverstappen1 you’ll get them next time, mate

→ danielricciardo fancy giving me a tow?

→ maxverstappen1 never

→ User3 i love their friendship so much

User4 um, did anyone see that y/n liked and then unliked this post

→ User5 omg yes! sis was caught stalking and we love her for it

→ User6 i too would thirst over my ex if he looked like that

kellypiquet we were watching the whole time

liked by danielricciardo

→ User7 what a weird comment to make?

→ User8 who’s we, kelly?

→ User9 what does this mean?

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04•06•2023

Tweet 1

User10 @ kikiki babe did you hit your head? is that why you were in the ER? they broke up

User11 @ kikiki maybe ask them to do a head scan whilst you're there 'cause ain't no way you saw here there

→ User12 literally. like why would she even be in spain right now?

Tweet 2

User11 i think we might have to apologise to @ kikiki

→ User10 can we really trust the wag page though? They did report that Lando was having a secret love child the other week..?

Tweet 3

User13 asking the real questions because she's not even hinted that she’s been writing so it’s not like she’s on a book tour or anything?

→ User14 some people are saying she could be on vacation but please, why would mother choose a holiday destination during a time that she knows is a GP?

User15 guys, guys, I think our sacrifice circle worked

→ User16 please, please, 🕯️🕯️

User 17 how poetic would it be though if they got back together during the spanish GP when they broke up at the spanish GP a year ago

User18 shouldn’t you know these answers, and that she was in spain, if you're her so-called updates page

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22•08•2023

YourUserName just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and others

YourUserName some big news approaching

6,349 comments

kellypiquet i can’t wait, my beautiful girl

→ YourUserName thank you for being my #1 support

→ kellypiquet thank you for letting me help plan

→ User1 what does this mean?

→ User2 miss piquet stop being so cryptic on socials

maxverstappen1 i’m very excited

→ YourUserName did kelly force you to write that because i could feel the excitement oozing through the screen

→ maxverstappen1 i wanted to say something worse

→ YourUserName i hope she leaves you

→ kellypiquet behave, you two!

→ User3 i live for max and y/n terrorising each other, even without danny ric being around to encourage it

bloomsburypublishing we look forward to the end result

User4 i’m sorry but is this a soft launch?

User5 who is that in the last slide, miss y/n?

→ User6 the inspiration behind a new romance we hope

User7 don’t be shy. tag him

User8 soft launches have recently become my least favourite thing

charles_leclerc are you perhaps writing my next plane read

→ YourUserName depends how long the flight is

→ User9 confirmation of a new book ya’ll!! everyone say thank you charles

User10 i like to be edged by her books, not by her hiding her man

User11 don't try and distract us with news of a new book, we wanna know who the feet belong to!

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01•09•2023

danielricciardo just posted

liked by maxverstapen1, yukitsunoda0511 and others

danielricciardo ciao a tutti. lovely sightseeing in beautiful Italy

6,445 comments

User12 you’re telling me that i’m currently in the same country as THE daniel ricciardo?

kellypiquet i’m still trying to recover from that hike

→ User13 kelly and max went on a double date with daniel and the new girl?!

→ User14 omg please be y/n. i can’t imagine kelly agreeing to it otherwise

User15 i know he's trying to distract us with his beauty but we see the last slide, daniel. we see it

pierregasly so you’re telling me that you were in milan and didn’t bother to come and see me? that’s it. i'm ending our friendship

→ danielricciardo i’m sorry, mate. i was doing more important things

→ pierregasly clearly ;)

User16 someone check on y/n, please

→ User17 babe is clearly having the time of her life in italy (yes, i'm delusional)

User18 does nobody find it odd that he’s posting a soft launch not long after y/n posted a soft launch

→ User19 i know! it’s only been three weeks since hers and he’s posting one

→ User20 i can’t decide whether they’re soft launching each other or he’s trying to make her jealous by flaunting a new relationship as well

→ User21 it HAS to be each other or i will die

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15•10•2023

lando.jpg just posted

liked by YourUserName, danielricciardo and others

lando.jpg so i attended this event… and no, it’s not mine before you all freak out

8,223 comments

charles_leclerc it was a beautiful day ❤️

alexandrasaintmleux i’m so thankful to have been a part of such wonderful memories

kellypiquet the most beautiful bride i have ever seen

maxverstappen1 this was a nicer caption than i expected from you

→ danielricciardo agreed

→ landonorris i take offence to that

User1 guys do we think kelly and max got married? they’ve both commented on this?

→ User2 yes but so did charles and alex so…

→ User3 plus, i know kelly is stunning but do we really think she would call herself the most beautiful bride in 3rd person?

georgerussell63 i’m surprised you remember much after the state you were in

→ landonorris excuse you but most of that was just pure happiness

hulkhulkenberg an amazing day

estebanocon so happy to have been a part of this

alex_albon how’s the hangover, mate

→ landonorris i didn’t drink that much!

→ georgerussell63 tell that to the bouquet that you puked on

→ landonorris i caught it so it was mine anyway

carlossainz55 beautiful photos. she’ll love those

→ User4 who’s she?!

lewishamilton🤍🩵

fernandoalo_official congratulations to the happy couple

User5 the entire grid are commenting on this post, clearly having been in attendance. who IS IT?

pierregasly c’était une belle mariée

liked by YourUserName

User6 guys, y/n’s name on socials just changed from y/l/n to ricciardo

liked by danielricciardo

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03•04•2024

YourUserName just posted with danielricciardo

liked by kellypiquet, maxverstappen1 and others

YourUserName my husband helped with this project. baby ric coming aug 2024

9,550 comments

kellypiquet you will be the most beautiful mother. i’m so honoured to be part of this with you 💕

→ YourUserName stop you’re going to make me cry. you’ll be the most perfect godmother

→ kellypiquet i still think you should've married me instead

maxverstappen1 i call godfather

→ landonorris no you don’t get to call godfather! you already got to be a groomsman

→ maxverstappen1 yeah because who helped get them back together

→ YourUserName kelly

→ danielricciardo me

→ YourUserName no, babe

danielricciardo and before you all ask, no I haven’t stopped crying since she told me

→ kellypiquet me too, dan, me too

maxverstappen1 on a serious note, i am very happy for the two of you. y/n will be a wonderful mother, and daniel, he’ll be there also

charles_leclerc i am so excited. alex keeps telling me to stop buying baby things for you guys but i just don’t listen

→ YourUserName well at least you can safely say that uncle charl bought little mcqueen’s love

→ User7 uncle charl!!!!

lewishamilton congratulations, you two. y/n looks amazing

fernandoalo_official how lovely 💚

User8 omg it WAS their wedding lando attended!!!!!

hulkhulkenberg baby ricciardo!!

pierregasly congratulations. i can’t wait to be uncle GASSLYYYYYY

alex_albon welcome baby ricciardo

→ lilymhe it’s not an alien, alex. you don’t have to greet it so formally

redbullracing we’re all so excited for the upcoming grid baby. working on a racer stroller right this minute

→ mclaren you stole our gift idea!

→ redbullracing you stole our driver!

carlossainz55 congratulations y/n and daniel 😄

mercedesamgf1 what wonderful news 🍼

landonorris i’m just so glad i can go back to calling you mum and dad without daniel wanting to drive his car into the barrier

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

Please don’t hate me for this! I did say from the beginning that Part 2s would be redemption.

