#loveless shadows | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

d-targaryenshoe · 3 months

Text

To Protect And Adore - Aegon II Targaryen

Word Count: 1219

Summary: Queen nor a Princess shall threaten an unborn child, should they? Most surely not if it's the king's child.

The dragonfire flickered and danced in the hearth, casting long shadows across the walls of the Red Keep.

You sat in the dim light, your hands protectively cradling your swollen belly.

The child within you was a secret you had kept for as long as possible, but the inevitable truth could no longer be hidden.

You were with Aegon's child, a fact that could change many lives.

Aegon Targaryen, the king, had taken you as his mistress at the time when his marriage to Helaena had been strained and loveless.

You were no noblewoman, but your beauty and grace had caught the eye of the dragon king.

What began as a passionate affair soon deepened into something more, and now, you carried the heir to the throne within you.

But with Helaena's tragic death, the court was rife with intrigue and whispers.

Power was up for grabs, and the position of queen was vacant.

As you sat in the quiet of your chambers, a knock at the door disrupted your thoughts.

Before you could respond, the door swung open and Alicent Hightower swept into the room.

Her face was a mask of cold fury.

"Y/n," she began, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "You should not have allowed this to happen."

You rose to your feet, your heart pounding in your chest. "Your Grace," you said, bowing your head slightly. "I did not intend for any of this."

Alicent's eyes narrowed. "Yet here we are. You are carrying my son's child, a bastard that will only bring disgrace and scandal to this house."

You felt a surge of protectiveness for your unborn child. "He is Aegon's son, and nothing will change that."

Alicent stepped closer, her expression growing darker. "You are a fool if you think I will permit this child to live. There are ways to deal with such inconveniences."

Fear gripped you, but you stood your ground. "You would not dare harm your grandchild."

Alicent's smile was chilling. "You underestimate me. If you value your life and that of your child, you will leave and never return."

Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to show weakness. "Aegon will protect us. He loves me, and he will not stand for this."

Alicent laughed, a cold, bitter sound.

"Aegon is weak. He is ruled by his desires, not his mind. But you are correct about one thing, he will protect you, at least for now. But even he cannot disobey me forever."

With that, Alicent turned and swept out of the room, leaving you trembling and alone.

You knew you had to tell Aegon, but fear for his reaction and what it might cost him stayed in your hand for a moment.

You could not put it off any longer.

The next morning, you went to his chambers.

Aegon was lounging on his bed, a goblet of wine in his hand.

His violet eyes lit up when he saw you, but his smile faded when he saw your expression.

"What is it?" he asked, setting the goblet aside and rising to his feet.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

"Aegon, I need to tell you something. Your mother... she threatened me and our child. She told me to leave or she would... she would see to it that our child did not survive."

Aegon's face darkened with fury. "She said that? To you?"

You nodded, tears spilling down your cheeks. "I am frightened, Aegon. I do not know what to do."

Aegon's hands clenched into fists, and he turned away, pacing the room like a caged animal.

"She has gone too far this time," he muttered. "I will not let her harm you or our child."

He strode towards the door, and you hurried after him. "Aegon, please, do not do anything rash. She is your mother."

He turned to you, his eyes blazing. "She may be my mother, but she has overstepped her limits. No one threatens my family. No one."

With that, he stormed out of the room, leaving you to follow in his wake.

You found Alicent in the throne room, deep in conversation with one of her advisors.

She looked up, startled, as Aegon burst in.

"Aegon, what is the meaning of this?" she demanded, rising to her feet.

Aegon strode up to her, his face a mask of fury. "You threatened y/n and our child," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

"You think you can control me, manipulate me, but you are mistaken. I will not let you hurt them."

Alicent's eyes flashed with anger. "I am your mother, and I know what is best for this kingdom. That child is a threat to everything we have created."

Aegon took a step closer, pressing a finger to his mother's chest. "You do not get to decide who lives and who dies. I am the king, and I will protect those I love. If you ever threaten y/n or our child again, I will see to it that you are punished for this."

Alicent's face paled. "You would not dare."

Aegon grabbed her arm, his grip firm. "Try me."

For a moment, they stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills.

Then Alicent wrenched her arm free and took a step back, her expression one of fury and disbelief.

"You will regret this, Aegon," she spat. "You are making a mistake."

Aegon shook his head. "The only mistake I made was not standing up to you sooner. Y/n is carrying my child, and I will marry her. She will be queen, and our child will be the heir to the throne."

Alicent's eyes widened with shock. "You cannot be serious. The nobles will never accept her."

Aegon turned to you, who had been standing silently by his side.

He took your hand and looked into your eyes. "I am very serious. I love her, and I will do whatever it takes to protect her and our child."

Your heart swelled with love and gratitude.

Despite the fear and uncertainty, you knew you would face whatever came together.

Aegon was willing to fight his mother, and risk everything, for your love and your child.

Alicent stood there, her face a mask of fury and disbelief. "You are a fool, Aegon. This will be your undoing."

Aegon turned back to her, his expression hard. "If protecting my family is my undoing, then so be it. I will not be a puppet for you to bear. This is my decision, and it is final."

