#like if i thought i had found my soulmate and then found out they were in love w their bff for like more than a decade idk what id do

[takeariskao3]

as per usual, i am late to the memegeddon… but here is a lil something based on this meme from @petalsthefish

James stabbed the last carrot on his plate with a bit more violence than the action called for. However, it had no effect on the conversation happening a few seats down at the Gryffindor table.

“I s’pose the library?” Albert Jenkins-Wright prattled on. “Where do girls like her even hang out?”

Across from James, Sirius snorted.

“And she’s never on her own,” one of Jenkins-Wright’s sixth year mates chimed in. “It’ll be like asking her out in front of her whole dormitory.”

The small group of boys all made equal, yet indiscernible, noises of agreement and glanced around to where the fifth year girls had their heads together. James couldn’t help it, he peeked up as well. The girls in his year were all giggling in hushed tones over their pudding. As he watched, the object of their infernal conversation threw her head back and laughed in full merriment. James’ insides twisted painfully and he refocused on his empty plate.

“Valentine’s Day though,” another of the boys chimed in. “That’s a lot of pressure for a first date, isn’t it?”

James had heard quite enough. He shoved back on his bench and snapped, “She has to say yes first.”

Albert Jenkins-Wright glowered at him. Thankfully, Sirius also stood from his seat, albeit less petulantly, and smirked. “Good luck with that.”

Peter and Remus followed, Remus shoveling his last few bites of potatoes into his mouth. A small slice of guilt broke through James’ foul mood, but he stalked away nonetheless.

“I thought you were attempting indifference?” Peter hissed as they reached the entrance hall.

Out of the corner of his eye, James saw Remus grin. “Yes, I distinctly remember that New Year’s resolution too.”

“Let’s be honest,” Sirius sighed, clapping James on the shoulder. “We all knew it was doomed.”

“Jenkins-Wright is a prat,” James said without any real bite behind it.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Every bloke who likes Evans is a prat.“

“Including you,” Sirius added.

Remus covered a laugh with a cough; Peter sniggered.

As they mounted the marble staircase, James ground his teeth together, determined not to be a prat.

He made it as far as the second floor.

“What kind of name is Jenkins-Wright, anyhow?”

His three friends groaned.

Ten minutes, two floors, and a password later, they found armchairs tucked into a corner of the common room. James had exhausted his complaints about Albert Jenkins-Wrights’s name and had now moved on to his intelligence.

“Like she’d ever go out with a bloke who couldn’t even scrape an E in Charms.” James insisted.

“Do shut up,” Sirius grumbled, settling deeper into the cushions.

James scowled, and had just opened his mouth to release a very un-witty retort when an eruption of giggles tumbled through the portrait hole.

“The tea leaves don’t lie!” Anna Perry cackled while looping her arm through Evans’.

Green eyes flashed and Evans shot her friend a flat look. “Your only proof is a lump of soggy Earl Grey and something about Saturn’s anus–“

“Janus,” Anna Perry stressed. “It’s the moon of discernment, and its current alignment with Venus makes tonight the perfect conditions for predicting–“

As the girls walked by their cluster of chairs, James couldn’t help himself. “What’s this about Saturn’s anus?”

“Never you mind,” Evans spat. At the same time, Anna burst, “I’ve just read her teacup. And it’s fascinating–“

“Hardly.” Evans rounded on her friend. “You think my soulmate is at Hogwarts.”

James’ heart lept into his throat.

“Well, obviously,” Anna huffed, clearly exasperated. “It showed they were near! Could be proximity, could be timing, it could be the next person who asks you out!”

Evans looked increasingly unimpressed.

James, however, suffered a temporary bout of insanity. “Hey, Evans? Go out with me?”

“No,” she replied smoothly, without so much as looking at him.

The rejection was expected, and only made James grin wider.

“See?” Evans gestured to where James leaned over the back of his chair. “By your logic, Potter is my one true love. Some prediction that was.”

Anna’s shoulders slumped. “Fine, don’t believe me. But I know what I saw.”

Evans rolled her eyes and yanked Anna toward the rest of the girls, who had settled at a long table and were pulling out homework.

Watching them go, James sunk back into his seat, unable to control the self-satisfied smirk stretching across his face.

He was met with three expressions of equal disapproval.

“What?” he asked with an air of false innocence. “I wasn’t about to let her fall madly in love with Albert Jenkins-Wright.” When none of his friends showed signs of going along with this farce, James continued, “Apathy is overrated, anyway. Whatever happened to going after what you want, huh? Where are the proper grand gestures? Men used to duel for the hand of a lady, you know…”

Silence hung between the four of them for several long moments before Sirius lounged back into his seat and rumbled, “You’re a nuisance to society.”

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 15

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 2615

Warnings: Angst, suspense, emotional situations, The Tension is Growing, Premonitions.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 15

For a while, you just sat there, your emotions running completely rampant as your thoughts ran laps around your mind. They all knew something that you hadn’t been told. Whatever it was, it wasn’t in your parent's letters, and it was more than Dean had already told you, which you thought had been everything.

Even if you still weren’t convinced he was your soul mate, you had kept your distance from him, only keeping things to friendship. The thought of the whole soul mate thing made your mind snap back to how you’d ended up alone in this room and looked around for a mirror. Finding one hanging over the dresser, you walked over to it and moved your dress so you could see what had only been incoherent lines.

You felt a knot in your stomach as you looked at it. The only letter that had come in was the last one, an n. 

There are other names that end with the letter ‘n.’

You needed to write down every tidbit of information you had at the moment. Quickly scanning the room, you found a notepad and a pen on one of the nightstands. 

No mark at 16. Parents killed at 2. Wounded soul. Shunned by town. Winchesters showed up 3 months before my 25th birthday. Promotion at garage and became Dean’s boss. They joked about him not doing anything funny with me. Sam and Dean knew I didn’t get my mark. Have to fully heal to get my mark. Dean knew something when he met me, and so did the boys at the garage. I could talk to Dean, easily, honestly. He saw me at school. Lisa isn’t Dean’s soulmate. Bobby had us work together on Dean’s first day, and we became friends, quickly. Dean was always thinking of me. The adults knew about the marriage contract and never told me, and they knew my parents hid key documents. Bobby and John were thankful Dean and I hit it off so quickly and became friends.

The more you wrote out, the faster your heart began beating. Most of that had only happened within the first month of meeting the Winchesters. There was so much more that was there, and you needed to see how it all fit together, like the parts of a car. That was how your mind worked, slowly seeing the connections. You’d never wanted to hope to find your soulmate, even after what Dean had said.

My parents left me letters, telling me about the Vaughts. The Vaughts knew what would happen if I lost my parents. They knew about my lineage. They knew I would be an empath.

That last line made you stop and think further.

Wait. Why would that matter? What would be the purpose of making me marry Cole? Why is that important? What about an empath, don’t I know?

You pulled out your phone and began searching online for anything related to empaths and why they’d be important, other than in specific jobs that helped people. There were more things you probably should have written down, but with the questions plaguing your mind, you had to find answers.

Nearly an hour, perhaps longer, passed, and you were still attempting to find anything that would answer your questions. You’d made a few notes, but it was only tiny pieces. One interesting thing was that if an empath found their soulmate, they could hear each other’s thoughts, but there was no conclusive evidence on the distance that worked. That didn’t help your other questions when it came to the Vaught family.

Frustrated, you tossed your phone on the bed and looked back at the list you’d been making. Reluctantly, you picked up the pen and jotted down other things. 

Dean seemed to know what I was feeling even if I hid it. He was always there when I had a nightmare. He never pushed anything intimate. All he ever did was try to comfort me and be there for me. He said he knew I was his soulmate at 16. The Vaughts

At that moment, goosebumps ran down your entire body. The Vaughts knew he was your soulmate. Dean had explained what had happened with that woman, Lisa. Even in your parents' letters, they had told you what the Vaughts were capable of. Now you had new questions, on top of the ones before.

Why didn’t Dean get closer to you? What was holding him back? Why wouldn’t he want to help you heal by being intimately close? What did your twenty-fifth birthday have to do with it all, and why was that date so important? 

That’s when you remembered Sam had told you that the powers that be were keeping this sort of thing from making it to the regular news. You glanced at the closed door of that bedroom and sighed, setting the pen down on the notepad. Yeah, you could storm back down there and demand answers, but what would it accomplish? 

You reluctantly got up and went through your bag, finding some comfortable pajama pants and a tank top. After changing and brushing out your hair, you laid on your back on the bed. You wanted to be alone, but you wanted so badly to have Dean there holding you like he would when you typically felt like this. The fact that he hadn’t come, hurt a bit, but you told yourself he was just busy hanging out with those he hadn’t seen in a while. You’d been the one to storm off.

My life sucks.

The thought made you roll onto your side, pull one of the pillows out from under the covers, and cuddle up to it. Your mark burned again, but you ignored it, no matter how badly it stung. You didn’t want to deal with anything, feeling as overwhelmed as you did. There were far too many questions circling your mind and just as many emotions coursing through your body to let you focus on any one thing, let alone deal with any of them.

With a heavy sigh, you closed your eyes, exhausted in every sense of the word. Your body, mind, and soul needed rest. So, you let the heaviness in your eyes win, slowly closing them as your body relaxed into the mattress, letting sleep take you.

The sounds of hounds woke you sometime in the middle of the night or perhaps very early morning, pulling you from another nightmare. Your heart was pounding, and your breathing was ragged, but you forced yourself off the bed and to the window as the house seemed eerily quiet. The stillness outside on the grounds of Crowley’s property made you think the shadows were moving, watching you. A shiver ran down your body as you watched three large dogs dart across a section of lawn where a lamppost stood.

He’s here…

The thought scared you, and it was hard to breathe, as if something was pressing against your chest.

Dean…

Without thinking, you ran out of your room, needing to find him, more to reassure yourself that he was okay. Halfway down another hall, you stopped dead in your tracks as an image began forming in your mind. 

It was somewhere outside, on Crowley’s land, around his home. Four men in tactical gear were slowly making their way closer to the house, using the shadows to stay hidden. They almost reminded you of what a SWAT team looked like, guns and all. Now you saw dogs, big, black, fierce dogs, more than a dozen of them, moving in packs of three. They were hunting. They, too, were using the shadows to move, just as silently as the four men. Broken glass and a silent gunshot in one of the rooms of the house. The room was blurry, and hard to make out the details. Someone was sitting on the edge of the bed, and there was a dart on the person's neck, but you couldn’t make out enough details.

You shook your head a bit, pushing the images away. With the emotions swirling through your mind and body, you took a shaky breath, steadying your nerves. Something you had read online teased its way through your mind. 

Follow the thread.

For a moment, you closed your eyes, taking slow, deep breaths and letting them out just as slowly. You knew that in order to find it, you had to accept that Dean was your soul mate, which both terrified you and brought you a sense of peace. When you opened your eyes again, you turned to the direction you’d come from, feeling a strange pull.

The darkness in Crowley’s mansion wasn’t what brought the feelings of dread that seemed to seep into your nerves. It was the eerie silence, not even the dogs outside making a sound. The shadows seemed to dance or move of their own accord. You set your hand on the wall, letting it guide you through the darkness.

You tried to find that thread, but it eluded you. Some light came in through the large windows near the stairs that led down the main room. For a moment, you looked outside. The grounds were still, and that stillness felt out of place. A shiver ran down your spine as the hair on the back of your neck stood on end. It was like someone was watching you.

When you were able to pull your gaze from the window, you continued down the stairs, creeping quietly through the main entrance. Cautiously, you opened the dining area doors. You almost felt like a mouse thrown into a game of cat and mouse that you had no control over. Swallowing hard, you looked under the table. You let out a sigh of relief, having found nothing there. Finally managing a deep breath, you pushed yourself through the dining room and into the kitchen. 

The light wasn’t on, none of them were, and you hadn’t come across anyone, not even servants. For a moment, you thought you’d seen the flash of a light outside one of the kitchen windows. Slowly, you crept closer to it, cautiously glancing around. Your heart was pounding so loud you were sure it would give away your location. 

A shadow that moved in the darkness outside the window sent a wave of fear throughout your body. Slowly, your hand covered your mouth, and you began backing up just as slowly. Someone came up behind you when you reached the center of the kitchen, wrapping one arm around you and putting a hand over your mouth. Just as you were about to scream, he spoke.

“Shhh, it’s me, Sweetheart,” he whispered softly, slowly taking his hand from your mouth.

You swung around in his arms and wrapped yours over his shoulders. “I was so worried something had happened to you,” you whispered, keeping your voice down.

“I’m okay,” Dean quietly tried to reassure you, holding you close, while also keeping a watchful eye. “Come on, it’s not safe here.”

Dean quietly but quickly led you to what looked like a study. There were no windows here, but the entire staff, Crowley, and Benny were there. There were also a couple of other men, although you hadn’t met them before. Dean pulled you into his arms after he closed and locked the door, wanting to help calm your nerves.

“Good, you found her,” Crowley said, both relieved and pleased, but he wasn’t happy that Dean had gone looking for you.

Dean just shot him a glare but stayed quiet; his focus was only on you now. Benny stayed leaning against a nearby wall, his arms crossed, unhappy with the situation.

“What’s going on?” you finally asked in a whisper, not wanting to mention the images you’d seen from earlier.

“Nick isn’t one to follow the orders of anyone,” Crowley sighed. “It’s why I arranged to have the three of you brought here until the next court date. The FBI isn’t capable of keeping anyone safe from that family.” 

Slowly, you looked over at him but stayed in Dean’s arms. “You knew they’d come after me?” you asked, a little confused.

“Love, he’s not just after you. He needs leverage, to make you comply. Figured you would have realized that already.” Crowley stated as he shot Dean a knowing look, which you didn’t miss. “That whole family knows they only have so much time before you’re useless to them.”

That made your brow furrow in complete confusion. You pulled away from Dean, looking up at him, now needing answers. “What haven’t you told me?” you asked him bluntly, but also were terrified of the answer.

You saw the sadness flash across his eyes before he hid it, even if he couldn’t look at you. “If Cole marries you before your mark comes in, it won’t matter who your soulmate is, your mark will change to his name, because you’re an empath.” Dean finally confessed quietly.

The silence in the room was deafening, but your heart was pounding, and again, it felt like you could barely breathe. For several moments, all you could do was stand there in a state of shock. It was the final piece to the puzzle that made everything else make sense, and the thought of that terrified you. 

“How do I make my mark come in all the way?” you asked quietly, your voice shaky, and your nerves felt like they were all exposed and firing all at once.

Dean finally met your gaze, as it had never left him. There was pain and hurt in his eyes, but you also saw a hint of hope. You could see his hesitation like he wanted desperately to give you the answer, but something was holding him back.

“Bloody hell,” Crowley’s exasperated words broke the silence. “If you don’t tell her, I will.”

That made both you and Dean jump a little, but you never looked away from him, even when he shot Crowley another glare before looking at you again. He managed a deep breath, but it was shaky. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, the man who had been standing near Crowley, watching monitors, spoke up.

“The Hellhounds have done their job. I’ll inform the police and the FBI,” the man told Crowley, his British accent thick.

Crowley took an annoyed breath, “Thank you, Ketch. You may all return to your rooms. The situation has been handled.”

With a heavy heart, you went to the door first, unlocked it, and headed toward your room. The staff followed you out, Ketch bringing up the rear, but Dean and Benny stayed behind with Crowley. You rubbed the place where your mark was, your gaze on the floor as you slowly made your way back to your room.

Dean’s words seemed to play on repeat through your mind. At least now you understood why the powers that be had kept something like this under wraps. If it got out, there were far too many grim possibilities that could happen. What was bugging you was that Dean knew more; they all did, and you still hadn’t gotten all the answers you needed.

You closed your bedroom door but couldn’t relax, so you paced a few feet from the foot of the bed. Your mind swam with questions. After several minutes, you finally just plopped down on the foot of your bed, frustrated, when you felt a sharp stinging feeling on the side of your neck. Just as you reached for it and your vision went blurry, someone came into view as they stepped out of the closet, and then everything went black.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 16 - Coming soon

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[danny-doodles]

Steve’s Hobby

This is a short 2k blurb about one of my Steve hcs, I am only really good at critical analysis writing so I’m sorry if this is bad!! Creative writing isn’t my strong suit but I felt like I couldn’t really explain this hc in a drawing as well as writing it could.

Growing up Steve was often taught the importance of words from his father, thinking it would be useful for his son’s future in the business. Steve was never the best reader, letters jumping around the page made it too difficult, so instead he listened to everyone around him. Teachers, his parent’s coworkers, older kids, all of them taught him the importance of the meaning of words.

How certain words would make someone a town pariah yet others a god among men. Steve was a more quiet kid but as he grew up he also grew confident in his words. He could tear someone down with one sentence, ensuring they knew he was not to be messed with. That’s why he was so confused when he struggled in his english class, he knew the power of words and the many meanings, but his teacher never understood. Sure he made grammar errors, how no one else struggled with the dancing letters he didn’t get, but how could the teachers not understand his connections? Steve shouldn’t have to explain why the red of the handmaid’s cloaks represented the ripping of humanity from the women, it was so clear to him. Obviously the boar head could be comparable to the church, how could his teachers not make the connection?

Even Nancy didn’t understand, someone he considered smarter than him. He knew she was trying to be nice when she critiqued his college paper but it still left him in the fog. Basketball was war to him, a fight that was pointless with one but possible with many. A challenge that called for leadership and a strict order. Everyone had the roles, knew where and when to shoot, needed the ability to think quickly on their feet and not struggle under the pressure. Uniforms to not only separate from the enemy but to show they are a unit reaching for a common goal. It was so clear leaving no need to explain, especially to Nancy.

But she didn’t get it, no one got it.

Maybe he wasn’t as good with words as he thought.

Steve from then on fumbled his words when he got nervous, scared he would say something that made him sound dumb and point out his weakness with words. The concussions didn’t help either, making him take longer to grasp concepts. Reading felt nearly impossible, the headaches were unbearable. Not to mention the kids' comments, judgmental and brutal as if Steve didn’t have a reason to struggle in the first place.

Everyone around him loved to put him in a sudden spotlight and when he didn’t say the right line he was booed off stage and dealt with the looks of disappointment from his co stars for messing up. So Steve stuck to what he knew, his quick remarks. Were they bitchy? Yes, but not coated in malice like they used to be. Piggybacking off others points with sarcastic comments so the other person kept talking, anything to get the attention of him.

But Steve had a secret hobby that he shared with no one, not even with his platonic soulmate with a capital P Robin.

Steve wrote poetry.

Years of horrors that by law he couldn’t share that caused vicious nightmares and a clammy grasp on reality at times tended to keep Steve up. Another gift bestowed by his father though was a feeling of shame when sharing his emotions. Didn’t help that those emotions were typically down played or outright ignored by others. Therefore a bottle filled with his emotions rested in Steve’s chest, which after Vecna he really realized probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do. So Steve took to writing them down, but he did it for himself.

No need to explain everything, he knew what he meant, he knew every context of every word. He wrote on his experiences, his emotions. He wrote when he was happy, he wrote when he was sad. Steve wrote and wrote and found his love for words again. And god did it feel good, it felt like taking back his voice from a world that underappreciated it. In a weird way it felt like revisiting a relative he had last seen as a child, that sense of freedom and the loss of expectation because in their eyes he was still that little kid. All they wanted was to see someone they loved and to Steve the words welcomed him back with a hug that rivaled his Nonna Maria’s.

Steve would ponder over lines at random intervals of the day, biting his pencil between his teeth during the quiet hours at work or simply jotting down a line right before picking the kids up. Steve wrote so often he kept his small little notebook on him at all times, usually accompanied by a pencil bound to it with a rubber band. (Turns out having hearing aids and glasses made it really difficult to put pencils behind one's ears). At this point everyone had seen his notebook, pale blue with some star stickers because he never had a shortage of them. Everyone assumed it was for something different. Some thought it was grocery lists, to-do lists, something productive. Others thought it was like a pocket calendar with all his plans listed so he didn’t forget. Dustin insisted it was meant to hold the definitions of anything D&D related so Steve never forgot, meanwhile Robin argued it was to hold all the wonderfully obscure movie recommendations she loved to give. All of them were wrong though and Steve kind of adored it that way. He didn’t have to explain himself that way, he could continue to hide under the blankets. Steve no longer held his tongue out of fear of others but because he had an outlet he much rather prefer.

Listening now felt less like a pop quiz, waiting for him to mess up his response, it felt like an actual conversation. Steve may not speak up as much as he would have before the Upside Down but he fell back in love with his own voice and maybe one day he would feel confident enough to share it with the Party, but for now it was all his.

No matter how much they wanted to prove who was right, the kids and older teenagers never touched the book when it was rarely separated from Steve. Well...after someone tried to grab it and they learned they really shouldn’t touch it.

While at the Harrington house the Party were preparing for a campaign session when the argument about the pale binded pages was brought up again. Steve had left it on the kitchen counter while he went to the bathroom, and Mike decided he was done with the bickering. He shot up and went to retrieve and open the book but before he could grab it the book flew through the air.

All the heads turned and landed on El holding it in her hand, “We are not Steve, this is his. It is rude to invade his privacy, would you like me to watch you without telling you,” everyone quietly shook their heads, “Then we do not watch Steve without him knowing.”

That’s exactly when Steve walked back in, it takes one look across the room at all the embarrassed faces and El holding his book with frustration painting her eyes to know what had occurred while he was gone. He walks up, kisses El on her head and softly thanks her while taking back his little literature.

After that incident no one dared touch the book or face the wrath of their favorite mage. They would find out when Steve was ready for them to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That damn little book haunted Eddie’s thoughts. He knew Steve was not what he assumed him to be so anything was on the table, he had been wrong about the guy before who's to say he won’t be this time?

Of course Eddie wanted to respect Steve’s privacy because Eddie personally would be mortified if Steve had seen any of his notebooks, mainly because of the pages of lyrics that not so subtly hinted at an itsy bitsy affection for the badass babysitter. If that didn’t give Eddie away the random ‘Eddie Harrington’ and ‘Steve Munson’ with hearts all over would finish the job. So yeah, Eddie was not crazy to offer up any of his notebooks to venture into Steve’s book. He just had no idea the universe would present him with a much more favorable offer.

Steve and Eddie started hanging out a lot more after Vecna, no shocker considering they shared a hospital room, and soon the bat buddies would spend their time together outside of the hospital. That’s why it wasn’t surprising for Steve to let Eddie venture into Steve’s room while he went to pick up their lunch.

Eddie was somewhat of a curious cat, so when he spotted the notebook and some papers scattered on Steve’s desk he was like a moth to a flame. He softly glided his fingers over the blue cover and exhaled some breath in a soft laugh over the star stickers Steve oh so loved. It was the paper though that caught his eye when he finished observing the book. It looked like lyrics at first but then he realized some of the lines were too short to be lines, if anything they looked more like stanzas from a poem. Steve had poetry on his desk, did Steve read poetry? Thee Steve Harrington likes poetry? God his whole doctrine was garbage huh. Eddie moved the paper towards him and started to read.

Watchful gaze

Setules on the glass.

Wishful gaze

Silent pleas of escaping rolling in the mouth

Fingertips slipping through the veil,

Grasping for warm hands,

Receiving lukewarm.

Hesitant to grab.

Dependency clasping the palms

Such a feverish feeling

Poking at the appendages,

A coldness that numbs.

Gently gripping for the heat,

The balmy yields.

Smoke and simmers,

Arms rushing to sides

Frozen.

Yearning for ardor,

Turn not yet given,

Waiting for the impossible,

Waiting for the unobtainable,

So understanding.

So relieving.

So desperate.

So alone.

Standing for the calling.

So patient.

So pathetic.

Empty Hands by Steve H.

Eddie was staring at the very last line on the paper, utterly flabbergasted. Steve wrote this? Steve writes poetry?! Is that what resides in the little book? Before Eddie could even find the power to turn to the book to look, Steve walked into his room. Again a quick look is all Steve needed to take before he knew what happened in his absence.

“Oh! Uh..I’m guessing you read it.”

Eddie slowly looked back up while caressing the paper, “Yeah, you..um..you really wrote this? Is that…uh..what’s in your notebook? Cause I will admit I never would have guessed that.”

Steve started scratching his neck, “I don’t blame you,” he huffs, “But yeah I write poetry, helps to let some of the thoughts out considering our lives y'know?”

“I totally get it dude! Lord knows my lyrics are infected with the whole spring break bullhonkey. So..totally cool if you don’t want to tell me but, why is this one out of the book? Were you gonna write it into the book?” Eddie picked up the paper to place it next to the notebook and turned to face Steve.

“Actually I copied it from the notebook, I’m gonna, okay wait, you can’t tell anyone this-”

“Even Robin?” Eddie exaggerated his smile to look wild.

“Even Robin.” Steve nodded with his eyes shut.

Eddie put his hands together and swayed while standing, “Wowww look at me, lil old Eddie Munson getting to learn the secrets of the mysterious writer Steve Harrington.”

“Eddie, you want to know or not?” Steve sighed as he put his hands on his hips.

“Yes. Yes please,” Eddie eagerly replied, barely letting Steve finish his sentence.

“The last time I went to Indy with Robin to go shopping at their mall we went to a cafe. The bulletin board had a flier for a poetry night and I got curious I guess.”

“You gonna perform the poem there?”

“That’s the plan.”

Eddie could understand wanting a fresh slate when it came to having a reputation. “Craving anonymity? Must be tough considering you are Hawkin’s golden boy.”

Steve smiles brightly and Eddie sees his shoulders lose tension, tension Eddie didn’t even notice because he was so distracted by the fact that holy shit Steve is a poet. “Exactly.”

Honestly Eddie would give anything to hear more of Steve's hidden works, he grabs some of his hair and brings it to cover his mouth, “I know you don’t intend to tell the rest of the bunch, but uh..would you allow a humble bard to observe your lyrical performance?”

Eddie looks at Steve’s face for any hint of annoyance and finds none, instead he finds a look that he could hope to be correct in his guess is excitement.

“Really? You’d want to hear more, it's not confusing or stupid to you?” Steve softly smiled at Eddie, making him swoon inside.

“It's art! It doesn’t need to make sense, it just needs to make you feel good, who cares if others are confused. And for what its worth even if I’m not right on the money that poem made me feel Steve, I mean as the expert in self-expression it felt real and vulnerable, y’know.” Eddie had to shut himself up before he himself waxed poetry about just how much he is dying to hear more from Steve to learn more about him.

“Thanks Eddie.” Steve gazed at Eddie as if no one had ever told him that before. Which now that hes thinking about it that’s probably the truth. Guess Eddie needed to constantly remind him then.

Eddie smiled, mirroring Steves while bending at his waist, “Oh but of course my liege.”

“Oh my god okay Eddie cmon the food’s gonna get cold.”

Steve started to leave his room and Eddie rushed to follow him, “Now that I know what the book is filled with may I pretty please read it?” Rapidly blinking his eyelashes in an attempt to look innocent and pure but instead looking like a piece of dust got in his eyes.

“Nope.”

“Ugghhh c'mon Steve! Just imagine the look on the little hellions when they see me opening the book! God the jealousy! The feeling of betrayal when they see me reading Steve Harringtons’s treasure trove of text and they are none the wiser to what is inside. And the best part, I have permission! The power I would hold Steve! The possibility, I could use them like little puppets to do my bidding while they crave information I alone hold!”

“Eddie that sounds like a headache for me waiting to happen, they’re just gonna badger me to tell them because they would claim it’s unfair you know and they don’t.”

“Eh, their egos could take a little hit don’t you think?” Eddie was now resting his head on Steve’s shoulder as the younger started to bring the food out of the carry out bag.

“Can I read your lyric notebook?”

Eddie’s eyes went wide as his brain proceeded to remind him of every lyric he had written around his devotion to Steve. Red in the face Eddie responded quickly, “Nope! Mmm you smell that Stevie I’m so hungry, aren’t you?”

“Subtle Munson.”

“Tis my middle name.”

Steve fondly rolled his eyes, “Sure.”

As they settled down on the couch Eddie tracked Steve grabbing the remote, “So I can really watch you?”

Steve turned and looked at Eddie with a calmness on his face. “Yeah Eddie.”

Eddie grabbed his hair as Steve stared at him, “Cool, cool, it’s a date.” Eddie froze about to panic silently as he tried to fix his slip up.

“Yeah, it's a date.” The two looked at each other, neither wanting to look away. After a minute or so Steve turned on the TV and if the two fell asleep together it was their business.

[graciereadshannigram]

hey fam, my spreadsheet is FINALLY up to date so i am FINALLY getting back to the monthly rec lists! here's the cream of the crop from August :)

as a reminder: the ingredients for a five star rating typically (but not always!!) include some combination of a.) believable characterizations of both Hannibal and Will, b.) compelling plot and/or character arcs, and c.) high quality smut.

that being said, my judgment of the aforementioned ingredients is powered almost exclusively by vibes and as such, is incredibly subjective.

you can find past recs below:

February March April May June July

and if you have any recs of your own for me, PLEASE SHARE.

without further ado, let's go!

Teach Me a Lesson (Already Learned) by whenitstarted

Word Count: 3142 Summary: Will being married to Molly and cheating on her with Hannibal.

Literally just PWP because I wanted to scratch the cheating itch.

Just Thought You Should Know by EarthsickWithoutYou

Word Count: 22370 Summary: Two years after marrying Molly, Will is restless and unhappy, unable to stop thinking about Hannibal and missing his incarcerated cannibal despite all the reasons why he knows it's wrong. One night, things come to a head when Hannibal finds a way to call him. A series of sensual phone encounters begs the question of how long Will can possibly resist the desire which Hannibal so expertly cultivates.

Oh this one was GOOD. I love anything that happens in the three years Will is with Molly. The angst, the porn, chefs kiss.

More Myself Than I Am by StratsWrote

Word Count: 9176 Summary: Everyone has a soulmate. Someone they will connect with on such an intimate level that they are like one mind in two bodies. It comes on the cusp of adulthood, a shared link between two minds. It will start with feelings, emotions shared across the connection. Some people claim senses; smell and sound. Those who are thoroughly, intensely intertwined can claim to send their very thoughts towards each other, although it’s generally considered bad luck to use the connection to find each other sooner than you are meant to.It is a wonderful thing, to know that no matter who you are or what you’ve done, somebody out there will understand you. Or at least, it’s supposed to be.

Soulmate AU! Hannibal absolutely hating the bond at first felt very on brand and this was just very good.

coyote chewing on a cigarette by antiheroblake

Word Count: 5145 Summary: hannibal wants someone to care for him until he’s bequeathed his family fortune, but he doesn’t want to deal with the near-elderly perverts his friend calls their “sugar daddy”. that’s when he sets his sites on the sullen and newly rich will graham

okay if you aren't reading this series, what are you doing?? every. single. installment. is a five star!!!

No It Don't Come Easy by nobetterlove

Word Count: 10759 Summary: Will had the good sense to blush then, both Hannibal’s words and his previous actions making his heart pound hard in his chest. “Actually, uh – “ Will started, his hand reaching back to rub along his suddenly stiff neck. “I told him I was seeing someone.” Blue eyes looked up slowly, Will more than curious as to what Hannibal’s reaction would be. “Well, that’s – “ Hannibal tried to say but was cut off by Will speaking again. “I said it was you. Or implied it, at least.” There was a moment of silence where Hannibal didn’t blink or look away or even breath. Maroon eyes took Will in with shocking efficiency – he felt like Hannibal was everywhere in that moment, surrounding him in all ways possible. “You told Jack Crawford that you were seeing me.” Or: a Hannigram fake dating AU

i'm a whore for a fake dating fic, y'all know who i am.

Oddbodies by toffeecape

Word Count: 72714 Summary: Will is an off-brand sentinel. Hannibal is a reputable guide. What could go wrong?

i knew nothing about Sentinel AUs before reading this one, but i found it was perfectly well explained within the fic! and wow this was SO well done! it fits so well into canon and was just a treat to read.

This Isn't Rapture by moistdrippings

Word Count: 7467 Summary: Will wakes with a fever, and Hannibal prescribes some unconventional treatments.

yeah, just gonna drop this one here.

stink in the nostrils by murdertrout

Word Count: 49137 Summary: Secret Omega Hannibal is not pleased that he has imprinted on Will Graham. He avenges himself on his biology by getting Will Graham put behind bars. But when Will figures out what he’s been hiding and tampers with his suppressants, triggering his first heat, they both get more than they bargained for. Alternate S2b if it were entirely A/B/O porn.

LOVED THIS.

A Most Gentle Death by mokuyoubi

Word Count: 8956 Summary: “What is that?” Will asks tightly.“A blend of benzodiazepines and barbiturates,” Hannibal says. “It will render one unconscious, immobile, and largely insensate.”Will stares at the syringe in shocked disbelief. The shame and embarrassment are still present, but have taken a backseat to dry-mouthed, hopeless longing. Hannibal turns the syringe end on end between his fingers. “Would you like me to administer it to myself?” he asks.

there is something so satisfying about Hannibal not being phased by pretty much anything that Will wants.

A Wolf in the Night by itsbeautiful

Word Count: 3857 Summary: “Leave them on…” Will rumbled, grabbing hair and pushed a head down his stomach. “…and suck my cock.”Hannibal looked up with a dark stare and a head tilt, struggling to catch his breath. “No ‘please?’”“I know…I don’t need to ask, politely or otherwise, to get what I want from you now.”Red eyes glittered with hunger, tongue flicking out to taste the power left on lips.“Isn’t that what you wanted, Doctor Lecter? For me to take what I want from you.”

i'm pretty sure i just love anything this author writes, wow. you don't technically need to have read Transcendent Suffering, but it'll make more sense if you have.

When It Clicks by summerisblue

Word Count: 29838 Summary: Will and Hannibal have been spending a lot of time together lately.Because they’re friends, Will likes to reason. Will likes to tell Hannibal that too, just to clarify. Hannibal might be more than a little frustrated.

this one really hit my "oblivious sugar baby Will Graham" button. i love him so much.

Your Ex by murdertrout

Word Count: 3810 Summary: “What was your last relationship like?”“Uh,” Will says. “Intense.”“Good intense or bad intense?”“Yes,” Will says.“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want,” Molly says, “but I just want you to know you can.”In retrospect, this is a mistake.--We usually assume that Will clammed up about his past when he was with Molly. But what if actually Will tells Molly way, way, way too much about his relationship with Hannibal?Or, the one where Will starts talking about his “ex" and doesn't stop.

i love when Will is an idiot. this fic was just silly and perfect.

Ball Toss by raiast

Word Count: 22307 Summary: The carnival AU no one asked for. Hannibal accompanies Alana to a carnival and meets one Will Graham, whose game booth is less than above board. Hannibal does not approve.

YES YES YES. i really loved this dark Will!!