I’ve had this planned and written since before Part 1 was published so when half of you then asked for her to get with another driver/move on, I was like noooooo I’ve already planned their baby 😂

As always. Requests welcome. If you have requested, I promise I’m not ignoring it, it’s been added to my queue

Baby Fever Angst Series

Tag list

@bibissparkles @barcelonaloverf1life @rlalliehayes @dullypully @softtina @callsignwidow @lav3nder-haze @minkyungseokie @luvrrish @fall-bambi @evans-dejong @sadsierra2 @justdreamersdream @spookystitchery @dark-night-sky-99 @majusialikesfastcars @luckyladycreator2 @bborra @mrosales16 @reguluscrystals @tvdtw4ever @alwaysclassyeagle @gigicisneros @spanishcorndogs @thecubanator2 @goldenharrysworld @awritingtree @jxnellat @sbrn0905 @hc-dutch @buckybarnessweetheart @ironmaiden1313 @dreamercrowd @yourbane @reguluscrystals @peachiicherries @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e @weekendlusting @leclercsluvs @hannannannannannah @lifeless-firefly @sinofwriting @exotic-iris13 @imperfect-paragon @dan3avocado @barcelonaloverf1life @avillagesperson @hard4ndsoft @justzluv @laneyspaulding19 @danielshoe @chocolatefanunknown @redcrescentmoons

Sorry if I missed anyone!

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frostgears · 3 months ago

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officer's ball

If there was one thing that eventually turned you against the aristocracy, it was the yearly humiliation of you, your handler, and your entire ground crew being forced into beribboned beyond-antique pre-starflight fashion every year for the Officer's Ball. They insisted. They said the nobles needed the human element. They said it'd justify your funding.

"Ammo doesn't grow on trees," the woman who directed your every combat action said. "And if it did, they'd be found growing only in First Landing family gardens. I hate this. I hate these people. Every fucking year, just to keep the program running. Don't they get bored?" and then she burst into tears and you had to do her makeup again, from the beginning.

You didn't mind it so much for yourself. The entitled fat old perverts of every gender trying to grab your ass and catching a handful of hoopskirt were entertaining. So was being forced to sample a continuous mix of canapés, sherry, cocaine, chocolate, PL-2141, and further canapés. If you really worked at it, you could approximate a slight buzz, the faintest echo of what interface drugs did on an average mission day.

But your poor mechanic wasn't used to being groped by the nobility or plied with anything stronger than hangar coffee. By two hours in, she was looking green around the edges and ready to puke in the nearest potted palm. Your avionics specialist, parted from her usual headphones and overlay glasses, was rigid with sensory overload and unable to dissociate because some third son of some electronics bureau minister had her cornered about a harebrained idea and wouldn't let go.

Your handler was worst of all: thoroughly miserable in her tightly corseted dress and constitutionally unsuited to any kind of discomfort inflicted upon her own person, rather than yours. She jumped at the slightest touch, gritted her teeth even more noticeably with every introduction. Your signed or whispered attempts to quietly reassure her that the "mission" was on track and would be over soon caused her to twitch and on one occasion even yelp, startling the admiral responsible for your fuel allocation. You smoothed it over as best you could, insinuating something about "combat nerves" — the old fool might have actually thought she was a pilot! But you didn't feel the need to explain, not that night.

The next day, as you hunted down a rebel tactical element in the hills above Seyan's Folly, she was still hung over. Not hung over enough to not notice when the pinned-down rebel lieutenant started in on an honest-to-God "you're not so different, you and I" speech, but hung over enough that she told your comms operator to cut the audio feed to Command, not your cockpit speakers.

"We're listening," you boomed over external PA speakers, forwarding her orders. "Wait? We're listening? Apparently we're listening."

"Shit. I mean. We're not that different, really, but obviously there's, uh, you're part of a system, and there's, redemption is on the table, I guess, maybe you'd like to, uh… honestly, I was just buying time."

"Don't get cocky, I've had your reinforcements bracketed by smart mortars for the last two minutes," you said. "You never had any time to buy. But… tell me about your side's command structure. Does it have a yearly ball?"

"Are you fucking joking?"

Things got complicated after that, with the improvised extraction, but what the hell, your team already worked well together.

You've had to work for every round and every joule and every mole of active nanomachinery since (much of it wrested from lesser units sent from your homeworld to drag you back) and you share a tiny, noisy cabin with your handler above the large bay of a rebel assault transport.

Maybe you're on the right side. Maybe there isn't one. But they're still letting you pilot, and your handler has happily returned to a tank top, fatigue pants, and what's left of her battered leather jacket, restoring her confident growl over the tactical link. The liaison officer they've got watching you has assured her that there's not a single brocade ball gown in the entire fleet. □

#mech pilot #fluff #microfiction

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kunareads · 4 months ago

Text

gq couple's interview

first installment of the bed chem shorts collection! these two are very special to me and i don't know if i'll ever be ready to part with them so here we are lol.

idek if i like this but i miss them !!!

wc: 1.2k of FLUFF

series masterlist / full masterlist

“hi gq! we’re here to do a couple’s quiz today. satoru is going to fail.”

satoru gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you’ve wounded him. “i literally know everything about you.”

you don’t even blink. “what’s my middle name?”

his lips part. he hesitates. do you have a middle name?

the producer chimes in. “you’ll both guess the other person’s answer. if you match, you get a point.”

“what do we win?” satoru asks.

“confirmation that you know me the way you think you do,” you deadpan.

“well that’s a terrible incentive,” he pouts.

[ round one: the basics ]

what's their favorite color?

you both write your answers. satoru taps his marker against his chin like he’s deep in thought. you tap your board twice before holding it close to your chest.

once you’re both done, you flip the marker in your hand. “this is easy. blue.”

satoru flips his board with a flourish. “blue, obviously. yours is blue, too.”

you flip your board, shaking your head at him. “rainbow.”

he blinks. “i—what?”

you nod sagely. “all of them, satoru. keep up.”

satoru looks directly at the camera.

y/n: 1 | satoru: 0

what's their coffee order?

satoru takes his sweet time, drawing something on the board.

“you don’t like coffee,” you say.

he nods as he flips his board. it says ‘no coffee!’ with a picture of a tiny frowning coffee cup with crossed arms.

“what’s mine?” you ask him, squinting.

he leans back in his chair, smiling triumphantly. “espresso.”

you take a deep breath, then flip your board to him. “iced coffee with three pumps of vanilla sweet cream.”

satoru looks at you like you’re forgetting something. “babe. the song.”

“i do not drink espresso, satoru.”

“but in the song—”

“a song is not a personality trait!”

y/n: 2 | satoru: 0

sweet or savory?

you both write your answers quickly.

you smile at him. “sweet.”

he reveals his answer: “sweet. yours is sweet, too.”

you show him your board. “sweet.”

he grins at you. “see? and you doubted me.”

y/n: 3 | satoru: 1

[ round two: mildly concerning confessions ]

what's their guilty pleasure?

satoru pauses for a beat before writing, biting the end of his marker in deep contemplation.

you smirk. “yours is rom-coms. and you cry at them.”

satoru flips his board over. “skincare.”

“that’s fair. you take, like, 45 minutes in the bathroom at night.”

“i have to let each step sink in.” then, dead serious: “your guilty pleasure is falling asleep to true crime because it ‘helps you relax.’ this causes me physical distress at night.”

you hesitate with a sheepish smile before flipping the board. “true crime.”

he shakes his head. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

y/n: 3 | satoru: 2

what's their go-to karaoke song?

you both write with confidence.

“it’s bed chem for him.”

he flips the board. “bed chem.”

“you’re so full of yourself, satoru.”

he rests a cheek on his hand. “if i don’t sing my own song, who will?”

“and what’s my karaoke song?”

satoru taps his marker against the table on beat. “you’re gonna be popular,” he sings.

you show your answer: “popular from the wicked soundtrack.”

he throws his hands up. “i’m unstoppable.”

you smile at him. “two in a row. you feeling confident?”

he grins back at you. “absolutely. this is my redemption arc.”

y/n: 4 | satoru: 3

what's their drunk habit?

he’s already giggling to himself as he writes. you shoot him a look before finishing your own answer.

“you have zero volume control after one drink.”

satoru scoffs, flipping his board: “becomes an excellent singer.”

you groan. “oh my god, satoru.”

he nods wisely. “it’s true. i ascend vocally.”

you shake your head and address the camera. “bed chem is not just his karaoke song. it’s also what he subjects everyone to when he’s allowed to drink. especially the falsettos at the end.”

satoru leans in. “you’re just jealous. moving on, yours is that you have to pee every ten minutes.”

you shake your head and flip the board. “competitive.” he bursts out laughing, making you roll your eyes. “i hate losing, okay?”

he shakes his head, still giggling. “no, you don’t just ‘hate losing.’ you cried over a game of uno once.”

you point at him. “because why would you make me draw four?!”

y/n: 4 | satoru: 3

[ round three: the soft side ]

what's one thing they do that makes you soft?

you both think about it hard before writing.

you glance at him before you speak. “when i fix your hair or your clothes before we step out.”

he tilts his head. “that is cute,” he says. he flips his board. “i wrote when you reach for my sleeve in a crowd.”

your lips part slightly before you school your expression. “oh.”

he leans back, grinning. “you do it all the time. you don’t even realize it.”

you shrug, looking away. “it’s just… so i don’t lose you.”

satoru raises a brow. “so i don’t lose you.”

you smile. “shut up.”

“i think you wrote when i learn all the words to your songs so i can sing them at your shows.”

you roll your eyes and giggle. “you’re very loud, by the way.” you flip the board. “when he pulls me closer in his sleep.”

he blinks. “wait, really?”

you nod, suddenly a little shy. “yeah. i don’t think you know you do that.”

he tilts his head, a blush creeping onto his face before he smiles. “well. that’s embarrassing for me.”

you smile at him. “yeah, sit with that.”

y/n: 4 | satoru: 3

what's your favorite memory together?

you’re stumped on this one. he finishes writing nearly a whole twenty seconds before you.

you look at him. “our first inside joke.”

he laughs softly before flipping his board over. “the first time you fell asleep on me mid-conversation.”

you blink. “that’s your favorite?”

satoru shrugs. “you were in the middle of telling me a story, then boom. out like a light. right on top of me.”

you shake your head, amused and embarrassed. “you could’ve woken me up.”

he smirks. “you looked peaceful. also, i’ve never been that still in my life.”

you give him a soft smile. “what do you think my favorite memory is?”

“dancing in the kitchen for the first time.”

you squint, your grin growing as you flip your board. “the first time we danced in the kitchen. that was a good night.”

satoru nods. “i’m an excellent dance partner.”

you deadpan. “the back of my head smacked the counter when you dipped me.”

he just beams at you.

y/n: 4 | satoru: 4

what's something they do when they're happy?

neither of you think too hard here.

“i twirl my rings.”

satoru flips his board. “you get extra affectionate with me.”

you furrow your brows. “do i, though?”

satoru grins. “yes. you don’t even notice, but you’re touchier when you’re in a good mood. you kiss my face and hold my hand and sit in my lap and—”

you press your lips together, trying not to smile. “okay, okay, we get it.”

“i think you wrote that i talk too much.”

you snort, flipping your board over. “your face gets soft like a baby.”

he scoffs. “like a baby?”

you nod, delighted. “yeah, it’s like—you just look softer. your eyes get all wide and warm. like a baby deer.”

satoru stares at you. “a baby deer.”

you nod. “exactly.”

the producer cuts in. “and the final score is a tie! 4 to 4.”

satoru sighs dramatically. “rigged.”

you lean over and kiss his cheek. “try harder next time, baby deer.”

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aventurineswife · 7 months ago

Note

Can you write Aventurine's reaction to seeing his baby opening eyes for the first time and revealing Avgin eyes?

A World Worth Seeing

Summary: In the quiet of a desert nursery, Aventurine holds his newborn child for the first time. As the baby opens their eyes, the unmistakable mark of their shared Avgin lineage, Aventurine is overwhelmed by a flood of emotions. Memories of his painful past and the loss of his clan resurface, but so does a newfound hope. Determined to give his child a better future, Aventurine vows to protect them and ensure their life is free from the suffering he endured.

Tags: Dad!Aventurine, Parent-Child Bond, Emotional Reflection, Hope and Redemption, Avgin Heritage, Found Family, Fatherhood, Vulnerable Aventurine, Post-Trauma Healing.

Warnings: Mentions of Past Trauma, Brief Reference to Slavery and Loss, Emotional Content‼️

A/N: CRYING, THROWING UP, 😭 WHY?! Ahem, I love Dad Aventurine or dilfs in general, I hope this fic makes you cry‼️🤗💖🫶

The nursery was quiet, save for the soft hum of the desert wind filtering through the window. Aventurine sat beside the crib, his usually flamboyant demeanor replaced by an uncharacteristic stillness. In his arms rested a small bundle wrapped in soft, white fabric—his child. The baby stirred slightly, their tiny fists curling and uncurling, and Aventurine’s heart beat faster than it ever had at the gambling table.

He hadn’t prepared for this moment, not truly. For all his meticulous strategies and contingency plans, nothing could have readied him for the weight of fatherhood. He gazed down at the infant, his hair falling over his face as he adjusted the blanket.

“Come on, little one,” he whispered, his voice unsteady but warm. “Let me see those eyes.”

The baby stirred again, a soft whimper escaping their lips before they blinked slowly, their tiny eyelids fluttering open. Aventurine held his breath as two vibrant eyes were revealed—magenta and cyan, with the unmistakable black pupils of an Avgin.

His heart stopped.

For a moment, the world fell away. The distant sound of the wind disappeared, the weight of his past faded into silence, and all that remained was the tiny being in his arms. The sight of those eyes—so strikingly familiar yet entirely unique—triggered a torrent of emotions he wasn’t prepared to face.

Memories rushed in like an unbidden tide. His clan. His mother’s gentle voice. His sister’s laughter, long since silenced. The horrors he’d endured, the chains around his wrists, the pain of losing everything. And now, here was his child, carrying the unmistakable mark of their shared lineage. A lineage he had fought to preserve, even as he tried to bury its painful legacy.

Tears welled in Aventurine’s eyes, but he quickly blinked them away, his signature grin faltering for only a moment. “Well,” he finally managed, his voice soft and laced with an unfamiliar vulnerability, “aren’t you full of surprises, just like your old man.”

The baby cooed, their tiny fingers reaching out and gripping Aventurine’s thumb with surprising strength. He chuckled, a sound filled with both awe and disbelief. “You’ve got your Papa’s eyes, huh? I guess fate had a hand in this one.”

For the first time in years, Aventurine felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel: hope. This child was more than a reminder of his past—they were a chance at a future he never thought he could have. A future where his clan’s story didn’t have to end in tragedy. A future where this little one could live free, unshackled by the pain and cruelty that had shaped his own life.

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the baby’s forehead. “Don’t worry, little star,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “I’ll make sure you never have to face what I did. I’ll give you a world worth seeing with those beautiful eyes.”

The baby blinked up at him, their gaze curious and unclouded by the weight of the world. Aventurine smiled, his resolve solidifying like the roll of a perfect hand. Whatever risks he had to take, whatever games he had to play, he would do it all for them.

In that moment, holding his child with their shared Avgin heritage shining back at him, Aventurine realized he’d already won the most important gamble of his life.

If I see more Dad!Aventurine reqs, I'm gonna cry fr‼️😭💔😕

While writing this fic, I saw this, I'm not okay ☹️💔

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bonbonly · 5 months ago

Text

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when I'm down on my knees, you're how I pray - when bishop!max decides to stay for the christmas festivities, chapter!charles leclerc finds it harder to hide his true religion: you. (this is a continuation of Temptation) 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: this is a dark fic! you have been warned! do not read if you are not comfortable with dark fics or any of the following: noncon/dubcon, slapping, p in v, fingering, lactation, oral (m receiving), stoning, almost burning at the stake. this fic contains heavy catholic themes/guilt, and also includes angst and redemption. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.4k 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: based on popular demand, i've made the sequel for Temptation! (read it if you haven't already!) writing this series made me a charles girlie omg

from the light through the cathedral's glass windows, the heavenly father centered his glory around the statue of virgin mary carrying her holy son, the loving baby jesus. above the ledge from where you stood, you glimpsed down to see the swarm of people shuffling into the main altar, getting on their knees as your child's father offered the lord's blessings to each loyal devotee. you watched the gentle smile on his face as he bowed his head, forming a cross on his chest with his hands. a soft amen fell from his lips, his eyes creased together as he giggled at something a child had said to him. his soft nature contrasted his demeanor towards you every night when he snuck into the attic to deliver another basket of bread and milk. he was a different man past the hours of the cathedral, the devil himself. you glanced down to your blissfully asleep bundle of joy in your arms, his tiny hands wrapped your finger as you gently rocked him back and forth. you could've loved the being in your arms had it not been out of a horrendous union that brought you turmoil more than love. you could've had the heart to smother him in kisses like any mother would to their child, to gift him every joy in the world had he been born to a man that you loved.