Pushing Comfort by lurid_erotic_intimacy (virtuous_contract)

Word Count: 14559 Summary: Habitually, Hannibal keeps his steps quiet as he makes his way to Will’s upper floor. It’s probably nothing out of the ordinary that has kept Will from making their morning session (not a session, a conversation). Still, it’s best to know for certain.Or: Will starts missing his appointments. Hannibal is happy to investigate why. Can be read as a canon-insert. A quite sweet and kink-flavoured getting together story.

this was sweeter than i would have expected it to be based on the tags, but mmmm this hit the right buttons for me!

a world of hurt by divinetheatre

Word Count: 7213 Summary: Will takes it slow, pausing between the strikes to let Hannibal work through the sensations, patient — for now. In time, when Hannibal’s self control wavers, and his knees start to kiss one another after every spanking, Will will pin him open and punish him for that too. Relentlessly.

well, we learn new things about ourselves every single day, right?

i know who you are by divinetheatre

Word Count: 14125 Summary: Will turned again as though the turmoil in Hannibal’s heart had clamored loud enough for him to hear. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. What Hannibal might’ve said, the last thing he could’ve admitted to Will, did not pass his lips. Will strode to him and grasping Hannibal’s face in both hands, kissed him. Deep and hot with passion that did not surprise Hannibal but overwhelmed him. He’d known it would be this way, but he had never been prepared. Not entirely.

Vulnerable Hannibal and Will being the most tender understanding human? Give me moreeeeeeeee.

a sort of madness by divinetheatre

Word Count: 5239 Summary: He chose me.The euphoric mantra echoes through his mind as he drags the panties down Hannibal’s long, slim legs. They open for him. The slick heat betwixt dampens the coverlet for him. What happens to Hannibal’s body after this is because of him.

i had to stop and remember to breathe multiple times during this fic so. do what you will with that information.

Secretary by FragileTeacup

Word Count: 77469 Summary: Will Graham needs a job. Since quitting the FBI, he’s been adrift for months, broken and lost; chasing a desire he doesn’t understand in increasingly destructive ways. What he needs is stability, direction, something to help put his life back in order and quiet the buzzing in his head. A chance encounter with the classifieds might just give him exactly what he needs. Secretary Wanted.Dr. H. Lecter. Psychiatric private practice.Typing and good manners essential.Must follow direction.

THE secretary AU. need i say more??

Layover by raiast

Word Count: 16978 Summary: When Hannibal misses his connecting flight to DC he is forced to obtain a hotel room for the evening. When the last remaining room is seemingly double-booked he realizes that the adult thing to do is generously offer to share the space. And if the other man in need of lodging happens to be a seemingly disheveled, ill-mannered and altogether beautiful stranger, well, that's just fine.

ONLY ONE BED ONLY ONE BED. alternate first meeting AU that i adored.

Scent of a Woman by Devereauxs_Disease

Word Count: 4860 Summary: After the fall, Will assumed he and Hannibal would progress to a romantic relationship. So when Hannibal comes home smelling of fancy perfume, Will is...distressed. How do serial killers handle jealousy and romantic confessions? Not well, y'all...NOT WELL.

they're both so stupid and i love them. Hannibal's behavior had me cracking up because of course he would behave this way.

Will Graham Had a Secret by hannigramsarah (WrightworthSarah)

Word Count: 4442 Summary: Will Graham has a somewhat slutty past. What happens when he meets Hannibal Lecter and discovers his proclivities may not be as secret as he might have hoped?

this was lovely.

Something Borrowed by BelladonnaWyck

Word Count: 11206 Summary: “What’s wrong with your green card?” Will can’t hope to stop the words from tumbling forth - didn’t even know they were about to spill from his mouth when he opened it - and his cheeks flush when he realizes how intrusive and presumptuous that question is.

Hannibal is Hannibal and they are perfet. i need more green card proposals STAT.

Touch by raiast

Word Count: 10902 Summary: From the kinkmeme prompt:"Going into an intense heat, Will volunteers to be shared and passed around by a group of Alphas. Hannibal finds out. Does he stop it from even happening? Sneak in and sign in to join the group?"What happens when an Omega with a voyeurism kink signs up for a Public Heat and his possessive Alpha psychiatrist applies for a volunteer position? Hint: lots of knotting, lots of come, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of bloodshed.

FERAL WILL GRAHAM. i really don't think i need to say more.

put your aching teeth to good use, my dear by wormsin

Word Count: 10516 Summary: alternate a/b/o ending to Fromage. when Will sees Hannibal in his office, bloody but alive, he goes into a feral rut. Hannibal tries to pacify him.

again, feral Will Graham just hits all the right buttons.

Tender by McRibFarewellTour

Word Count: 5117 Summary: "Will loved the violence, of course he did, but he loved Hannibal more, and he wanted there to be a clear distinction between the two. He wanted proof that Hannibal loved him, Will Graham, not anyone else who could be convinced to empathize with a serial killer. He didn’t want to push Hannibal against a wall, he wanted to hold and be held by him."A defense of seeking gentleness in a world of violence.

OUCH. in the best way possible, big ouch.

Husband Under Contract by house_of_lantis

Word Count: 49685 Summary: Count Hannibal Lecter has always enjoyed his bachelorhood and freedom, preferring to live a life as an established gentleman and lord of his estate. But Hannibal finds himself married and the last thing he wants is a clingy, tedious spouse who expects romance and to take advantage of Hannibal’s wealth and social status. Will Graham couldn’t care less about the arranged marriage as long as he can keep his job and keep his dogs. He’s amused by Hannibal’s attempts to manipulate him; and when he finally gets Hannibal in bed, he thanks him for a good time and returns to his own suite. What will Hannibal do when he realizes that he’s completely in love with his husband? And can Will ever see past their marriage contract to sharing a real life of love and passion?

An incredible royalty (kind of?) AU. i love how Will just does not give a fuck about upsetting Hannibal, much to the horror of the house staff.

pretty words from a silver tongue by nbcravenstag

Word Count: 3595 Summary: Will’s hookups (as few and far in between as they are) always end the same; deliberate distance between bodies and a cold, empty bed come morning. No one ever stays the night.

touch starved and vulnerable Will??? sign me UP.

i could love you with my eyes closed by nbcravenstag

Word Count: 2276 Summary: In Will Graham's three and a half decades on this planet, no one has ever made him feel like this.or, Hannibal is a little TOO good in bed, leaving his boy a little... emotional.

relatable content.

Night Calls and Liquid Courage by nbcravenstag

Word Count: 4249 Summary: "How much did you drink, Will?”“All of it.”“All of it, hm? That certainly is a lot.” _________________ Beverly Katz hand-delivers a very flirty, very drunk Will Graham to Hannibal's doorstep in the middle of the night. Drunken confessions and lots of cuddling ensue.

fluffy goodness, what more could ya want?

your touch is my safety by feralwillgrhm

Word Count: 4183 Summary: Will had been touch-starved for a while, but he didn't realise how much he craved it until Hannibal came into his life and initiated touch between them repeatedly. It left him wanting more and trembling at night in bed, but he never knew how to tell Hannibal. That was until he finally cracked. Or: 5 times Hannibal touched Will and he barely kept things together, and 1 time he gave in.

this was so sweet and tender!!

I called your name ‘til the fever broke by omnilegent

Word Count: 4363 Summary: Hannibal tilted his head in that cat-like way of his and said, apropos of nothing, ‘I believe you are experiencing touch deprivation, Will.’Will was not in the fucking mood.‘I touch myself plenty, doctor.’ He snapped, realising what that sounded like after he was already committed to saying it and ultimately not really caring. He couldn’t be bothered for all this dancing around half truths via metaphors today.———Hannibal offers Will a helping hand in relieving his touch deprivation…

can y'all tell i was on a "touch starved Will Graham" kick? that's all this is.

the fire went wild (the flames went higher) by antiheroblake

Word Count: 15359 Summary: will takes hannibal out to make up for the shoes he didn’t get, but when hannibal tries to show his appreciation (and how poorly he can behave), will decides to show him something new

show me the places where the others gave you scars by madeofbees

Word Count: 4957 Summary: Will has a bad time at a bad scene; Hannibal helps.Or: if Will has such a strong empathy response to horror and violence, what would happen if Hannibal immersed him in pleasure?

can y'all imagine if this is what Hannibal had done from the start? jesus christ.

Heal Your Wolf(hound) Well by devotional_doldrums

Word Count: 53396 Summary: From a distance, Hannibal enjoys heightening Will’s sickness. But confronted with the injured man lying in his hospital bed… Hannibal’s not so sure he enjoys it, anymore. Chicken soup (for the serial killer’s soul).

i love getting to see Hannibal actively regret his choices. 10/10.

Crystalline by DruidGurl (DaoistDruid)

Word Count: 59216 Summary: Stripper!Hannibal AU (sort of) The proprietor of a successful restaurant, Hannibal (who may or may not be a serial killer and definitely WAS an exotic dancer in his youth) is coerced by an old acquaintance to take a job dancing at a bachelor party. When he shows up, he realizes a mistake has been made, but he also realizes something far more interesting: the groom to be is hotter than Mt. Vesuvius. Circumstance and intent lead the boys where it always should: into bed. A lot.

GIVE ME ALL OF THE CHEATING FICS PLEASE. Everything in this fic was top tier. Hannibal as a dancer? Hell yes. The dirty talk? Yes. The fucking all night long marathon sex sessions? YES. Will being an absolute SLUT for Hannibal??? YES PLEASE GOD.

all i want is you by nbcravenstag

Word Count: 8892 Summary: We should do something tomorrow."Did you have anything in mind?“It’s your birthday.”Ah, he wishes it were so simple. If Hannibal were to wish for anything, it would be Will Graham underneath him, gasping, moaning, whispering his name while he placed claiming bites on his beautiful, porcelain throat. Such an image is so lovely… and so achingly far away. There is nothing wrong with wishing for it, but if it is a boundary that is never crossed, Hannibal can live with it. He can live this quiet, friendly, occasionally bloody life they live simply as friends if it means he continues to have it.That does not mean Hannibal won’t settle for his second favorite. (It isn’t really settling though; their shared hunts are the greatest adventures he’s ever had.)“Well, there is that dreadful Senor Pérez down at the docks…” _________________ A year after the fall. Hannibal and Will are friends and partners in crime, but nothing more. Hannibal is... fine with that. He is content having Will in any way that he is allowed if it means Will stays.Today is Hannibal's birthday. Will surprised him with a kiss.

This made me want to tear up in a good way. It is so TENDER. God, they are so soft and I love them.

le bel homme sans merci by nbcravenstag

Word Count: 7481 Summary: “La Belle Dame Sans Merci.” Will recites breathlessly.Hannibal lets out a pleased hum. “The painting is a rather whimsical rendition of the muse. Keats’ poem depicts a wretched end for the knight where he awakens alone in the field, abandoned by the love of his life, whereas Dicksee’s work focuses on the maiden’s affection and the knight’s surrender to his own heart. Everything he knows and feels, it all changes when he sees her for the first time." _________________ Hannibal leaves his sketchbook in Will's car. He can't stop himself from looking inside, from wanting to know, but he never expected every drawing to be of him.

Hannibal "accidentally" leaving his sketchbook in the car where Will will absolutely find it? Chefs kiss. THEY'RE IN LOVE.

Whiskey Lullaby by thisisthefamilybusiness

Word Count: 1943 Summary: Hannibal Lecter only gives one apology in his entire life, and it is to the man he never meant to kill, the one he murdered not with violence, not with a knife, not as the Chesapeake Ripper, but with assumptions and carelessness and arrogance, to Will Graham. (Fill for the following prompt on HannibalKink: "Alone on the Water-esque fic? "Will you miss me, Hannibal?" "Until the end of my days, William." For those not in the Sherlock fandom, it's basically a deathfic. You can do it with cancer, like AotW, or AIDS, Will's encephalitis....anything you want. Even maybe Hannibal killing Will and these are their last words? Just. Please. Hurt me.")

OUUUGGGHHHH. Thank you, Serri. Will dies because he's HIV+ and Hannibal didn't know and let the encephalitis get so bad that Will got full blown AIDS. Ouch.

Guidance by jonnimir

Word Count: 3511 Summary: Kinktober Day 30: Gagging + Swallowing.Will acts out at a party, and Hannibal helps him calm down by keeping his mouth otherwise occupied.

Will going into subspace!!! I do love a good cockwarming fic. (also this might be what i need when i'm throwing up an attitude shhhh...)

[terminals3v3n]

can i just say that j3nnifer j3nkins and sky3 ev3rly are stronger than the marines and have suffered more than jesus christ and i fucking mean it 😭 they are stronger than i will ever be 🙏

[llilychen]

every time i hear enchanted i am transported back to april 2023 when i had my first big infatuation and i feel sick to my stomach

[d1stalker]

All of You, All of Me [Logan Howlett]

Summary: In a world of black and white, the only person who could bring colour to your life is the last one who'd want to.

Warnings: au where everything is black and white until you meet your soulmate, fem!reader, slow burn, angst, running away from feelings, pining, grovelinggg WC: 14.2k - MASTERLIST - A/N: help i'm sorry i didn't mean for it to get this long, but this fic is my baby

----

You've always cherished the idea of having a soulmate—someone who would love you unconditionally, waiting just for you as you them. The thought of finding that perfect match, the one who complements you in every way, is something you’ve always dreamed of. 

But as you get older, the hope you carry seems to dwindle more and more each year. Everyone around you has found their other half, reveling in the newfound ability to see colours in all their glory, and soaking up every moment of shared affection.

Everyone, except for you.

Your world remains a stark, colourless void, as if the universe is deliberately withholding the one thing you desire most.

And to make matters worse, despite not finding your soulmate, you are unequivocally, irrevocably in love with someone who has.

Logan Howlett.

You can’t remember a time where you didn’t feel anything toward him. His rugged, lone-wolf demeanor snuck its way deep into the crevices of your heart, and made itself a home there.

You and him formed an unlikely friendship, formed through the desire to fight back against all the people who’ve wronged mutants. Over the years, you had accepted the fact that while he wasn’t yours, at least you were alone together. Well, until she came.

Jean Grey.

She was strong, charming, and everything you felt you weren’t. It was no wonder her and Logan were meant to be together—the stoic, brooding mutant and his graceful, strong-willed counterpart. 

You remember the day it happened so vividly, it’s almost like you were the one who found their life partner. You and him had been walking around the mansion, when Charles had called you into his office to meet someone new. One look at their faces when they made eye contact and you knew you’d lost him.

It pained you to see them all over each other, all the time. Your once-regular walks in the garden became rare, then vanished entirely. On missions, he no longer looked out for you; his attention was consumed by protecting her. And as much as it hurt, you couldn’t deny they seemed perfect for each other—just as soulmates should be. You had no right to feel jealous.

Then, just as quickly as she had entered his life, she left it. 

The Pheonix was too strong, ripping her apart from the inside out. The pained scream he let out as not only his heart died, but as the world around him faded back into black and white, was forever ingrained into your memory. 

Logan was never the same after that.

 —

You trudge down the familiar halls of the mansion, your feet heavy with the weight of the day. It’s been long, filled with training sessions, team meetings, and a lot of paperwork. All you want to do is retreat to your room, lose yourself in a book, or maybe just sleep until the ache in your chest dulls.

As you walk, you hear faint commotion down the hallway—a low murmur of voices and the occasional clatter of something being moved. But you pay it no mind, too lost in your thoughts to care. Another mission, another discussion, another moment where you aren’t needed. It’s all so routine now.

Lost in your reverie, you don’t notice the figure walking toward you until it’s too late. You collide with a solid chest, the impact jolting you back to reality.

“Oh, sorry—” you begin, stepping back, but the words die on your lips as you look up.

It’s Logan.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, shock rippling through your body as you process his presence. And for a moment, neither of you speak. You just stand there, taking him in—the man who was once your closest friend, the man who was torn apart by grief and loss. His clothes are rumpled, his skin rougher than you remember, like he’s been through hell and back. 

You hadn’t seem him in a long time. After the devastation, he stopped talking to everyone. He holed himself up in his room for days at a time, only coming out in the dead of night to eat. Either that, or he was away on a mission–anything to stay distracted. 

But now, looking at him, there’s something different off. Something you can’t quite place your finger on. Did he always look like that? Maybe it’s the way the light above is reflecting off of him. Or maybe it’s—oh.

Looking around in surprise, you watch as the usually dark, stoic walls explode into a deep, rich shade. The carpet below you—no longer a mural of grey—radiates colors you can’t name. Your hands, his eyes, his hair-

You want to open your mouth and say something, anything, to the man who has caused your world to shift on its axis, but he’s already turned, walking away from you.

“Give me a fuckin’ break.”

----

Brown. Logan’s hair is brown.

After Logan leaves you paralyzed in the hallway, you run to your room, find the book on colors you had stashed in your bedside table, and throw open the cover. In it is a diagram that displays every known colour and their names. You learn that your favorite pair of pants are maroon, your bedsheets are navy green, and the X-Men suits are bright yellow and blue.

You stare at the page, each word blurring as your mind tries to process the impossible. Logan’s hair is brown. The thought keeps repeating in your head like a mantra, over and over again, until it becomes a steady thrum, drowning out everything else.

Brown.

You sit back on your bed, letting the book slip from your hands, the pages crumpling as it hits the floor.

Why him? Why me? Why now?

You begin to fidget, the adrenaline of the prior moment causing your heart to flail in your chest like crazy. You can’t stay here, you think to yourself. The idea of locked in your room with only your thoughts for company does not sound appealing. You need air, something to ground you, something to clear the haze clouding your head. Without thinking, you jump out of bed and find yourself heading up to the roof, the one place where you can breathe without feeling like the walls of the mansion closing in on you.

The trip up the stairs feels longer than ever before, each step heavy under the weight of your mind. It’s like every thought adds ten pounds. When you open the door, the cool night air hits you like a welcomed slap to the face, and you exhale deeply.

Walking to the edge, you lean against the railing. You’re in a daze - wondering if you made up the entire thing in your head. The only proof that you haven't, and that Logan being your soulmate is real, is the colours that coat the mansion’s grounds. The moonlight bathes everything in what you now know as a soft, silver glow, and for a moment, you just stand there, looking out into the distance.

It doesn’t make sense, and the more you try to wrap your head around it, the more tangled your thoughts become. You don’t want to face the possibility of what it could mean, but you can’t just brush it aside either. It has quite literally changed your entire life. 

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to quiet your racing mind. But when you open them again, you freeze.

Logan is standing at the other end of the roof, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the sky. He hasn’t noticed you yet, and for a split second, you consider turning back, retreating before he sees you. It would be a wise idea - he didn’t want to talk to you then, and he probably doesn’t want to talk to you now. But, it an act that can only be seen as your own body betraying you, you take a step forward. 

The sudden movement catches his attention, and his head snaps in your direction, his eyes locking onto yours. 

“Why are you here?” he asks accusingly.

You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. Seeing him out here was the last thing you had expected, and now that he’s in front of you, you are at a loss of words.

Logan’s eyes narrow, and he pushes off the wall, walking toward you. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I needed air,” you manage to say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I just needed to clear my head.”

“Well, find somewhere else to do it,” he snaps, “I don’t want company.”

“Logan, I—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, not even bothering to hear you out. “Don’t start. I know what you’re gonna say, and I don’t want to hear it.”

You blink, taken aback, and hurt at his coldness. “What are you talking about?”

He lets out a low, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You think I don’t know what’s going on? God, I… this is all so fucking stupid.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you feel a flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. “I wasn’t—”

“Enough!” he barks, his voice echoing in the night. “I’m not interested, alright? Whatever it is you think is happening between us, it’s not real. It’s just some stupid trick of the universe, and I’m not playing along.”

His words hit you like a physical blow - like you’ve just been shot at right in the heart - and you have to bite your lip to keep from crying out. “I don’t understand. I didn’t mean for any of this—”

“Yeah, well, neither did I,” he snaps at you, “And I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like there’s something here,” he gestures between you two, “when there isn’t. You’re not mine, and I’m sure as hell not yours.”

The finality in his tone leaves you breathless, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. You have nothing to say back, he’s not giving you any slack. The reality of his rejection sinks in with a brutal, crushing weight, you have to put in effort to not stumble over. 

After a long moment, you finally collect yourself. Then, “Okay,” you whisper. “I understand.”

Logan’s expression doesn’t soften; if anything, it grows colder, more distant.

“Good. Then stay away from me.”

You nod, eyes filling with tears. You quickly turn your face away, not wanting him to see just how much he’s hurt you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to make things worse for you.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even acknowledge your apology. He just turns away, his back to you, effectively shutting you out.

You stand there for a long moment, watching him walk away for the second time that night. The colours that seemed so vibrant, so full of life just a moment ago, now feel like a cruel reminder of everything you could never have.

—

When you eventually return to your room, all you can do is lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling as your encounter with Logan on the roof replays in your mind on an endless loop, each harsh word he’d thrown at you cutting deeper than the last. It’s causes pain unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, pain that seems to have no end, no respite.

If he doesn’t want you in his life, you’ll accept that. You have to - it’s not like you have a choice. Soulmates are a two-way street.  

You can’t force him to feel something he doesn’t, can’t make him see you in a way he clearly never will. And you understand, don’t you? You can’t even imagine how difficult this would be for him. Losing your soulmate, and then the universe saying Fuck You and giving you another? 

You’ll never ever forget how wrecked he was when Jean died. How her death shattered him into pieces so small you weren’t–no–you’re still not sure he’ll ever be whole again. 

And you—where do you stand in the grand scheme of things? Just as the unfortunate recipient of a bond that neither of you asked for? Are you even allowed to be upset about this?

—

Waking up the next morning, you honestly wish you hadn’t. You knew you weren’t on good terms with Logan after his little rooftop showcase of emotions, but nothing could have prepared you for the way he starts to treat you.

His face is stuck in a perpetual scowl when you’re in his vicinity. He’s leaving every room the moment you enter, refusing to look at you, speak to you, or acknowledge your presence in any way. It’s as if you’ve become invisible, a ghost haunting the same halls you once shared with him. There’s only one thing you two seem to wordlessly agree on: don’t tell anyone. 

Each day following becomes a struggle, an unbearable test of your strength as you try to make it through without breaking. You begin to avoid Logan as much as he avoids you, but the mansion is only so big, and there are always moments when you catch sight of him in the distance, his broad shoulders hunched, his brooding face glaring daggers in your direction. 

It hurts you every time, an unending torture that leaves you stumbling. Still, you bite your tongue and keep moving, pretending you don’t care.

But you do care. You care more than you want to admit, more than you think is possible. Because despite everything—despite the rejection, the coldness, the anger—you still love him. 

And that’s the cruelest twist of all.

So you endure it, day after day, week after week, month after month. Letting it tear you apart piece by piece, because what else can you do? You carry this burden alone, just as you’ve carried your feelings for him all these years. And maybe one day, the pain will fade, the bond will weaken, and you’ll be able to move on.

—

The only person you tell is Charles.

“What’s on your mind, my child?” he asks one day, while you’re sweeping the dust in his office. 

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to your hands as you focus on cleaning. You know he’s just asking out of courtesy, and that he could easily crawl into your mind and figure it out himself. He probably wouldn’t even need to put in that much effort, given how loud your thoughts are. But still, you don’t yield to his probing.

“Nothing, really,” you mutter, forcing a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Just… tired, I guess.”

Charles watches you carefully, his eyes full of the warmth and compassion he always has, but this time, it makes you feel uncomfortable. Like he can see right through the facade you’re trying so hard to maintain, which you have no doubt, he does. 

“I’m here to help, whatever the burden.”

You want to groan. It’s not like he’s doing it on purpose but damn does it feel like he’s trying to guilt you into confessing that you just recently had your heart shattered. 

“I know, Professor. But… it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“You forget, I worry about all of you,” he replies gently. “It’s in my nature.”

The chuckle that crawls out your throat is nothing short of bitter. “It’s just… complicated.”

“Complicated doesn’t mean you have to face it alone.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep the emotions at bay. Do you really want to explain to him the insurmountable suffering you’re in, the rejection you faced from the one person who is supposed to be your soulmate? How can you tell him that the bond the universe forged is the very thing tearing you apart?

“It’s just… I don’t know how to make sense of it, Professor,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Everything’s so… wrong.”

He leans forward slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Wrong how?”

Knowing that you’re teetering into confession territory, you hesitate, needing time to collect your thoughts. 

“Logan… he… we… It’s not supposed to be like this, is it?” you eventually get out. Not your best work, but you know he’d get the gist. 

Understanding dawns in Charles’s eyes, and you can see the sympathy there, the quiet acceptance of the truth you’re struggling to voice. “The bond you share… it’s more than you expected, isn’t it?”

You nod, feeling the tears well up again. “But he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want me.”

The professor sighs softly, and he looks at you like you’re a lost puppy. “Logan has been through so much, more than most could bear. His heart has been wounded in ways that are difficult to heal, and it’s not surprising that he would resist this new connection.”

“So why me?” you ask. “Why bind me to someone who will never love me?”

Leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled thoughtfully, he says, “I wish I had an answer for you, my dear. The universe works in mysterious ways, ways that often defy our understanding. But I do know this: the bond you share is there for a reason. Whether it’s meant to bring you closer or to teach you something important… that remains to be seen.”

“It feels like a punishment,” you whisper, the tears finally spilling over. As much as you hate being put on the hot seat, you can admit that it feels good talking to someone about it.  “Every day, it hurts more. And he won’t even look at me. I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“The heartache you’re feeling is profound, but you must understand that it’s not your fault. Logan’s reaction isn’t a reflection of your worth, but of his own pain and fear.”

He reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your own before continuing.

“To love, even when it’s not returned, takes incredible courage. But you must also take care of yourself. Give Logan the space he needs, and in the meantime, allow yourself the grace to heal.”

So you do. In the days that follow your conversation with Charles, you make a promise to yourself—to try, really try, to focus on your own life, to reclaim the parts of yourself that have been overshadowed by the pain of this unrequited love.

The colours are still there, vivid and vibrant, and though they sometimes feel like a bittersweet reminder of what could never be, you find moments where they bring you joy. You marvel at the deep blue of the sky, the rich greens of the trees, the way the sunlight filters through the leaves and paints the world in golden hues. It’s like seeing the world anew, and in those moments, you allow yourself to feel happiness.

Moreover, you busy yourself, volunteering for every assignment that comes your way. The adrenaline, the focus, the purpose—they all help to drown out the pain, even if only temporarily. And when you return from each mission, tired but satisfied, you feel a little more like yourself again.

The mansion, too, becomes less of a prison and more of a home once more. You start spending more time with the others, rejoining them for meals, for training sessions, for movie nights. 

You laugh with Rogue, spar with Scott, and even find yourself engaging in playful banter with Remy. It’s not perfect, and there are still moments where you catch yourself faltering, when the weight of everything threatens to pull you under, but those moments are becoming fewer and farther between.

You’re healing, slowly but surely, and with each passing day, you feel a little stronger, a little more in control of your life—of your emotions. 

But then there are the times when you cross paths with Logan, and those moments are the hardest.

One evening, after returning from a particularly grueling mission, you find yourself heading toward the kitchen, your mind on the sandwich you plan to make. The place is quiet, most of the team out on various assignments, or finishing up on some work, and you relish the peace as you walk down the corridor.

However, just as you reach the kitchen door and push it open, you find Logan standing there, preparing to exit the room at the exact same moment. Your heart lurches, and you stop dead in your tracks, almost like a deer caught in headlights. 

His gaze meets yours, and all you can see is his impassive, stoic expression. He steps back, giving you space to enter, but the tension between you is palpable.

“Sorry,” you mumble, stepping to the side, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

Logan doesn’t say anything, barely nodding—if you could even it that— before brushing past you, his shoulder grazing yours. The brief contact sends a jolt through your system, and you have to force yourself to stay still and not physically react. 

Once he leaves, you let out a shaky breath, your heart still racing from the encounter. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close to him—so long since you’ve seen the deep brown of his hair that you love so much. You hate this. 

Why does he have no reaction to at all? Why is it only you who seems to care? 

Because you are the only one who does care.

You move into the kitchen, still intent on eating, but it’s a challenge. Your hands are trembling.

—

It all comes to a head one night during dinner. In this rare occasion, both you and Logan are in the same room. You’re supposed to be celebrating Rogue and Gambit’s anniversary, and even though you insisted that they share this special moment together alone, they didn’t take no for an answer. 

That’s how you find yourself, sitting at the grand dining table with all your friends, and Logan. 

He’s across from you. Just your luck.

He refuses to spare you a single glance, his eyes staying busy the whole night. And while it’s been months and months of this, you have never gotten used to it. Still, you can’t help but sneak a few looks at that chocolate-coloured hair. Brown. 

Everything seems to be going smoothly, the food is delicious and the dessert even better, but when Gambit presents Rogue with a giant painting, that’s when you slip up. 

“I love how you blended the red with the blue!” You compliment, loving the way he managed to create the perfect contrast between shades. You’re too caught up in staring at the artwork to realize the table as gone deathly quiet, all eyes on you.

Rogue's expression is one of gentle confusion, her head tilted slightly as she tries to make sense of your words. “Darling, I thought you couldn’t see colour?”

In any other situation, you’re sure the team would have laughed at how comically large your eyes got, and how all the blood draining from your face makes you look like a gaping fish, but in this moment, nothing is funny. You can feel Logan’s eyes on you, and when you finally muster the courage to glance at him, you see that his all-too familiar glare you’ve been subject to for the last half-year. It makes your heart thud painfully in your chest

“I…” you begin, but you falter. Your mind is going through a thousand thoughts per minute, searching for an excuse you can use to deflect, to pretend it was just a mistake, but the silence is too heavy, too demanding.

Rogue’s confusion deepens, her gaze flickering between you and Logan, who is now staring at you with an expression that’s impossible to read. She starts to say something, but Remy gently places a hand on her arm, shaking his head slightly as if to tell her to let you speak. 

Logan’s gaze stays locked on you for a moment longer. Then, without a word, he pushes his chair back, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. The sound echoes in the silence, and before you can react, he stands up and walks out of the room, his movements stiff, almost mechanical.

The door closes behind him with a quiet click, and the tension in the room thickens. You feel a rush of embarrassment flood through you, your heart sinking as the reality of what just happened crashes over you. 

You lower your head, your eyes stinging with tears that you fight desperately to hold back. But it’s no use. The emotions you’ve been trying to keep buried for so long bubble to the surface, and before you can stop yourself, the tears start to fall. 

“I think I need a moment,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling as you stand up from the table. Without waiting for a response, you hastily excuse yourself and head for the door, not before mumbling a quick apology to the couple in which you were there for.

Soon you find yourself outside in the gardens, the nightly breeze hitting your face as you make your way to a secluded bench. You can’t even appreciate the beauty in what you see, because all you feel is the overwhelming sense of failure and sadness that threatens to swallow you whole.

Sitting down heavily on the bench, you bury your face in your hands and let go. The sobs come hard and fast, each one ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless. You’re heartbroken and angry and absolutely over it, but at the same time you feel like a massive asshole because who are you to be upset with a man who’s mourning the loss of a soulmate? 

It’s not fair.

You don’t know how long you sit there, lost in your grief, but eventually, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up, wiping at your eyes, and see Scott walking toward you.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks gently.

You shake your head, unable to find your voice, and Scott sits down beside you on the bench. 

“I’m sorry,” you croak, “I didn’t mean to ruin the night.”

Scott clicks his tongue in disagreement, his gaze focused on the gardens ahead. “You didn’t ruin anything. It’s clear you’ve been carrying this burden for a long time. It’s no wonder it slipped out tonight.”

“So everyone knows now?” you ask. He nods.

“It wasn’t hard to put two and two together,” he concludes, and you groan, bringing your hands to your face.

“I just… I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want to be pitied.”

“Pity isn’t what anyone feels right now,” Scott says softly. “We’re worried about you. You’ve been hurting, and we didn’t see it. That’s on us.”

“It’s not your fault,” you bring your hands down from your face. “I’ve been trying to deal with it on my own. I thought I could handle it, but… clearly I was wrong”

With a serious expression, Scott turns to look at you. “I know what you’re going through, more than you might realize.”

You glance at him, surprised by his words. “You do?”

He nods, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I was in love with Jean, remember? When her and Logan found out they were soulmates… it tore me apart. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to move on, and for a long time, I couldn’t.”

The mention of Jean’s name brings a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you, but there’s also a strange comfort in knowing that Scott understands your pain. “How did you… how did you get through it?”

He sighs, “It wasn’t easy. It took a long time, and I had to accept it.”

You wipe at your eyes again, sniffling as you try to compose yourself. “I’ve been thinking about leaving for a while. Taking a longer mission, just to get away for a bit. Maybe then I can figure out how to move on.”

He is quiet for a moment, considering your words. “If that’s what you need to do, I understand,” he says, “sometimes, a change of scenery can help. Though I think you should try to talk to Logan again.”

Letting out a bitter laugh, you shake your head. “I don’t know if he’ll even listen to me. He’s made it pretty clear how he feels.”

“He’s hurting too,” He decides, “He’s not handling it well, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. You both need closure, and running away won’t give you that.”

“What if it just makes things worse?”

“It might.” Scott places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “But it might also give you both the chance to start healing. You deserve that chance.”

You nod slowly, letting the weight of his words sink in. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Take the time you need,” he says. “We’re all here for you.”

“Thanks, Scott. That means a lot.” You offer him a small, grateful smile.

With a final nod, he turns and walks back toward the mansion, leaving you once again alone in the quiet of the gardens. You take a deep breath, the idea of leaving still tugs at you, but now, there’s also the thought of confronting Logan—of finding some kind of closure, whatever that might mean.

You really don’t want to do it, and you’re pretty sure it’s just going to end the same way it did last time - with him shutting you out. But Scott’s words echo in your mind, reminding you that healing often requires confrontation, not avoidance.

Goddamn it.

You huff as you stand up from where you’re seated. You can’t keep running from this, can’t keep letting him run from this. You need to talk to Logan, to lay everything out on the table, even if it tears you apart in the process.

Your anxiety builds with each step as you approach his room, and you pause outside his door, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he could hear it if he was listening. This is it. There’s no turning back now. With a shaky breath, you finally raise your hand and knock. 

There’s a long, agonizing pause, making you strain to hear any movement on the other side. For a second, the silence causes you think he might not answer, that he might just ignore you like he’s done so many times before. But then, you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching the door. Your heart catches in your throat as it slowly opens, revealing Logan standing there, his expression hard and unreadable.

The moment he realizes it’s you, his eyes darken, and he immediately moves to close the door, shutting you out yet again. However, you’re not letting him get away that easily. Before the door can fully close, you stick your foot out, blocking it with more force than you intended.

“C’mon, Logan,” you press. “You know we need to talk.”

He freezes, his grip on the door tightening until his knuckles turn white. His jaw clenches and unclenches, nostrils flaring. He still doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on some distant point as if he can will you away if he tries hard enough. But he doesn’t push the door shut either. The room is thick with suspense, both of you standing there in a silent standoff.

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, Logan steps back, opening the door just a smidge wider, barely enough for you to squeeze through. It’s a reluctant invitation, but it’s all you need.

“Fine,” he mutters, his voice rough, edged with irritation. “Talk.”

You step into the room, and he closes the door behind you, lingering close to it, as if he’s ready to bolt at any second. You feel vulnerable and exposed. It’s suddenly hard to gather your thoughts when he’s standing so close, when the heat of his presence and the distance he’s placed between is right in your face.

“Why did you come?” Logan questions. He still refuses to look directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder.

“Because we can’t keep pretending this isn’t happening,” you reply, “We need to talk about what’s going on between us.”

His jaw tightens further, and his teeth grind with barely contained frustration. He finally looks at you, his eyes hard and defensive. “There’s nothing to say,” he says bitterly. “I told you how I feel. I thought that was enough.”

“It’s not enough!” you shoot back, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. “You think you can just push me away, pretend like this bond doesn’t exist, and that’s supposed to solve everything? It doesn’t work like that, Logan.”

He flinches slightly at your words, but his keeps his expression hard. “Well what do you want me to say?” he demands, his voice rising. “That I’m sorry? That I didn’t mean to hurt you? Because I am, and I didn’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t be what you want me to be.”

His words hurt. 

“I know you told me how you feel,” you start, “but you’ve never let me tell you how I feel. You’ve never given me the chance to say that it’s been tearing me apart.”

A flash of guilt. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think you needed to say it. I already knew.”

“That isn’t fair,” you argue.

“You don’t understand,” he counters, “I lost Jean. I loved her, and when she died, it broke something in me. And now… now I’m supposed to just… move on? With you? It’s not that simple.”

“I never asked you to love me, Logan,” you say, your voice trembling with the intensity of your emotions. “I never pushed for anything more than friendship—it’s not like you gave me the chance! You’ve been shutting me out, ignoring me, making me feel like I’m nothing more than a burden, like I don’t even matter!”

You can see that the pain in your voice hitting him hard, but he doesn’t apologize. Instead, he looks away, his expression conflicted. “I’m trying to protect you,” he mutters, the words sounding hollow even to him

“Protect me?” you echo incredulously. “All you’re doing is make me feel like shit. Like I’m worthless. I can’t even be your friend, to help you through this.”

You pause. “You expect us all to know how you’re feeling, but you can’t even communicate it.”

Logan winces, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, filled with a torment you’ve never seen before. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words seem to get caught in his throat. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I can’t be what you want me to be,” he admits, his tone filled with a deep, aching sadness. “I don’t know how to let you in. Without her, I feel like… I can’t let anyone in.”

Your eyes soften a fraction his confession, but there’s also a deep frustration that burns inside you, a frustration born of months of pain and rejection. 

“You haven’t even tried,” you say softly with a quiet resignation, “You haven’t even tried to let me in, to see what we could have been, even if it was just as friends.”

What follows is a long, nagging silence. You let it linger, giving Logan the chance he needs to think of something to say. But there’s no answer, no promise that things will change, and then you realize, with a sinking feeling, that he’s not going to take that step, too broken to try.

That’s when it really hits you. 

Whatever you were fighting for, was a losing battle from the start. 

You give up.

This time, it is you who turns your back on him. 

“Goodbye, Logan. Take care of yourself.”

You don’t wait for a response. You don’t glance back. You walk out of the room, the door closing softly behind you, and with it, the last remnants of hope you had for something more.

— 

You decide to go on the mission.

It’s nothing complicated. Your task is to survey different regions of Europe, ensuring that there are no burgeoning anti-mutant operations threatening the safety of anyone. The primary goal is gathering information, and quiet observation. No violence, Charles told you in the debrief. 

The lack of immediate danger doesn’t make leaving any easier, though. This is as much about finding yourself as it is about fulfilling your duty.

Rogue and Kitty are with you during your final preparations, helping you pack the essentials and offering support in their own ways. They don’t ask many questions, probably sensing that this decision was not just made on a whim. And for that, you’re grateful.

“I still think you’re crazy for going solo,” Rogue says with a half-smile as she zips up your bag. “But if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

You manage a small smile in return. “Thanks, Rogue. I just need some time…”

Kitty, who’s been quietly folding clothes and tucking them into your bag, looks up, seriousness clouding her gaze.  “We get it. Just promise you’ll keep in touch, okay? And don’t hesitate to call if you need backup.”

“I promise,” you assure.

She hesitates for a moment before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small device—the X-Men communicator gadget. She holds it out to you, and you reach your hand out. 

“Here,” she says softly, pressing the device into your hand. “This is so you can update us on your whereabouts, your status, or any important mission details. Even if you don’t need anything, just… let us know you’re okay, alright?”

You look down at the communicator in your hand, and close your fingers around it, nodding as you meet Kitty’s gaze. 

“Alright, I’ll check in regularly. I won’t leave you guys in the dark.”

Rogue finishes the last bit of organization. “You’ve got this,” she says, “And we’ve got your back, even from a distance.” You nod, appreciating their support more than you can express. 

It almost feels like a walk of shame—leaving the mansion. Everyone knows why too, and that makes it a thousand times worse. But you won’t let it get to you. With one last look, you get in your car and begin on the windy path to the airport. 

—

When you arrive in Europe, the first thing that strikes you is the sheer beauty of the landscape. Each city, each town, has its own unique charm, its own story to tell. The bustling uphill streets of Porto, the serene canals of Venice, the ancient ruins of Athens—they all offer a distraction from the turmoil inside you.

The only good part about this whole mess is that you can see colour, and truly appreciate the sights before you.

You move from one place to the next, blending in with the crowds, quietly observing, gathering information, and sending brief updates to the team through the communicator Kitty gave you. Every message is short, to the point, just enough to let them know you’re safe and on track. You don’t share much beyond the essentials, not wanting to burden them with your personal struggles.

Then, in a small café in Rome, you meet a man named Marco. He’s a traveler like you, exploring Europe with a curiosity that matches your own. He’s warm, easygoing, and before long, the two of you strike up a conversation over coffee.

He is charming in a way that makes you feel at ease, his laughter infectious as he shares stories of his travels. You don’t tell him much about yourself, keeping the details of your mission and your mutant abilities hidden. To him, you’re just another traveler, searching for something—though he doesn’t pry into what that something is.

As the days pass, you and Marco continue to cross paths, and it’s nice to have someone to talk to, someone who doesn’t know about your past, about the things you’re running from. With him, you can be anyone, and for the first time in a long while, you start to feel a little lighter. You find yourself laughing more, the weight on your chest lifting a little each day. You don’t talk about the mission, and you certainly don’t talk about Logan.

One evening, as you’re both sitting on the steps of the Spanish Steps in Rome, watching the sunset, he turns to you with a grin. “So, where are you off to next?”

You hesitate, not wanting to reveal too much, but then you smile. “I’m heading to Florence. There are some places I need to check out.”

His eyes light up. “Florence? I’ve been meaning to re-visit. Mind if I tag along?”

A part of you wants to say no, to keep the distance you’ve carefully maintained, but another part—the part that’s been lonely for so long—nods in agreement. “Sure, why not?”

—

Back at the mansion, things haven’t been as positive. The once lively atmosphere has dimmed, replaced by an uneasy tension that lingers in the halls. The X-Men carry on with their duties, but there’s a noticeable shift—a missing piece that everyone feels but no one talks about. Logan, in particular, has become even more withdrawn, if that’s possible. The man who was once brooding and distant now seems even more so, his mood volatile and unpredictable.

His behavior has become a source of concern for the team. He’s always been rough around the edges, but now, it’s like the slightest thing can set him off. He snaps at everyone, his temper flaring at the smallest provocation. On missions, he’s reckless, throwing himself into danger without a second thought, as if he’s trying to outrun something—or someone. 

In many evenings, Logan finds himself in the mansion’s gym, trying to work off the restless energy that’s been plaguing him for months. The room is always empty, save for him, the steady rhythm of his fists pounding against the punching bag being the only sound. Sweat drips down his face, his muscles straining as he channels all his frustration and anger into each punch. Yet, no matter how hard he hits, he can’t seem to shake the thoughts of you that have been haunting him.

This night, door to the gym creaks open, and Logan doesn’t need to look up to know who it is. He can sense the other man’s presence, feel the weight of his gaze as he steps inside. He doesn’t slow his punches, doesn’t acknowledge Scott’s presence, but he knows why he’s here. They’ve had this conversation before—or something like it—but nothing’s changed. Nothing’s gotten better.

Scott watches him for a moment, his expression unreadable. He’s been watching Logan spiral for weeks now, but he’s kept his distance, knowing that he’d only be pushed away. But this can’t go on—Logan can’t keep doing this, can’t keep tearing himself apart over something he refuses to confront.

“She wouldn’t want this,” he finally says, voice cutting through the steady thud of Logan’s fists against the bag.

Logan’s movements falter for just a second before he resumes, his jaw tightening. “Who?” he growls, not bothering to turn around. “Her or Jean?”

Scott doesn’t flinch at the harshness in the other man’s tone. He steps closer, his eyes steady on their target as he answers, “Both.”

Finally, Logan stops. His fists still as he leans against the bag, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His shoulders are tense, the weight of Scott’s words pressing down on him like a physical burden. He doesn’t want to hear this, doesn’t want to be reminded of what he’s lost—of who he’s lost. 

Taking a step closer, Scott’s voice is firm. “Look, I’m not a spiritual person. But I also don’t think the universe messed up with this.”

Clenching, his fists, Logan knows what the other man is getting at, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Doesn’t want to think about what could have been, what he’s been too scared to even consider.

“I know you know how I felt about Jean,” Scott says quietly, knowing he’s breaching a sensitive subject. “Losing her… it killed me too. And if I had been given a chance—a real chance to be with her, to make things right—I would have taken it. No hesitation.”

Logan’s breath hitches at that. The truth is, he’s been running—running from you, from the bond you share, from the possibility of something real. 

“I’m not saying you should chase after her,” he continues. “But I am saying that you need to stop running from her. The universe doesn’t just throw things like this at us for no reason. And you know that.”

The weight of Scott’s words settle over Logan like a shroud. He knows the other man is right—deep down, he’s always known. But that doesn’t make it any easier. The fear, the guilt, the pain of losing Jean—it’s all still there, gnawing at him, holding him back. 

There’s something else too, something he’s been trying to ignore but can’t any longer: the way he feels about you, the way he’s always felt, even if he couldn’t admit it to himself. One of the first thought’s that ran through his head when his world re-erupted into colour was that, had this happened before Jean, maybe it could have worked. Maybe he could have been what you wanted, felt something real.

Scott takes a step back, giving Logan the space he needs. “Just think about it,” he says softly. “Think about what you really want. And don’t wait until it’s too late to figure it out.”

Logan doesn’t respond, but Scott doesn’t need him to. He’s said what he needed to say, and now it’s up to him to decide what comes next. With a final look, Scott turns and leaves the gym, the door closing softly behind him.

The clawed mutant stands there for a long time, his fists still clenched, his mind racing. He knows he can’t keep doing this—can’t keep tearing himself apart over something he can’t change, something he’s too afraid to confront.

But change is terrifying, especially when it means facing the truth. The truth that maybe, just maybe, the bond he shares with you is something worth fighting for. Something that Jean wouldn’t want him to throw away.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Logan finally lets his fists unclench, the tension in his body slowly ebbing away. He doesn’t have all the answers—hell, he barely knows where to start—but he knows one thing for sure: he's can’t run away anymore. Not from this, not from you.

—

You’ve now spent days in Florence, wandering through the Uffizi Gallery, marveling at the works of the Renaissance masters, and evenings enjoying the quiet serenity of the Arno River. With you, Marco. You’ve grown to trust him. He’s never made you uncomfortable, never had any intentions to take advantage of you, and knows all the best restaurants. 

But there’s always been a small, nagging doubt that you’ve pushed aside—a feeling that something isn’t quite right. You’ve ignored it, convincing yourself that you’re just being paranoid after everything you’ve been through. After all, he has been nothing but kind, always knowing the right thing to say, always showing up just when you need someone.

It isn’t until the two of you are exploring a quieter part of Florence, that the doubt flares into something more. You’re walking through an old, narrow alleyway, the kind that tourists rarely venture into, when Marco suggests you take a shortcut through a small, unmarked door in the side of a building.

“I found this place the last time I was here,” Marco says, his smile as easy as ever. “It’s a hidden gem, leads right to a beautiful courtyard. You’ll love it.”

You hesitate, something in his tone—or maybe it’s the way his eyes gleam just a little too brightly—sets off alarm bells in your mind. You’ve come to trust him though, haven’t you? You’ve traveled together for weeks, shared countless stories and laughs. Surely, he wouldn’t lead you into danger.

Still, as you step through the door, the darkened space beyond immediately feels wrong. The air is colder, damp, and the walls are lined with strange, unidentifiable equipment. You glance back at Marco, and that’s when you see it—the change in his expression. The warmth is gone, replaced by something cold and calculating.

Before you can react, you feel a sharp prick in your arm. Your vision blurs, and your body goes numb almost instantly. You stumble back, trying to push away, but your legs give out, and you collapse to the floor.

Marco looms over you, the smile gone from his face, replaced by a look of triumph. “Did you really think I didn’t know?” he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re a mutant, and you thought you could hide it from me?”

The world around you spins as the drug takes full effect, but you force your mind to stay focused. “What… why?” you manage to whisper, the betrayal cutting deep.

“Why?” He laughs, the sound harsh and devoid of any warmth. “Because mutants like you are worth a fortune. My clients pay top dollar for… research subjects. And you, my dear, are about to make me very, very rich.”

You try to move, to fight back, but your body refuses to respond. Panic rises in your chest as he kneels beside you, pulling out a small device that looks like a portable scanner. He runs it over you, and it emits a low hum as it registers your vital signs, confirming what he already knows. You’re weak. 

“You won’t get away with this,” you say.

“Oh, but I already have,” he replies with cruel satisfaction. “No one knows where you are. And even if they did, it’ll be too late by the time they find you.”

With the last bit of strength you can muster, you reach into your pocket, fingers trembling as you fumble with the X-Men communicator that Kitty gave you. His attention is momentarily distracted as he prepares a syringe filled with a clear liquid, and you seize the opportunity. You manage to pull out the communicator, your fingers barely able to grip it. Then, with a deep breath, you press the SOS button, the screen flashing to life.

You type in the message as quickly as you can, your vision blurring even more as the drug takes hold. 

Location: Florence. 

Message: Help.

Just as you hit send, Marco notices what you’re doing. His eyes widen in anger, and he grabs your wrist, yanking the communicator out of your hand. “You little—!” he snarls, but it’s too late. The message has already been sent.

His face contorts in rage as he slams the gadget against the ground, smashing it to pieces. He glares down at you, his hand tightening painfully around your wrist. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? But it doesn’t matter. They’ll never get here in time.”

Your strength is nearly gone, the drug pulling you into unconsciousness, but you manage one last defiant look. “You won’t win,” you whisper with the last of your energy.

Marco releases your wrist with a sneer, standing up and looking down at you with contempt again. “We’ll see about that,” he mutters before turning away, leaving you on the cold, hard floor as darkness overtakes you. 

You can only hope they—that Logan—will reach you in time.

—

The signal comes through during a meeting. A sudden, loud beep cuts through the room,  and everyone freezes, their attention immediately drawn to the source of the sound. To Kitty’s pocket. It’s the X-Men communicator, the one linked to your device. 

Logan’s head snaps up, his eyes narrowing as he recognizes the tone. He’s on his feet before anyone else can react, his heart pounding in his chest. “What the hell was that?” he demands, his voice tense with urgency.

Kitty quickly pulls it out of her pocket, her eyes widening as she reads the message that’s flashed across the screen. Her face pales, and she looks up at the others, her voice trembling as she speaks. “It’s from her… Florence… Help.”

There’s a brief pause, maybe a second long in length, and then the room erupts into a flurry of movement. 

Chairs scrape against the floor as the team rises to their feet, already preparing for action. But Logan is the first to react, his face a mask of fury and determination. “I’m going,” he growls, already heading for the door.

“Logan, wait!” Scott steps forward, blocking Logan’s path with a firm hand on his chest. 

“Get out of my way, Summers,” He snarls, his voice filled with barely controlled rage. “I’m not waiting around while she’s in danger.”

“We can’t just rush in without a plan,” Scott insists, trying to keep his own emotions in check. “We need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Logan shoves the other mutant’s hand away, his eyes blazing with anger. “She sent an SOS, Scott! She needs help, and we’re wasting time standing here talking about it!”

The rest of the team watches the confrontation with anxious eyes, knowing that things could easily escalate. Logan’s been on edge for weeks, and the urgency of the situation—of you— has pushed him to the brink. 

“Logan,” Ororo interjects, “We understand how you feel, but we need to think this through. If this is a trap—”

“I don’t give a damn if it’s a trap!” He snaps, his voice rising. “She’s part of our team! We can’t just leave her there!”

“That’s not what we’re saying,” Scott tries to reason, but Logan isn’t having it.

“Then what the hell are you sayin’?” He demands, his frustration boiling over. “Why are we wasting time when we should be getting her out of there?”

There’s a brief, uncomfortable silence, and then it’s Rogue who steps forward, conflicted. “Logan… what if… what if she doesn’t want to see you?”

He freezes, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow could. He stares at Rogue, disbelief and anger warring in his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he growls.

Rogue swallows, her eyes filled with worry. “She left because she needed time, Logan. Because things between you two… they weren’t good. Maybe she—maybe she doesn’t want you to be the one to save her.”

Clenching his hands into fists, his body is taut with tension. “Fuck that!” he roars with a fierce, protective rage. “She’s part of our team! She sent that message to us, to the X-Men, because she needs our help. I don’t care what’s happened between us, I’m not leavin’ her there!”

The room falls silent, the weight of Logan’s words settling over everyone. They know Logan is right—she’s part of the team, and they can’t leave her behind. But they also know that the situation is more complicated than that.

Scott takes a deep breath, his gaze steady as he looks at Logan. “We’re not saying we shouldn’t go after her, Logan. We’re saying that you need to be prepared for whatever we might find when we get there. She might be in a bad place, and she might not be ready to face you.”

“I don’t care,” he says after a brief pause, his voice quieter now, but no less determined. “I’m going to get her out of there. Whether she wants to see me or not, I’m not lettin’ her go through this alone.”

Scott studies Logan for a long moment, then finally nods. “Alright. But we do this together, as a team.”

Logan nods, his jaw set in a grim line. “Fine. Let’s go.”

—

Your eyes snap open, the dim light of the room piercing your vision. You’re in a large, abandoned warehouse. Your head feels heavy, like it’s filled with cotton, and there’s a dull, throbbing pain at the base of your skull. As you try to move, you realize with a jolt of fear that you’re restrained, your arms and legs strapped tightly to a chair. Panic flares in your chest, and you struggle against the bonds, but they don’t budge.

And then you see him—Marco, standing a few feet away, watching you with a smirk that sends a chill down your spine. His eyes gleam with satisfaction, and you realize with horror that you’ve been caught, trapped in whatever twisted game he’s been playing.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he says, voice dripping with mock concern. “I was starting to wonder if I’d given you too much of the sedative. But it seems you’re tougher than I thought.”

You try to respond, but a gag in your mouth muffles your words, turning them into incoherent sounds. You glare at him your eyes burning with fury.

He only chuckles, clearly amused by your resistance. “Oh, don’t bother trying to speak. We wouldn’t want you calling for help, now would we? Though, I must say, I’m impressed you managed to send that little SOS before I caught on. Clever, but ultimately futile.”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing as he looks you over, his expression turning cold. “You know, I’ve dealt with a lot of mutants in my time, but there’s something special about you. Something… unique.” He reaches out and grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Too bad your powers won’t do you any good here. The drug I gave you should keep you nice and powerless for the foreseeable future.”

Straining against the bonds, you continue to try to break free, but he drug in your system dulls your abilities, leaving you feeling weak and vulnerable. All you can do is stare at him with hatred as he continues to taunt you.

“Such fire in your eyes,” Marco murmurs, almost to himself. “It’s a shame you’ll never see the light of day again. But don’t worry—I’ll make sure your abilities are put to good use.”

He lets go of your chin, his hand trailing down to your shoulder in a way that makes your skin crawl. “Now, let’s see what we can do to make you a little more… compliant.”

Just as he reaches into his coat pocket, presumably for another syringe, a sudden, loud crash echoes through the warehouse. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass fills the air, followed by the unmistakable hum of energy blasts and the heavy thud of boots on the concrete floor.

The X-Men have arrived.

Marco’s eyes widen in surprise and then narrow in anger. He spins around, barking orders at the security guards scattered throughout the warehouse. “Stop them! Don’t let them get near her!”

The guards rush forward, weapons drawn, but they’re no match for your friends. The familiar sounds of battle flood your ears—Rogue’s powerful punches, Scott’s optic blasts, and Storm’s lightning crackling through the air. You struggle against your restraints again, desperate to free yourself, but it’s no use. 

Then, you catch a glimpse of Logan. He’s fighting his way toward you, his claws out, slicing through anyone who gets in his way. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, your eyes meet his, and you can see the raw determination in his gaze. He’s coming for you.

But just as he takes a step forward, something changes. He hesitates. You can’t hear what he’s thinking, but you can see the conflict on his face—the way he seems to second-guess himself, the way his steps falter. Your heart sinks as you realize he’s unsure, almost as if he's torn between wanting to save you and fearing that you don’t want him to.

In that split second of hesitation, Rogue swoops in, landing beside you with a determined look on her face. She doesn’t waste any time, using her strength to tear through the restraints that bind you. “We’ve got you, sugah,” she says, her voice steady and reassuring as she pulls the gag from your mouth. “You’re safe now.”

You nod, your throat too dry and your body too weak to speak. Your muscles scream in protest as you try to stand, but she quickly wraps an arm around you, helping you to your feet. You’re shaky, your body still reeling from the effects of the drug, but you’re free. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Logan still standing there, his eyes locked on you, his expression unreadable. He wanted to save you. He wanted to be the one to pull you out of that nightmare, but something held him back.

Rogue helps you toward the exit as the rest of the team continues to subdue the guards and Marco. You lean heavily on her, your legs barely able to support your weight, but you force yourself to keep moving. 

And when everyone else has back in the jet, hugging you and comforting you, you look over to Logan, who sits far away, on the opposite side, refusing to meet your gaze. 

—

Returning to the mansion feels like stepping back into a familiar, comforting embrace. You missed the soft, warm bed in your room, the quiet serenity of the gardens, and the comforting presence of your friends. It's been a few days since the whole ordeal in Florence, and the drug has finally worked its way out of your system. Your strength has returned, and physically, you feel like yourself again. The mansion, too, seems unchanged—still the safe haven you’ve always known.

But as the days pass, you begin to notice that while many things have returned to normal, some things have not. You’ve seen most of your friends, their faces lighting up when they see you, their hugs tight and full of relief. There have been quiet conversations and laughter, shared meals in the kitchen, and moments that remind you why this place is home.

Except, there’s one person you haven’t seen. Logan.

His absence is like a shadow that follows you wherever you go. You’ve felt his presence in the mansion—heard his voice in the halls, the sound of his footsteps on the floorboards—but he’s kept his distance. He hasn’t sought you out, hasn’t tried to talk to you, and that stings more than you want to admit.

You’ve tried to stay strong, to remind yourself of the resilience you found during your time away. You’ve reminded yourself over and over that you don’t need anyone else to validate your worth, that you can stand on your own. Yet the longer Logan avoids you, the harder it is to hold on to that strength. The old wounds, the ones you thought had begun to heal, start to ache again, and you can’t help but wonder if anything has really changed at all.

More often than not, you find yourself retreating to the front lawn. The sun is warm on your skin as you lie down in the grass, a book in hand. The soft rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant hum of life inside the mansion create a peaceful background, and for a moment, you manage to lose yourself in the pages of your book.

Still, even here, in the sanctuary of the garden, the thoughts you’ve been trying to push aside keep creeping back in. The memory of Florence, of Logan’s hesitation, lingers like a bitter aftertaste. You replay the moment over and over in your mind, trying to make sense of it, trying to understand why he stopped, why he didn’t come for you.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t notice the shadow that falls across your page until a deep, familiar voice breaks the silence.

“I’m glad you’re alright.”

The voice startles you, and you jerk slightly, looking up to see Logan standing above you. His expression is guarded, as if he’s not sure how you’ll react to his presence. There’s a tautness to his posture, a stiffness that you recognize all too well. 

For a moment, you just stare at him, caught off guard by the suddenness of his appearance. He’s as rugged and intimidating as ever, but there’s something different in his eyes—something a tad bit softer. You close your book, sitting up slowly as you meet his gaze. The question that’s been gnawing at you since Florence rises to the surface, and you know you can’t keep it inside any longer.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. “In Florence?”

His jaw tightens, and he looks away for a moment, his gaze shifting to the trees in the distance. He doesn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretches out between you, thick with unspoken words. 

You just watch him, waiting for an explanation, but there’s a part of you that’s already bracing for disappointment. You’ve been here before, waiting for Logan to decide what happens next, to take the lead. And you’re tired of it. You’re tired of being the one left in the dark, of being the one who has to wait for him to be ready.

Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of the world is pressing down on him. “I… I hesitated,” he admits huskily, almost in a growl. “I wanted to save you. Hell, I was going to. But then… I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

His confession hangs in the air, and you feel a mix of emotions—surprise, confusion, and sadness. You hadn’t expected this, hadn’t realized that his hesitation was rooted in something so painfully human.

“Why wouldn’t I want you to?” you ask softly, searching his face for answers.

Logan finally looks at you, really looks at you, and the raw emotion in his eyes takes your breath away. “Because of everything that’s happened between us. Because I pushed you away. I hurt you, and I thought… maybe you’d be better off if it wasn’t me.”

You shake your head, trying to make sense of his reasoning. “Logan, this can’t keep being about what you think is best,” you begin. “And it’s not about who saves who. It’s about being there when it counts. You were there. You came for me.”

He doesn’t have a response to that, at least not right away. He looks down at the ground, his fists unclenching, his shoulders slumping even further. It’s like he’s carrying the weight of everything he’s done, everything he’s failed to do, and it’s crushing him. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally manages to get out. “For everything.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I know I’ve messed up,” he continues. “I know I haven’t been there for you like I should’ve. But I’m here now. And if you’ll let me… I want to try to make things right.”

You know you should be happy—this is everything you’ve wanted to hear from him for so long. But it’s also too much, too late. The doubt, the pain, it can’t just disappear with a snap of your fingers.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” you admit. 

There’s pain on his face. “I get it,” he says, his voice rough but steady. “I know I’ve got a lot to make up for. And I know it’s not going to happen overnight. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes, if it means I can earn your trust back.”

“I need time. I need time to figure out where I stand, and where you stand with me.”

He nods slowly, his gaze dropping to the ground again. “Take all the time you need,” he says quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I appreciate that,” With a small nod, you stand up, brushing the grass off your clothes. “I need time,” you repeat, more for your own benefit than his.

“And you’ve got it,” Logan replies. “As much as you need.”

—

Days turn into weeks, and weeks into months. You focus on yourself, on healing the wounds that were reopened during your conversation with Logan. It feels strange, being the one who needs space, but you know it’s necessary. You find things to take your mind off him: you train more, read more, spend more time with Rogue, Kitty, or Remy. It’s nice.

But Logan… Logan doesn’t give up. He knows you need time, and he respects that. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pressure you to make a decision, but he makes it clear through his actions that he hasn’t forgotten about you, and more importantly, that he isn’t going anywhere.

It starts with the small things—things so subtle that you almost don’t notice at first. You probably wouldn’t have suspected anything if you hadn’t known the kind of person he is. He’s nothing if not persistent. He knows you better than you realize—the rift he created after Jean’s death muddling with your memory—and he uses that knowledge to quietly, almost imperceptibly, work his way back into your life.

In the mornings, you wake up to find your favorite snacks waiting for you in the kitchen, carefully placed where you’d be sure to see them. He never mentions it, never takes credit, but you know it’s him. It’s in the way he glances at you from the corner of his eye as you take a bite, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He never makes a big deal out of it—just a quiet, unspoken gesture that says, I’m thinking of you.

Then there are the late-night training sessions. You go down to the Danger Room or the gym, hoping to clear your mind with a bit of solitary exercise, only to find Logan already there. At first, you’re tempted to leave, to find somewhere else to work out, but something in his demeanor stops you. He doesn’t approach you, doesn’t speak unless you initiate it. Instead, he just… exists beside you, his presence steady and reassuring, like a rock in the storm.

It’s in these moments that you begin to see a different side of Logan—one that’s patient, understanding, and perhaps a little unsure of himself. He follows your lead, mirroring your exercises or silently spotting you during weightlifting, always attentive to your needs without ever making you feel pressured or overwhelmed. He’s just there, offering his support in the quietest, most understated way possible.

And then there are the little surprises in your room—small, thoughtful gestures that you can’t help but notice. A favorite book you’d mentioned in passing suddenly appears on your nightstand, its pages pristine and waiting for you to dive into. The time-worn leather straps on your gear are suddenly replaced with new ones that fit perfectly, the stitching unmistakably done by Logan’s hand. Even your plants, the ones you’d worried would wither away while you were on a mission, seem to thrive in your absence, the soil freshly watered and the leaves turned toward the sun.

He never asks for thanks, never draws attention to what he’s doing. It’s all done quietly, behind the scenes, as if he’s afraid that if you notice too much, you might push him away. But you do notice. How could you not?

At first, you try to ignore it, telling yourself that these gestures don’t change anything, that they’re just a way for Logan to assuage his guilt. You tell yourself that he’s just doing this because he feels bad, because he wants to make up for the past, not because he actually cares. You’ve built walls around your heart for a reason, and you’re not ready to let them down just because he’s being nice.

But over time, those small gestures begin to chip away at those walls, brick by brick. You start to realize that Logan isn’t just going through the motions—he’s really paying attention, noticing the little things that make you who you are. It isn’t just about the snacks or the books or the plants—it’s about the way he remembers the details of your life, the things that matter to you, the things that make you feel seen and understood.

After a particularly long and stressful day, you return to your room exhausted, and all you want is to collapse into bed and forget the world for a while. But when you walk in, you find a small bouquet of wildflowers sitting on your nightstand, the beautiful colors a stark contrast to the dark thoughts that have been swirling in your mind all day. There’s no note, no explanation—there never is—but you know who left them.

You just stand there, staring at the flowers, your heart squeezing in your chest. It’s such a simple gesture, and yet it means so much. You’d forgotten that Logan knew how much you love wildflowers—you’d mentioned it once, years ago. The way they’re resilient, thriving even in the harshest conditions, blooming where others wouldn’t. It’s as if he’s telling you that he sees that strength in you, that he admires it.

And it’s then, in the quiet of your room, surrounded by the small, thoughtful gestures that Logan has left behind, that you realize something. This isn’t just about making up for the past. Logan is showing you, in the only way he knows how, that he wants this. Wants you.

He's finally picked up the pieces of him that fell apart after Jean’s death, and he is willing to pick up the pieces of you that fell apart after his rejection.

So, one evening, months after that fateful conversation on the lawn, you find yourself standing in the common room, staring at the fireplace, lost in thought. The mansion is quiet, the rest of the team either out on a mission or asleep. It’s just you and the flickering flames, the soft crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.

But when you hear footsteps behind you, heavy and deliberate, you know instantly who it is. Without turning, you can sense his presence, the way he moves with that quiet confidence, the way the air seems to shift when he is near. Logan has always had a way of grounding you, even when you don’t want him to.

He walks up beside you, stopping just short of touching you, his warmth radiating in the small space between your bodies. He doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t ask why you’re here or try to force a conversation. He just stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets, waiting patiently, giving you the time you need. It’s something you’ve come to appreciate about him in recent months—his newfound ability to just be, without pushing or demanding more than you’re ready to give.

"I’ve been thinking," you say finally, your voice soft, as you continue to gaze into the flames.

"Yeah?" Logan asks, his tone careful, as if he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing.

You turn to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. "You’ve been… different. Doing all these little things… I see them, you know."

Logan’s eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long time, you see hope there. "I just wanted you to know that I care. That I’m sorry," he says, with so much emotion. “You were never a burden to me.”

You swallow hard. "It’s hard for me, Logan," you admit, "I’ve been hurt before, and I’m scared. Scared that if I let myself love you again, you’ll just… break me."

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. "I’d never hurt you again," he says, "I’d rather cut off my own damn hand than hurt you. The past is the past, and you are my future."

That’s enough to make your walls crumble completely. You know, deep down, that Logan is telling the truth. That he’s willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust again.

And in that moment, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to let him.

You don’t say anything. Instead, you let your actions speak for you. You close the distance between you, standing on your toes as you press your lips to his in a gentle, tentative kiss. Logan freezes for a split second, as if he can’t believe this is really happening, but then he kisses you back, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close, holding you as if he never wants to let go.

The kiss is slow, tender, full of everything that has been building between you for so long. It isn’t just a kiss—it’s a promise, a commitment to try again, to rebuild what has been broken. When you finally pull back, your breath mingling with his, you rest your head on his shoulder. "I’m still scared," you whisper.

"I know," Logan replies, his arms tightening around you. "But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. We’ll take this slow, darlin’. Whatever you need."

You nod. "Okay."

Logan smiles then, a real, genuine smile that makes your heart flutter in a way it hasn’t in years. It’s a smile full of relief, of gratitude, of love—a smile that tells you that he understands just how much this moment means, just how much you’re giving him by letting him back into your heart.

—

The time that follows is a slow, steady journey of rebuilding trust. Logan is true to his word—he is patient, understanding, and surprisingly tender in ways you hadn’t expected. The small gestures continue—coffee waiting for you in the morning, a gentle hand on your back during missions, quiet moments of companionship where no words are needed.

You can feel the doubts you’ve been holding onto slowly begin to fade. Each time Logan shows up for you, each time he puts your needs above his own, it chips away at the fear that has kept you guarded for so long. It’s in the way he listens when you talk, truly listens, as if every word you say matters. It’s in the way he looks at you—not with the same fury he once had, but with a steady, enduring affection that speaks of something deeper.

With Jean, he loved her because she was his soulmate, she was who the universe destined him to be with. He loved her because that’s what he thought he had to do.

With you, he has a choice. He doesn’t need to acknowledge the bond, but he chooses to. He chooses to everyday and he’ll never stop. He loves you because he wants to, not because he has to.

One evening, you find yourself sitting on the mansion’s porch watching the sunset. Logan joins you without a word, sitting close enough that your shoulders brush. 

“You’ve been quiet today,” he says softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

“I’ve just been thinking,” you reply, leaning your head on his shoulder. It’s a simple gesture, but one that speaks volumes about how far you’ve come in trusting him again.

“’Bout what?” he asks, his voice gentle.

“About us,” you say, your voice steady. “About how things have changed. How… how good they’ve been.”

Logan’s hand finds yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that feels so natural, so right. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echo, squeezing his hand. “I’m not scared anymore, Logan. Not like I was.”

He turns to face you, his eyes searching yours. “You sure?”

You nod, smiling softly. “I’m sure. You’ve shown me that this bond means something to you, that you’re not going to hurt me. And… I want this. I want us.”

Logan’s face lights up with so much love, that it takes your breath away. He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “I’m glad, darlin’. Because I want us too. More than anything.”