"you look cold, here have my cloak," charles leaned forward to kiss your forehead, draping the fabric over your shoulders. his head nestled onto your shoulder, ignoring the disdainful expression on your face. both your eyes fell down to your son, his soft coos echoing in the dark room where charles stored his obsessions. love was not in his vocabulary. for if he loved you, you knew he would let you go. charles gave your cheek a soft kiss, letting his warm lips linger on your cold skin, so that you could understand he would always be a part of you. a reminder of your new life as the mother to his child, another servant of god. your shoulders sagged at the declaration inside your head: this was your life. this was how you would spend the rest of your years. buried away in a dark attic where no man shall ever know of you existence - save your son - and you would rot away without the luxury of having a stable family. you envied your friends who were married and had a robust family tree, a dozen children to their name which they had wanted willingly. charles could see the sadness in your eyes, the way your head cast downwards with tears rolling down your cheeks. his breath hitched when the rays of light shone down on you; he saw the weeping virgin stand before him for a split second, her pain from the earthly world, from him. his eyes cast down to his child giggling with his arms outstretched for his father, and charles picked up the infant.

"leo is looking very healthy," he whispered, his eyes flickering to you for confirmation. you slowly nodded your head, your gaze transfixed onto the stone cracks. "i expect some words from you, mon ange."

"he is very healthy," you murmured, slowly lifting your gaze to face his. his eyes hardened into a glare, not happy with your attitude as of late. you acted as if it was the end of the world. what better pleasure would a woman such as yourself have if not being a servant of the lord, the mother to his child, his only possession far greater than the rosary he hung around his neck. he placed his son in the wooden cradle secretly made a long time ago when he first learned you were pregnant, and he grabbed hold of your arm to have you stand on your feet. his fingers dug into your jaw, forcing you to stare at him,

"what is wrong with you? have you forgotten your duties?" he questioned, watching you squirm under his grasp. your pitiful attempts to push him off were swatted away with his free hand, "you could've been a whore on the streets had i not rescued you. the grace of the holy father has led you to me, this is your chance at salvation and yet you act as if you'd rather live in perdition than with the heaven i have gifted you!"

he watched your tears collect onto his fingers, those rosy lips of yours now a small pout. he sighed out loud, repenting for his mistake of treating you so harshly and he leaned down to capture your lips into a kiss.

"oh, ma chère reine, come now. i am only doing this for your good," he kissed away your tears, caressing your face with his thumb. "it is not good for you to cry, i hate to see you cry. i only want to ever see you happy, n'est-ce pas vrai?"

your response is ignored as he sweeps you off your feet, carrying you to the bed he had placed besides the cradle. there was a small curtain that separated the "room" between yours and your son. charles laid you onto the mattress as if you were a dandelion, at any second you could be blown away out of his arms. his lips found your forehead once more, his touch gentle that for a moment, you were fooled into thinking that maybe he did love you. maybe, despite all the horrible things he had done to you, you could be safe in his arms. with parted lips, he cradled your face in his hands to pepper your face with kisses. your weeping eyes, your red nose, those cold cheeks and those rosy lips that always beckoned to him like the devil that you once were. his lips traveled down your neck, providing your bosom with open-mouthed kisses that were sure to leave marks. you were his, and had it not been his fate to serve for the lord, he would've married you as soon as your belly swelled with his child. it would've been a child out of wedlock and it still was but he didn't really care, but you were a mother. a beautiful mother that gave birth to such an extraordinary child. he undid your corset, letting the fabric slide down as his fingers popped through the strings of your shirt, revealing your swollen tits, already leaking with your milk.

the cross on the valley of your breasts was now a pale scar, and his fingers ghosted over the memories of events precisely a year ago. when he made you his. you weren't even looking at him, your attention on the curtain with your son's soft snores flooding the room. it sickened you that there was no comfort anywhere. charles rolled your nipples around with his thumbs, applying pressure on your hardening peaks as your milk trickled down gently. he squeezed them, leaving his mouth wide open to catch your strays. you always tasted so good. he almost envied his own child for being able to nurse off of you. he moved to nestle himself between your legs, hiking the skirt up. he kissed your ankles, using his free hand to push your panties to the side. spitting onto your cunt, he watched his own saliva glide down your folds, spilling onto the bed beneath the both of you. he would've taken his time with you had he not been occupied with his role as the chapter priest, but nonetheless his throbbing cock was free from its confines and he pushed into your velvety walls, groaning at the sensation. even after birthing a child, you still felt so good. so warm. you felt like home to him. he rocked his hips against yours, smiling when you finally broke your vow of silence to moan out loud and he leaned over to capture your areola in his mouth, drinking up the milk you had to offer him. his thrusts were always sharp, burying himself to the hilt to ensure that even without him filling you up, you'd always feel him inside.

"si parfait et tout à moi," he whispered, tilting his head up to watch you throw your head, completely gone in pleasure. he wrapped his arms around you, pressing your body flush against him, his cock drilling into you with fervor. "that's it, you can cum for me..."

that's all you needed to let yourself go, lips parting into an oval shape as you let out a guttural moan, sobbing into his arms. he silenced your whimpers with his lips, his cock still pummeling into you with erratic thrusts that signaled his climax was approaching. his goal was to fill you up again and again, hoping you'd be able to grow his family. you were so beautiful like this, slumped out against the bed, completely spent. upon hearing leo fussing, he dressed himself up quickly and scooped the baby up in his arms. you deserved some rest anyway.

"you have such a beautiful mother, you are so lucky leo. the lord has bestowed everything you ever need to you, un garçon vraiment très chanceux" he smiled. your eyes traveled up to the debilitated ceiling, unsure if your body could take the toll of having any more children. leo's birth was so tiresome, and it didn't help that you were kept as a secret. charles had acted as if he wasn't the actual father of the child, and he had your face covered so that no one could see that you were back from the supposed dead. you barely had time to recover from giving birth when charles immediately placed you on the wagon to head back to the cathedral. it was a nightmare you never wanted to relive ever again.

charles had left you and the baby to sleep, locking the door behind him. he trusted you enough not to try and escape him, but he knew for sure if you were willing to stay with him. the lord worked in mysterious ways, and perhaps his doubts were best to be cleared after a few hours of prayer. as he descended the back staircase, he passed by father gasly's cell who grinned at the sight of his friend.

"father leclerc! i was just wondering where you could've gone, mon cher ami, you almost could've missed it!" the french man slapped his hand onto charles' back, guiding him down the hallway.

"missed what?"

"bishop max is coming to spend christmas week with us. he was issued by the pope to see how large the spirit is during the holidays," father gasly explained, and charles rolled his eyes. since the day he joined the church, he'd always hated max. it didn't help that max had such close connections to the former pope at such a young age. if charles was the golden boy to his church, max was the son of the catholic religion. it was so clear that in another 10 years, max would become the pope one day. charles hated him for it, he already saw what was going to happen: max would come over and gloat in his face. he always used to beat him to prayer, getting the guidance offered by the senior priests first and charles would get the crumbs. he sucked his teeth, stepping into the main altar to find archdeacon vasseur laughing along with a man in a pointed hat, a cane in his hand that he tossed from one side to another. the archdeacon glanced over the man's shoulder to see charles, a wide grin on his face as he greeted the young man.

"ah, father leclerc! look who has brought glory to our cathedral with his presence!" the old man laughed, and charles' jaw went taut at the sight of max standing there, a crooked smile on his lips.

"ah, father leclerc! such a pleasure to see you again!" max's accent was still as thick as charles last remembered,

"good to see you again bishop verstappen," charles bowed his head slightly, feeling all his anger boil up to his head. he bit his tongue, remembering father bozzi's words from a year ago: never let your emotions get the best of you. keep that tongue of yours in check. charles clutched onto his rosary, hoping the holy cross would burn into his palm so that he would remain silent.

"you may call me father, no need for even more formalities," max laughed, "now i haven't been to this cathedral in quite some times. looks a bit worn, does it not?"

"we have so many visitors that our focus is mainly on them," charles snapped, ignoring the blatant side-eye father gasly was giving his friend. max raised an eyebrow, a hint of an amused smirk on his lips,

"i suppose so. i might need to go around this entire place. do some checks and see what could be added before christmas. pope hamilton said this place was one of the holiest in the world, and it ought to look like it." max adjusted his hat, glancing around the altar with an indifferent expression on his face. using his cane, he pushed charles to the side before walking off.

"what did pope hamilton see in him to promote him to bishop?" charles seethed, and father gasly nudged him with his elbow,

"father leclerc, jealousy does not suit you. if he heard you, he'd have you-"

"let him hear, i don't care. walking into my church and acting like he owns the place," he scoffed.

"your church?" father gasly snickered, "is this church not in the rightful ownership of the holy father? you don't own anything save your bible and rosary."

charles stared at his friend with a very dark expression on his face. he did have ownership. maybe not to the church, but definitely you and your child. he held his tongue, moving towards the altar to get onto his knees and pray. the father from the heavens had to ensure nothing bad would happen with max's presence. christmas was only a few days away, and the last thing charles' needed was a reflection on his cruel actions. no matter how many times he convinced himself that he was doing the world good by having you as his personal whore, he still felt like something was amiss. the light from the cross above him always seemed to dim when he stood before the altar. the organs did not sing the same tunes it once did when he pressed his fingers upon the keys. a mystery that he could not understand. the rosary around his neck reflected the light from the glass panels, right onto his heart. his eyes were closed, however, blind as always to the message the lord gave him.

max had past the hallway to the individual cells for the priests, but his eyes quickly caught hold of the staircase that was covered in sooth and dust. he frowned, running his fingers over the railings and recoiled in disgust at the dirt that stained his pale skin. he shook it off and grabbed his cane, tapping at the wood to make it wouldn't collapse onto him if he decided to climb the staircase. when his checks were through, he carefully ascended up to the top of the cathedral where the gargoyles slept peacefully. the bell-ringers were out for break so he wouldn't have to deal with their thousand questions. from what he could see, it was an open empty space, a clear view to the village down below. there was a room at the end of the passageway that had a few windows. he assumed it was for the bell-ringers to take short breaks and was about to head back downstairs when he heard a slight hum travel through the air. he circled back to the room, taking note of the lock on the door. pressing his ear against the door, he could hear a baby laughing while another voice sang soft lullabies. max moved to the window, peering through the bars to see you sitting on the ground, holding your son up as you took note of the way his legs scrunched together. you bent down to kiss his nose, watching his little face light up.

"didn't know the church held its own nursery here," max watched you stare at him with wide eyes, fear in your features as you held your baby firmly against your chest, his little head nestled in your neck.

"w-who are you? h-how... what are you doing here?" you questioned. even the bell-ringers had never come over. charles had convinced them all that they could do their duty one floor down. the well kept secret was now in the hands of a man you didn't even know.

"no need to fear me, schat." he smiled, "i'm bishop verstappen. i've come here to celebrate christmas with your church."

there was some sort of an edge in his voice, something that you could not explain. you glanced around your room, trying to avoid his sharp gaze. you never realized how suffocating this room really was until now. you set leo back down in his cradle, feeling your back being burned just being in his line of sight.

"you live here?" max inquired, the sound of his cane raking against the bars of the window making you clutch your ears. the metal scraping brought back horrid memories of the confines charles had you in, the whip of air as the flog drew red marks on your tits. you clutched your chest, still feeling the edge of the rosary being dragged on your skin to form the cross.

"y-yes," you breathed out, peering over your shoulder to see what new devil was at your doorstep. he frowned, tilting his head,

"interesting. and who knows about you? other than me of course."

you debated on telling him the truth. should you tell him the events from a year ago? but what if he was just as bad as charles? what if he found out you were originally a heretic and wanted to kill you? you gulped, deciding to play safe in the moment, "father leclerc, but he is nice enough to gift me bread and milk for the baby and i. aside from him, no one else knows."

"father leclerc does charity work? that's new of him," max snickered, "he keeps you locked away in here, though. do you offer him service for his hospitality?"

"n-no," you whispered, gulping, "none of that kind."

"a child out of wedlock," max pointed towards the cradle where leo was fast asleep, "and father leclerc has pitied you for it? he never was the type to do so. he was always stuck up from what i remember."

"he has changed."

"very much so indeed." max's lips formed into a thin line, "well, i shall see to it that you are free from your confines. a woman such as yourself should have the right to roam around this cathedral freely. as long as no one sees your baby, you should be safe." had he known the truth of your situation, you knew he wouldn't have been so kind to you. you nodded your head, listening to his footsteps fade away. you collapsed onto your bed, head in your hands as you thought about what would happen if charles came to hear of this.

charles was listening to a father lament about his dying son, torn between wanting to give him a proper burial but not having enough money to do so. he furrowed his brows, feeling sympathetic towards the man and he took off one of the rings given to him a long time ago by his late father. it was made out of gold, and he usually wouldn't have parted with it but he figured his father would rather the ring be used for something good than just an accessory. he dropped the ring into the palm of the man's hand and bowed his head,

"it is not quite equal to your son's burial but as stated from genesis 23:6 - none of us will withhold from you his tomb to hinder you from burying your dead," charles began, watching the man's face light up, "bury your son with the money the ring offers. if one dares question you, bring him to me and i shall discuss with him. may the lord guide your son's soul to the heavens. i shall send a chaplain soon to your quarters for his last rites."

the man held onto charles' hand, kissing it gently with tears in his eyes, "thank you, father leclerc. thank you, thank you. the holy father has done us all great service by having you among us."

charles' chest tightened at his words, a sensation that became more frequent these days. guilt was eating him alive, but he did not know why. he knew he was continuing the lord's work, being a very devout servant. but in the back of his mind, he remembered you all alone up in that cold room with leo, the sad look in your eyes. he watched the man exit the tall doors of the cathedral, and he caught hold of the statue of virgin mary carrying the infant jesus. his chest tightened once more, remembering the weeping virgin he saw in your eyes earlier. right when he was about to head back to his cell, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. much to his dismay, it was bishop verstappen and charles rolled his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek.

"father verstappen, did you have a nice tour of our church?" charles glared at him, wanting to make his disgust extremely evident.

"mhm, very nice. i just didn't think you to be so charitable. giving away your father's ring just like that?" max sighed,

"i had nothing to bury my father in when he passed away. i only wish for this man's son to not suffer the same fate. everyone deserves to be buried," charles responded.

"tsk, tsk, tsk, you have gotten much softer, father leclerc, last i remember you were very keen on banishing my soul to hell if given the opportunity."

"that hasn't changed, actually. i'm just trying to be cordial since pope hamilton sent you here." charles growled, "charity is a good thing."