—

It isn’t long before the rest of the X-Men begin to notice the change in Logan as well. At first, it’s subtle—small things like the way he looks at you during briefings, or the way he seems to be more patient, more relaxed when you’re around. But over time, it becomes impossible to ignore.

During a training session in the Danger Room, you’re paired with Logan for a simulated mission. The others watch as Logan moves with you in perfect sync, his focus not just on the mission but on you—making sure you’re safe, supporting you when needed, and trusting you completely. It’s a far cry from the Logan they had seen when he was in mourning, where his moves were rash and careless.

After the session, as you and Logan leave the Danger Room, you catch sight of Ororo and Scott exchanging a look, the kind of look that speaks volumes, full of surprise and a touch of amusement.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you approach them.

Ororo smiles warmly, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Nothing, just… noticing how good you two are together.”

Scott nods in agreement, his expression softening as he glances at Logan. “Yeah, it’s… different, finally seeing him like this. In a good way.”

Logan shrugs, but there’s no hiding the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What’re you guys talking about?”

“Just that it’s nice to see you happy, Logan,” Ororo says gently. “Really happy.”

Logan looks at you then, his smile growing as he meets your gaze. “Yeah. It is.”

More members of the team begin to notice the change in Logan as time goes on. Rogue, who has always had a soft spot for him, comments on how he seems more at ease, less burdened by the weight of his past. Hank, ever the observer, points out how Logan’s demeanor has shifted—less brooding, more open. Even Charles, who has seen Logan through his darkest times, pulls you aside one day to express his approval.

“I must say,” Charles says, his tone warm and approving, “I haven’t seen Logan like this in a very long time. Whatever you two have managed to sort out, it’s working.”

And it is. Slowly but surely, the wounds that had once held you back have healed. The doubts that had kept you from fully embracing your relationship with Logan have faded, replaced by a deep, abiding love. It isn’t just the little gestures anymore—it’s the way Logan makes you feel seen, heard, and cherished in a way that no one else ever has.

—

“I never thought we’d get here,” you admit one night whilst looking up at the stars.

Logan looks at you, his expression tender. “Neither did I,” he says, his voice full of sincerity. “But I’m damn glad we did.”

You smile, leaning into him as he wraps his arm around your shoulders. “I love you, Logan. And I trust you. Completely.”

His grip tightens slightly, as if to hold onto the moment, to hold onto you. “I love you too, darlin’. I never thought I’d feel this way about someone.”

You know what he’s trying to say. So without thinking, you reach up and cup his face, drawing him closer until your lips are just a breath away from his. “Show me,” you whisper, your voice low and filled with desire.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He closes the small gap between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that is soft at first, almost tentative, as if he’s savoring the feel of you. 

You can feel the heat between you building, the kiss growing more fervent as your hands roam over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt, then into his hair. Brown. 

His hands slide up your back, one hand tangling in your hair as he angles your head, deepening the kiss further until you’re both breathless.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads resting against each other’s, you’re both panting, your hearts racing in sync. His eyes are dark with desire, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he holds you close.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmurs. “I never thought I’d get my happy ending, but here you are… and I’m never lettin’ you go.”

You smile, feeling the last remnants of pain melt away, replaced by a certainty that this is where you’re meant to be. “And I’m never leaving,” you whisper back, sealing your words with another kiss that quickly reignites the fire between you.

This kiss is hungrier, more urgent, as if you both need to make up for lost time. Logan’s hands roam your body with a possessiveness that sends shivers down your spine, his touch igniting a fire in your core.

That night, you lose yourself in him, in the way he tastes, in the way he makes love to you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. Because this time, you’re not just in love—you’re in love with a man who loves you back, fully and completely. 

And that makes all the difference.

----

a/n: i love you if you made it this far. please check out my new series The Feeling's Mutual

[curryshesus]

jeon jungkook fics that had me going feral

hi guys, here's a part 2 to my favorite jjk fics on tumblr! note that many of these fics contain 18+ content. you are responsible for the content you consume! as always, if you enjoyed any of these fics as much as i did, please take a moment to send some love to the authors! part 1 | other bts members

➺ cold nights & blurred lines - by @awrkive

summary: jungkook and you have been in a sexual relationship with each other for four months now, and it’s casual for the most part. but as time passes, you can’t help but feel that some of the lines suddenly got blurred in the process. is it a cliché to blur the lines with your fuck buddy? it definitely is. will you do something about it? both of your emotional constipation have a hard time saying yes.

➺ night crawlers - by @alphabetboyluvr

summary: jungkook’s always been good at running. track, field, red lights, shit outta luck. drugs, now, too. but he doesn’t expect to run into you. in your shared lecture halls, sure. maybe. but not down the back alleys of daerim at ass o’clock in the morning. there are only three types of women he ever sees in daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. you aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. he's sure of it. so it then further begs the question: why the fuck are you here?

➺ this is how you fall in love - by @jeonqkooks

summary: after years of drinking and clubbing most days of the week and leaving every gig with a different girl on his arm, jungkook feels what it’s like to want someone with his entire being.

➺ the dilf installments - by @mercurygguk

summary: this series follows jungkook’s life as a divorced father. but wait, how exactly does one balance being a father, a boyfriend, a friend, and a respectable boss at the same time? read the installments below to find out!

➺ ultimatum - by @parkmuse

summary: your pervy, idiotic boyfriend just so happens to also be your friendly neighborhood Spider-man (in bed).

➺ a hero's journey - by @hansolmates

summary: jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story

➺ tempest - by @kooktrash

summary: you’ve always considered your life to be more mundane than you would like to admit. it was a constant cycle of the same things over and over again that when you meet jeon jungkook at a bar, of all places, you didn’t expect to see just how much he would change your life and those around you. he’s got an air of mystery around him with his charming good looks and a violent past that you slowly begun to unravel when it feels like everything is going perfect.

➺ by its cover - by @gimmesumsuga

summary: the one where Jungkook makes a horrifically bad first impression.

➺ slow dancing - by @yoonia

summary: when your countdown appeared on your wrist right in the morning of your eighteenth birthday, you had thought that perhaps the universe was on your side, especially since the final seconds were already ticking so soon. You just never expected to have your first meeting with your soulmate to be the day when you had to let him go. But hope was not lost when you still found love without the bond, and Jungkook showed you that it was possible to find happiness beyond the system that was written for you. Except that the universe doesn’t seem to have enough of its game, when your past sacrifice comes back hitting you straight in the face, just when you had believed that you had written off the perfect ending to your bittersweet tale.

➺ e s p r e s s o - by @joonberriess

➺ hold me closer - by @ahundredtimesover

summary: when you're asked to look after your parents' house and meet them before they go on vacation, you, Jimin, and Jungkook take the trip to your hometown of Busan and relive memories of your youth. While your new relationship has you feeling like a lovesick teenager with all the affection that Jungkook shows you, you're still you - a professional trying to make it in the corporate world, and an eldest child trying not to disappoint her parents. And that turns out to be your undoing, as a little blunder causes a rift between you and Jungkook, resulting in a trip that you might as well have messed up… Not if your brother can help it, though.

[nanaslutt]

New years kisses with the JJK men (nsfw & sfw)

Incl: Gojo, Geto, Toji, Nanami, Yuji, Megumi

contains: fem reader, crack, fluff, smut, semi-public sex, finger sucking, domesticness, rough sex, teasing, dirty talk

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Gojo: SFW

The clock was ticking, only two minutes to go. It seemed everyone had found their partner or friend they were going to kiss to enter the new year together. You on the other hand? You were busying yourself getting another drink from the kitchen, which was completely vacant, save for Megumi's demon dogs chasing each other at your feet.

Even a pair of shikigami wasn't going to be alone on New Year's Eve, ugh. Of course, you had someone you wanted to kiss, but it was too unrealistic. Gojo Satoru. The two of you had gotten fairly close over the past year since you transferred from the Kyoto school to work at Jujutsu High. Clearly not as close as you thought though, as Gojo was last seen mingling with some female teacher you didnt recognize by the TV.

You turned around to peel open the fridge door to get yourself another seltzer. After digging around and finding just what you needed as the reality of another year going by with n new Year's kiss, you slammed the door shut, and almost fell straight on your ass at the piercing blue eyes that came into view.

Gojo chased your body, his hands wrapping around your waist as he caught you from falling. "Sorry~ Didn't mean to scare you," Gojo said, giggling as he watched you catch your breath, your heart still racing from the scare. He was so close, so warm. His hands were gripping you so firmly, like he didn't want you to let you go, even though you were no longer at risk for falling.

Well, honestly, It's probably a good thing he didnt let go, because the proximity of his body to yours and his delicious cologne were both making you dizzy. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. "Were you hiding from me?" He whispered, a faux pout covering his features as he tipped his head at you.

A blush spread over your cheeks as you tried to avert your gaze from his intimidating one. "The ball is about to drop, what are you doing in here?" You asked, avoiding his question. You quickly tried to look around the main room through the opening to the kitchen, looking for the girl you saw Satoru with.

"Ohh, so you know the ball is about to drop and you're hiding from me on purpose, huh?" You went to speak again, but the chant of dozens of people pouting down from ten swarmed your ears, stopping your train of thought. "You were looking for me?" "Nine! Eight!" "Why would I not be looking for you? His arms tightened around your waist, pulling your chest closer to his.

You hovered your hands over the sides of his waist, fearing if you touched him he might disappear. "Five! Four!" "Gojo stop playing, you're running out of time go find your new years kiss it's-"

"Two!, One!"

His lips were on yours before you could register what was happening. Your eyes shot open for a moment in shock before you reciprocated the kiss, slotting your lips against his. Your hand instinctually found their way to his chest, pressing against his sturdy from for leverage as the two of you kissed like you were the only two people in the worlds.

Cheers and music could be heard from the main room as the ball dropped and the time finally hit 12:00, signaling the new year. Satoru finally pulled away after what felt like forever. Both of your faces blushing, your lips buzzing with the skin of where his once was. "You're so dense sometimes." He giggled, making you jerk your head back in offense, your hand lightly batting his chest.

"What?" You said, your face scrunching in annoyance. "I've been trying to hint at you that I like you this entire year." He said, his eyes going wide as he explained himself. "Well, I don't know if it counts as 'hinting' if I tell you to your face that you're my soulmate, but I don't know. Maybe that wasn't obvious enough for your dense little head." Gojo said mockingly, releasing one of his hands around your waist to poke you in the forehead, making your eyebrows scrunch together.

"How am I supposed to take you seriously when you say stuff like that all the time? You're always joking around like that!" You exclaimed, getting in his face. His soft lips against yours made your frustration go away in an instant. "Never with you," Satoru said, his voice suddenly sounding too serious to belong to him. "I've never joked like that with you." A deeper blush was spreading itself over his face as he smiled, easing the sudden tension he caused.

You brought your eyes back to his, your mouth staying together in a pout. "So did you take that kiss as a joke too?" He asked, breaking the silence, his silly demeanor taking over once more. "How.. how could I after you just confessed." You said, your hands sliding down his chest. "THAT'S what did it? Would you have thought the kiss was a joke if I didn't follow it up with my amazing, beautiful confession?" Gojo asked, getting in your face.

You scoffed out a laugh before you pushed yourself out of his grip, turning away as you started walking to the main room with a smile on your face. "Hey! Hey, I'm talking to you! Do you like me back! Are we boyfriend, girlfriend now?! I wasn't done talkingg!" Gojo asked needily, hot on your heels as he chased you into the main room to interrogate you.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Geto: SFW

Ten years later, and the parties Gojo threw as an adult looked exactly the same. Even the people were the same. You couldn't lie that it was fairly comfortable, save for the music that was giving you a migraine, but Gojo always did like his music loud.

You and Geto had arrived together, and the two of you stayed conjoined at the hip for the entirety of the night, Gojo checked in on you occasionally as people were constantly dragging him away to converse, he was Gojo Satoru after all. Geto was the first one to get your attention after hours of catching up with everyone. His fingers tugged the bottom of your dress towards him, the feeling making you look down at his hand before your eyes found his darker ones.

He signaled to the couch with his thumb, silently asking you if you wanted to go sit down. You were thankful he said something, your feet were aching in your heels and you didn't know how much more small talk you had in you. You knew most of the people at the party, but some of your coworkers and work friends had brought their significant others--which had led to introduction after introduction, you don't think you've ever said your own name so many times in one night.

The alcohol you had been sipping on had started to make you feel dizzy too, your body feeling instant relief when your ass hit the soft cushions of the couch, your head leaning back against the large pillow behind you. You felt the cushion dip next to you when Geto joined you, his thigh pressing into yours from how close he was.

"You havin' fun?" He asked into the shell of your ear, making goosebumps cover your arms at the sound, his hot breath tickling your skin. You turned your head to face him, not realizing how close he really was. You were thankful for the color-changing LED lights in Geto's main room, or Geto might've noticed the blush on your face.

You nodded before speaking, "Yeah! I love seeing everyone loosen up in a setting like this, it's a nice change of pace from the usual seriousness of everyone's day-to-day at the school." You kept your eyes on his when you spoke, noticing how his eyes kept fluttering down to your lips, but you just brushed it off.

"Yeah? You're right, It is nice to see everyone like this." He said, his large hand coming to land on your knee, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin there. "You deserve it too, love seein' you so relaxed." Geto's looked so handsome like this. His hair fell freely around his face as he leaned his head back against the couch to match yours. The first few buttons of his shirt were undone, giving you a delicious view of his porcelain skin that change color under the lights.

"Thank you, baby." You said, your hand tucking his long hair behind his ears. "Boo, get a room," Shoko said, the other side of the couch dipping next to you as her feet slid over your thighs. You turned your head, your hands placing themselves on her legs as she leaned back, cupping her hand over her mouth as she lit a cigarette, the orange glow illuminating her face.

"You get tired of being social?" Geto asked, grabbing her legs and throwing them off of you, her heels hitting the ground with a dull click as her body was forced to sit upright to match the two of you. "I don't like these things in the first place. I'm only here because Utahime is here." She confessed, taking a drag from her cigarette.

"So why aren't you with her now?" You asked, tipping your head at her. "Lost her in Gojo's mansion. The ball is about to drop too, guess I'll be getting my kiss late." She said, jerking her head forward to the large flat screen that displayed a twenty-second count down on the screen.

"Oh shit, didn't realize it was so close, c'mere baby," Geto said, leaning over you. Effortlessly, he picked up your body and made your thighs straddle his own, your hands wrapping around his neck instinctually. Shoko groaned from the side of you, the cushion inflating back to normal as she was gone faster than she had arrived, not wanting to see you and Geto makeout.

The sound of the countdown got louder as Gojo turned up the volume from somewhere in the room. Briefly glancing around, you saw people scramble around the large space to find their significant other--looks like everyone lost track of time. Geto's hand on your face pulled you away from the distraction of everyone's commotion and led your attention back to him. "Focus on me baby, don't wanna miss this," Geto said, tucking your hair behind your ear.

Before you knew it, it was 8 seconds till midnight, and Geto was staring into your eyes like you were the only person in the room. His serious gaze made you giggle, your hands coming to cup his cheeks as his arms wrapped around your waist. You tilted your head to the side, slowly bringing your faces close together as the countdown got down to three.

"Happy New Year, baby," Geto whispered against your mouth before his lips were on yours. You hummed into the kiss, your eyes closing as you pressed your lips to his, the kiss full of love and promise to keep each other safe and loved going into the new year. He wrapped his arms around your body tightly before he stood up, spinning you around. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his hips, your ankles locking to keep yourself tight against him.

You giggled as his spinning came to a stop, the large man leaning down to place your feet on the ground before he broke the kiss, his hands cradling your face as you smiled from ear to ear. "I'm going to marry you someday." He whispered in all seriousness, smiling at you with the most sincere look of happiness he could muster.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Toji: NSFW

"Ah-ah-ah-mmmph-" Your moans were muffled by Toji's large hand pressing over your mouth. "Shhh, gotta be fuckin' quiet pretty girl." He groaned into your ear, giving you deep but slow thrusts as he spoke. "Don't want someone catchin' us like this, right?" He asked, biting your ear lobe between his teeth, making your eyes roll back in your head.

You nodded against his hand, your eyebrows furrowed together as you looked at him through the mirror, his dark eyes raking over your body, his sharp eyes watching the way your tits bounced underneath your dress. "You not wearin' a bra?" Toji asked, the hand he was using to grip your hip sliding up to massage your tit in his hand over the material of your dress, his hips shallowly thrusting into you, his fat tip kissing your sweet spot with every thrust, making your legs shake.

You shook your head, your eyes fluttering when he found your nipple and tweaked it between his fingers, the material of the dress making the stimulation extra intense. "Naughty girl.." He whispered, keeping his eyes on yours in the mirror as he pressed his lips to your ear, sending shivers down your spine. His middle finger, slid against your lips before he pressed it against them, waiting for you to open up.

"You wanted me to fuck you in here like this huh? Planned it from the start." He said with a malicious grin, watching your lips part as you took his finger in your mouth. He didnt even give you a chance to reply before he was leaning back and fucking into you--hard. The fat of your ass rippling as his hips hit your ass, his fat cock being bullied into your walls.

Your jaw was slack as Toji pressed his finger to the back of your throat, drool sliding down his hand as he fucked pathetic whimpers from your mouth, keeping his hand on your tit as he massaged it harshly in his big hand. "Shhh-shhh what did I say?" Toji asked, his eyes squinting at yours in the mirror. He watched as they tried to stay put in their sockets, the usually simple feat proving hard every time Toji fucked his girth into you.

"What did I fucking. Say." Toji repeated, emphasizing his words with a mean thrust, making your jaw drop open more in a silent moan before you gapsed sharply. Both of your smaller hands shot up to grip his thick wrist for support, his finger hooking onto your bottom row of teeth as he pulled your jaw down, trying to challenge you. "B-be quiet, you said 't be q-quiet-" You whisper moaned, your words getting louder at the end each time his hips collided with yours.

"So you can listen, good girl." Toji looked down between where the two of you were connected, his hand abandoning your tit to pull up your dress so he could watch his cock force it's way into the tight ring of your cunt, your fluids making his dick shine under the fluorescent bathroom lights every time he pulled out, making him groan.

Toji pulled his finger from your mouth, grabbing both sides of your hips in his hands as he prepared to fuck into your harder, one of your hands sliding behind you to grab his arm for leverage as the other pressed firmly over your mouth to keep yourself quiet. Just before he started being meaner than he already was, he was stopped by chanting coming from outside the room. "Ten! Nine! Eight!"

Toji's hips paused completely, giving you time to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling dramatically with each gasp. "Oh shit, it's almost new years baby." Toji said, smirking at your fucked out face through the mirror. "Toji.. Kiss.." You whispered through your gasps, looking at him desperately, your hand behind you squeezing around his wrist in urgency.

"Yeah, yeah. Cmere, crybaby." Toji teased. He pressed his chest to your back, reaching his hand around you he grabbed your chin, turning your head to the side, his other wrapping around your waist. "Three! Two! One!" The voices of the people outside the bathroom came muffled through the door as Toji smirked, pressing your lips together in a kiss full of love, contrary to his mean hips bullying you just seconds ago.

Toji slowly ground his hips against your ass, his mushroom tip rubbing against your sweet spot, making you whine into his mouth. He kissed you long and hard, his eyes cracking open to watch your face in the mirror as he kissed you. Toji smiled against your lips when he felt your cunt squeeze around him when he slipped his tongue in your mouth, tangling it with yours. He pulled back after a couple seconds of teasing, your lips being connected by a string of saliva as you breathed heavily against the others lips.

Toji looked between your fucked out expression, and your swollen lips before he leaned back in to press a quick peck against your lips, licking his own as he pulled away for good. "Happy New Year pretty girl. Let me fuck my cum into you to make sure we start this year off right, yeah?" Oh, Toji, always the romanticist.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Nanami: NSFW

Nanami reached his hand over the table, his eyes watching the way your lips wrapped around his fork as you took all of the chocolate cake into your mouth. He pulled his fork back to get himself a bite, smiling as he watched your eyes practically roll back in your head at the rich flavor. "Kento." You groaned, covering your mouth as you spoke.

He smiled, briefly looking down to scoop a forkful of the brown cake for himself. "Is it alright, my love?" He asked, holding his fork out in front of his mouth, the sweet cocoa smell flooding his nose as he waited for you to speak. "Kento, taste that right now." You said, swallowing the desert he made from scratch.

The blonde-haired man laughed at your dramatics--or what he thought were dramatics before the cake hit his tastebuds. His eyebrows raised in surprise, his eyes finding yours as he tipped his head at you, saying nothing as he chewed the cake, but his expression said it all. "Right? Riiiight? Kento, is there anything you can't do?" You asked, shaking your head in disbelief at your husband's talent.

He giggled, lifting the napkin on his lap to clean his mouth off. "I do agree this time... I think I outdid myself." He praised his own work, making you giggle. You used the table as leverage as you lifted yourself to sit on your shins on the chair, leaning forward you opened your mouth, looking up at Nanami. "Don't keep me waiting, Ken." You said teasingly, waiting for him to cut another piece for you to eat.

Nanami smiled fondly as he lifted his fork to your lips. Just before the cake made it into your mouth, it fell off the utensil, falling onto your chest, the chocolate frosting smearing on the skin of your clavicle. "Oh shoot." You said ashamed--not that the frosting had gotten on you, but because a perfectly good piece of the cake was now ruined.

"Shit, I'm sorry honey. Stay still." Nanami said, pushing himself back from his chair to wet a towel to clean you up with. A sudden idea popped into your head, your hand shooting out to grab his wrist to stop him before he got too far. "Wait." You said, sitting back down onto your chair properly, sightly pulling Nanami's body towards you.

Nanami raised his eyebrows, confused at why you had stopped him. "I have another way you can clean me up." You said teasingly, wiggling your eyebrows at Nanami. Immediately his expression softened, a small smile taking place on his face as he strode to your side of the table, standing in front of you. Nanami could already take a guess at how you wanted him to clean you up.

"Can you get on your knees for me Ken?" You asked sweetly, playing with his fingers in your hand. "Of course, my love." He answered softly, slowly getting on one knee before he followed it with the other. He looked up at you, waiting for your further instruction. Your hands came forward to hold his chiseled face in your soft hands, Nanami's eyes fluttering at the touch.

"You have such good skin, Ken." You praised, watching the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiled. "I have my lovely wife to thank for that." He answered. He was right though, every single night you pampered Nanami by laying him down and doing his skincare for him, it was his most treasured time with you.

"Yeah.. I guess you're right." You said, smiling. After raking your eyes over his handsome face once more, you bit your lip between your teeth, your eyes dropping to his lips. You looked down at your own chest where the frosting had fallen, Nanami's eyes following your own as he watched your movements carefully.

You retracted one of your hands from his face, gathering the frosting on the tip of your finger you brought it to his mouth, hovering it right over his lips. "Open please." You asked quietly, blushing at your own words. Nanami kept his eyes on yours as he did so, his tongue sliding out slightly to tease you.

He wrapped his lips around your finger, making your eyes flutter as you inhaled suddenly, feeling yourself start to throb between your legs. Nanami hummed around your finger, the deep sound only fueling the fire between your legs. Your eyebrows furrowed together as Nanami's tongue wrapped around the digit, licking off the rich frosting.

He pulled his head back, your finger popping out completely clean. Nanami licked his lips clean, making sure he got all of the frosting. "Delicious." He said quietly, his large hands sliding atop your thighs, his fingers slipping under the hem of your dress slightly as he teased you, dragging his fingers higher. "But you missed some..." Nanami whispered, raising himself on his knees.

"Yeah?" you asked teasingly, your hands sliding over Nanami's shoulders. "Yeah, right here," Nanami whispered against your skin. His hair tickled your neck as he leaned in, his tongue poking out between his lips as he licked the frosting directly off your chest. "Mmm." You moaned softly with your lips together, tangling your hands in Nanami's hair as his licking turned to sucking, his trail of kisses moving up your neck.

"Ken.." You moaned softly as he raised from his place on the floor, his hands sliding up your body, raising your dress slightly in the process as his knee made home on your chair, between your legs. Nanami kept his head on your neck, his hands feeling up your body as you tipped your head back, giving him unobstructed access to your neck.

He groaned against your skin, your legs pressing together around his thick thigh as his knee pressed against your cunt, stimulating your needy clit, making you whimper into the air. Your eyes fluttered open between his kisses, your eyes locking onto the clock, which currently read 12:05, you had missed the ball drop.

"Shit, Kento look at the time." You said, making him pull away from your neck, his head turning around to look at the clock. He looked back at you apologetically, his eyes taking in your adorable pout. "I'm sorry honey, got a little distracted." He smiled, making your pout subside slightly. "Now you have to make it up to me." You said, running your hands over Nanami's pecs and abs as he stood, his warm hand cradling your face.

"How so?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at your demands. You stood quickly, jumping into his arms, making him laugh at your sudden movements as he caught you, his hands cradling your ass. "First things first." You said before you pressed your lips to his, your hands wrapping around his neck, your nails raking over his undercut, making him groan into the kiss.

You pulled away, not wanting to waste the night any longer. Nanami looked disheveled already, just from a little pec. You cradled his cheeks in your hand before you leaned in, kissing the shell of his ear before you spoke. "Wanna see what you can do with your tongue somewhere else." Nanami let out a groan at your words, shaking his head as he felt his cock twitch.

"Who taught you to talk like that, huh?" He asked, walking you towards your shared bedroom as he spoke. " My husband." You giggled, pressing your lips to his once more as he navigated his way through the hallway.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Yuji: SFW

Yuji had been sent on a mission with Nanami earlier in the morning. he told you when he left that Nanami said it wouldn't take very long, so you shouldn't worry--he would be back in time for your New Year's kiss. But it was 12:30 now, and you sat in Nobara's room, trying not to cry as she painted your nails, her playlist playing quietly in the backround as the new year count down played on her TV.

"I don't think he's going to make it back in time." You said, pouting as you watched her work in front of you. "I'm pretty sure he would part the Atlantic Ocean to get to you, stop worrying." She said, brushing off your concerns. Nobara had been very confident all night, throughout all your worrying, that Yuji was going to make it back before midnight.

"His mission was across town, and the roads are probably hell right now... I don't know. It's fine, there's always next year." You said unconvinced, ignoring Nobara's words completely. "Ugh, I didn't realize you were such a downer~ When have I ever been wrong about anything, ever?" She shouted, looking up at you offended, holding the nail polish bottle in one hand.

*ring ring* *ring ring*

Yuji's name popped up on your phone, the screen illuminating with a picture of the two of you on the beach. "Uh oh," Nobara said, only increasing the pit of despair you felt in your stomach. You glared at her before swallowing hard and answering the phone--you don't think your mouth has ever been so dry in your life. "Yuji? Everything okay?" You asked. The backround on Yuji's end sounded like he was in a car, giving you false hope before he spoke.

"I-I'm so sorry. I'm not going to make it back to the school in time. I'm really sorry." Yuji spoke into the receiver, sounding like he was about to cry. You squeezed your eyes shut, your hope shattering in your chest like glass. He sounded sad enough as it is, you didnt want to make him feel any worse than he already did, so you did your best to keep your disappointment out of your voice when you spoke.

"Its.. It's alright Yuji, I'll see you when you get here, I know you did your best." Nobara cringed hearing you talk, knowing that she had been wrong. The two of you exchanged a few more words, mostly "I'm sorry's" from Yuji, before you ended the call. You placed your phone back on the bed, face down, before you looked up at Nobara with an 'I told you so' look on your face.

She inhaled sharply, looking back down to your hand she took it in her own, dipping the brush in the nail polish and wiping it against the side as she got to work, "Shit.. uh.. I feel like I should say my bad for getting your hopes up. I'm literally never wrong." She said, brushing the paint over your nails. "It's not your fault Nobara, I told you It'll be fine." She wondered if you knew how horrible you were at concealing your disappointment. It had been painfully obvious when you tried to hide it over the phone with Yuji too.

Nobara had finished your nails at 11:40, and it was not 11:55. A part of you was still wishing Itadori would burst through Nobara's door, but you knew that was just false wishing. After all, he had called you himself and told you he wasn't going to make it. "We can smooch if you want, the ball is about to drop," Nobara said from her place on the bed. She was lying upside down, half of her body draped off the bed while she used her phone, her arms hanging out in front of her.

"You know I can't kiss you." You giggled, kicking her foot playfully. "Yeah, I know. Sorry about Itadori." She said honestly, making you feel choked up suddenly. He really wasn't going to make it, the realization finally hitting you when the clock hit 11:59, only 30 seconds before the ball dropped. Before you could open your mouth to say it was alright, you heard a loud bang outside Nobara's door, sounding like it had come from your room across the hall, making you and Nobara both jump.

"The fuck?" Nobara said, sliding off the bed completely, and sitting crisscross on the ground. You both sat in silence as you waited to hear something else. After a few seconds, loud and quick knocks were rapped on Nobara's door, followed by a very familiar voice. "KUGISAKI, IS MY GIRLFRIEND WITH YOU?????" Yuji yelled through the door. You could hear him pacing on the squeaky floor.

Before she even had a chance to answer you were on your feet, making a b-line for the door. You slid the door open as you came face to face with a red-faced, messy-haired, and sweating Itadori, right as the countdown to the new Year echoed "Three! Two! One!" In the backround. "Hey." He spoke, out of breath, a dopey smile on his face.

You wasted no time in wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pressing your lips to his. His hands wrapped around your waist, pressing your body snugly to yours as he kissed you back, his eyes squeezing together tightly. "YUCK, get a rooooom." Kugisaki groaned, covering her eyes as the two of you kissed in her doorway.

You pulled away, looking at him exasperatedly, your hands slapping over his face and squishing his cheeks, making sure he was real and not some figment of your imagination. Itadori laughed, keeping his arms snug around your waist as you toyed with his cheeks. "How are you here? I thought you weren't going to make it?" You asked, pressing kisses to his cheeks.

"I ran here. I could tell you were trying to hide it for my sake, but I couldn't stand how disappointed you sounded." He said, his cheeks turning red from your pampering. "You ran here?!" You asked, knowing how far away his mission was. That explained his disheveled appearance. "How far?" You followed up your question, your eyebrows raised in concern.

He laughed, rubbing his thumbs into your skin comfortingly. "Just a couple miles, nothing crazy." He said nonchalantly, your mouth hanging open in shock as he spoke. "I told you he would do anything for you!!" Nobara yelled, a big smile on her face as she pointed at Itadori, looking proud of herself. "She's right, I love you. Happy New Year." Itadori said, smiling at you fondly.

You leaned in to press another kiss to his lips briefly, pulling back to smile at his adorable face, "I love you Yuij Itadori."

Megumi: SFW

"C'mon man, you gotta do it," Yuji said to Megumi, standing behind him as he shook his shoulders in his hands, the two boys facing you as you mingled with Maki and Nobara in the corner. "I... I don't think I can." Megumi blushed, his eyes raking over your frame, taking in how beautiful you looked.

You had your hair all done up, and you were dressed to the heavens. How was Megumi supposed to kiss you if he could barely look at you? "I've never even kissed anyone before, what if I suck?" He asked Yuji insecurely, looking at the walls in the room like they were the most interesting thing in the world

"How hard can it be? You wanna practice with me?" Yuji asked in all seriousness. Megumi shook Yuji's hands off of his shoulders at that, "Be serious. I'm not losing my first kiss to you." He said, scowling at the pink-haired boy as he came to stand next to him. "Ouch... I was just trying to be nice." Yuji pouted dramatically, crossing his arms.

After a couple seconds of silence, as Yuji watched the dark-haired boy stare at you while blushing, he decided to give him a little push. "It's almost midnight Megumi, and uh... not trying to freak you out or anything, but I think you have a little competition," Yuij said, pursing his lips together. The speed at which Megumi turned his head to look at Yuji almost made him laugh, but he needed to keep his composure if his little fib was going to work.

"See blondie over there with Todo?" Yuji asked, tipping his head to the innocent-looking boy standing next to the mammoth that was Todo. "He's been eying up your girl allllll night," Yuji said. "She's not my..." Megumi trailed off, his eyes finding the boy Yuji was talking about. Coincidentally, the new kid from Kyoto happened to have a crush on Maki, which Yuji knew (thanks to Todo's big mouth) who was standing right next to you.

So when Megumi looked to see the boy staring at Maki, it really looked as if he was staring at you. Megumi didn't think he was a jealous person, but the way the boy was staring at 'you' made his blood boil. "Well... she certainly won't be your girl if you don't hurry and make a move before blondie does." Yuji teased, raising his eyebrows dramatically.

"Fuck.." Megumi cursed under his breath. His fists balled by his sides as he took a couple deep breaths, trying to prepare himself. "You got this!" Yuji cheered as Megumi took the first step forward, walking toward you. It was 5 minutes to 12, meaning Megumi had no time to lose.

"Oh, hey Megumi," Maki said, nodding at her bruting-looking cousin when he walked up. You blushed as your eyes focused on his face, he looked so handsome under the dim blue lighting of the main room. "Makiiiiii, Nobaraaaaa." Yuji mouthed, waving his arms dramatically to get their attention. The two girls looked over your shoulder to the pink haired boy making obnoxious movements with his arms.

Once he successfully got their attention, he pointed to you and Fushiguro, mouthing both of your names, before he turned around and pretended to make out with someone, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Nobara tried to hold back a laugh as she watched her classmate play charades across the room. When he turned back around, he waved them over, telling them to leave the two of you alone.

"Ah, bye Megumi!" Nobara said suddenly, not even trying to come up with some lame excuse as she dragged Maki by the hand away from the two of you, leaving you and Megumi alone under the light of the blue lamp in the corner of the room.

You can't believe your friends had just left you like that. You had just got done talking about how you wanted to kiss Megumi, and how nervous you were about talking to him tonight, and the second he walks up they abandon you? Some friends.

"What's up Megumi? You havin' fun?" You asked, trying to make small talk with your crush as the seconds ticked by faster and faster, midnight rapidly approaching. "Mm, it's not bad, parties aren't really my thing." He said, trying his best to not look at your lips while he spoke.

"Oh yeah? Me neither honestly. Why did you end up coming anyway?" You asked him, trying to keep the conversation going. "Why did you?" he retorted, catching you off guard. His dark eyes staring into yours were making you nervous, he was looking at you like he could see right through you.

"I uh.. well it's New Year's, I couldn't just stay cooped up in my room. Plus Nobara wanted me to hype her up for her kiss with Maki. She's been wanting to make a move for a while now." You said, pulling a half-truth from your brain. Truthfully, Nobara would've been fine without you, you just wanted to kiss Megumi.

"That's nice of you," Megumi responded, taking note of the way you fidgeted with your fingers. Before you could respond, someone yelled from the other side of the room "30 seconds till midnight!! Kiss it up!!" Their choice of words made you cringe, but it also made you hyperaware of how alone you and Fushiguro were right now. And now that the mention of kissing had been brought up, you were sweating.

"I came here because of you." Megumi blurted out suddenly, making your mouth open in a small O shape. The blue light did little to hide the dusting of blush on his cheeks. You quickly felt your own cheeks heat up at his confession, struggling to find the words to say. "How.. how so?" You asked, fearing to ask the direct question 'do you want to kiss me?' even as the time ticked quickly to midnight.