"i never argued with you about it, i'm just surprised the extent to which your charity goes." max narrowed his eyes, "and in the name of charity, i hope you haven't abused your rights as a servant to the lord. the kleine duif wishes to escape her cage. don't keep dogs tied up for too long."

charles gaped in horror as max walked off with a knowing smirk. he straightened his shoulders, glancing up to the ceiling of the cathedral before grabbing his rosary and heading up the back staircase. unbeknownst to him, max saw the chapter priest swiftly ascending the staircase and the bishop laughed to himself, realizing that he had charles exactly where he needed him to be: beneath him at all costs. the pretty dove upstairs was a sight for sore eyes, and by no means was max a perfect man. he had flaws, too. as any man would. years of celibacy could not be easily achieved in this modern world. not when women such as yourself always tempted the innocent priests into sin. he wondered if charles had ever touched you, ever marked you as his. there was no way he wouldn't have, but charles was always known for being so perfect and prudish that it wasn't far out of the question to assume that he was only helping you and nothing else.

charles had unlocked the door to your room, his chest heaving in anger as he saw you laying on your bed with those empty, forlorn eyes. he slammed the door behind him, marching over to see you sitting up on the bed with a finger to your lips.

"you'll wake the baby," you chastised him, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you to him,

"did anyone see you?" he hissed, "answer the truth. if you lie to me, i won't hesitate to have you punished for your disobedience to me."

you swallowed, thickly and shook your head slowly. he could see your eyes gloss over, the rosary shining in your eyes. he grabbed your hair and yanked it backwards, disregarding your pained whimpers,

"do. not. lie. to. me." he punctuated each word with a slap to your face. you bottom lip quivered, your scowl deepening, "tell me the truth. who saw you here? was it max?" he would never give the title to a man he hated, much less the respect he deserved.

"max saw me," and you brought out your hands to try and calm charles down, "b-but i didn't tell him anything. i only said that you had me here to save me from the outside world. you were giving me a place to hide my baby and me!"

he raised an eyebrow, "and how should i believe you?"

"you have to trust me, charles!" you begged, growing frustrated at his lack of respect for you, "if i wanted to jeopardize your future at this church i would've done that a long time ago!"

"oh, really?" charles laughed bitterly, "so you've thought about that before have you not? is that what you're telling me?"

"charles, no!" you cried out, struggling to escape his firm grip in your hair, "you're not listening to me! the door was still locked, all max did was ask who i was and i lied to him! he does not know about our arrangement, he does not know anything!"

"get on your knees," charles hauled you off the bed, dragging you onto the stone floor, "open that mouth of yours. unless your mouth serviced me, i'll assume you have used it to speak lies."

you groaned out loud, clamping your mouth shut as you glared at him. that defiance, that anger in your eyes. he'd last seen it when he first captured you. if looks could kill.

"open your mouth, espèce de petit diable," he commanded, his voice brooking no disobedience. "take my cock into your lying mouth and let it purify your wicked tongue." he pressed the swollen, throbbing head of his cock against your lips, rocking his hips to let his cock slide against your sealed mouth. his fingers tightened in your hair, yanking it harshly and when you cried out in pain, he slipped his cock inside your throat, giving you no space to breathe as he began to fuck your throat harshly. tears streamed down your cheek, your drool seeping down your chin as you stared at him with pure hatred in your eyes. he took note of the expression on your face and he snarled as he forced your head to the base of his cock, your nose pressed against his pelvis.

"take the holy sacrament deep in your lying throat. let it purify your wicked soul." He held you there, buried to the hilt, as he ground his hips against your face, his heavy balls slapping against your chin. "god commands it," he panted, his voice filled with lust, "you cannot deny his will. you cannot refuse your sacred duty to serve his servant, to serve me."

you struggled to swallow all of his cum when he came, coughing and gagging uncontrollably, spluttering out his semen. you watched him tuck his cock back in his robes, grabbing your hair once more so that you could look at him, "let this be a reminder, mon cœur, i won't be so forgiving next time. no one sees you, no one other than leo and me." and with that, he stormed out of the room and locked the door. you laid on the ground with a hoarse throat, sobbing on the floor. was this the "lord's" method of punishing you for being a heretic? in what world was this supposed to make you love the holy father? your questions are silenced by the exhaustion that took over your body. your bitterness was only heightened when you noticed how leo was still fast asleep. the plump baby always slept without a care in the world after he had his dose of your milk. you wished you could sleep in peace like that.

it was a rule that after you misbehaved, you would have to seek forgiveness from the holy father. the only way to do this was to walk with charles down to the main altar very late at night when everyone was asleep. he took note of your busted lip from his abuse earlier in the day, running his thumb over your bottom lip as you winced in pain. he muttered a soft apology, kissing your forehead before taking leo from your arms. you needn't burden yourself so much, besides your only focus should be on being forgiven for your sins. while you moved forward to begin your prayer, father gasly had woken up from his sleep to grab some water when he saw charles holding a baby in his hands. he frowned, approaching the latter,

"father leclerc, whose child is that?" he asked, and charles was just about ready to punch his friend. having to explain himself out of this one would be quite difficult. charles glanced down at his son, taking note of his peaceful features. his little fingers were wrapped around charles' forefinger, and he smiled at the sight. it reminded him of the older man from earlier in the day, asking to bury his son. charles' felt the air in his lungs freeze for a split second, imagining if he would have to do the same for his little boy in the future. it was a thought that scared him. he never wanted to lose leo, he never wanted to lose you. he inhaled, sharply and looked up at father gasly,

"i saw this little boy at an orphanage. i didn't have the heart to leave him out there in the cold so i took him in. he's beautiful isn't he?" charles' cooed, kissing leo's nose.

in the meantime, you had gotten to your knees and clasped your hands together. no matter how many times charles taught you how to pray, it never was an easy task. not when you still refused to believe in the existence of a higher being. if such a god existed, why didn't he save you? why would he have let you be tormented like this? you stared at the cross, tears welling up in your eyes at how hopeless everything seemed. you casted your eyes downwards, remembering what charles had said to you months before when you were faced complications in your pregnancy. your eyes had to be hidden. no one should know about your existence. no one should recognize.

"and if in the case someone meets your eyes, and sees you as (y/n) (l/n) the whore who used to dance in festivals and preach hersey with her followers, i shall find a diamond-encrusted dagger and gouge your eyes out so that no one shall remember what you used to look like..." charles' words echoed in your ears. you shook as you pretended to pray, your head empty with silence surrounding you. you felt a presence besides you, and you turned to tell charles that you had finished your prayer when instead you faced max.

"he's finally let you out, what a surprise," he whispered. you snapped your head back to the cross, your breathing now rapid as you tried to calm yourself. he took note of the way your breasts - from the small glimpse he had under your cloak - rose and fell in quick successions. "schatje, i've told you before, you need not fear me. i won't do anything to you."

"i cannot risk it. i cannot bring attention to myself," you whispered, and max rolled his eyes,

"there's barely anyone awake at this hour. come, i know a good place." he held out his hand, standing up on his feet. you hesitantly accepted his offer, finding it strange that he was treating you so kindly. he was asking, rather than demanding. you knew following max into the confession booth would land you in much more trouble tonight, but sat down besides you with a very soft look in those blue eyes. "here, you can tell me anything, schatje. how did you end up here? who is your child's father? whatever you wish to tell me you can."

perhaps it was out of desperation to finally have someone to properly talk to, but you revealed everything to max. you told him about your previous life, you told him how charles was obsessed with you, how he fucked a prostitute dreaming about you and how he burned your house down when your parents were away, kidnapping you and storing you away in the top of the cathedral in that hidden room to teach you the bible. you told him of your baby leo, how he had your eyes. you cared for the baby, but you could never bring yourself to love him. you sighed out loud after finishing your tale, staring at max as you waited for his reaction. he merely licked his lips, leaning his head back on the wall of the booth as he processed your tale.

"so the baby... is charles'. i knew the bastard wasn't pure," he chuckled, dryly. your face fell, having expected him to say something else. you were oblivious to their rivalry, already caught up in your own misfortunes. max tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, "ah, my poor lady, you have gone through so much. what all did he teach you?"

"he used to read the-" you stopped when you saw max shake his head,

"no, no, not about the bible. what did he teach you in bed?" he pried your lips open with his thumb, letting your mouth envelop around his digit as you began to suck. "such a good little slut, fuck... i can see why he chose you. i have to give it to him."

"for christ's sake, pierre," charles snapped out of the formality he usually gave his friend, "pierre, snap out of it. the baby was abandoned, no more questions out of you." he was still stuck up in the cell of father gasly, rolling his eyes at the millionth question he had to answer.

"oh come on, charles," pierre scoffed, dropping his act of formality as well, "it's a cute baby. what awful creature would leave this baby to die?" he turned to face the infant, peppering his little face with kisses before pressing his cheek against his own, "can i keep the baby, charles? he's so cute."

"he's not a dog, pierre. he's my-" charles paused, clearing his throat before continuing, "he's an infant."

"an infant abandoned so close to christmas! and he has come to our church! is this a sign from the lord?" pierre asked, and charles' shoulders sagged. he ran his hands over his face,

"pierre, give the infant back to me. i assure you, it's..." charles paused, picking up max's voice from the distance, "is that father verstappen?"

"possibly, i've been told he likes walking around churches at night since the lord has a different ambience then... isn't that right, leo?" pierre cooed, nuzzling his nose against the baby's face. the infant merely giggled in response, trying to grab onto the chaplain's nose. charles bit his lower lip, the realization of having left you alone at the altar crossing his mind. he smacked his hand on his forehead, hurrying out of the cell.

"wait, the baby!" pierre called out, and charles shook his head,

"you can take care of leo for the night," and he hurried down the hallway, grabbing a candle. his fingers looped through the hole of its holder, and he stormed around the dark cathedral, spinning in circles to see where you could've gone. you weren't in front of the cross, you weren't in the aisles. he stopped for a moment, hearing the squelching of juices coming from the confession booth. he could see a small candle through the holes, the shadows of two bodies dancing together like the flames before him. charles' heart sank for a moment, praying that it wasn't you. it shouldn't be you. you were his, only his. he swung open the door to the confessional, and saw a sight that burned his eyes.

max had the top of your dress bunched down to your waist, his lips wrapped around your nipple, drinking your lavish milk while your greedy cunt sucked his fingers. your head thrown back as you let out soft moans, bucking into his hand as his palm rubbed against your clit. max released your tit with a pop, licking his lips as beads of your milk dribbled down his chin and he brought his mouth to kiss your jaw. he was grinning like a madman, eyes snapping to face charles' anguished expression and he picked up his pace, curling his fingers inside you, scissoring your poor cunt as you let out strangled moans, trying to be quiet. you squirted all over max's fingers, your juices coating the walls of the confessional, breathing heavy.

"the dove's quite the slut, father leclerc," max snorted, "so beautiful and perfect. she'd be my personal whore if i took her with me back to rome," he smiled, licking his fingers and sucking on them to relish your taste. "oh schat, you taste amazing."

"get the fuck out of here," charles hissed, jerking his thumb to the side. max slid you off his lap, standing up and straightening his robe. he pushed past charles, placing his cane at charles' neck,

"she told me everything. you're lucky you're loved so deeply by this church, or i would've convinced them to throw you out a long time ago," he threatened, letting the edge of the cane dig into charles' chest. the sharp pain made him grit his teeth, and when max left to return to his special quarters, charles' dark eyes slowly turned to you. you were shaking in the corner of the confessional, hooking the sleeves of your dress back up your shoulder as you got to your knees,

"charles please, i didn't mean it... it just happened so suddenly, i don't know how to-" a sharp sting bloomed on your cheek as your head snapped to the side. charles' shook his hand, the crack of his lap even hurting him. he looked at you with such disgust,

"i should've known... the devil hasn't left you, has she? she's stored in your heart, n'est-ce pas vrai putain?" he pressed his finger against the scar on your chest, forcing you back up against the wall. his hand shot out to grab your throat, dragging you out of the confessional and onto the aisle. your head hit against the wooden furniture, your temples throbbing in pain as you felt him bunch up the skirt to your dress. without much preparation, he thrusted himself in you in one-go, clamping your mouth shut to silence your screams. he did not care if he was defiling you right in front of the holy cross. this would be a mistake you'd never make ever again. he was your rightful owner, not max. his fingers dug into your hips, hips snapping against yours as he continued to drill his cock into your overstimulated cunt your previous orgasm had still left you in a daze because of max's skilled fingers, and now with charles' cock ravaging you, you were crying and begging for him to have mercy on you. your tits were leaking with milk, your body unable to control the sensations you were feeling. charles' hands groped your tits, squeezing your milk out for his tongue to catch and soon he flipped you onto your stomach, bringing his cock right back into your spent pussy. your gummy walls tightened around him, trying to push him out but it only motivated him to drive further into you. he grabbed your hair, yanking your head to face him as your back arched.

"why can't you see it?" charles hissed, slapping your ass firmly, "why can you never understand? you belong to me! only me! you're mine!" and with each thrust of his hips, his hold on you was loosening. you were sobbing onto the carpeted floors of the cathedral, burying your face in your arms as his cock stretched your unwilling walls into oblivion. "how many times do i have to prove myself to you?"

charles' dropped his head down to the back of your neck, his weight pushed onto you as he continued to snap his hips relentlessly. you could feel tears on your back. charles' tears. "why can't you understand?" he whimpered, wrapping your throat with his hand as he brought you closer to him, "will nothing i do satisfy you? what more should i do?"

his words didn't make sense to you, and you couldn't follow along with what he was getting at. not when he was destroying your poor cunt like this. he pulled out of you just shortly after you silently screamed, cumming around his cock and instead flipped you onto your back so that you could face him. his cock was still achingly hard, the tip all red and angry, waiting to cum. a needy moan escaped his lips, his hands fighting the urge to finish himself off, to let his cum coat your skin. but he was denying himself. instead, he glanced down at you as began to sob,

"you know how much i love you?" he whispered, and your eyes widened, realizing that he had finally said the words you knew he would never feel, "my love for you... i love you... i love you so much. why can't you...." he took in a shaky breath, standing up and confining his cock inside his robes, "i love you so much. i just want to be with you, to be loved by you. i love you so much, why can you never see it?"

since charles' confessions, he distanced himself away from you as much as he could. he'd give sermons and return to his cell. the door to your room was permanently unlocked, giving you access to roam around the cathedral as much as you pleased. it was a stark difference from the man you once knew, and you didn't know if he finally cleared his soul, or if this was a storm brewing. father gasly took care of leo so often that you felt free from the confines of being a mother. charles' would escort you to pierre's cell, insisting that a proper woman could only take care of a child even though the both of you knew it was just so that your son still remembered who his mother was. you'd walk the hallways of the cathedral at night, admiring the various statues and glass panels up close, taking note of its details. charles would stand in a corner, never once meeting your eyes. the thought of even touching you made his skin crawl. his chest always felt heavy, a newfound burden taking a toll on his body with each step that he took around the cathedral. the light on the holy cross no longer dimmed when he stood before it, instead it shined brighter. a chance for redemption, but he did not know how to gain your forgiveness. everything that he had done to you finally freed his clouded thoughts; he was a monster. he was the very devil he had claimed to have seen in you. his lust brought his own ruins, he felt ill every time he gave a sermon about avoiding all sins. he'd whimper in his sleep, feeling like a kicked puppy as he replayed the nights where he'd keep you awake to satisfy his carnal urges. he'd wake up more frequently at night, crying to himself at how unfit he was to be a chapter priest. he should be publicly stoned to death for what he had done. he always felt more than he should, father bozzi always told him that. it surely didn't help his emotions when he saw bishop verstappen talking with you more frequently in the darkness of the night. you were opening up to him more often, actually smiling and enjoying his presence, in a way that you never did with charles. he deserved it, rightfully so. he'd shuffle back to his cell, taking leo into his arms from father gasly and would hum some small lullabies to usher the infant back to sleep. he could not stare at the statue of virgin mary anymore, could not stand to see the imagery of the weeping virgin. he brought this upon you. it was all his fault. he had to make it up to you, but he just didn't know how exactly.

bishop verstappen had slipped a piece of paper to charles to watch out for something important later in the day, a special early christmas present for the chapter priest. it was the morning of christmas eve, most of the people were getting ready to settle with their family for the night. the church had been fully decorated, the bell ringers coming with big wide smiles on their faces as they ran to and fro, getting small gifts from the archdeacon for their work throughout the year. charles had let the church discover leo's existence the night before, letting each of the divisions of priests fawn over his "adopted" son as they put it.