"I... Isn't it obvious?" He asked, clearly not wanting to say it himself. The sudden ten-second countdown made your heart beat out of your chest, you could feel every drop of blood racing through your veins the way your adrenaline spiked. "I want to hear you say it.. p-please." You asked, somehow still doubting yourself.

"Five! Four!" "I want to kiss you. Is that okay? Can I kiss you?" He asked, his words coming out rushed as his face scrunched in embarrassment at his own words. When you heard the others start to cheer, followed by "Happy New Year!" You decided to answer his question with an action. Standing on your tip toes you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your lips to his.

Megumi made a noise of surprise against your lips, his eyes going wide before they shut, following your lead as he reciprocated the kiss, pressing his lips to yours. Megumi felt his face heat up when he heard Itadori cheer a loud "GO MEGUMIU!!! THATS MY BOY!!" as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You pulled back from the kiss, the both of you breathing quietly against the other's lips. "Was that Itadori..." you whispered, trying to hold back your smile.

Megumi plopped his forehead down on your shoulder, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. "Yup..." he whispered, his voice vibrating your skin, making you giggle. "Thats kinda cute." You said, running your hands through his soft hair. Megumi groaned into your neck, clearly disagreeing with your words before he pulled back, staring at your plush lips he just kissed with a pout.

"What?" You asked, smiling as you watched him oggle them. "I want to kiss you again." He said cutely. You placed your hands on his cheeks, bringing your lips together once more before you pulled away and whispered against his lips, "Kiss me all you want."

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[pucksandpower]

To Hell With Duty

Lewis Hamilton x soulmate!Reader

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

Warnings: abusive family dynamics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But that’s not fair!” You protested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he speaks, his voice low and warm.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look at him, confused. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready,” you say firmly.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She sounds brave,” Lewis comments.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re running towards it.

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that ...”

“It can’t be ...”

“The princess!”

“With Lewis Hamilton?”

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

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

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

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

The questions come rapid-fire after that.

“Why did you leave the UK?”

“Are you and Lewis Hamilton really soulmates?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ve got your back, Y/N!”

“Love wins!”

“You show ‘em, Lewis!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Together.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that ...” he asks quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the only choice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wouldn’t change a thing.

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

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

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

[inkskinned]

hello. you left a neon pink post-it with pgs 194-359 due 9/12 in the book, by the way. it is now May 23rd and the library's printer is running out of ink. it jammed and tore my passport application. one of the librarians dutifully blacked out all my information (front and back!) before proceeding to use every unmarred inch as scrap paper.

i think maybe our (plural, inclusive) lives are connected. all of them. i have been thinking a lot about borrowing. about how people move through the world in waves, filling in the same spaces. i have probably stood on the same subway platform as you. we held the same book. all of us stand in the same line at the grocery, at the gas station. how many feet have stood washing dishes in my kitchen?

i hope you are doing well. the pen you used was a nice red, maybe a glitter pen? you have loopy, curling handwriting. i sometimes wonder if it is true that you can tell a personality by the shape of our letters. i'm borrowing my brother's car. he's got scrangly engineer handwriting (you know the one). it's a yellow-orange ford mustang boss. when i got out of the building, some kids were posing with it for a selfie. i felt a little bird grow in me and had to pause and pretend to be busy with my phone to give them more time for their laughing.

i have a habit of asking people what's the last good book you read? the librarian's handwriting on the back of my smeared-and-chewed passport application says the glass house in small undercase. i usually go for fantasy/sci fi, but she was glowing when she suggested it. i found your post-it on page 26, so i really hope you didn't have to read up to 359 in that particular book. i hope you're like me and just have a weird "random piece of trash" "bookmark" that somehow makes it through like, 58 books.

i wish the concept of soul mates was bigger. i wish it was about how my soul and your soul are reading the same work. how i actually put down that book at the same time you did - page 26 was like, all exposition. i wish we were soul mates with every person on the same train. how magical to exist and borrow the same space together. i like the idea that somewhere, someone is using the shirts i donated. i like the idea that every time i see a nice view and say oh gosh look at the view, you (plural, inclusive) said that too.

the kids hollered when i beeped the car. oh dude you set off the alarm, oh shit is she - dude that's her car!! one was extremely polite. "i like your car, Miss. i'm sorry we touched it." i said i wasn't busy, finish up the pictures. i folded your post-it into a paper crane while i waited. i thought about how my brother's a kind person but his handwriting looks angry. i thought about how for an entire year i drove someone to work every day - and i didn't even think to ask for gas money. my handwriting is straight capital letters.

i thought about how i can make a paper crane because i was taught by someone who was taught by someone else.

the kids asked me to rev the engine and you know i did. the way they reacted? you would have thought i brought the sun from the sky and poured it into a waterglass. i went home smiling about it. i later gave your post it-turned-bird to a tiny child on the bus. she put it in her mouth immediately.

how easy, standing in your shadow, casting my own. how our hands pass over each other in the same minor folds. i wonder how many of the same books you and i have read. i wonder how many people have the same favorite six songs or have been in the same restaurant or have attended the same movie premier. the other day i mentioned the Book Mill from a small town in western massachusetts - a lot of people knew of it. i wonder if i've ever passed you - and didn't even notice it.

i hope whatever i leave behind makes you happy. i hope my hands only leave gentle prints. i hope you and i get the same feeling when the sun comes out. soulmates across all of it.

[theetherealbloom]

I LOVE YOU, I'M SORRY

Summary: Your soulmate’s birthday is written on your arm, and it just happened to be the day the world ended.

Paring: Jackson!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Soulmate AU, Apocalypse, ANGST, Fluff, Infected, Violence, Scratching, Age-Gap (the reader is in her 20s) Romance, Unrequited, Longing, Yearning, Secrets, Injury, Blood, Jealousy, Secret Glances, Metaphors, Character Death/s, Raiders, Ambush, Hospital, Stress, Hurt-To-Comfort, 

Word Count: 7k

A/N: I 1000% came up with this one night while scrolling through prompts and AUs I could do for Joel. I saw the Soulmate AU and I was like “oh, yeah,” *evil laugh* and then I heard the snippet for I love you, I’m Sorry and I was like, “yep, perfect, time to go through pain :D” 

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: i love you, i’m sorry by gracie abrams

| Main Masterlist |

September 26, 1967.

The date emblazoned on your wrist felt like a cruel joke, a bitter reminder of a world that had crumbled around you. The small pulse of the glow on your wrist thrummed, a haunting echo of the past. September 26 was outbreak day. The day the end of the world had come crashing down, leaving chaos and devastation in its wake. The inked numbers throbbed on your skin, a constant reminder that your soulmate was out there, somewhere in this apocalyptic wasteland.

You traced the numbers on your wrist, the ink seeming darker today, wondering if you’d ever meet the person who was meant for you. What kind of person could they be? Were they strong, gentle, kind, or hardened by the harsh world?

Hiding the mark from Joel for almost a decade took more than just care; it took an absolute miracle. You met Joel, Tess, and Tommy on your way to the Boston QZ. When you saw Joel’s wrist and the date there, you almost stopped breathing. Your birthdate on his skin was an unexpected blow. The ink on your wrist seemed to burn, yearning to connect with Joel. But his mark didn’t seem to react the same way.

When Joel and Tess started sleeping together, the walls between your apartments were paper-thin which seemed to amplify every intimate sound. You often found yourself wandering the hallways late at night, evading FEDRA officers, sitting on the rooftop, looking up at the empty night sky, stars twinkling, the moon bright. You wished for something good in a world gone bad.

You always wore long sleeves, even in unbearable heat. If you wore a short-sleeved shirt, you never took off your jacket, always coming up with some insane excuse about how cozy it was. It had become second nature, a routine you hardly thought about anymore.

As you kept your head down and worked, the grime and sweat accumulates on your skin. In exchange for your labor, you were given ration cards to obtain basic necessities.

"If it's so hot, why don't you just take off the damn jacket?" Joel gruffly asks, his irritation evident in his tone.

You stay silent and shrug, avoiding eye contact as you try to walk away to the next station, hoping to distance yourself from him. But he grabs your wrist, causing you to yank it away in surprise. "Joel, what the hell?"

Joel's tone is sharp and accusatory, causing you to instinctively flinch. "You're being awfully quiet," he scoffs.

You meet his eyes, trying to hide the turmoil inside. "What?"

"Something's off with you. What aren't you telling me?" Joel steps closer, invading your personal space, and you instinctively take a step back.

Panic sets in as you desperately search for a way out. You can't tell him the truth, so you grit your teeth and force out a lie. "I'm just tired."

"You're lying." Joel's words cut through you like a knife, making your heart race and palms sweat. The intensity of his gaze makes it clear that he won't let this go easily.

You try to remain composed, forcing a small smile. "I'm just tired from working all day."

Joel narrows his eyes, clearly not buying your excuse. "Bullshit," he says bluntly.

You bite your lip, feeling the weight of the lie in the pit of your stomach. "I promise, it's nothing."

Joel takes a step closer, making you back up against the wall. Your heart races as you feel trapped under his intense stare. "I know when something's bothering you," he says softly, his tone filled with concern.

You look down at your feet, unable to meet his gaze any longer. You've been hiding this secret for so long that the thought of telling anyone, especially Joel, terrifies you.

"Please," Joel pleads, his hand reaching out to gently touch your arm. "Just talk to me."

"I have to go," you urgently declare, heart pounding as you turn and bolt away, ignoring Joel's desperate calls for you to stop.

Your heart races as you run through the dark, narrow alleys, trying to put as much distance between you and Joel as possible. The fear and adrenaline pumping through your veins drive you forward, but at the same time, your mind is racing with thoughts of guilt for leaving Joel behind.

"Why did I have to lie?" you think to yourself. "Why couldn't I just tell him the truth?"

But deep down, you know why. You know that if you were to tell anyone about the secret burdening you, it could cost both of your lives. And as much as it pains you to not tell Joel, there is no other choice.

The memories hit you like a tidal wave, pulling you back to that moment in time. But this time, it feels like you're watching from a distance, like a bystander in your own body.

"You can convince them. You always do." The words echo through your mind as Tess begs you and Joel for help. Tears stream down her face as she pleads, "You have to get her there. Keep her safe. Make things right." Joel shakes his head stubbornly, but Tess doesn't give up. "Please, Joel. Please say yes."

Everything feels surreal as you remember the infected pounding at the door, their screams like a constant reminder of what's at stake. And then Tess is gone, sacrificing herself with the rest of the infected to save the others.

Tess, your friend died that day.

But then everything shifts and you're in a different place, a house belonging to Bill and Frank. Ellie is reading a letter aloud, and you and Joel are there listening. "I used to hate the world," Ellie says, "but I was wrong. When I met my soulmate, there was one person worth saving. That’s why men like you and me are here. We have a job to do and God help any motherfuckers who stand in our way. I leave you all of my weapons and equipment. Use them to keep…”

You remember Joel storming out of the house with the letter, his grief and pain palpable in every movement he makes. It's a bitter taste in both of your mouths, but it's also a reminder of why you keep fighting – because there are people worth protecting and worth saving.

Joel may not even realize it, but you've been waiting for him your entire life. And the same goes for Joel.

The scene changes once more; the deafening sound of gunshots pierces your ears and suddenly you're back in the hospital. You're behind Joel, gripping a rifle tightly as you navigate through the chaos and bodies scattered throughout the halls. 

Suddenly, you startle awake. Your heart races in your chest, and sweat trickles down your skin as you struggle to catch your breath.

You’re not out there. You’re in Jackson. You’re safe.

You briefly close your eyes, trying to shake off the lingering feelings of fear and loss from the dream. It had been two years since that fateful day in the hospital, and you were now living in Jackson with Joel and Ellie.

You gasped for breath and clutched your chest, trying to steady yourself with one hand on the softness of the sheets. You clambered out of bed and made your way to the bathroom, washing your hands and then your face. The cool water felt refreshing against your skin as you wiped it with a towel, trying to calm your nerves.

Taking a good look at yourself in the mirror, you saw the exhaustion written all over your face. The restlessness was evident in the dark circles under your eyes, and your hair was in a state of disarray.

"I look like I've been through hell," you muttered to yourself, sighing heavily.

You decided to take a shower, hoping it would help numb the pain. As the water cascaded over you, you let yourself sink into your thoughts, not really focusing on anything except the sound of water hitting your skin. Your bleary vision noticed the small cracks in the tiles on the wall.

Once you dried off and got dressed for the day, you headed downstairs to your small kitchen. The space had seen better days—cabinet doors hung slightly askew, and the pantry door refused to close all the way no matter how hard you tried.

You sighed, pushing the pantry door shut one more time before giving up and grabbing a mug from the chipped shelf. You poured yourself a cup of coffee, the bitter aroma filling the air as you took a tentative sip, savoring the warmth.

Later that morning, you stepped out of your little house in Jackson, pausing to take in the crisp air. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft golden light over the town. You noticed the creaky and loose steps of your porch under your feet, each step emitting a groan of protest. The railings wobbled as you gripped them for balance, making a mental note to add them to your growing list of things that needed fixing.

It was just about daybreak, the sun slowly peeking over the horizon, casting a golden glow. You stuffed your hands into the pockets of your jeans, the cozy sweater you wore providing some comfort as you made your way to the stables.

You were part of the barn support staff on rotation and consistently helped out in the greenhouse. Sometimes, you were out on patrol, but today was a barn day.

As you cleaned the barn and took care of the horses, you unconsciously rolled up your sleeves, figuring no one else would be up this early. You were alone in the stables, or so you thought.

Lifting a hand to wipe the sweat from your brow, you sighed. Suddenly, you heard the sound of something dropping and a familiar voice exclaiming, "Holy shit!"

You whipped your head around to the source of the sound and saw Ellie standing there, her eyes wide as she stared directly at your wrist.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, hastily pulling your sleeve down.

Ellie took a step closer, her curiosity piqued. "Is that... a soulmate mark?"

You avoided her gaze, feeling exposed. "It's nothing, Ellie. Just... don't worry about it."

"Nothing?!" She looked incredulous. "You’ve been hiding it all this time. Why didn't you tell me?"

You sighed, the weight of your secret feeling heavier than ever. "It's complicated, Ellie. Joel... Joel doesn't know."

Ellie’s eyes widened even more. "Joel? As in... Joel?"

You nodded, unable to find the right words. The truth was out now, and there was no going back.

Ellie moved into your space, her curiosity getting the better of her. Without warning, she grabbed your wrist, yanking it towards her. Her eyes zeroed in on the birthdate etched into your skin, her face a mix of shock and realization.

"September 26, 1967," she read aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze snapped up to meet yours, eyes wide. "That's Joel's birthday."

You tried to pull your wrist back, but Ellie held on tight, her grip firm and unyielding. "Ellie, please," you started, your voice shaky.

"Dude," she cut you off, her tone urgent and insistent. "You need to fucking tell him."

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "Ellie, it's not that simple," you began, but she shook her head, not letting you finish.

"Not that simple?" she repeated, incredulous. "You've got his birthday on your wrist. You're soulmates! How much more complicated can it be?"

Your shoulders slumped as you finally managed to free your wrist from her grip. You rubbed the tender skin, feeling exposed and vulnerable. "You don't understand," you said softly. "Joel... he's been through so much. And so have I. Telling him now, after all these years... it might just make things worse."

Ellie's expression softened, but she didn't back down. "You think keeping it a secret is any better? He deserves to know. You both do."

You turned away, unable to meet her eyes. "Joel... he's moved on, he doesn’t want anything to do with relationships, and I don’t want to disrupt that."

Ellie snorted, crossing her arms. "Moved on? Joel’s not exactly the moving on type. He carries everything with him, all the time. You think he doesn't feel something for you?"

You glanced back at her, tears welling up in your eyes. "And what if he doesn't? What if he sees this and... and it means nothing to him?"

Ellie sighed, stepping closer and placing a hand on your shoulder. "You'll never know if you don't try. And trust me, he’s stronger than you think. You both are."

Her words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, you just stood there, lost in thought. Finally, you nodded, a small, tentative movement. "I'll think about it," you whispered.

Ellie squeezed your shoulder gently before letting go. "Good. Because secrets have a way of coming out, one way or another. And it's better if it comes from you."

As she turned to leave, you stared down at the date on your wrist, the ink seeming to pulse with a life of its own. 

Maybe Ellie was right. Maybe it was time to stop hiding.

You sat alone on the bench in the food hall, picking at your meal and lost in your thoughts when a familiar drawl pulled you back to reality.

"Hey, darlin’."

The sound of Joel’s voice made your heart skip a beat, and a sudden warmth spread through your body. You nearly choked on your food, glancing up to see him settling next to you, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Hi, Joel,” you sputtered, trying to regain your composure.

Joel chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Mind if I join you?”

You shook your head, swallowing hard. “No, not at all.”

He leaned back, his shoulder brushing against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “How’s your day been?”

You shrugged, trying to appear casual. “Busy, as always. Barn duties and all that.”

Joel nodded, his gaze lingering on your face. “Yeah, I hear you’ve been workin’ hard. Always see you runnin’ around, takin’ care of things.”

A soft blush crept up your cheeks under his scrutiny. “Just trying to keep busy, you know? What about you?”

“Same old,” he replied, his voice low and soothing. “Patrols, repairs, keepin’ an eye on Ellie. She’s a handful.”

You laughed, the sound easing some of the tension. “She definitely keeps us on our toes.”

Joel’s eyes softened as he watched you, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away. The bustling noise of the food hall became a distant hum, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble.

“You look tired,” he said gently, concern evident in his voice. “Everything alright?”

You hesitated, the weight of your secret pressing down on you. “Just… a lot on my mind lately.”

Joel reached out, his hand resting lightly on your arm. The touch was brief but sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes searched yours, concern evident. “You sure you’re alright?”

Your breath hitched at the back of your throat, but you forced a smile. “Mmm... yeah. Just going through a to-do list in my mind right now.”

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly, his gaze never leaving your face. “Anythin’ that needs fixin’, darlin’?”

You shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just a few kitchen cabinets... the hinges squeak, and the pantry door doesn’t close all the way. Also a couple of loose steps and a wobbly railing too.

He nodded, his lips curling into a small smile. “Well, why don’t I take a look? Might be an easy fix.”

Your heart fluttered at the offer, a mix of gratitude and the thrill of being near him. “You don’t have to, Joel. I know you’re busy.”

Joel chuckled softly, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment longer before he let go. “I’ve always got time for you. Besides, can’t have you fightin’ with those cabinets every day.”

You laughed, the tension easing slightly. “Alright, if you insist.”

Joel’s eyes twinkled with a warm light. “I’ll swing by tomorrow mornin’, if that’s alright with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of spending more time with him. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’d appreciate the help.”

He gave a slow, easy smile that made your stomach flutter. “Great. I’ll bring my tools and we’ll get this place sorted.”

The way he said “we” filled you with a sense of comfort and belonging. “Thanks, Joel. It really means a lot.”

Joel stepped closer, his hand brushing against your arm in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “Anytime, darlin’. You know I’m here for you.”

You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I know.”

His gaze held yours for a moment longer, the air thick with unspoken words and the electric tension between you. Finally, he took a step back, breaking the spell.

“I should get goin’,” he said, his voice a bit huskier than usual. “Gotta talk to Tommy ‘bout somethin’.”

“Right, of course,” you replied, feeling a pang of disappointment but also a thrill of anticipation for tomorrow.

Joel lingered by the table, a hand on your shoulder. “Take care, okay?”

“You too, Joel,” you said softly.

He nodded and turned to leave, but not before giving you one last, lingering look. You watched him walk away, your heart pounding and your mind racing with thoughts of what tomorrow might bring.

The next morning, you were up at dawn, nerves and excitement thrumming through you as you tidied up the kitchen. Each movement was deliberate, an attempt to keep your mind occupied. But no matter how much you tried to focus, you couldn’t help but glance at the clock every few minutes, your heart racing each time the hands inched closer to Joel’s promised arrival.

As you finished your second cup of coffee, the knock on the door startled you, sending a jolt through your already frazzled nerves. You took a deep breath to steady yourself and opened the door to find Joel standing there, a toolbox in one hand and a warm, familiar smile on his face.

“Good mornin’,” he greeted, stepping inside, his presence filling the room.

“Morning, Joel,” you replied, the rush of warmth at seeing him making your voice tremble slightly.

He set the toolbox down and looked around the kitchen with a critical eye. “Alright, let’s see what we’re dealin’ with here.”

As Joel began inspecting the cabinets and pantry door, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him. Every subtle flex of his muscles under his shirt drew your attention, and you found it hard to look away.

“Found the problem,” he said, pulling you from your thoughts. “Just needs a little tightening and some oil.”

You nodded, trying to focus on his words rather than the magnetic pull of his proximity. “I’m glad it’s an easy fix.”

Joel smiled, his eyes locking with yours, sending a spark of electricity through you. “Told you it wouldn’t be a problem.”

As he worked, you found yourself drawn to him, moving closer under the pretense of handing him tools or holding a flashlight. Each accidental brush of your hands sent a jolt through you, the air between you charged with unspoken desire. You felt your pulse quicken every time his fingers grazed yours.

“There,” Joel said finally, standing up and testing the now-silent hinges. “Good as new.”

You smiled, genuinely grateful and a little breathless from being so close to him. “Thank you, Joel. You’re a lifesaver.”

He chuckled, wiping his hands on a rag. “Just doin’ what I can.”

You both stood there for a moment, the kitchen suddenly feeling too small and too big all at once. The silence between you was heavy with everything you weren’t saying, a tension that seemed to thicken the air.

“Joel,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “I really appreciate this. More than you know.”

He looked at you, his expression softening in a way that made your heart ache. “I’m glad I could help. And I meant what I said yesterday—you don’t have to do everything alone.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you took a tentative step closer, the distance between you feeling like an unbearable chasm. “It’s hard to ask for help sometimes. But knowing you’re here... it makes a difference.”

Joel reached out, his fingers lightly grazing your arm, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’ll always be here for you. Don’t ever doubt that.”

The intensity in his eyes made your breath catch. You felt drawn to him, the unspoken connection between you growing stronger with each passing moment. Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance between you, your heart pounding in your chest. 

His breath hitched as you moved closer, the air between you charged with a heady mix of anticipation and yearning. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between holding back and giving in. The warmth of his body so close to yours was intoxicating, and you felt your resolve weakening with each passing second.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but filled with all the longing you’d kept hidden for so long.

He swallowed hard, his gaze never leaving yours. “I—”

Just as the air between you thickened with unspoken words, a sudden, sharp knock on the door interrupted the moment. You both turned to see a young woman standing there, her eyes lighting up when she saw Joel.

“Hey, Joel!” she called out, her tone annoyingly bright. “I heard you were here and thought I’d bring over some coffee. Figured you could use a break.”

Joel’s jaw tightened, and you could feel the tension radiating off him. “Uh, thanks, Vanessa,” he replied, his voice strained. “But we’re kinda in the middle of something.”

Vanessa’s eyes flicked to you, her gaze turning cold. “Oh, I see. Well, maybe I could help?”

Before you could step away, Joel’s arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close. The unexpected gesture sent a shiver through you, and you looked up at him, your heart pounding.

“We’re busy, Vanessa,” Joel said firmly, his hand resting possessively on your hip. “Thanks for the offer, but we’ve got it covered.”

Vanessa’s eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in obvious jealousy. “Right. Well, if you change your mind...” She trailed off, her eyes lingering on you with a mixture of disdain and envy before she finally turned and walked away.

As soon as she was out of earshot, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Joel’s grip on your waist loosened, but he didn’t let go. His eyes met yours, the intensity in them making your pulse race.

“Sorry about that,” he murmured, his voice low. “Didn’t mean to make things awkward.”

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “It’s okay. I appreciate the backup.”

Joel chuckled softly, his thumb brushing against your side in a way that sent tingles down your spine. “Guess we should get back to work, huh?”

You nodded, reluctantly stepping back, though his touch lingered in your mind. “Yeah, the step and railing on the porch still need fixing.”

Together, you moved outside, the tension from earlier still simmering between you. As Joel inspected the loose step, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him. The way his hands moved with such confidence and skill, the way his brow furrowed in concentration—it all captivated you.

“Can you hold this steady for me?” he asked, his voice pulling you from your thoughts.

You nodded, stepping closer to help. Your hands brushed against his as you held the wood in place, and the contact sent a jolt through you. The proximity, the shared task, the quiet intimacy of the moment—it all felt like a dance, each movement charged with unspoken feelings.

“Almost got it,” Joel murmured, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and it took all your willpower not to lean into him.

Finally, he tightened the last screw and tested the step, making sure it was secure. “There. That should do it.”

You smiled, genuinely grateful and more than a little breathless. “Thank you, Joel. You’re a lifesaver.”

He looked at you, his eyes softening. “Just doin’ what I can.”

As you both stood there on the porch, the morning sun casting a golden glow around you, the world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you. Everything you wanted to say but didn't wash over you in the awkward stillness, and the feelings you shared were nearly visible.

The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the landscape as you and your patrol partner, Mark, scouted the perimeter. He was easy-going, always ready with a joke or a reassuring word. You found his presence comforting, a steady rock amidst the chaos.

“Think we’ll find anything today?” you asked, keeping your voice low.

Mark grinned, his eyes scanning the horizon. “Nah, it’s been quiet for a while now. Let’s hope it stays that way.”

Just as the words left his mouth, a shot rang out. The next few moments were a blur of chaos and violence. Raiders, hidden in the underbrush, launched their attack. Mark managed to shoot one off you, his quick reflexes saving your life. But then, he was hit, and you watched in horror as he crumpled to the ground.

“Mark!” you screamed, dropping to your knees beside him. Blood poured from a wound in his chest, and his breaths came in ragged gasps. You pressed your hands against the wound, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood. “Stay with me, Mark. Please, stay with me.”

But his eyes glazed over, the light fading. You choked back a sob, fury and grief surging through you as the raiders closed in. You fought with every ounce of strength you had, slashing and stabbing, your vision blurred by tears and the pouring rain that had begun to fall. Blood and dirt smeared your face, and pain lanced through your body from multiple wounds.

The storm roared with fury, whipping the trees and lashing the ground with torrents of rain. You stumbled through the churning chaos, your clothes drenched and clinging to your skin, your muscles burning from the effort of pushing forward. Your vision blurred by the onslaught, you fought to keep moving, each step a battle against the ferocious elements. In that moment, all that mattered was survival - staying alive until the tempest passed.

It had been hours since Joel last saw them. His graying hair was in danger of being pulled out in frustration. You and Mark were supposed to be back by now. The patrol route you both took was supposed to be a shorter one.

Joel paced back and forth in the settlement, struggling to contain his anger. “Why the hell can’t I go out there, Tommy? She’s my partner, my—” He cut himself off, frustration and fear etched into his features.

Tommy placed a hand on his shoulder, his voice firm. “You’re too close to this, Joel. You need to stay here. I’ll find her.”

Hours dragged by, each minute an eternity. Joel’s rage simmered, his helplessness gnawing at him. He punched the wall, his knuckles splitting, but the pain was nothing compared to the fear of losing you.

Tommy had taken a small team out to search for you and Mark, but there was still no word. The storm raged on, making it even harder to find any trace of you.

Joel’s mind raced with possibilities – had you and Mark been ambushed? Taken by the raiders? Injured and unable to make it back? His heart clenched at the thought of you hurt or worse.

He cursed himself for not going out with you both, for letting his emotions cloud his judgement. He knew better than anyone that in this world, you couldn’t afford to let your guard down. But he had let himself become complacent, too focused on protecting you rather than seeing things clearly.

Bile rises in Joel's throat, the taste of fear and worry leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He swallows hard, trying to push the feeling down as he anxiously waits for any news.

The bitter taste of regret and fear lingered on Joel’s tongue, each thought of what could happen to you making his stomach turn.

The metallic taste of blood was thick on Joel's tongue as he bit down on his lip, trying to hold back his emotions. The rancid taste of fear and worry lingered in his mouth, coating his throat and making it hard to swallow.

Meanwhile, Tommy pushed through the storm, his eyes straining to pierce the darkness. The wind howled around him, carrying with it the distant echoes of thunder. He called out your name, his voice barely audible above the roar of the tempest. His heart pounded with a mixture of fear and determination, each step sinking into the mud as he trudged forward.

The rain came down in sheets, making it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. Lightning flashed, illuminating the twisted branches and slick ground for brief moments. He stumbled over fallen logs and through thick underbrush, the storm making every movement a struggle.

Tommy's eyes darted around, searching desperately. He felt a gnawing dread in the pit of his stomach, a fear that he was too late. Then, in the distance, he saw a figure lying still. His breath caught in his throat as he hurried over, praying that it wasn't you.

As he got closer, he recognized the bodies of the raiders, their lifeless forms sprawled across the muddy ground. The sight was gruesome, the aftermath of a brutal fight. His heart sank when he saw Mark, his friend and comrade, lying motionless with a fatal wound. He forced himself to look away, his focus now solely on finding you.

Finally, his eyes landed on you, crumpled and barely breathing. His heart pounded in his chest as he knelt beside you. Blood soaked your clothes, mingling with the dirt and rain, creating a grim tapestry that told the story of your fierce struggle.

“Hey, hey, it’s gonna be okay,” Tommy murmured, his voice trembling with urgency and concern. He gently lifted your head, cradling you in his arms. You stirred slightly, your eyelids fluttering open to reveal dazed, pain-filled eyes.

“Joel?” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the storm. The confusion and pain in your gaze made Tommy’s heart clench.

Tommy’s eyes widened as he saw the mark on your wrist, illuminated by a flash of lightning. It was the same date he had seen on Joel’s wrist—the same mark. Realization hit him like a freight train, the pieces falling into place with a sudden clarity. “It’s Tommy,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve got you. Just hold on.”

But you had already slipped back into unconsciousness, your body limp in his arms. Tommy’s heart raced as he gently but urgently lifted you, securing you on his horse. He mounted behind you, holding you close to keep you steady, and spurred the horse into a gallop.

The ride back was a blur of rain and darkness, each second stretching into an eternity. The storm seemed to rage even harder, the wind whipping through the trees and the rain stinging like needles. Tommy’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, fear for your life mingling with the shocking revelation of your connection to Joel.

By the time Tommy reached the settlement, his clothes were soaked through, clinging to his skin like a second, frigid layer. Every muscle in his body ached from the grueling ride and the weight of your unconscious form. The rain had not let up, and his vision was blurred by the relentless downpour. But he didn't stop, carrying you swiftly yet carefully towards the infirmary, each step a struggle against exhaustion and worry.

Joel was just by the large gate of Jackson, pacing anxiously. The moment he saw Tommy approaching with your limp body, his heart seemed to stop. His face, already drawn with worry, twisted into an expression of sheer desperation.

“Is she okay?” Joel asked frantically, his voice cracking. His eyes were wide, darting between Tommy and your pale face for any sign of hope.

“She’s alive,” Tommy said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. He handed you over to the medics who were rushing to meet them. Joel instinctively moved to follow, but Tommy grabbed his arm, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Joel, wait. Look at her wrist,” Tommy urged, his voice low but insistent.

Joel’s eyes followed Tommy's gaze, landing on the mark on your wrist. Recognition hit him like a punch to the gut, the date etched into your skin unmistakable. It was the same as his. Realization dawned with a mixture of awe and dread. “Fuck,” he breathed, the weight of it crashing over him. The one person he couldn’t afford to lose was you, and now he knew why.

The medics were quick, their movements efficient as they assessed your injuries and began to prepare you for treatment. They lifted you onto a stretcher, intent on rushing you inside where they could better tend to your wounds. Joel moved to follow, his protective instincts kicking in, but the medics tried to hold him back.

“Sir, you need to let us do our job,” one of them said, a young woman with a firm but gentle voice.

“No,” Joel growled, his eyes blazing with determination and fear. “I ain’t leavin’ her side.”

Tommy stepped in, trying to reason with him. “Joel, you gotta let the doctors work.”

Joel’s fists clenched at his sides, his whole body trembling with the effort to contain his emotions. “I can’t… I can’t lose her, Tommy,” he choked out, his voice raw with pain and anger.

“I know, but you stayin’ in there won’t help her. You’ll only be in the way,” Tommy said, his tone gentle but firm. He placed a reassuring hand on Joel’s shoulder, trying to ground him. “You’ve gotta trust them to do their job. Let them help her.”

Joel’s jaw tightened, his eyes locked on the door to the infirmary where they had taken you. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to be by your side, to make sure you were safe. But he knew Tommy was right. With a heavy, reluctant nod, he allowed himself to be led away, his heart aching with every step.

The minutes stretched into an eternity as they waited. Joel paced back and forth, his mind racing with worry. He could still see the image of you, broken and bloodied, every time he closed his eyes. The mark on your wrist haunted him, a constant reminder of the bond that tied you together. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he couldn't bear to lose you.

Tommy stood by, watching his brother with a mixture of sympathy and concern. He knew how much you meant to Joel, and the revelation of the soulmate mark only intensified that bond. He wished there was something more he could do, some way to ease Joel’s pain.

Finally, a medic emerged from the infirmary, her expression tired but relieved. “She’s stable,” she announced, and Joel felt a weight lift off his shoulders. “She’s got a long road to recovery, but she’s a fighter.”

Joel nodded, his eyes filled with gratitude and determination. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He would stay by your side, no matter what. The bond you shared was too precious to ever let go.

Days blurred into a haze of sterile white walls and the rhythmic beeping of machines. You drifted in and out of consciousness, each time greeted by the comforting sounds of Joel and Ellie. Joel's low, soothing voice often filled the room, whether he was talking to you or humming a soft tune. Ellie would sit by your bed, recounting stories with her usual animated flair, her voice a bright spot in the darkness.

One evening, as the storm outside mirrored the chaos within, you stirred slightly. The weight of Joel's hand on your wrist was a grounding force, his presence unwavering. He looked exhausted, his eyes heavy with worry, but he never left your side.

In one of your more lucid moments, you caught snippets of Joel's soft singing, the melody wrapping around you like a warm blanket. His voice was a balm, a tether to the world you were trying so hard to rejoin. He would often lean down to press gentle kisses to your forehead, his touch both a promise and a plea for you to come back to him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you awoke fully. Your throat was dry, and every muscle ached, but you were aware. The weight on your wrist brought your gaze to Joel. He was slumped in a chair beside your bed, his head resting on the edge, fast asleep. He looked worn out, dark circles under his eyes and a shadow of stubble on his jaw.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, his eyes fluttering open as if sensing your gaze.

“I...” Your voice came out as a croak, and you winced.

“Here, drink up,” Joel said, quickly pouring a glass of water and holding it to your lips. You drank greedily, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat.

After a few sips of water, you managed to find your voice again. “How long have I been out?” you asked, your throat feeling slightly raw from disuse.

“Almost a week,” Joel replied, his eyes never leaving yours.

“A week?” you repeated in shock. It felt like only a few hours had passed.