"commendable charity work," father sainz smiled, "you really know how to represent what christmas is really about." and charles smiled, thinly.

you had followed bishop verstappen into the streets of your village. the bright light so foreign to you after so long. you brought your cloak over your face, watching the small children run around. some of the faces you recognized as your neighbors' children, the very ones you'd laugh and play with after you finished your work at your stall. you smiled warmly at the memories, laughing as they nearly bumped into you in excitement for some magic show happening around the corner. the sounds of families giggling and embracing each other on the streets made you miss your own parents. you had to know what happened to them. what would they think if they saw their daughter well and alive. and your friends! frederick, oscar, all of them! you knew they must've missed you. you turned to max, grinning at him as you held onto his hand,

"i want to see my parents. they have to be here." but you failed to see the way his arm recoiled at your touch, the way he stared at you as if he had something far sinister in his mind. he merely pulled off the hood of your clock and with an accusatory finger, shouted at your face,

"the witch! she's a witch! she's back from the dead!"

charles had been on the second floor of the cathedral, pressing the keys to the organ to entertain his son who looked at the instrument in awe. he nearly missed the yelling downstairs if he hadn't stopped toying with the organ. he glanced down to the main altar to find bishop verstappen waiting downstairs with his hands behind his back, a grin on his face. charles could feel that something was wrong, but nevertheless, he approached his enemy.

"what's going on outside? a commotion?" charles' inquired, patting leo's back as he bounced the infant in his arms a couple of times. he took note of the crowd outside the gates to the cathedral and he furrowed his brows, moving to investigate before max grasped onto his shoulder.

"you're free from the devil, father leclerc." max smiled and charles scowled,

"what do you mean?"

"you have such an esteemed reputation at this church," max scoffed, rolling his eyes at the stupidity of charles, "we wouldn't want to ruin it. no one knows about this child, you can't keep the truth hidden forever. so you get rid of the truth."

"i... i'm not following along, what?"

"for fuck's sake," max groaned, shaking his head, "i accused her of being a witch, of coming back from the dead. she'll be burned at the stake later today, and you can thank me for it. all your guilt, all your lustful thoughts, all of it will be gone if she's gone. perfect, is it not? i would've kept her as my personal slut like i said earlier, but there's bound to be a million other women like her."

"are you insane?" charles yelled, startling leo who began to cry, "who asked of this from you? she... she trusted you!" he gulped, thinking about how you must've felt at this moment. putting your trust into a man after he had ruined everything for you, only for this cunt to betray you so openly in front of everyone. charles' anger knew no bounds and he shoved max to the side, storming out of the church to see the sight of you on a stick, hoisted into the air. your head hung low, bruises all over your body after being being stoned and flogged accordingly to your crime. charles' gasped out loud, pushing past the crowd to see them bring you over to the pile of hay in the center of the town square, ready to set fate. he watched the other priests, ones that he knew so well, cheer on for this heretic's damnation. leo cried louder, the screams hurting his ears and charles shielded his son into his chest, and with anxious eyes faced you. with what little strength you had left in you, you glanced up to the sky with tears cascading down your cheeks, blood spilling out of the inside of your mouth and there he saw it.

no longer was the weeping virgin just a flicker of his imagination or a sight meant to fool him, she was there right before him. he could see your tears as the holy water he used in his sermons, the glow around your head ready to accept your fate. no, he couldn't do this. after everything that he had put you through, he had to redeem himself. charles would never forgive himself if he stood to the side and let everyone take advantage of you, not to the virgin mary that he worshipped every day and night.

"enough with this foolishness!" charles' bellowed, stepping onto the pile of hay as he glanced down at the crowd surrounding you. "all of you stop this nonsense!"

he took in a deep breath, waiting for each idiot to silence themselves to let him speak. "enough... what are you all doing?"

"she's a heretic!" one man cried out.

"she's come back from the dead!" another hollered.

"a witch, a witch!" the crowd chanted in unison, and charles stomped his foot and screamed,

"silence!" he took in a deep breath, glancing down to see leo staring at him with wide eyes. he always had your eyes. he gulped, tilting his head back up to face the crowd once more, "today is christmas eve. tomorrow is christmas morning. you want to mark this holy tradition with the killing of a woman? is this what our holy father has taught us?"

he watched the crowd shift awkwardly and he continued, "she has progressed much in her religious journey. she is not back from the dead. she was actually... learning the glories of our savior. listen to me, all of you, put aside your fears. she will not... she won't hurt any of us."

"then what do you expect us to do with her? she's not welcome in this village," charles' stared at the man who said this; it was your own father. he sucked his teeth in, shaking his head and sighing loudly,

"we send her to exile. she stays alive, but she shall never step foot in this village ever again." charles' declared, and despite the crowd coming to agreeance, he glanced to see you staring at him with a look of horror in your eyes. he gulped, turning his back to you as he held onto leo, hoping that the holy father would commend him for saving your life.

the wagon sat outside the back of the cathedral. it was snowing outside, too cold for leo but he had his son bundled up in the finest fabric to ensure his little toes wouldn't get frostbite. he stared at the cross from behind him. something felt... empty inside his heart. he had saved your life, but the thought of sending you to exile. it was all his fault, all of it was his fault. and no matter how long he stayed at this church, no amount of penance could save his damned soul for what he had done to you. he watched you seat yourself on the wagon, face all bruised as you weakly smiled at him.

"thank you, charles... for what you did back there." you whispered, groaning in pain as you shifted in your seat. you saw the pained expression in his eyes, and you cupped his cheek, letting him feel the warmth of you skin. "what you did charles, that was real love."

he fell to his knees at your words, tears pricking at his eyes, "no... no, don't say that. i've done awful things to you. i've been a horrible person. my lust clouded my thoughts, i... i really love you. i can't bear the thought... of... no, i can't let you leave me." he grabbed hold of your hand, bringing it to his forehead as he sobbed. his cheeks flushed into a rosy shade of red as he glanced up at you, "t-take me with you. i can't... i can't live here. not after what i've done. i'll come up with you. we can live together in a small hut, we can just be by ourselves and i'll make it up to you, i swear i will, just give me one more chance mon ange-"

"no, charles," you snapped, "no... i deserve to be free. i deserve to have the life i wanted. and as for leo..." you stretched your arms out, ready to take your infant but charles shook his head,

"i refuse. i refuse to let you go, i refuse to let you take away my son. i love both of you. just say you forgive me, say you'll take me with you."

you sighed out loud, groaning under your breath as you felt a sharp pang of pain course through your veins. you bit your lip, "i think we can come to a compromise then."

your wagon departed with your belongings. you never once looked back at charles as you left. you had said what he wanted to hear: "i forgive you. a life for a life. your debt is paid." but it wasn't enough for him. you left leo to his care, knowing that despite how he had treated you, he would never commit horrors to his child. charles could learn to properly love. you knew he had it in him. his heart was always large, always taken by emotions.

he felt too strongly. it was his curse.

he took leo back into the church, and set him down on the table right before the holy cross. he glanced up to see the holy spirit shine before him, wiping away his tears. there was still a long road for him back to salvation, but he promised that he would attain it. he would make up for all the sins that he had committed. he would spend the rest of his life craving for the love that he felt for you. if only you had stayed. the longer that he served for the church, he realized that he was wrong all along. the holy father could not save his soul no matter how hard he tried. all the countless sermons, the masses, the christmas and easter holidays, the verses from the bibles, the holy crosses, the tears from the weeping virgin, all of it was in vain.

because you were his religion.

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