Joel nodded, his hand gently caressing your cheek. “You were pretty out of it for a while there.”

You felt a pang of guilt for causing so much worry and trouble for everyone. “I’m sorry,” you said softly.

“Don’t be sorry,” Joel said firmly, his eyes filled with intensity. “Just focus on getting better.”

“I will,” you promised, grateful for his unwavering support.

The relief on Joel’s face was palpable, but as he set the glass aside, a flicker of anger flashed in his eyes. “Were you ever going to tell me?” His voice was quiet, but the intensity of his gaze was almost too much to bear.

You looked away, shame burning your cheeks. “Trust me, I know. It's always about me.”

Joel's jaw clenched. “I just… I didn’t think you could ever want me.” Your voice broke, the years of hiding and pretending catching up to you.

Joel’s expression softened, and he took a step closer, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek. “You’ve always been more than I deserve,” he murmured. “I just wish you’d told me.”

Tears filled your eyes, and you struggled to breathe. “I love you…” you choked out, the words finally escaping your lips after years of being held back. “I’m sorry.”

Joel pulled you into his arms, holding you close as you sobbed. “I love you too,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

In the midst of life's storms, a quiet calm settled around you both, like discovering an oasis in the desert. Amidst chaos and pain, you found your soulmate, and love emerged as the unwavering light guiding you through the darkest nights.

[hobicakess]

Wonderful World — JJK One-Shot Series

SUMMARY: The world had gone to shit just like many had theorized. The living was not only fighting the dead, but they were also fighting against themselves and each other. Jeon Jungkook has been in the field by himself for months, living off of scraps, his own rules of survival, and barely enough water. Along the way, he finds a ditzy girl spoiled girl ironically Princess and her crusty white dog. He understood they'd be a handful, but he was Jeon Jungkook, and he could handle anything.

RATING: 18+ (im not the momma you are in control of what you consume.)

PAIRING: Jeon Jungkook x Bimbo!reader

CONTENT WARNING: apocalypse!au, gore, blood, ditzy!reader, angst, slow burn, eventual established relationship, jungkook is sighing every three seconds, eventual smut, crusty white dog (yes that's a warning), minor character death, named reader, corrupt dystopian society, meanie jungkook, princess is just a girl, more to be added AUTHORS NOTE: i am back in my zombie apocolyse era!!!! this is heavily inspired by zombie land because i love it sososo much. the post for this story will be in shorts pushing 1k- 3k? words and my ask box is always open to request and thoughts for this series. If you are new to my blog welcome hottie! be sure to check out my other works, you"ll love it over here xxx

Jungkook had strict rules.

Four sips of water a day, only eat when his stomach is cramped to the point of when he couldn't walk, never sleep over an hour, don't let anyone in. He didn't need extra weight slowing him down from his destination. Was he being hard on himself? Maybe. Since losing his group in an unexpected ambush all those months ago he couldn't bring himself to be softer on his habits even if he had more than enough resources to keep him alive and breathing for the year. He was guilty, and angry. Angry at himself and angry at the world for what it had come too. Despite his personal angst Jungkook refused to die holding onto the hope he would finally reunite with his six soulmates.

Another unspoken rule of his was to never walk upon the main roads. Stay away from those maniacs dressed in military clothes and those who drove military trucks. So he stuck to the shadows, camouflage into the trees with stealthy movements. Quick and quiet, never stay in one place longer than two days. He's been in here for at least a day spending that time securing the area and everything around it before he could properly set up his base in the abandoned thrift store he found. Hopefully he could get as much rest as a person could during the end of the world. As he tracked back to his base swiftly moving through the tree-line with the new finds he managed to scavenge. He stopped when he heard a squeal that didn't sound like the parasites that took over the world. Peeking through the green he saw a woman. A frown taking over his handsome features as his eyes rake her clothing.

A tiny pink cropped tank top, tight denim shorts that had jeweled pockets, ripped black fishnets and wedged heels that threw him off more than the unethical outfit. On her back was a clear backpack and inside was a tiny sleeping dog who was unaware of the life or death circumstances their owner happened to be in. Surrounding her were geeks groaning and growling, taking swipes at her. Their only objective is to eat,eat, eat.

Jungkook didn’t deal with other people, for obvious reasons but he was still the selfless Jeon Jungkook who couldn’t turn his back on anyone, especially a woman clearly in need of his help. So he quickly jumped from the trees, holding onto his crow bar tightly and as he approached the woman and the group of zombies.

Until she screeched, "You broke my nail" pulling out a knife from her thigh garter taking down all four of the dead. Breathing heavily she blew a curl from her face as she turned, jumping at the sight of Jungkook's large frame looming over her with his crowbar up as if he was ready to attack her. She squeaks gathering herself into a tiny fighting position as she points her knife at him and he notices the handle was decorated with a dark skinned hello kitty print.

“You’re literally so sexy. I’d let you kill me as long as I’m in a chokehold.” Her big brown eyes trailed to his beefy tattooed and tanned arms causing his eyebrows to shoot up in surprise. Clearing his throat he put his weapon down turning on his thick soled heels back into the ditch disappearing into the greenery. She wasn’t in any danger anymore so he wasn’t needed.

“You know it’s not very nice to leave a lady unattended in the middle of a road especially during an apco-" he was quick to grab her, shoving her down against the tree trunk. He smacked against her mouth, as a group of military men began to drive along the side of the road closest to them. His eyes met her wide ones as she blinked her wispy lashes at him. His gaze trails over the freckles that danced over her button nose, and cheeks, slight blood splatter caked there along with her forehead. She giggles quickly as he removes his hand from her mouth revealing a bright and pearly smile.

"Kinky." his lip curls in annoyance as he turns his back on her again.

“You can’t just leave us! Me and Minnie are great company.” He stopped walking when he heard the name of her dog minnie. Who's been surprisingly quiet through the whole ordeal. Looking over his shoulder at her, he then shaking his head, he continued on taking longer steps.

“Okay I get it silent and boarding, dark and mysterious, tall, tanned, and handsome.She rambled on scurrying behind him.

“Whew you know what hulk- ACK!” a thud echoed through the trees making him turn seeing her fallen to her knees in mud. She sniffles as she tries to stand on her feet, failing miserably only getting her hands dirty in the process.

"They leave me all alone, take my stuff, then I break a freaking nail because of those nasty freaks, now I'm covered in mud following around an avenger who doesn't even. . ."

She's fully sobbing now, fat tears falling down her chubby cheeks as she gives up moving. "Just strike me downnnn"

Again his selfless heart was aching as he winced. He grumbles as he stomps towards her reaching his own hand out for her to take, after all this he couldn't find it in himself to just leave her not now. She sniffles as she looks up at him, then stares at his hand. With another pretty smile she takes it, letting him pull her upright, allowing her to rub her muddy hands on his black tank top with a defeated sigh.

“Thanks Thor.”

Huffing he began walking again this time slower so she wouldn't lose him. As he gets to the brick wall that seperates the forest from the store. She stares up at it and swallows hard. “How are we gonna get up there?”

Rolling his eyes Jungkook pulls his backpack off of his back, throwing it over the wall. He reaches towards her and she gasp, “You are not throwing my precious Minnie over that wall!” Stepping back from him a pout set on her lips. He shrugs and begins to climb up, leaving her there to watch as he disappears over the wall. Pouting and huffing, she removes her backpack from her back, strapping it in the front just in case she falls on her ass. “I'm way too pretty for this”

Scaling the wall she walked along it ignoring Hulks loud huffs and tapping of his boots. That's when she found a hole there big enough for her to fit through happily making her way through.

Jungkook might just leave her there on the other side of the wall. Hopefully she'll use whatever's there in her brain to find her way over the wall with her crusty white dog who he wished he could sleep like. He jumps at the tap on his shoulder turning to her standing behind him hands behind her back as she gave him a closed lip smile puffing the apples of her cheeks rocking back and forth on her wedges. “Guess what hulky.”

He raises a pierced eyebrow as she points in the direction she came from. “Found a hole in the wall!! You didn't even have to climb over silly.”

The happiness in her face fell as Jungkooks face hardened. Storming over to the said hold, cursing. He could have sworn he sweep the whole perimeter. How could this have gotten under his nose? He turns back to you standing pouty and confused. Since the first time meeting him Jungkook opens his mouth to speak.

“Good job princess” his voice deep and hoarse from not using it for months.

"OMG how'd you know my name" She smiles practically bouncing on her feet from the praise and his attention, twirling on a piece of her hair like a school girl with a crush. Shaking his head he turned back to fix the wall.

Inside of the thrift store, Jungkook listened quietly to her ramble about her love for thrifting and how she would rather thrift than online shop. Then he watched her get teary eyed again over not being able to online shop anymore. “It's just not fair!!! Like I was living the most barbie dream girl life, ya know?”

Accepting the tissue he handed to her staring at the sleeping dog in her lap. “Then bam the Internet shuts off, then boom my freaking neighbor tries to eat me.”

“Like I'm just a girl! I'm not fit for this at all.” Blowing her nose into the tissues finishing her tantrum while Jungkook debated on what to say. “I watched you knife four geeks by yourself, I think you're doing pretty good.”

“ Really?”

“Really?”

She giggles sniffing, as she held out her hand. “I’m Princess Marie sorry for the late introduction ‘s very rude.

Clasping his hand into hers, “Jeon Jungkook. Don't worry about it too much.”

His gaze drifted to her bloody broken nail.

“Let's clean this up, kay?”

Eagerly she nodded dark curls bouncing.

“Mmkay kookie”

Jungkook wouldn't admit it out loud but being in the presence of another human being that wasn't trying to kill him was nice. He knew that princess and her crusty dog would be a handful but he was willing to deal with it. Plus he missed being called by his favorite nickname.

- © hobicakess ! do not steal, modify, copy, plagiarize, nor repost any of the works on this blog without given permission!

[astrxq]

I watched Damsel with Millie Bobby Brown, and I was thinking it would make a great Jace x reader story, if you're taking requests. Something like him being the prince who has to fake a wedding and then offer her as a sacrifice on the mountain to the dragon, but ends up falling in love and decides to rescue her. Or maybe he is the dragon that is cursed, and would only return to human form if he found his soulmate, in this case the sacrifices (the girls were thrown into the dragon's pit) because otherwise he would burn down the city, just like in the film. - 💜

The Dragon's Bride

jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

words: 17k (oops?)

notes/warnings: non-canon events, description of blood/cuts (blood oath), religious guilt (jacaerys), kissing, angst??, slight ooc jacaerys and rhaenyra, mentions of death, animal death, jace's council SUCKS!!!

The weight of duty had never felt heavier on Prince Jacaerys’ shoulders as he stood before the ancient weirwood tree in the godswood of the Red Keep. The face carved into the trunk seemed to watch him with knowing eyes, judging his every thought and action.

Jacaerys ran a hand through his long-curly hair, and took a deep breath. The task before him was one he had dreaded since childhood, a burden passed down through generations of his family. As the heir to the Iron Throne, it fell to him to carry out this grim duty.

“My prince,” a voice called from behind him. Jacaerys turned to see one of the maesters approaching, his chain clinking softly with each step. The old man's face was etched with concern. “The Small Council awaits your presence. It is time to begin the selection process.”

Jacaerys nodded, his eyes clouded with resignation. “I'll be there shortly.”

As the maester retreated, Jacaerys cast one last glance at the heart tree. “Give me strength,” he whispered, though he wasn't sure if he was addressing the old gods, the new, or simply the universe itself.

The walk to the Small Council chamber felt like a march to his own execution. Each step echoed through the stone corridors, a countdown to a fate he couldn't escape. When he reached the ornate doors, he paused, steeling himself for what was to come. With a deep breath, he pushed them open and entered, two soldiers walking behind him.

The room fell silent as Jacaerys took his seat at the table.

Queen Rhaenyra spoke first, her voice steady. “My son, The dragon of Dragonstone grows restless,”

Jacaerys nodded, his throat tight. Still silent.

Ser Alfred leaned forward, his eyes sharp. “The tradition is clear, Your Grace. Prince Jacaerys must choose a lady from among the noble houses of Westeros. He will wed her in a ceremonial marriage, and then...” He trailed off, the unspoken fate hanging heavy in the air.

“And then I must take her to the dragon,” Jacaerys finished. 

Lord Corlys, ever the pragmatist, spread a collection of scrolls on the table. “We have compiled a list of suitable candidates from houses loyal to the crown. Each lady comes from a family of impeccable lineage and has been deemed worthy of this... honor.”

As Jacaerys looked at the names before him, he couldn't help but feel a wave of nausea. Each name came with a charcoal drawing of the girls. These were not just names on parchment; they were living, breathing young women, each with hopes and dreams of their own. And he was to choose one to condemn to a terrible fate.

“May I have some time to consider?” he asked, his eyes meeting his mother's.

Queen Rhaenyra hesitated. She nodded, her expression softening slightly. “Of course.”

As the council members filed out of the room, Jacaerys remained seated, staring at the scrolls before him. The weight of his task pressed down on him, threatening to crush his spirit entirely.

Jacaerys stared at the scrolls spread before him, each one bearing the name and likeness of a young woman whose fate now rested in his hands. The charcoal drawings seemed to come alive under his gaze, eyes filled with hope and innocence that he would soon extinguish. His fingers trembled as he reached for the first scroll.

Jacaerys felt his breath coming faster, his heart pounding in his chest. One by one, Jacaerys examined the scrolls, each lady's face burning itself into his memory. 

As the hours wore on, the faces began to blur together, a parade of innocent lives that he was tasked with judging. Who among them deserved this fate? How could he possibly make such a choice?

Jacaerys stood abruptly, pacing the length of the chamber. He ran his hands through his curly hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. The weight of his duty pressed down on him, threatening to suffocate him where he stood.

A knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. “Enter,” he called, his voice hoarse from disuse.

A servant girl entered, carrying a tray with bread, cheese, and wine. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace,” she said, bobbing a curtsy. “The Queen thought you might need sustenance.”

Jacaerys nodded absently, gesturing for her to set the tray on a side table. As she turned to leave, he caught sight of her face – young, perhaps a few years younger than himself.

“Wait,” he said, causing the girl to pause at the door, worried. “What is your name?”

She turned, surprise evident on her face. “Myra, Your Grace.”

“Myra,” he repeated, studying her. “Tell me, Myra, if you had to choose someone to... to face a great danger, how would you decide?”

The servant girl's eyes widened, clearly taken aback by the question. She fidgeted with her apron, considering her words carefully. “I... I suppose I would choose someone brave, Your Grace.”

Jacaerys nodded slowly. “And if all the choices seemed equally brave?”

Myra bit her lip, then said softly, “Then perhaps... the kindest one, Your Grace.”

With those words, she curtsied again and slipped out of the room, leaving Jacaerys alone with his thoughts once more.

He returned to the table, looking at the scrolls with fresh eyes. Brave and kind – could he discern those qualities from these brief descriptions and charcoal portraits?

As he sifted through the scrolls again, one caught his eye. He had overlooked it before, distracted by the more prominent houses. But now, something about it called to him.

Your name was written at the top in elegant script, followed by a brief description of your house and accomplishments. But it was the portrait that held his attention. The artist had captured a certain light in your eyes, a hint of a smile that spoke of warmth and courage.

Jacaerys found himself reading your description more closely. You were not from one of the great houses, but your lineage was respectable. What stood out were the small details – your love of books, your kindness to those less fortunate, the way you had once stood up to a local threat to protect a younger child.

He closed his eyes, trying to imagine you facing the dragon. In his mind's eye, he saw you standing tall, afraid but unbroken. He saw kindness in your gaze, even in the face of such terror.

Opening his eyes, Jacaerys looked at the other scrolls once more. Each lady was worthy in her own right, each life precious. But something about you called to him, a feeling he couldn't quite explain.

With a heavy heart, knowing the fate he was condemning you to, Jacaerys set your scroll aside. He had made his choice.

As dawn broke over King's Landing, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, Jacaerys stood once more before the heart tree in the godswood. He pressed his palm against the rough bark, feeling the ancient power thrumming beneath.

“I've chosen,” he whispered to the carved face. “Gods help me, I've chosen.”

Jacaerys had never been one for prayer, nor had he put much stock in the gods, old or new. As a prince of the realm, his education had focused on matters of state, the intricacies of court politics, and the art of war. Faith had always seemed like an afterthought to him, a crutch for the weak. But as the time for this grim tradition approached, he found himself drawn to the godswood more and more frequently, seeking solace in the ancient silence of the heart tree.

The sound of a throat clearing shook him out of his thoughts, the same maester who had long-ago taught him to translate High Valyrian stood with his arms to his sides. “Emagon ao reached iā decision, ñuha dārilaros?” [Have you reached a decision, my prince?]

Jacaerys’ brows furrowed in deep contemplation. 

“Eman,” [I have,] Jacaerys finally spoke, his voice carrying the weight of his decision. He glanced once more at the ancient weirwood, as if seeking guidance from the silent face carved into its trunk. “Prepare iā vōljes.” [Prepare a raven.]

The maester nodded solemnly. “To whom shall I send it, Your Grace?”

Without another word, Jacaerys reached for his pocket, pulling out the folded scroll with your name on it. He stared at it for a few seconds before, with an attempt of a steady hand, he handed it over.

The news of Prince Jacaerys' choice spread through the Red Keep like wildfire. Whispers filled the corridors, a mix of curiosity and pity for the unknown girl who had been selected for this “honor.” In the days that followed, preparations began in earnest for your arrival and the ceremonial wedding that would precede the grim journey to Dragonstone.

Jacaerys found himself both dreading and anticipating your arrival. He had made his choice, but the reality of what that meant hadn't fully sunk in yet. As he went about his daily duties, he couldn't shake the image of your portrait from his mind – the light in your eyes, the hint of a smile that had drawn him to you.

Every time he’d walk the halls, silence would follow, awkward stares from the staff and sometimes a hushed whisper that he’d pretend not to hear. 

“Can you imagine? Poor thing, chosen to face the dragon,” he overheard once, making him clench his fists in frustration. “She's just a girl, freshly two tens of age.” another voice murmured sympathetically, but it offered him little comfort.

Despite the weight of duty pressing down on him, Jacaerys couldn't bring himself to discard the drawing. Instead, he kept it close, hidden away in a drawer beside his bed. Every night before he slept, he would retrieve it and stare at your likeness by the dim light of a candle. It wasn't a gesture of admiration or affection, but rather a self-imposed penance, a reminder of the destiny he had sealed for you.

In the quiet moments of the night, when the castle slept and he was alone with his thoughts, Jacaerys would silently plead to the gods. He didn't kneel before the heart tree anymore; he didn't utter formal prayers. Instead, his appeals were whispered in the darkness of his chamber, words of regret and sorrow that mingled with the flickering candlelight.

“Istin sagon punished isse ōdres syt se rest hen ñuha tubissa, syt eman ōdrikagon iā innocent.” [I must be punished in pain for the rest of my days, for i have hurt an innocent]

The court continued its whispered discussions about the impending ceremony, but Jacaerys withdrew further into himself. He attended council meetings and performed his princely duties with a stoic demeanor, hiding the turmoil that churned beneath the surface. There were moments when he almost reconsidered, when he almost resolved to defy tradition and spare you this fate. But each time, the weight of his lineage and the expectations of his people bore down upon him, forcing him back into the role he was destined to play.

The night before you were set to arrive, Jacaerys couldn't sleep. He paced his chambers, his mind racing with thoughts of what was to come. As the first light of dawn began to creep through his windows, he’d realized he hadn’t had a blink of sleep.

He stood at the window of his chambers, watching the sun rise over King's Landing. The city was already stirring, unaware of the personal turmoil of its future king. As he gazed out at the sprawling streets and towering buildings, Jacaerys couldn't help but notice the big blob of citizens, all awaiting at the stair’s entrance of the Keep, 

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. “Enter,” he called, turning from the window.

A servant stepped into the room, bowing deeply. “Your Grace,” she said softly, “the Lady has arrived.”

Jacaerys nodded, his heart sinking at the news. The moment he had been dreading was finally here. He turned back to the window, taking one last look at the city before steeling himself for what lay ahead.

“Thank you,” he said to the servant, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. “I will be down shortly.”

As the heavy door closed behind her, echoing through the halls, Jacaerys took a deep breath, his mind racing. Finally, with a last, steadying breath, Jacaerys left his chambers and made his way down to the courtyard. The walk felt like a dream, each step echoing in the silent corridors of the Red Keep. Servants and guards stepped aside as he passed, their eyes filled with a mixture of respect and pity.

As he approached the grand entrance, he could hear the murmurs of the crowd outside. The people of King's Landing had gathered to witness the arrival of the chosen lady, their curiosity palpable in the air. Jacaerys squared his shoulders, bracing himself for the spectacle that awaited, his mother’s hand on his shoulder as a small-support for him. 

As Jacaerys stepped out into the courtyard, the murmur of the crowd hushed to a reverent silence. Nobles and commoners alike pressed forward, eager to catch a glimpse of the prince and his chosen bride.

Jacaerys felt his breath catch in his throat as he laid eyes on you for the first time.

You were even more striking in person than your portrait had suggested. Your eyes, bright and intelligent, scanned the crowd before settling on Jacaerys. 

Prince Jacaerys was beautiful, his long curly hair framing his face, his eyes intense as they met yours. You couldn't help but notice the dark circles under those eyes, the weariness that seemed to hang about him like a cloak.

Jacaerys descended the steps slowly, each movement deliberate and controlled. As he approached, you sank into a deep curtsy, your gaze lowering respectfully. “Your Grace,” you said, your voice steady despite the enormity of the moment. “I am honored by our betrothal.”

For a moment, Jacaerys found himself at a loss for words. He turned to look at his mother with a confused look on his face. You didn’t know? The Queen shook her head at him, so lightly that only he could notice. 

He reached out, gently taking your hand and helping you to your feet.

“My lady,” he said softly, loud enough for you to hear but not for the eager crowd. 

The murmurs of the crowd faded into the background as Jacaerys led you through the courtyard, his mother Queen Rhaenyra by his side and your family next to yours. 

“Your Grace,” Jacaerys whispered, eyeing his mother. “I was not told that my betrothed didn’t know of the… arrangement.”

Queen Rhaenyra's gaze softened as she walked beside Jacaerys and you, the procession moving towards the Great Hall where the formalities would take place. Her voice was low, meant only for her son's ears amidst the murmurs of the courtiers and the lingering hush of the crowd.

“My son, there are matters of tradition that sometimes defy explanation,” she began, her tone tinged with empathy. “It is the way of our world, and you know as well as I do the weight of duty that rests upon us.”

Jacaerys glanced at his mother, a mixture of frustration and sorrow flickering in his eyes. “But she should have been informed,” he murmured quietly, his grip tightening subtly on your hand. You didn’t pay it any mind, as you were occupied speaking to your father, who reminded you – once again – of your duty to bring the Prince a babe to be the heir to his throne.

“I understand not telling the common folk, but, her?” He hushedly spat out, almost glaring at his mother, “She is to be fed to a dragon.”

Queen Rhaenyra sighed softly, her gaze turning ahead as they approached the Great Hall's grand entrance. “She will come to understand her role in time, Jacaerys. As will you,” she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of regret at the sight of her son’s worry.

He stole glances at you, trying to gauge your feelings, silently hoping that somehow, you might find a way to forgive the circumstances that had brought you both here. Once you sat at the Small Council table, ready to speak of the marriage that would take place in merely a few weeks, the room fell silent. You glanced around nervously, acutely aware of the attention shifting towards you and the Prince that sat straight by your side.

“My daughter knows her duty,” Your father started, making one of the maesters clear his throat in discomfort, Jacaerys glared at the old man. “She is healthy, and able to bring a babe to the world.”

You nodded, trying to hide the tremble in your hands. 

Jacaerys turned his head to look at you, your furrowed brows as you listened to his mother explain how the ceremony of your wedding was going to play off. He clenched his fists on the table, trying to hide his overwhelmedness by taking a long sip out of his wine. 

The meeting was a blur for Jacaerys, his mind not allowing him to pay attention to any of the preparations, all he could think about was the innocent look on your face, unknowing of your fate, and the stern look of his own Council, awaiting for the day to come. 

Eventually, after having had enough of listening to your families’ planning, he stood. “Excuse me,” he voiced, offering his hand for you to take as the room fell silent. “Me and my betrothed will leave you to it, we will walk together.”

You glanced around nervously, uncertain of the proper protocol, but your father nodded in approval, prompting you to take Jacaerys' hand. His hand was cold, he rushed the two of you out of the room and out to the gardens, he didn’t speak until you stepped out of the Keep.

“You know,” he began, breaking the silence, “I used to spend a lot of time here as a child. My mother would bring me to the gardens to escape the formality of court. It was my sanctuary.”

You listened intently, intrigued. “It's beautiful,” you replied softly, glancing around at the serene landscape. “I can see why.”

“I apologize for the abruptness back there,” he began, his voice soft but tinged with a hint of urgency. “It's... overwhelming, all of this. I wanted to give us a moment away from all the... planning and discussions.”

You glanced at him, noticing the tension in his jawline, the weight that seemed to press down on his broad shoulders. His gaze was distant, as if wrestling with thoughts beyond the present moment.

“I... I wanted to ask how you are,” he continued, his tone tentative. “This must all be quite... unexpected for you.”

“It is... a lot to take in,” you admitted quietly, choosing your words with care. “But it is an honor to marry the Prince.”

Jacaerys nodded, though his expression remained troubled. He attempted to push down the burning feeling in his stomach, the guilt eating at him. 

Silence fell between you for a moment, the distant sound of birdsong and the gentle rustle of leaves providing a backdrop to your conversation. Jacaerys seemed to gather his thoughts before speaking again.

“What do you enjoy doing?” he asked suddenly, his curiosity genuine. “Aside from the obvious duties and expectations... What brings you joy?”

The question caught you off guard, but you appreciated the chance to speak of something beyond the weight of your impending marriage. “I love books,” you confessed with a small smile. “I used to sneak away to a small library in our keep,” you confided, a hint of nostalgia in your voice. “It was quiet, away from the noise of daily life. I could lose myself in the pages for hours.”

He almost sighed when he saw a small smile creeping on your face as you spoke of your memories. “That sounds wonderful,” he said softly, his voice tinged with melancholy. “I... I hope you'll find some comfort in the library here, during your stay.”

You nodded, grateful for his consideration. “I look forward to exploring it. Do you have any favorite books or subjects, Your Grace?”

Jacaerys seemed to relax a bit at the change of topic. “Please, when we're alone like this, call me Jacaerys,” he said with a small smile. “And yes, I've always been fascinated by the histories of Old Valyria. The tales of dragons and ancient magic... they're quite captivating.”

“Jacaerys,” you repeated, testing the name on your lips. “I'd love to hear more about that. We don't have many books on Valyria where I'm from.”

He brightened a bit. “Really? Well, there's this one volume about the Doom that's particularly interesting. It theorizes about what might have caused it.”

As you walked, Jacaerys began to explain some of the theories, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke. He aimlessly walked you to the library, you followed his steps as he spoke. You couldn’t help but notice the looks the servants gave you, almost pitiful, as you walked past them. 

Some whispered, covering their mouths with their hand so it would stay a secret. Jacaerys didn’t pay it any mind, his hand moving to lock both of your index fingers as he kept spitting out everything he’d learned about the Doom’s theories. 

As you entered the grand library, your eyes widened in awe. Shelves upon shelves of books stretched as far as you could see, their spines glinting in the soft light filtering through high windows.

Jacaerys watched your reaction with a small smile. “Impressive, isn't it? I thought you might appreciate it.”

You nodded, still taking in the sight. “It's magnificent. I could spend years here and never read everything.”

Jacaerys led you deeper into the library, his fingers still lightly entwined with yours. “Let me show you some of my favorite sections,” he said, guiding you through the towering stacks.

As you walked, Jacaerys pointed out various tomes and scrolls, explaining their significance. His enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself relaxing, asking questions and sharing your own thoughts.

“Here,” Jacaerys said, pulling a large, leather-bound volume from a shelf. “This is the book on the Doom of Valyria I mentioned. Would you like to look at it together?”

You nodded eagerly, and Jacaerys led you to a nearby reading nook. As you sat side by side, heads bent over the ancient text, the weight of your circumstances seemed to lift momentarily. For a little while, you were just two people sharing a passion for knowledge and history.

You recognized High Valyrian words you’d learned here and there, but were grateful that Jacaerys patiently explained the meaning of each passage aloud. 

“Se sīr īles foretold ondoso se scribes hen Valyria bona se vējes would māzigon bē īlva, heralded ondoso iā rōvēgrie shaking hen tegon se iā sȳndror bona would swallow se vēzos.” [And so it was foretold by the scribes of Valyria that the Doom would come upon us, heralded by a great shaking of the earth and a darkness that would swallow the sun.] 

His voice resonated softly in the library's hallowed silence, you’d noticed his tense demeanor from hours earlier had eased into a more relaxed and gentle attitude.

As the families concluded their meeting in the Great Hall, the formalities of the betrothal were settled. You were to remain at the Red Keep under the watchful eye of Queen Rhaenyra and her court, preparing for the ceremonial wedding that would precede the journey to Dragonstone. Jacaerys escorted you back to your temporary chambers, a solemn air hanging between you.

Inside the quiet sanctum of your quarters, away from prying eyes, Jacaerys finally allowed his guard to drop. He paced restlessly, his fingers running through his hair in frustration. “I'm sorry,” he blurted out suddenly, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want you to miss your home.”

You watched Jacaerys with concern, his sudden outburst catching you off guard. “Your Gr- Jacaerys,” you corrected yourself, remembering his earlier request. “It's alright. I knew when I was chosen that I would have to leave my home behind. It's part of my duty.”

He looked like he wanted to push the conversation, to speak his mind, but he simply shut his mouth and nodded once. “Very well.”

An awkward silence fell between you. There was clearly something unsaid hanging in the air, but neither of you seemed willing or able to address it directly.

Finally, Jacaerys cleared his throat. “I should let you rest. It's been a long day, and I'm sure you'd like some time to settle in.” He moved towards the door, then paused, turning back to you. “If you need anything, anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask. I want you to feel at home here.”

That night, Jacaerys found himself staring at the canopy above his bed, unable to find solace in sleep once again. The events of the day weighed heavily on his mind, particularly the encounter with you, the chosen lady whose fate he now bore responsibility for. He tossed and turned, unable to shake the image of your face – bright, hopeful, and utterly unaware of the doom that awaited you.

He sat up abruptly, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “Gods, forgive me,” he whispered into the stillness of the night. He repeated what he did each night, the only sounds in the room being his own whispers. 

As Jacaerys whispered his nightly plea for forgiveness, the weight of his decision pressed down on him more heavily than ever before. Meeting you in person, seeing your bright eyes and hearing your voice, had made the reality of his choice painfully tangible.

It was a cruel twist of fate that someone with such a love for knowledge and life should be destined for… He couldn't even bring himself to think the words.

Unable to find peace, Jacaerys rose from his bed, wrapping a cloak around his shoulders to fend off the chill of the night. He left his chambers quietly, the corridors of the Red Keep almost deserted at this late hour. Only the occasional guard patrolled the hallways, their presence a silent reminder of the ever-watchful eyes of the realm.

He found his feet leading him to the godswood once more, drawn to the ancient heart tree that had witnessed so much over the centuries. The rustling leaves seemed to whisper secrets as he approached, the carved face staring down at him with its perpetual expression of knowing.

“Why have you done this to me?” Jacaerys asked, his voice a broken whisper. “Why have you placed this burden on my shoulders?”

The tree, of course, offered no answer. It stood silent and stoic, a testament to the countless generations who had sought its guidance and solace.

“Old gods,” he whispered, his voice trembling, “I don't know if you can hear me, or if you even care. But I need your guidance. I need to find a way to fulfill my duty without losing my soul in the process.”

The face carved into the tree seemed to watch him with those same knowing eyes, offering no answers, only silent judgment. 

Jacaerys sank to his knees before the heart tree, the weight of his duty pressing down on him with unbearable force. The faces of the young women whose fates he had held in his hands swirled in his mind, but it was your face that haunted him the most. The way you had looked at him with trust and curiosity, unaware of the doom he had chosen for you.

The Prince had fallen asleep at the feet of the heart tree, woken up by his Queen’s scolding gaze and her sharp voice as she shook his arm. “Wake up, Jacaerys!” Queen Rhaenyra's voice cut through the early morning stillness of the godswood. Her hand shook his arm gently but insistently until he stirred, groggy and disoriented.

Jacaerys blinked up at his mother, the reality of where he was and what awaited him crashing back with painful clarity. “Mother – Your Grace.” he murmured, rubbing his eyes as he rose to his feet, feeling the ache in his bones from sleeping on the hard ground.

“You should be resting in your chambers, not sleeping out in the godswood like some lost soul!”

He hummed, throat sore from the cold air of the night, as his Queen dragged him inside holding onto his wrist. Jacaerys followed his mother back to the Red Keep in a fog, the events of the previous night and the weight of his decisions still heavy on his mind. Queen Rhaenyra's scolding was just a distant echo to him as they walked through the quiet corridors, servants bowing respectfully as they passed.

They walked by the Grand Hall, he managed to makeout your sitting figure, all alone, with a full plate in front of you as one of the servants poured juice into the cups. At the loud, angry steps that scurried in the hall, you lifted your eyes to meet his for a split moment before he was dragged away to his own chambers to compose himself. 

“Your betrothed is sat at the table, waiting, and you’re out asleep in the gardens.”

Jacaerys felt a pang of embarrassment as he remembered the fleeting glance he had exchanged with you through the grand hall. It was bad enough to be caught by his mother and scolded like a child, but to have you witness such a moment of vulnerability added another layer of discomfort.

Once safely within his chambers, the embarrassment deepened. He leaned heavily against the door, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to steady himself. He readied himself, not bothering to call the servants, and approached the Great Hall. 

It was silent, all he could hear as he walked in was the sounds of his youngest siblings playing with their food. Approaching you, he felt a knot tighten in his stomach. You looked up as he approached, your expression a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Jacaerys cleared his throat, unsure of how to begin.

“My lady,” he began softly, “I apologize for my absence.”

You looked at him, your eyes searching his face for understanding. “It's quite alright,” you replied with a small smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. 

He noticed a thick book sitting next to your feast, the old worn-out cover with the carved in title he recognized from the section he’d shown you the day before. “The Doom of Valyria,” Jacaerys noted with a slight surprise, gesturing towards the book. “You found it interesting?”

You nodded, a genuine spark of enthusiasm brightening your expression. “I figured we could look at it together. I thought it might help me understand more about... well, everything,” you admitted softly, your gaze flickering briefly to the book before returning to meet his eyes.

Jacaerys nodded, feeling his mother’s eyes move to him in a warning. Don’t get attached.

He didn’t initiate another topic of conversation, casting the room in silence while you had your breakfast. The Queen stood, taking her youngest son into her arms while two other servants followed behind with the other kids, leaving you alone in the Hall.

“We can look at it now, if you wish.” he spoke, hand reaching for the book once he’d finished drinking his cup. You nodded eagerly, grateful for the opportunity to delve into something other than the weighty expectations of your impending marriage. You both moved to a quieter corner of the Great Hall, away from the prying eyes of the courtiers who lingered nearby.

Jacaerys settled onto the floor, patting the space beside him. “Come on, it's more comfortable down here,” he said with a grin.

You laughed softly, gathering your skirts as you joined him. “If anyone walks in, they'll think we've lost our minds.”

“Let them,” Jacaerys chuckled, opening the book across both your laps. “Now, where shall we start?”

Your eyes skimmed the pages, landing on an illustration of a great city. “What's this?”

“Ah, Old Valyria at its height,” Jacaerys explained, his finger tracing the intricate drawing. “See those spires? They say they were forged by dragonfire.”

“It's beautiful,” you murmured, leaning in closer. Your shoulder brushed against his, and you felt a small thrill at the contact.

Jacaerys turned his head, his face now inches from yours. He hummed before he cleared his throat, a smile playing at his lips. “Did you know they had a saying? 'Valar morghulis.'“

“What does that mean?” you asked, tilting your head curiously.

“All men must die,” Jacaerys translated, his voice low.

You raised an eyebrow. “Cheerful bunch, weren't they?”

He chuckled, fingers playing with the edge of the page before turning it. The text was dense with Valyrian history and conjecture, but Jacaerys patiently translated and explained each passage to you. 

After a while, as if unable to contain his turmoil any longer, Jacaerys cleared his throat softly, breaking the companionable silence. “My lady,” he began, his voice tinged with regret, “I must apologize once more for my absence this morrow. It was... inconsiderate of me to leave you waiting.”

You looked up from the book, meeting his gaze with a mixture of surprise and understanding. “Jacaerys, it's alright,” you assured him gently, “And, please, you must call me by my name as well.”

He nodded once, turning his head to the book again, then back at you, “I wasn’t… out, I fell asleep in the gardens.”

You felt a small wave of relief wash over you and tilted your head slightly, studying his expression. “It must have been a rough night,” you said softly, empathizing with the weight he carried. “I understand.”

“I didn't mean for you to witness me like that. It was... unbecoming.”

“It is only human to seek solace,” you replied gently, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Even princes need moments of peace.”

He nodded, a faint smile touching his own lips in return. You hummed in thought at Jacaerys’ silence, a beat passed, “If I am to marry the prince, I shall better my High Valyrian.”

His face tensed, holding back a frown at the thought of you not having enough time to learn the language before… the day. “I can assist you with that, if you'd like,” he finally said.

You felt a surge of relief at his offer. You turned your head to the book, focusing on Jacaerys’ explanation once again. Before he could continue, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hall. A servant appeared, bowing low.

“Your Grace, my Lady,” he said, lying through his teeth, “The Small Council requests Prince Jacaerys' presence immediately.”

Jacaerys sighed, the weight of his responsibilities settling back onto his shoulders. He stood, offering you a hand to help you up as well. He gave you a small smile before closing the book and handing it off to you. 

“I am sure there is a High Valyrian dictionary somewhere, feel free to roam the library.” he said finally before turning to follow the servant to his awaiting family.

You watched Jacaerys leave, the book heavy in your hands. His sudden departure left you feeling oddly bereft, the warmth of your shared moment fading as quickly as it had come. 

With a soft sigh, you made your way back to the library. The vast room felt different now without Jacaerys' presence – larger, more intimidating. You wandered through the towering shelves, searching for the dictionary he had mentioned.

Finally locating the book, you settled into a comfortable chair near a window. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the pages as you began to study. 

Hours passed, the light shifting as the sun traversed the sky. You had made some progress with your studies, but questions continued to gnaw at you. You tapped your foot repeatedly on the ground as you stared at the closed doors of the Small Council in the distance, having seen Jacaerys walk out hours before but having been too slow to catch up to him before he left for his chambers again.

As evening approached, a servant appeared to escort you to dinner. You followed, your mind still churning with unanswered questions. The dining hall was quiet, with only a few courtiers present. Jacaerys was noticeably absent.

“Where is Prince Jacaerys?” you asked the servant as she poured your wine.

“Still in council, my lady,” she replied, her eyes darting away quickly. “They've been at it all day.”

You nodded, picking at your food without much appetite. The absence of Jacaerys only heightened your sense of unease. Something was happening, something beyond the typical preparations for a royal wedding.

You retired to your chambers, the High Valyrian dictionary tucked under your arm. As you prepared for bed, you muttered to yourself the few words you’d memorized.

“Dārilaros Jacaerys,” [Prince Jacaerys] “Iksi naejot sagon dīnagon.” [We are to be wed.] you repeated softly to yourself, the unfamiliar words echoing in the quiet of your chambers. The weight of those words, of your impending marriage to Prince Jacaerys, hung heavily in the air.

You’d figured Jacaerys had begun to ignore you, a week went by and the servant’s lie about the Small Council no longer held up. A week had passed, each day stretching out with an almost unbearable tension. 

Every day, you found yourself in the grand library, delving deeper into the pages of history and language, trying to distract yourself from the growing unease. You studied diligently, but your mind often wandered back to Jacaerys, how every time you walked past him in the halls he’d turn his head, how he’d scurry away after having spent the meals in silence with his family and you sitting next to him. 

The whispers and pitying glances from servants and courtiers alike only added to your discomfort.

One evening, as you sat in the library poring over your High Valyrian studies, you heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching. Looking up, you saw Jacaerys standing at the edge of the shelves, his expression a mixture of guilt and hesitation.

He called your name softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I... I hope I'm not disturbing you.”

You shook your head, gesturing for him to join you. “Not at all, Your Grace. I've been hoping to speak with you.”

Jacaerys moved closer, taking a seat across from you. His eyes fell on the open books spread before you, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “You've been studying diligently, I see.”

“Yes,” you replied, meeting his gaze. 

Jacaerys once again fell into silence. His small smile faded, replaced by a look of deep concern and inner turmoil. The warmth that had briefly appeared in his eyes dimmed, shadows of worry creeping back into his expression. You watched as he seemed to retreat into himself, his posture stiffening, his gaze growing distant.

Despite your hopes for a longer conversation, for a moment of genuine connection, Jacaerys soon excused himself. His words were polite but hurried, his tone apologetic yet firm. As he left, you felt the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air between you. Once more, you found yourself alone with your books, the silence of the library seeming to mock your growing frustration.

The pattern continued throughout the weeks, becoming a painful dance of near misses and avoided glances. During meals, Jacaerys would keep his eyes fixed on his plate, responding to questions with short, noncommittal answers. His shoulders would tense whenever you entered a room, and he would find reasons to leave shortly after.

In the corridors of the Red Keep, your paths would cross, but any hope of conversation was quickly dashed. Jacaerys would offer a hurried nod, his pace quickening as he passed by. You began to feel like a ghost in your own home, unseen and unheard by the very man you were to marry.

As evening approached and the anticipation of the upcoming wedding ceremony weighed heavily on your mind, the silence became unbearable. The thought of entering into a union shrouded in such secrecy and distance filled you with dread. Questions swirled in your mind, each unanswered inquiry adding to your growing resolve.

You decided you couldn't bear the silence any longer. The need for answers, for some semblance of understanding, outweighed your fear of confrontation. With determination setting in your jaw and courage steeling your spine, you made the decision to seek out Jacaerys and demand the truth, whatever it might be.

Just before bedtime, you spotted Jacaerys walking down the hallway towards his chambers. Gathering your courage, you called out to him.

“Issi ao dobōtēdrā nyke?” [Are you ignoring me?] Your pronunciation was still rough, but he wouldn’t tell you that.

Jacaerys froze at the sound of your voice, his hand resting on the handle of his chamber door. He turned slowly, his eyes wide with surprise at your use of High Valyrian. For a moment, he seemed to struggle with how to respond.

“No,” he said softly, his voice barely audible in the quiet hallway. 

You stepped closer, your frustration evident in your posture and the set of your jaw. “What is it, then?” Your words were stilted, nerves eating at you. “The wedding is tomorrow, Jacaerys. I've been left in the dark, treated like a ghost in these halls. The servants whisper about me, everyone looks at me like they pity me. And my own betrothed ignores me.”

Your outburst seemed to startle him. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture you'd come to recognize as a sign of his distress. “You're right,” he said finally, his shoulders sagging. “I apologize.” Jacaerys hesitated, clearly wrestling with his thoughts. “I... I'm sorry for my behavior. It's not fair to you.”

You stepped closer, your frustration bubbling over. “No, it's not. We're to be married tomorrow, and I barely know you. Everyone in this castle looks at me with pity, and you can't even bear to speak to me. What am I supposed to think?”

Jacaerys winced at your words. “It's complicated,” he said softly, avoiding your gaze.

“Then explain it to me,” you pressed, your voice rising slightly. “I've left my home, my family, everything I've ever known. The least you could do is tell me why you've been avoiding me like I'm afflicted with greyscale.”

“I cannot do that,” 

You huffed, he ran a hand through his hair again, clearly agitated. “I can't... I can't tell you everything. Please, try to understand.”

“Understand what?” you pressed, your patience wearing thin. “That my future husband would rather pretend I don't exist? That everyone in this castle looks at me with pity, and I don't know why?”

Jacaerys opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, shaking his head. “I'm sorry,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I truly am. But I can't... I can't do this right now.”

With that, he turned and retreated into his chambers, leaving you standing alone in the hallway, your frustration and confusion only growing.

You stared at his closed door for a long moment, anger and hurt warring within you. Finally, with a huff of exasperation, you turned and stormed off to your own chambers. 

In your chambers, you paced restlessly, the events of the evening replaying in your mind. Jacaerys' evasiveness had left you feeling isolated and uncertain, the weight of unanswered questions pressing down on you. You glanced at the High Valyrian dictionary on your bedside table, its pages now familiar but offering no solace.

You’d fallen asleep quickly, the sound of hurried footsteps woke you and only then did you realize it was already dawn. A flurry of activity surrounded you. Servants bustled about, preparing you for the ceremony. You donned the gown chosen for you, feeling more like a doll being dressed than a bride preparing for her wedding day. 

Jacaerys refused to meet your eyes once you stood in front of each other, the privacy of the ceremony surprised you, only his family present and a few of the maesters. Words felt like a blur, you looked down at your hands that were wrapped in his, the priestess’ speech didn’t make you pay any more attention than you already were, too focused on hoping for this to end soon. 

“May the gods bear witness to this union. As you now pledge your troth to one another, let it be known that your fates are bound by blood and by honor.”

You only snapped out of your haze when you felt Jacaerys’ warm hands leave yours, and reappear in your line of sight with a silver knife. He held one of your hands, placing it on his before drawing blood, thinning the action careful to not hurt you. Then he moved the blade to your lips, a small, simple cut to them before he handed you the tool. 

You did the same, mirroring his every move, he shut his eyes when your cold blade reached his mouth, barely reacting to the cut. Then, a kiss, like the priestess called. Jacaerys cupped your cheek, his bloodied hand holding onto yours, and the taste of blood quickly filled your mouth. It was a slow kiss, just one, and he pulled away with a sigh. 

His thumb ran over your cheek once more before he took a step back, offering you a handkerchief to stop the bleeding. You dabbed delicately at your lips with the handkerchief, your mind reeling from the sudden intimacy of the kiss. Jacaerys' touch lingered on your cheek, leaving a tingling sensation.

The ceremony concluded with ceremonial words and blessings, but as you stood beside Jacaerys, you couldn't shake the feeling of disconnection between you. His demeanor remained distant, his eyes often flickering away whenever you sought to meet them.

After the formalities, you found yourself in a small antechamber adjacent to the grand hall where the ceremony had taken place. Jacaerys was silent as attendants bustled around, preparing to escort you away from the ceremony.

“Jacaerys,” you began tentatively, searching for some semblance of understanding or connection, “Can we talk?”

His shoulders slumped, eyes carrying a tire and sadness heavier than the one you’d been seeing for the past weeks. He didn’t hear you, at least that’s what you told yourself as he stood and walked away from you once again, leaving you sat with the stained handkerchief in your hands. 

You huffed, anger running through you as you hurried after him. You find him at the heart tree, its ancient branches looming over him like silent sentinels. Jacaerys stood before it, his hands clenched at his sides, his gaze fixed on the carved face of the tree. His expression was haunted, burdened with the weight of secrets and responsibilities. He mumbled in High Valyrian words that you had still not learned on your own.

“Jacaerys,” you called out softly, approaching him cautiously. He turned to you, his eyes weary. “I didn't mean to startle you,” you continued, your voice gentle yet tinged with the frustration that had been building within you for weeks.

He sighed heavily, “I thought you might come,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely carrying over the rustling leaves of the godswood.

“Why won't you talk to me?” you asked, your voice breaking slightly with emotion. “We're married now, Jacaerys. Avoiding your wife is far harder than avoiding your betrothed.”

Jacaerys turned to face you fully, the weight of his responsibilities etched deeply into his expression. His gaze softened as he took in your presence, the frustration in your voice not lost on him. “I didn't mean to shut you out,” he began, his voice tinged with regret. “I am sorry.”

You stepped closer, standing beside him beneath the ancient heart tree, its presence casting a tranquil yet solemn atmosphere around you. He didn’t speak, both of you staying silent while he shut his eyes, the weariness still evident on his face. 

“Do you come here often?” you broke the silence once it got too quiet, too tense. 

He nodded, “I do,” 

“I didn’t know you were faithful to the gods.” you stated, hand moving to touch the tree, his eyes followed your movements carefully. 

He hesitated, his gaze drifting from your hand on the tree back to your eyes. “I seek guidance here,” he admitted quietly, his voice carrying the weight of vulnerability. “It doesn’t always come to me, but-” he stopped talking, shrugging before he let his hand fall from the tree, yours following suit.

“Mother said it would be easier to avoid you,” he mumbled, his voice seemingly weakening. You found yourself reaching out to him, your hand brushed against his, fingers intertwining gently as you stood beneath the heart tree together. 

“What would?”

“The marriage, everything, I don’t know.”

Jacaerys didn’t pull away from your touch, though his expression remained guarded. His hand felt warm in yours, the tension in his shoulders gradually easing. The quiet of the godswood enveloped you both.

 “But we’re married now, Jacaerys.” you murmured softly, squeezing his hand gently. 

Jacaerys' expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Can we start anew?”

“I would like that,” you said, returning his smile. A comfortable silence fell between you, the tension of the past weeks beginning to ease. 

“Perhaps,” Jacaerys suggested hesitantly, “we could continue our High Valyrian lessons together? I've missed our time in the library.”

Your face brightened at the suggestion. “I'd like that very much. I have so many questions about the Doom of Valyria that I've been saving up for you.”

Jacaerys chuckled, a warm sound that you realized you'd missed hearing. “Well then, we'd better get started.” 

With a tight hold on your hand, he pulled you gently towards the castle. As you walked back together, a sense of cautious optimism filled the air between you. The silence was no longer tense, but contemplative, as if you were both considering the new beginning that lay ahead.

Entering the grand library, Jacaerys guided you to the familiar corner where you had spent so many hours studying together. He selected a few books from the shelves, their leather bindings worn with age and use. As he set them down on the table, dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming through the high windows.

Jacaerys looked up at you, his expression softening as he met your gaze. “I chose a few books that might interest you,” he said, his voice gentle. “But perhaps we could talk about these past weeks. I’ve missed you, you know?”

Jacaerys' words hung in the air, the unexpected admission causing a flutter in your chest. You settled into the familiar chair beside him, the scent of old parchment and the quiet rustle of pages creating a comforting cocoon around you both. Despite the turmoil of the past weeks, this small corner of the library had become a refuge, a place where the outside world and its burdens seemed to fade away.

You looked at Jacaerys, his expression open and earnest, the guarded demeanor he had worn like armor slipping away. “I've missed you too,” you replied softly, the truth of your words resonating in the silence that followed.

He gave a small, grateful nod, his fingers absently tracing the edge of one of the books. “Have you been studying on your own?” he began, his voice tinged with regret. 

You shrugged, “Hm, There was no one to teach me,”

“There are plenty of maesters, they taught me and my brothers-”

“Nobody in this castle really speaks to me, other than you, now.”

Jacaerys' eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and sorrow at your words. He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again, seemingly at a loss. The silence between you grew heavy, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions. “It’s alright,” you interrupted his thoughts, “Have you any favorite spots in the Keep?”

Jacaerys smiled at your attempt to lighten the mood, clearly grateful for your effort. “I do, actually,” he said, a hint of enthusiasm returning to his voice. “There's a balcony overlooking Blackwater Bay. It's quiet and the view is breathtaking, especially at sunset.”

You nodded, intrigued. “I'd love to see it. Perhaps we can go there sometime?”

Jacaerys' smile widened, his eyes brightening. “I'd like that very much. How about after our lesson today?”

“That sounds perfect,” you agreed, a grin plastered on your face.

Jacaerys began explaining the text, his voice steady and patient. As he spoke, you found yourself not just listening to the words, but also watching him – the way his eyes lit up when he talked about something he was passionate about, the way his fingers moved delicately over the pages. You pretended not to pay any mind to the arm he’d draped over your chair half way through the page you were on at the moment, his fingertips moving up and down your arm and playing with your hair every now and then.

Time seemed to fly by, and before you knew it, the afternoon sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the library. Jacaerys glanced out the window, then back at you. “Shall we go, then?” he asked.

You nodded, feeling a flutter of excitement. Jacaerys led you through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, his hand in yours, the path becoming more familiar with each step. Finally, you arrived at the balcony he had described.

“It's beautiful,” you murmured, gazing out at the water sparkling under the setting sun.

Jacaerys nodded, his eyes on you. His hand moved to your backside, gently resting there, he drew you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. You leaned into him, feeling a warmth spread through you at his touch.

“We could go on a walk after supper,” Jacaerys whispered, his voice barely audible above the soft sounds of the waves. 

For the first time since arriving at the Red Keep, you felt a glimmer of what could be between you and Jacaerys. 

With a soft sigh of contentment, you turned to Jacaerys and met his gaze, your heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “A walk sounds nice.” you said, your voice filled with newfound determination and a hint of excitement.

The weeks that followed were a gradual thawing of the ice that had formed between you, a slow but steady warming that began to transform your arranged marriage into something more.

True to his word, Jacaerys resumed your High Valyrian lessons in the library. What started as stilted, formal sessions soon evolved into hours of animated discussion and shared laughter between the two of you, melting away the image of duty-headed Prince Jacaerys. You found yourself looking forward to these moments, eagerly anticipating the smallest hint of time you would spend together.

“Skoros iksis aōha glaesagon uttoma raqiros?” [What is your favorite animal?] 

You pondered for a moment, searching for the right words. “Ñuha glaesagon uttoma raqiros iksis... zaldrīzes? Hen se tembyr.” [My favorite animal is... dragon? From the books.]

Jacaerys' smile faltered for a brief moment, so quickly you almost missed it. But then he was grinning again, praising you. “That was really good.” 

Moving on, he flipped the page, continuing the lesson as you practiced more High Valyrian together. His patience and encouragement helped you gain confidence in both the language and your interactions with him.

Outside the library, your walks with Jacaerys became a routine. He showed you hidden corners of the Red Keep, sharing stories of its history and his own childhood adventures. You, in turn, shared tales of your own homeland, finding common ground in unexpected places.

As the days passed, you began to see a different side of Jacaerys. The brooding, distant prince was replaced by a man with a quick wit and a passion for knowledge that matched your own. You discovered his love for astronomy, often finding him on the castle's highest tower, charting the movements of stars and planets.

One clear night, he invited you to join him. As you climbed the winding stairs, your heart raced with a mixture of exertion and anticipation. When you reached the top, Jacaerys was waiting, a bronze tube in his hands gleaming in the moonlight.

“I thought you might enjoy this,” he said softly, gesturing for you to look through the eyepiece. 

“What is it?” you asked as he handed it to you, you inspected it, mirrored his moves and looked through it.

“To look at the stars,” he came behind you, hands covering yours. Jacaerys stood close behind you, his breath warm on your neck as he pointed out constellations and explained their mythologies that he’d read about in books. You found yourself acutely aware of his presence, a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the summer night.

These moments of closeness became more frequent as the weeks went by. You would catch Jacaerys watching you with a soft expression when he thought you weren't looking. His hand would linger on yours a moment longer than necessary when passing you a book. The air between you began to crackle with an unspoken tension, a growing attraction neither of you dared to acknowledge openly, even as husband and wife.

Jacaerys kept visiting the heart tree, his begs for a punishment getting bigger and bigger as he got to know you, the weight of the fate he’d put you up to too strong for him to bear.

After a particularly tense council session, you found Jacaerys in the godswood, his head bowed before the heart tree. You approached quietly, not wanting to disturb his contemplation.

“You can join me, you know?” he said without turning, a small smile in his voice. “I always know when you're near.”

You moved to stand beside him, your shoulder brushing against his. Jacaerys was quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the carved face of the weirwood. “They ignore me, I think,” he mumbled. “The gods.”

You listened quietly, feeling the weight of his words. The godswood was serene around you, the rustling leaves and the faint whisper of wind creating a backdrop to Jacaerys' contemplation. You didn't interrupt, letting him speak at his own pace.

“I've prayed for guidance, for clarity,” Jacaerys continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I've received nothing. No sign, no answers.”

The vulnerability in his voice tugged at something inside you. You glanced at the heart tree, its solemn face seemingly watching over both of you. “Maybe the gods speak in ways we don't always recognize,” you offered gently. “Or perhaps they're waiting for you to find your own path.”

Jacaerys sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I'm not sure I know what that path is anymore.”

He trailed off, frustration evident in the set of his jaw. You reached out, cupping his face gently in your hands. “Jacaerys,” you murmured.

For a moment, it seemed as though he might tell you everything. His eyes searched for yours, filled with a longing that made your heart ache. But then, as quickly as it had appeared, the moment passed. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I don’t want you to suffer,” he whispered, his breath warm on your skin. You sighed, running your palm over his chest and holding his hand. “Have you been sleeping?”

He nodded, “Yes, a little,” Jacaerys admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand tightened around yours, seeking comfort in your touch. “I find it hard to rest sometimes.”

You nodded sympathetically, your thumb gently tracing circles on the back of his hand. The godswood was peaceful around you, the soft rustle of leaves and the distant song of a bird filling the air. 

“Come on.” you mumbled, tightening your hold on his hand to walk him to his chambers, hoping that sleep would make his worry go away.

The atmosphere in the council chamber had been tense for days. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that only comes when a significant decision hangs in the balance.

Jacaerys sat at the head of the table, his expression solemn. Beside him, Queen Rhaenyra watched with a mixture of maternal concern and royal composure. 

“Prince Jacaerys,” one of the maesters began, his voice steady but with a note of urgency. “The time has come to finalize our preparations. The court and the realm await your decision regarding the next steps. Dragonstone must be prepared to receive its... visitor.”

Jacaerys clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of their eyes on him. He had known this moment was inevitable, but that did nothing to ease the dread that coiled in his stomach. He looked to his mother, seeking any sign of support or reprieve, but her face remained unreadable. She had taught him well about the burdens of leadership, but this was a trial he had to face alone.

“My lords,” he said finally, his voice betraying none of the turmoil within him. “I understand the importance of tradition and the necessity of the ritual. However, the lady is... not ready.” 

Ser Alfred, ever the traditionalist, did not miss a beat. “Your Grace, the ritual must be completed as dictated by our customs. The dragons are restless, and we cannot afford any delay. Dragonstone awaits her arrival.”

Jacaerys's hands tightened around the armrests of his chair. He had expected resistance, but the reality of it was far more daunting than he had imagined. The council's resolve was unyielding, their eyes reflecting the hard truth that duty often demands sacrifices.

“Can’t the dragon be fed… sheep, or pigs?”

“The tradition is sacred, Prince Jacaerys. It is through these rituals that we maintain our bond with the dragon and ensure it’s calm. To suggest an alternative is to risk breaking a chain that has bound our house for centuries.”

Jacaerys felt the pressure mounting, the room closing in around him. He looked to his mother once more, her face a mask of calm. But there was a flicker in her eyes, a silent communication that only he could interpret – a plea to tread carefully.

Queen Rhaenyra finally spoke, her voice smooth and commanding. “The Prince raises a valid point. However, the choice has already been made, the preparations have already begun in Dragonstone.”

Jacaerys’s heart sank at his mother’s words. The finality of the preparations being underway in Dragonstone echoed the inevitability he had been trying to avoid. The room seemed to close in on him, the expectations of his ancestors and the weight of the realm pressing down on his shoulders. He pressed his lips tightly together, grinding his teeth in frustration. 

The council resumed their discussions, the tension palpable in the air. Jacaerys listened as the members debated the logistics of the journey to Dragonstone, the protocols to be followed, and the necessary preparations for the lady. Every word felt like a dagger twisting in his gut, each mention of the ritual reinforcing the grim reality he wished to avoid. 

He was being ignored by his own Council, his mother and queen quietly sipping her wine as she stole glances at him. 

The same maester from before concluded, “We will proceed as planned. The bride will be escorted to Dragonstone, and the ritual will be conducted according to tradition. We cannot afford to falter.”

The meeting adjourned, and the council members rose from their seats, their conversations continuing in hushed tones as they filed out of the chamber. Jacaerys remained seated for a moment, his mind racing with the weight of their decision.

He rose from his seat and made his way to the godswood, seeking solace in the ancient silence of the heart tree once again.

The walk to the godswood was a blur, his mind consumed by a whirlwind of emotions. When he finally reached the heart tree, he pressed his palm against the rough bark, feeling the ancient power thrumming beneath his touch. The carved face seemed to gaze back at him, its expression inscrutable.

“Why do you remain silent?” Jacaerys whispered, his voice barely more than a breath carried away by the wind. “Do you not see the weight upon me? The burden of tradition threatens to consume everything I hold dear.”

The heart tree offered no answers, its carved face unmoving, its eyes seeming to gaze through him rather than at him. Jacaerys felt a pang of bitterness and betrayal at the feeling of being helpless, of being ignored by his gods and by his people.

He turned away from the heart tree, pacing restlessly amidst the tranquil setting of the godswood. The gentle rustling of leaves and the soft murmur of the wind offered no comfort. His thoughts raced, his mind replaying the council meeting and the inevitable march towards tradition that seemed to crush any hope of a different outcome.

In that moment of turmoil, his thoughts turned to you – the one person who could ease the burden of his troubled heart. He longed to see you, to escape the suffocating confines of duty and council chambers, to find solace in your presence. You were a beacon of warmth and understanding amidst the cold realities of court politics and ancient rituals.

Without hesitation, Jacaerys made his way back to the Red Keep, his steps quickening with purpose. He sought you out, driven by a need to be with someone who understood him, someone who could offer comfort without words.

Boredom had driven you to the library once again, the Red Keep not having many other activities to keep you occupied while your husband was in the Small Council. The chatter of the Small Council meeting echoed in your mind, their discussions on matters of state and tradition dulling your senses. You recalled Jacaerys' words earlier in your betrothal, his gentle encouragement to explore the library freely, to find respite from the formalities that governed court life.

As you browsed the shelves, your fingers trailing along the spines of ancient tomes, a small, leather-bound volume caught your eye. It was tucked away in a corner, almost hidden behind larger books. Curious, you pulled it out, noting the lack of a title on its worn cover.

Settling into your favorite reading nook by the window, you opened the book carefully. The pages were filled with elegant High Valyrian script, the ink faded but still legible. Your heart quickened with excitement at the challenge of translating this mysterious text.

As you began to read, deciphering the archaic language with the skills you had honed over the past months, the content of the book slowly revealed itself. It appeared to be a chronicle of Targaryen traditions, dating back to the family's origins in Old Valyria.

Your translation was slow at first, but as you progressed, certain phrases began to leap out at you. “Se zaldrīzes demands iā jorrāelagon...” [The dragon demands a sacrifice...] 

Your brow furrowed in concentration as you continued, your heart beginning to race as the true nature of the text became clear. “Hen tubis naejot tubis, se dārilaros iksis naejot ōdrikagon iā riña naejot se zaldrīzes...” [From time to time, the heir is to choose a lady for the dragon...]

With trembling hands, you turned the pages, your mind reeling as you pieced together the full horror of what you were reading. The tradition, passed down through generations of Targaryen rulers, of sacrificing a young woman to appease their dragons. The ceremonial marriage, followed by a journey to Dragonstone, where the bride would meet her fate.

As the full implications of what you had discovered washed over you, a cold dread settled in the pit of your stomach. Suddenly, Jacaerys' behavior, the pitying looks from the servants, the whispers that followed you through the halls – it all made terrible sense.

You were not just a bride. You were a sacrifice.

The book slipped from your numb fingers, falling to the floor with a dull thud that echoed in the empty library. Your mind raced, trying to reconcile the Jacaerys you had come to know – kind, intelligent, affectionate – with the man who had chosen you for this grim fate.

As the shock began to give way to a mixture of fear and anger, you heard footsteps approaching. Looking up, you saw Jacaerys entering the library, his face lighting up when he saw you. His expression softened as he took in your familiar presence – a book in your hand, and a furrowed look on your face. But as he drew closer, his expression changed, noticing the pallor of your face.

“What's wrong?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. “Are you feeling ill?” He knelt beside you, reaching out tentatively, as if unsure whether to touch you.

You recoiled slightly at his approach, a surge of conflicting emotions welling up inside you. Tears continued to flow unabated down your cheeks as you struggled to find your voice, to articulate the turmoil that gripped your soul.

He reached for your hand again, this time more insistently, but you pulled away, the sting of betrayal cutting deep. “You... you chose me,” you whispered, your voice laced with accusation. “To be sacrificed.”

He recoiled as if struck, his own eyes filling with tears of remorse and helplessness. 

You stood there, your body trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. The sight of Jacaerys, once a source of comfort, now filled you with an overwhelming sense of betrayal. Your eyes, brimming with tears, darted around the room, unable to settle on his face for more than a moment. The urge to flee, to put as much distance between yourself and this man who had deceived you, was almost overpowering.

“How... how could you?” you finally managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt thick in your throat, as if your body was physically resisting the act of speaking to him. Your hands shook as you clutched the book to your chest, a tangible reminder of the horrifying truth you had uncovered.

Anger bubbled up inside you, mixing with the fear and hurt. It manifested in the way your jaw clenched, in the tightness of your shoulders. You wanted to scream, to rage at him for his deception, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, hot tears spilled down your cheeks, a physical manifestation of your inner turmoil.

You took a step back as Jacaerys moved towards you, your body instinctively recoiling from his presence. The man before you now seemed like a stranger, far removed from the gentle, caring husband you thought you had come to know. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps as panic began to set in.

“Stay away from me,” you managed to say, your voice cracking with emotion. The betrayal cut deep, a wound that felt almost physical in its intensity. Your mind raced, replaying every moment, every kind word and gentle touch, now tainted by the knowledge of your true purpose.

Your eyes, wide with fear and glistening with tears, finally met his. In that moment, the full weight of your situation crashed down upon you. You were trapped, bound by tradition and duty to a fate you never asked for, chosen by a man you had begun to trust and even love. The realization left you feeling hollow, your anger giving way to a deep, aching despair.

Jacaerys' face contorted with anguish. He took a hesitant step towards you, his hand outstretched, but you flinched away violently.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Let me explain. I never meant to-”

“To what?” you spat out, finding your voice again. The words came out in a rush, fueled by fear and rage. “To lie to me? To condemn me to death? What exactly didn't you mean to do, Jacaerys?”

“I thought I knew you,” you continued, your voice breaking. “I thought... I thought what we had was real.”

Jacaerys' face crumpled at your words. “It is real,” he insisted, taking another step closer. You backed away, your back hitting the bookshelf behind you. “Everything between us, every moment – it's all been real. I swear it.”

You shook your head violently, unable to reconcile his words with the horrifying truth you'd discovered. “How can you say that?” you demanded, your voice rising hysterically. “How can any of it be real when you've been planning my death this whole time?”

Jacaerys’s expression twisted in agony as he absorbed the impact of your words. He stood rooted to the spot, a few steps away from you, his hand still outstretched as if hoping that a simple gesture could bridge the widening chasm between you.

“I never wanted this,” Jacaerys began, his voice barely above a whisper, choked with emotion.

You shook your head vehemently, tears streaming down your face. “You chose me.” you spat out, your voice cracking. 

“No, that's not what I-”

“Then what?” you demanded, your voice rising. “What exactly was your plan? To make me fall for you and then feed me to a dragon?”

Jacaerys's face contorted with pain. “I've been trying to find another way. I've been fighting the council, trying to change things-”

“And failing!” you interjected, your fear and anger boiling over. “All while lying to me every single day!”

“I wasn't lying to you!” Jacaerys protested, his voice rising to match yours. “I was trying to protect you!”

“How can I believe anything you say now?” you cried out, your body shaking with sobs.

Just as Jacaerys opened his mouth to respond, a sharp knock at the library door interrupted your heated exchange. You both froze, turning to see a servant entering hesitantly.

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace,” the servant said, bowing low. “The Small Council requests your immediate presence. They wish to begin preparations for... the journey.”

The servant's eyes flickered between you and Jacaerys, clearly sensing the tension in the room.

You sobbed at the mention of the event, even servants keeping secrecy of your fate.

Jacaerys clenched his jaw, he turned back to you, his eyes pleading. “Please, we need to talk about this. Let me explain-”

But you were already backing away, seizing the opportunity of the interruption to escape. “I wish to be left alone,” you said, your voice trembling. Without another word, you brushed past the confused servant and fled from the library.

Jacaerys stood frozen for a moment, watching as you fled, your sobs echoing through the hallways. His heart ached with the weight of his own guilt and the fear of losing you completely. Ignoring the servant’s continued bowing and murmurings, he sprinted after you, desperate to make you understand.

He reached your chamber door just as you slammed it shut, the sound reverberating down the corridor. He pressed his palms against the heavy wood, his forehead resting against it as he tried to steady his racing heart.

“Please, let me explain!” he called out, his voice thick with desperation. “I know you're hurt and angry, but you need to hear me out!”

Inside, you sank to the floor, your back against the door, tears streaming down your face. Your body shook with silent sobs, the enormity of the betrayal crushing down on you.

“Everything I've done,” Jacaerys continued, his voice muffled through the door, “I've done to protect you. I never wanted to deceive you. I never wanted any of this. But the council, the traditions... they're suffocating us both.”

His words felt like they were trying to reach you, trying to penetrate the thick wall of pain and anger that surrounded your heart. But the fear of your impending fate and the betrayal you felt were too overwhelming.

“Please, you have to believe me,” he begged, his voice breaking. “I love you. That love is real. And I will find a way to save you, I swear it. Just give me a chance to make this right.”

You hugged your knees to your chest, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The pain, the fear, the betrayal – they were all so raw, so immediate. But beneath it all, a small part of you wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that the man you had come to care for was not the monster this situation painted him to be.

“I don’t know how to trust you again,” you whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear you through the thick door.

“I'll do whatever it takes,” Jacaerys vowed, his voice trembling with determination. “Just... don't shut me out. Please.”

The silence that followed was heavy, the air thick with the weight of his words. You stayed where you were, torn between the deep love you had started to feel for him and the horrifying reality you had uncovered. The choice to let him in or to push him away entirely seemed insurmountable in that moment.

With that, he pressed his hand against the door one last time, as if trying to offer some semblance of comfort through the barrier between you, before turning and walking away, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your heartache.

When he entered the room, the council members were already deep in discussion, their hushed voices filling the space with an air of urgency. They looked up as he entered, some with mild surprise, others with impatience.

“Your Grace,” the maester began, “we are ready to pick up from where we left off earlier. We were just finalizing the preparations for the journey to Dragonstone.”

Jacaerys clenched his fists, his frustration barely contained. “This madness must end,” he declared, his voice shaking with a mixture of rage and desperation. “We cannot continue with this barbaric tradition. There has to be another way.”

They looked at him as if he was a loose-tempered child, their expressions a mix of annoyance and dismissal. Jacaerys stood firm, his eyes burning with intensity as he faced the council that seemed so indifferent to his pleas.

“Your Grace,” the man interjected, his tone patronizing, “tradition is not something to be discarded lightly. It is what binds us to our heritage, what ensures the stability of our rule. The dragons demand their due.”

Jacaerys shook his head in disbelief. “Is that all you see her as? A 'due' to be paid?” His voice cracked with emotion, his frustration boiling over.

One of the maesters, an older man with a stern look and a long gray beard, spoke up with a dismissive tone. “Your Grace, emotions have clouded your judgment. The girl is but a vessel for the ritual, a necessary sacrifice for the greater good of our house and the realm. Your sentimental attachment to her blinds you to the realities of our traditions.”

Jacaerys's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. He could feel his anger rising like a tidal wave, threatening to overwhelm him. “You dare speak of my wife like that again and I shall have your tongue for it.”

The maester who had spoken before, undeterred by Jacaerys's threat, leaned forward with a smirk playing on his lips. “Your Grace, threats will not change the course of history. The traditions of House Targaryen are not to be trifled with, even by a king.”

“The dragon will be fed sheep, or pigs, or cows. I do not care for what it is, just not an innocent, not her.”

The council members glanced at each other again, murmuring amongst themselves in low voices. They seemed to reach an unspoken agreement, their gazes finally settling on Jacaerys with a mixture of pity and resignation.

“Your Grace,” the maester said with a sigh, Jacaerys shook his head, turning on his heel and storming out of the council chamber, leaving the members behind in a stunned silence. All heads turned to look at the empty seat of the Queen, who was absent from the meeting to be with her children. 

The preparations proceeded.

Outside the chamber, he paused for a moment, leaning against the cool stone wall to catch his breath. His thoughts turned to you, his heart aching with the fear of losing you to the cruel tradition that dictated your fate. He couldn't bear the thought of what awaited you on Dragonstone, of the horror you must feel now that you knew the truth.

With a deep breath, Jacaerys pushed himself away from the wall and began to walk briskly through the corridors of the Red Keep. His steps were purposeful, driven by a desperate need to find a way to protect you, to defy the council's decree despite their authority. His mind raced with plans and strategies, each one more daring than the last.

As he passed by servants and guards, he saw the pity in their eyes, the whispers that followed him like a shadow. They knew of the impending sacrifice, of the council's decision, and of his futile attempts to defy it. Yet, despite their sympathy, Jacaerys knew he couldn't rely on anyone else to challenge the council openly. The risk was too great, the consequences too dire.

Finally, he reached the familiar door of your chambers. His hand trembled slightly as he lifted it to knock, unsure of how you would receive him after your confrontation in the library. He knew he had hurt you deeply, that his actions had shattered the trust you had begun to build between you.

Before he could knock, however, the door swung open suddenly. The sight of you standing there, eyes red from tears, took his breath away. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy in the air between you.

He whispered your name, almost as if it was a secret, his hands reaching out to attempt to hold yours. You moved away, “I only wish to go to supper, the Queen is waiting.”

Jacaerys swallowed hard, his throat tight with unspoken words and unshed tears. He knew you were still hurting, still grappling with the betrayal he had inadvertently caused. The thought of losing you, of facing the council's cold and calculated decisions alone, sent a wave of despair crashing over him.

“I... I will not keep you.” he murmured finally, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You nodded slightly, your gaze flickering to the side, unable to meet his eyes. The pain and confusion swirled within you, making it difficult to think clearly or to know what to say next. 

Stepping back from the door, you slipped away from him, the distance between you feeling insurmountable. Jacaerys watched you go, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he was losing you, at least for now.

The walk to supper was silent and uncomfortable. Each step felt like a burden, the weight of your emotions threatening to overwhelm you. Servants passed by, casting sympathetic glances your way, their whispered conversations barely registering as you made your way to the dining hall. 

“My dear,” she greeted you warmly, though her eyes held a hint of concern. “I trust everything is well?”

You managed a tight-lipped smile, nodding slightly. “Yes, Your Grace,” you replied softly, avoiding her gaze.

Sensing your need for space, she made no further inquiries, allowing the meal to proceed in an uneasy silence.

Throughout supper, you picked at your food, the taste of bitterness lingering on your tongue. The empty seat beside yours, your husbands, felt like a void, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between you. You glanced at it occasionally, half-expecting Jacaerys to appear, to fix it all with a snap of his fingers. But he did not materialize, leaving you to wrestle with your conflicted feelings alone.

Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, with her regal bearing and perceptive gaze, had always been keenly attuned to the emotional currents of those around her. As she observed you across the table during supper, she noticed the tension in your posture, the haunted look in your eyes, and the way you absently picked at your food.

Her own son's absence did not go unnoticed either. The empty seat beside you seemed to cast a shadow over the otherwise elegant atmosphere of the dining hall. Rhaenyra's eyes flickered towards it briefly, a fleeting moment of concern crossing her features before she schooled her expression into one of serene composure.

After a quiet and tense supper, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen rose gracefully from her seat, her gaze lingering briefly on the empty chair beside you before she moved towards the doors of the dining hall. Her steps were measured, her presence commanding even in the subdued atmosphere.

As she exited the hall, servants darted forward to attend to her, but she waved them off with a subtle gesture. Instead, she continued down the corridor that led towards the private chambers reserved for the royal family. Her mind was focused on one thing: finding her son, Jacaerys, and offering him whatever support and counsel she could in his time of need.

Rhaenyra found Jacaerys in his private study, poring over ancient tomes and scrolls that spoke of the history of Dragonstone and the ancient rituals of House Targaryen. He looked up as she entered, his expression a mixture of determination and weariness.

“Mother,” Jacaerys greeted her, his voice subdued yet filled with a quiet resolve. Queen Rhaenyra closed the door behind her, the quiet click echoing softly in the study as she approached her son. Jacaerys stood by his desk, surrounded by the weight of ancient knowledge and the burden of his current dilemma. His eyes, weary and troubled, met hers as she drew near.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, her mind racing with possibilities. “The dragon must be fed, as tradition dictates.”

“No-” he interrupted.

“Jacaerys, listen to me,” she began softly.

He closed his mouth, frustration still evident on his face as he glared at the floor, refusing to meet her eyes. 

“Ten sheep, as a symbolic gesture to fulfill the dragon's hunger. It will appease the tradition without sacrificing an innocent life. Like you said.”

Jacaerys remained silent for a moment, his jaw clenched as he mulled over her words. The weight of the decision pressed heavily upon him; he wanted desperately to protect you, yet he also feared the council's resistance to any deviation from the established ritual.

“It's risky,” he finally admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “But if there's even a chance...”

“We must take it,” Rhaenyra affirmed, her voice gentle yet firm. “I feel your heavy heart, my son. You are hurt.”

Rhaenyra's words cut through the turmoil swirling in Jacaerys's mind, her understanding of his pain offering a momentary comfort amidst the uncertainty. 

“I can't bear to lose her, Mother,” Jacaerys confessed quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “She trusted me, and I... I betrayed that trust.”

Rhaenyra reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder, a gesture of maternal comfort. “Love makes us vulnerable, my son,” she murmured softly. “But it also gives us strength. You must believe in that strength now, for her sake and for yours.”

The day dawned with a heavy pall hanging over Dragonstone, the air thick with anticipation and dread. Servants moved about the castle with quiet efficiency, their expressions somber as they attended to their duties. Among them, preparing for the ritual that loomed ahead, was you.

Your mind felt numb, detached from the reality of what was to come. Every brush of the comb through your hair, every adjustment to your gown felt surreal, like you were watching someone else's life unfold. The knowledge of your impending sacrifice weighed heavily, a constant, gnawing ache in your chest that refused to abate.

Jacaerys, your husband, moved through the chambers with an air of quiet resolve. His eyes, usually warm and reassuring, now held a depth of sadness you couldn't bear to meet. He had sworn to his mother to keep the plan involving the sheep a secret, and despite the rocky state of your relationship, he ached to tell you.

As the time drew near, you found yourself seated beside Jacaerys in the carriage bound for the dragon pit. The journey was quiet, the clatter of hooves against cobblestones the only sound breaking the heavy silence between you. His presence beside you was both a source of solace and a reminder of the fractured trust between you.

You stole glances at him occasionally, noting the tension etched in his features, the way his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap. There were words unsaid, wounds still raw and unhealed, but in this moment, facing the inevitable, you craved for his comfort.

Silently, you reached to place a hand on his thigh, stopping his leg from moving up and down in anxiousness. 

He turned to look at you, his eyes searching yours for understanding, for forgiveness. The weight of his secret, the burden of the deception he had carried to protect you, threatened to crush him. Yet, in that moment, your touch grounded him, reminding him of the love that still flickered between you despite everything.

You held his gaze, your own eyes reflecting a mix of sadness and longing. Words seemed inadequate in the face of what lay ahead, in the face of the unspoken turmoil between you. But your touch spoke volumes, a silent reassurance that even amidst the chaos, you were still connected.

Jacaerys covered your hand with his own, his touch gentle yet firm. His thumb traced soothing circles on the back of your hand, a gesture of comfort and apology. There were no words to express the depth of his regret, the anguish of seeing you face such a fate.

“I will fix this,” he promised in a whisper. You frowned at him and he felt his heart drop once again, your trust for him was fully gone. “I swear it.” he murmured against your hair, his voice hoarse.

You withdrew your hand from his grasp, the gesture a silent but clear indication of the distance that had grown between you. His heart ached at the loss of your touch, a physical manifestation of the emotional rift that now divided you. You remained silent, the weight of his promise echoing in the space between you. 

As the carriage finally reached its destination, the stark cliffs of Dragonstone rose ominously before you. Servants hurried to prepare for the landing, their movements efficient and solemn. The dragons' presence loomed in the background, a constant reminder of the ancient forces that governed their lives.

Jacaerys helped you disembark from the carriage, his touch tentative yet filled with an unspoken plea for forgiveness. You stood side by side, facing the imposing fortress and the council that awaited your arrival.

From the distance, you could see the beast, a dragon stood tall before the castle, many men parading around it holding sticks to prevent it from causing any damage other than his feast, you.

Jacaerys’ gaze moved to his mother, her arms crossed over her chest as she gave him a stern nod, telling him that the sheep were hidden, prepared to replace you just as they’d planned.

The servants moved away, maesters following behind as the hair walked you to the dragon, just like it was written in the books of tradition. Jacaerys was supposed to leave you standing in front of the dragon, leave and hide away in a corner before shouting the known command for you to be burnt. A private tradition for only husband and wife, for heir and sacrifice to see.

Your body shook in fear as you walked behind your husband, your hand grasping onto his red cape. He reached behind his body, his hand holding yours in hopes to calm you.

The dragon loomed ahead, its scaled form bathed in sunlight that glinted off its massive wings and claws. Men with sticks stood guard around it, their wary eyes trained on the beast as well as on you and Jacaerys. They stepped away once the Prince approached. 

Jacaerys's steps faltered briefly as he glanced back at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and determination. He squeezed your hand reassuringly, his grip firm yet gentle, a silent promise of his unwavering resolve to protect you at any cost.

As you approached the dragon, the enormity of the moment threatened to overwhelm you. Images from the ancient books of tradition flashed through your mind—husbands and wives standing before dragons, the command to burn uttered in hushed reverence. It was a private ritual, a solemn duty passed down through generations, and now it seemed poised to consume you.

You and Jacaerys were left standing on your hand, your hand clasped tightly in his as you tried to even your breaths. 

The dragon's gaze shifted, its attention momentarily drawn away as it sensed movement in the shadows. Jacaerys's breath caught in his throat, his grip on your hand tightening instinctively. For a fleeting moment, hope flared within you, a glimmer of possibility that the plan might succeed, that the ancient beast might accept the substitution.

But as the dragon turned back to you, its eyes narrowing with curiosity, the moment of truth arrived. Jacaerys turned to look at his mother, rushing with one of her maids behind her, and the promised sheep gathered. He couldn’t help the sigh of relief that washed over him, his hand letting go of yours to hold onto your waist and push you close to him as he quickly dragged the two of you away from the beast’s hungry eyes.

Together, you moved swiftly through the courtyard, away from the dragon and towards the safety of the castle's empty interior, the council already having left for their journey back to the Keep. Jacaerys's grip on your waist remained firm, his touch a reassurance of his steadfast protection in the face of danger. His mother kept pace beside you, her expression unreadable but tinged with a glimmer of pride in her son's daring defiance of tradition.

As you reached the threshold of the castle, Jacaerys finally allowed himself a moment to breathe, his gaze sweeping over you with relief and lingering concern. The weight of what had transpired hung heavy in the air, the daring gamble to spare you from the dragon's maw a testament to Jacaerys's unwavering determination and love.

Inside the safety of the castle walls, away from the dragon's menacing presence, Jacaerys pulled you into a tight embrace. His voice, thick with emotion, whispered words of gratitude and apology against your hair. You clung to him, the rush of adrenaline giving way to overwhelming relief and the beginnings of forgiveness.

From afar, you could hear the Queen voice the command, you watched in silence – as Jacaerys clung to you – the dragon spitting fire at the animals, the two women hurrying out of the way while it ate at the sheep. 

You felt a sob leave your throat at the sight, turning your body to fit into Jacaerys’ as you incoherently mumbled words of gratitude, his lips brushing against your skin every time he spoke caringly at you, apologizing, thanking the gods. 

“You're safe now,” Jacaerys murmured against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I'm so sorry you had to go through this. I never wanted any of this for you.”

“Please... Please forgive me. I know I don't deserve it, but I swear to you, I will spend every moment proving myself to you.” 

You buried your face in his chest, overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. His words of remorse and desperation washed over you, mingling with the relief of surviving the ordeal.

“I'm so sorry,” Jacaerys continued, his voice choked with emotion as he whispered. “I should have told you everything from the beginning. I never meant to deceive you, to put you through this. Please, I beg you... take whatever time you need. I understand if you can't ever forgive me.”

You felt his words reverberate through your chest, each syllable heavy with remorse and love. His vulnerability touched your heart, reminding you of the man you had fallen in love with despite the secrets that had threatened to tear you apart.

“I need you to know,” Jacaerys whispered, his fingers gently caressing your back. “I love you. More than anything. And I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a tentative, exploratory kiss. It began as a whisper, a soft meeting of lips that conveyed all the unspoken words – the apologies, the gratitude, the hope for a future together. The taste of salt from lingering tears mixed with the sweetness of relief, creating a bittersweet sensation that only deepened the connection between you.

Jacaerys responded with an enthusiasm that spoke volumes. His arms encircled you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The kiss deepened, filled with a yearning that transcended the physical, binding your souls together in a moment of deep intimacy.

His lips moved against yours with a gentle urgency, pouring out his heart in the touch of his mouth on yours. In that embrace, amidst the echoes of their shared ordeal, you found solace and strength in each other's arms.

When you finally pulled away, a soft smile graced Jacaerys' lips, his eyes shining with gratitude. He rested his forehead against yours, his hands tenderly caressing your cheeks as if trying to imprint the moment into memory. You nestled into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours.

“One step at a time,” you mumbled, catching from the corner of your eye, the hint of a smile fighting to appear on his face. 

Together, you stood in the quiet sanctuary of the castle, your bodies pressed close as if seeking solace in each other's presence. The weight of what had transpired hung in the air, but so did a glimmer of hope – a hope that with time and effort, your love could mend the fractures that had threatened to break you apart. 

Jacaerys seemed unconcerned with the Council's potential reaction to his and his mother's defiance of tradition, wholly absorbed in the moment. His thoughts were consumed by your scent and the significance of your first kiss since your wedding. He silently hoped it marked the beginning of a new normal, regardless of the Council's opinions upon your return to the Red Keep. 

taglist: @smurfelle @earth4angels @elliaze @sillylittlepenguin181818 (taglist link is on pinned!)

[nervoushottee]

With Want | Paul Atreides x Fem!Reader

Summary: Paul Atreides always had dreams. But from the very beginning, there was an invisible string pulling him to you.

Warnings: (MDNI 18+) Reader's secret name is Nuri, Set in Dune Part 2 , fingering, soulmate/destined pairing, shitty understanding of the Dune universe (only watched the first Dune move and only half of Dune part 2 whoopsie so I'm probably butchering some of the lore or whatever. Its fanfiction babes, I'm not writing this for accuracy),

Note: Hey hottees!! Y'all I'm not even finish watching Dune 2 and I started writing this. Timothee was doing something to me in this movieeee. Hope y'all enjoy!

*not edited at all babes*

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Paul Atreides had dreams. Both enchanting and horrifying dreams that would eat away at his mind and soul. And from the very beginning, he had always felt this small pull of a feeling. 

It was weirder than his dreams because even when he woke, he still felt it. Like it was a small tether, a light string in his heart and soul that hummed so softly. A light that was so dim that you would have to squint to see. 

After everything that happened with his father and being forced out of his home. The Fremen people found him and his mother. And that feeling grew stronger. He thought it was about the sayings of what his mother, the Bene Gesserit, would tell him but it felt more than that. 

It was odd, he could never see what it was in his dreams, or hear whispers of it like a name. But it was always that same enchanting feeling. So when Paul followed the Fremens, it continued to grow. By the time they walked deeper into the caves, it went from a strong pull to an overwhelming presence. 

And that’s when he saw you. 

“Who is she?” Paul asks Chani. The young woman already knew who Paul was asking for before she turned her head. A small smile engulfs on her face. “Nuri.”

Nuri.

Paul repeats your name to understand the feeling on his tongue. He hadn’t seen you before. Or maybe he did, he wasn’t too sure. The Fremen people covered their faces from the desert and a lot from what he was learning.

‘She moves like the wind.’ Paul says to himself as he watches you glide through the crowded room. Paul’s eyes meet yours briefly. Yours blue from your sclera to your irises. You stop moving through the crowd to stare at him. 

That feeling buzzed around him, stronger than ever within Paul as his eyes never leaving  yours. Your lips slowly turn up into a smile. Your eyes move towards Chani who still stands next to him, nodding in acknowledgement. Chani repeats the same gesture with a smile on her face, your gaze lingers back on Paul before a group of people walk in front of Paul’s view of you. By the time the people separate. You were gone. And the feeling suddenly fades from a sharp intensity to a dull buzz. 

“You should be careful around her Outworlder.” Chani says to him in a low tone as the common area starts to get a bit busy with people. The two of them sit down on a blanket as other where for food. 

“Was she with the group when you found me and my mother?” Paul asks, dodging the statement his acquaintance gave him. 

Chani shakes her head, chewing her food before speaking, “No. She doesn’t come with us all the time.”That intrigued Paul. He turns himself fully towards Chani, his bowl of food mixed with spice long forgotten . “So is she not a fighter?” 

“She is.” Chani says between chews, ”But she also walks with the Sayyadina.”

The Sayyadina. The Fremen’s Reverend Mother. 

“From what I’ve been told, her family was killed just after she was born. Stilgar took it upon himself to look after her. As she grew, the Sayyadina felt something within her. So Stilgar gave them the authority to let her walk with them. She is truly a great fighter, so when we need good fighters she will come with us when necessary. If not, she stays.” Chani continues. 

“A fighter and one that walks with the Sayyadina? Is that possible?” Paul questions. 

“To a nonbeliever? No. But to those who do? Yes. Stilgar believes in the old ways and in the faith. The Lisan al Gaib.” She says to him in a taunting tone which causes Paul to avert his eyes. The moment they came in, some shouted hatred towards him and his mother but others screamed in rejoice, calling him The Lisan al Gaib.

“Our people follow behind him, he is a good leader and his judgment is almost always right and trustworthy.” Chani finishes. 

Paul sits with the information he tells her, his hands slowly dipping in his bowl to start eating the food that was cold to touch but warm against his tongue. The heat of the spice warms his insides as it goes down his throat. “And what about you? What do you believe?”

”I don’t believe that you’re the Lisan al Gaib, that's for sure.” She chuckles. Paul feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment but urges her to continue. “I believe in our people. And she is a part of our people. And if she plays some part in whatever faith stories then so be it. But she has never faltered in training. She has never failed in the dessert and she is a good friend. She believes in our people as much as I do.”

After the words Chani said, Paul felt that she was over talking about you, more hungry and interested in the spice beneath her fingers. So Paul didn’t ask anymore. He ate his food in silence but his mind was racing with the thoughts of you. 

—— —— —— ——

The day had turned into night. Stilgar showed him and his mother the small room for them to sleep in for the time being until their fate was decided. A lot of them didn’t trust him and his mother, and for that Paul understood. 

His dreams woke him in the late night. Lifting his head from the makeshift pillow, he looks over to his mother who is still sound asleep. Her hand was placed on her lower stomach. 

‘Rest easy sister, I will be back.’ He says in his head before getting up and quietly leaving the room.

The caves are quiet at night. Besides from the guards that linger within the open spaces to protect those who rest. Paul doesn’t think it’s necessary but he avoids walking around where they are. Just in case to not stir any trouble. The people were calm at the moment since their fates were going to be decided soon enough. 

He walks to the small body of water his mother had told him about. The scared waters of the Fremens. The waters they would never touch. He sat there for a while. Enjoying the stilllness in the air and the calm look of the water. It reminded him of home. “I miss you father. I will take care of mother and sister.” He says to himself quietly. 

He wants to cry but reminds himself to save his water. “Don’t waste your tears on the dead” from what Stilgar told his mother. 

Paul sat still for a moment longer before he felt that pull again. That invisible string strong and tight as it pulls him to his feet. He absentmindedly walks into a dimly let hallway, his pulse quickening against his neck. His heat beating erratically against his chest as he turns the corner to see you. “You’re Nuri.” Paul states.

“You shouldn’t be out at night Paul Atriedes.” You say to him, your back towards him but he can hear the teasing smile within your words.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Paul explains to you simply, “And I made sure to walk where the guards can not see me.” The feeling nearly suffocates him as he walks toward you. 

“Ah.” You turn towards him, you’re dressed in almost the same comfortable linens as him. His a tan brown color and yours an off white. “You and your dreams.”

How did you know about that? He questions in his head, unconsciously taking another step towards you. You both now at arms length.

“I see you in my dreams.” Paul lies. 

“Do you?” You ask back, your tone sounds as if you know he’s lying. 

“No but I can feel you. In my dreams and out. And I don’t know what it is or what it means.” He explains. 

You hum in satisfaction as you slowly walk around him. Like a beast or a predator trapping its prey. “And what do you feel now?” 

He feels like his body is vibrating, His skin tingling and his veins jumping. His fingers buzzing as if he wants to reach out and touch you. He does what to touch you, he wants to feel your skin on his. “What do you feel?” Paul asks the question back to you.

You stop walking to stand behind him. The hairs on his neck stick out as he feels your body heat near him. Your lips slowly grazing his ear making his eyes flutter close. 

What the hell is happening to him?

“I feel like the spice on my tongue. I feel like the sand beneath my feet. I feel like the beauty you see in your dreams. I can feel you.” You whisper against him. 

Paul turns around to you, your bodies closer than ever. His lips inches towards yours as his flickers between your eyes and your lips. 

“You speak in tongues.” Paul whispers to you desperately.

“Shall I tell you in a way you understand?” You whisper against his lips. 

“Yes please.” he begs softly. 

And you don’t hesitate to put your lips on his. Paul moving quickly as his hands clasp softly against your cheeks. Moaning in the delight as he feels your hands glide against his chest, gripping his shirt. 

He feels you everywhere, but it isn’t overwhelming anymore. Now that he’s holding you and tasting you, your tongue glides against his. He feels a wave of warmth wash over him as his body and soul settle into the feeling of you. 

So warm and inviting. So enticing and serene. 

You push him towards a dark hidden spot in the hallway. Your bodies are engulfed in darkness but when you break apart for air, you can see him all the same. Paul moves you toward the wall, his body trapping you in as he kisses your neck. 

“I’ve dreamt of you, Paul Atreides. I’ve seen you in my dreams, felt you lingering in my mind, heart and soul.” You say to him breathly. Moaning quietly as you feel his tongue glide against your neck. Your guide his hand to touch your breast, causing Paul to move away from your neck and look into your eyes. 

‘So beautiful.’ Paul thought. He brings his other hand on your cheek and kisses you hungrily. Squeezing your breast, feeling the weight of it in the palm of his hand.His hand glides to let your nipple slip in between his fingers as he squeezes.“I want to dream of you. I want to see you in my dreams, want to hear your voice call my name.” he mutters to you in between kisses.

When you break away from his kiss, Paul starts to ask what’s wrong until he feels your hand on his and glides it up to your lips. You kiss his fingers individually as he stares at you in adoration and desire. You slowly slip his middle and ring finger into your mouth causing Paul to groan. His hips shifting upwards against you as he feels the wetness of your warm tongue glide against his fingers. He watches as you pull his fingers out of your mouth, his digits glistening wet. Your hands glide his now wet ones down and underneath your linen pants.

“Touch me and you will see me.” 

He lets his hand glide against you as is greeted by your wetness, causing you both to moan out in pleasure. You are sinking deeper into the wall and Paul sinking deeper into you. His fingers continue to glide there experimentally as you pull him back for a kiss. “Help me see.” Paul mutters desperately against you

. 

Your hands reach down in your lines to move his hand into the position you need for him to make you feel good. You mimic a small circular rotation with your fingers on the back of his hand that was still against you. Once Paul understands, he begins to move his fingers in the motion you instructed, making you moan against his lips. 

He pulls away to watch you. You looked more ethereal than any other being or spirit that was believed in all of Arrakis. Your head back against the mountain wall, your lips slightly open as you moan. Your hips moving against his fingers as if you’re chasing for pressure. Paul dips his head in the corner of your neck and kisses it feverishly as he applies more pressure in his movements. Causing you to hold on to shoulder and call out his name. Oh how he wanted you to say his name again.

Feeling a little confident he glides his fingers down, but keeps his them pressed against your swollen bud. He pushes his middle finger inside of you causing you to gasp. You hold onto his shoulder gripping his shirt as you breathe heavily. You drag his head from your neck to kiss him. With his finger going in and out of you at an agonizing slow pace, you kiss him sloppily. But Paul doesn’t seem to mind, he enjoys it. Humming against you with a smile. 

When you feel his ring finger follow in for a second is when you lose it. “Paul!” you say loudly. 

His tongue mingles with yours as he silences your cries. With the slow circling of his thumb against your clit and the way he pushes his fingers into you makes you clench against him. “Fuck.” he moans. 

You whine as you feel your orgasm growing inside of you. The feeling you both shared with one another makes you feel even more on edge as you grip Paul in anyway you can. You rapidly as you feel yourself getting close. “Pau-Paul -” you begin to tell him as such but the building pleasure doesn’t get you far. Paul places his other hand against your cheek, tilting your head to look up at him. His eyes hooded and his cheeks flushed. You feel his thumb brush against your bottom lip. 

“Let me see you.” 

His words are the final push that sends you over the edge. Paul kissing you to silence your cries, you mewling against his lips as his fingers never stop their learned rhythm. You shiver against his fingers, your body tingly and warm. He kisses your face from your cheeks, to your eyelids and everywhere in between as he waits for you to come down from your high. He whispers your name, making you flutter your eyes open to see Paul stare at you with want. 

“Show me again.”

[dotster001]

Meeting Their Future Kids With You

Summary: Vil/Idia/Crewel/Crowley/Malleus/Rook x gn! Reader. A child suddenly appears. And it seems to have a connection to you? Requested by @stygianoir

A/N: It's in my pinned post, and I've mentioned this in a couple posts, but if this is the first of my stuff you've read, I view NRC as an actual college, so reader here is 18+. If it makes you more comfy, imagine it as grad school age.

CW: spreading my asexual Malleus agenda, especially now that I've been spoiled for the fact that the dragon lays an egg and all it needs is love to hatch. ASEXUAL MALLEUS CAN NOW BE CANON Y'ALL!!!! Anyways...his kid is the only one with physical descriptors, so do with that what you will 😅

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Something was wrong. There was a presence at Ramshackle that shouldn't be there. Could it be? Could someone be trying to steal you from him? No! He had only just started courting you! It wasn't fair. 

He poofed into your sitting room and froze. 

You were snuggling what looked like…a small version of him?

You looked up and your jaw dropped.

"Wait, I thought this was you!" You looked back down at the kid who giggled and made grabby hands at Malleus.

"Daddy!"

Ah! Yes, he understood now. Draconia genes were strong. This child clearly was barely old enough to even hold a human form, it was not out of the realm of possibility that it had accidentally used a time travel spell. Perhaps that was even the child's unique magic.

He walked over to the child in your arms, scooped it up, and gave it a soft kiss between the two tiny horns emerging from their head.

"It's wonderful to see you, but it's time to go home, little one."

The child nodded sagely and vanished in a puff of green smoke. You looked at him in complete confusion, but he simply laughed, repeating his kiss, but this time to your forehead.

He knew you were his soulmate.

He knew with a single glance. The familiarity the twin girls before him held in their gazes, the way they carried themselves, the hats on their heads. Everything screamed his influence.

And though that didn't make any sense, Rook knew his eye and his instincts were never wrong.

But there was something about the girls that was distinctly…..

"Rook! Hi- aw shit, please tell me you didn't kidnap some kids!"

So distinctly you.

The two girls shared what, to anyone but Rook, would seem like an unsettling smile as you approached the silent scene.

"Non non, they are just passing through, oui, petites fleur's?"

"Oui," they said simultaneously, grinning at you, their eyes taking in your every facial twitch.

"Uh, okay? Relatives of yours?"

"One could say that."

All three of them laughed, leaving you confused and a little frightened.

It was a normal day like any other. Searching for Epel who had once again fled his lessons.

And he had found him in the worst possible place. A mud pile with an already very muddy teenage girl.

Epel splashed the girl with a childish giggle, and she laughed hysterically.

"Papa was right, you were crazy!" She giggled making a mud ball and throwing it at him.

He dodged and it hit Vil.

"Ah shit," she whispered under her breath. But after a second of reflection, she grinned. "Wait, why am I scared? You're not the boss of me."

Vil glared, and she suddenly looked apologetic again.

Both Epel and the girl stared at the ground, completely avoiding eye contact.

"What school are you from?" Vil snapped at the girl.

She snickered but said nothing.

"Who do I report you to?"

She laughed louder. "Nah, I don't have to tell you shit."

"Language," he snapped, and tears filled her eyes.

"It was all uncle Epel's fault. I told him I didn't want to play in the mud, but he made me do it!"

"You absolute rat!" Epel shouted, picking up some mud and preparing to throw it.

Vil cast a quick spell, freezing both of you in place. He stormed over and snatched each of your wrists, preparing to storm off with the two trouble makers in tow, when he saw the shimmering gold bracelet on your wrist. Engraved on it was L/N-Schoenheit.

He stared for a moment, then groaned.

"Epel, remind me to never let you around my future child."

"He's my godfather," the girl grinned impishly, and Vil felt a part of himself die.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for my dad. You look like you could be related to him."

Idia knew he shouldn't have left his room today. All he wanted was a snack, and to maybe see you if you happened to not be in a class right now, and now this extroverted teenager was asking about his dad.

What the absolute fuck?

He quickly pulled out his ipad, typing something about how anyone related to him wasn't worth finding, when the twerp yanked the iPad out of his hands.

"Nevermind, I figured it out," the kid snorted. "Hi dad!"

Idia started stuttering. Not only was this twerp an extroverted teen who stole his iPad, he was also insane.

"Nah, nah, not today, not today…" Idia started muttering under his breath.

The kid rolled his eyes.  

"Forgot about this part. Guess they really did change you for the better," he started typing something on his watch, and a hologram popped up, showing the kid, you, and Idia…? Your and Idia's faces were a bit more lined than they were right now but….it was definitely you.

He stared at the hologram, his hair turning a bright red. 

"Oh! Hey Idia!" Your voice called from behind him.

He turned and waved to you shyly, then turned back to the teen. But he was gone.

And the damn boy stole his iPad.

If his hair wasn't already dyed, those two freshmen would have given him gray hair by now.

Once again, they'd made a potion explode in his classroom. And once again, the fallout would be a pain to clean up.

Where you had once sat was a small child. A small child who was looking at him expectantly.

"Well?" She asked.

At first he had assumed this small child was your child form. But no. She looked nothing like you. Though, she did have a similar glint in her eye.

"Who are you?" He asked softly, not wishing to scare the child with the rage that was building up inside him. He'd told you again and again that your friends were trouble, and now look where it got you.

Wait. Where exactly were you?

Before the girl could speak, a red smoke filled the room, and a him with a few more wrinkles appeared, dragging you by the wrist. Your face was covered in a vicious pout.

"I already told them," future Crewel said, eying the freshmen with a vicious glare. "No need to repeat it."

He opened his arms in front of the little girl, a warm smile taking over his features, as the girl climbed into his arms, snuggling into him. He pointed at you and the freshman one more time, said, "Behave." And vanished into red smoke.

Present day Crewel pinched the bridge of his nose, and pointed at you.

"He already said it," you snapped,punching Ace in the shoulder for good measure.

"Morning dad."

"Morning," Crowley muttered tiredly as he sipped his coffee.

Then he choked on it. There should be no one in his office right now. And there should be no one calling him dad.

He looked over and saw a kid who was somewhere between the age of 10 and 13 sorting through his stack of paperwork.

"Pardon me, but do you mind explaining what you're doing?"

The kid looked up and raised a brow in confusion.

"Um, morning paperwork?" He laughed nervously. "Wait did you forget that….uh, nevermind, I'll just go then."

The kid hastily made the papers into a pile, grabbed a backpack, and started to hustle out of the office. Only to be stopped when he bumped into you as you were storming into the office.

"Crowley! You promised you'd fix my goddamn roof!"

"Dad said I wasn't grounded anymore!"

Both of you shouted over the top of each other, and then stared in confusion.

The kid sprinted out of the office, knocking you over in the process.

Dire, meanwhile, released a delighted giggle, his face feeling warm as he grinned at you with a lovesick grin. Only to be annoyed as you brought up your roof again.

"If you excuse me, I have other things to attend to. I assure you that child will only cause trouble."

He ran out of his own office, no intention of actually finding his future son, only intending to hide from you.

Too bad you could always see through him, and were right on his tail.