With that, he led you out of the throne room, leaving Alicent to fume in silence.

As you walked down the corridors of the Red Keep, Aegon squeezed your hand.

"Do not worry," he said softly. "I will keep you safe. No one will harm you or our child."

You nodded, tears of relief streaming down your face. "I know. I trust you."

Together, you faced the uncertain future, your love and determination stronger than ever.

Despite the challenges and dangers ahead, you knew you could overcome anything as long as you were together.

Aegon's promise to protect his family was a vow that would never be broken, and your love would become the foundation of a new era for the Targaryen dynasty.

1K notes · View notes

yaltghoul · 3 months

Text

I've seen no one talk about this, so allow me a moment to start the conversation...

When Penelope told Colin they could get an annulment if he wanted, she was so calm, and so sure. Which at first confused me. I thought it a weird acting or directing choice; she loves him so deeply and so much. It must have killed her to think of losing him completely.

Not to mention, we know she's pregnant at that point (there's no way her placing his hands on her belly meant anything less).

Then it hit me.

She may have worded it to make it seem like Colin wanted the annulment, but it was actually her.

Allow me to explain.

Colin told her that he would never forgive her. He has barley spoken to her. He won't sleep in the same room as her. For all she can abduce, he does not love her anymore. Hell, he flat out told her that the only reason he was still marrying her because they were intimate together.

Meanwhile, she still loves Colin. She has loved him since the moment she met him. There is nothing she wants more than to be a Bridgerton. But, she does not want what her marriage has already been. She does not want a cold marriage where her husband can't even stand sleeping in the same room as her.

She saw what a loveless marriage did to her family. She knows how it affected her. She does not want that for her child.

Penelope Featherington became Whistledown because she was alone and unloved. She doesn't want a life where Penelope Bridgerton is the same.

This season we see her bloom with confidence. We see her come into her own, find her voice out of the shadows of Lady Whistledown, and find the inner bravery that has been there all along.

She figures, if she's already going to be ruined now that the Ton knows she's Whistledown, what's adding being an unwed mother going to do?

She knows that even if Colin doesn't love her, he is at least honorable enough to provide for his child. Lord knows she made a pretty enough sum from her column that, between that and what Colin would provide, she could leave town and raise her child quietly in a cottage in the country.

So she makes a choice. If he doesn't love her, she'll tell him to use this as an excuse to get an annulment. That way, even if she's not married to the man she loves, she is also not married to a man that hates her.

The absolute joy, relief, and utter bliss that must of hit her when he declared he was proud of her and loved her unconditionally.

#bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #polin #penelope featherington #penelope bridgerton #colin bridgerton

460 notes · View notes

misswynters · 2 months

Text

Tempestuous Alliance

Gwayne Hightower x Baratheon! fem!reader

[a/n: i had to make a short drabble and cheesy for gwayne cuz there is a lack of. enjoy!

[note | pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

The storm raged outside Storm’s End, but within the castle walls, warmth and laughter echoed. You stood by the window, watching the waves crash against the cliffs. You had always loved the ferocity of the sea, finding it a kindred spirit to your own tempestuous nature. Yet tonight, your thoughts were not on the storm, but on the man who had arrived unexpectedly at your family’s stronghold.

Ser Gwayne Hightower, heir to the Reach, had come to Storm’s End on a diplomatic mission, or so he claimed. You suspected there was more to his visit than the pretense of strengthening alliances. The Hightowers were known for their strategic minds, and you wondered what plans were brewing behind Gwayne’s courteous facade.

You turned away from the window as the door to your chambers creaked open. Gwayne stood in the doorway, his tall frame casting a shadow across the room. His silver hair, a mark of his noble lineage, caught the firelight, giving him an almost ethereal glow.

“Lady ___,” he greeted, his voice smooth and calm, a stark contrast to the storm outside.

“Ser Gwayne,” you replied, inclining your head. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “I wished to speak with you privately. There are matters of importance we must discuss.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Important matters? In the middle of the night?”

Gwayne smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Sometimes, the most pressing issues cannot wait for the light of day.”

You motioned for him to sit by the fire, taking a seat yourself opposite him. “Very well, Ser Gwayne. Speak your mind.”

He settled into the chair, his expression growing serious. “House Hightower and House Baratheon have long been allies, but we live in uncertain times. The realm is fractured, and we must secure our positions. I believe a stronger bond between our houses would benefit us both.”

You studied him, your keen mind considering his words. “And how do you propose we strengthen this bond?”

Gwayne leaned forward, his gaze intense. “A marriage, my lady. Between you and me.”

You were taken aback by his directness. “You propose an alliance through marriage?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “You are known for your strength and wisdom, qualities I greatly admire. Together, we could unite our houses and ensure our families’ futures.”

You looked into his eyes, searching for any hint of deceit, but found none. Gwayne Hightower was a man of honor, and his offer was genuine. Yet, the thought of marrying for political gain rather than love troubled you.

“You speak of duty and alliance,” you said slowly. “But what of love, Ser Gwayne? Can a marriage founded on strategy truly thrive?”

He reached out, taking your hand in his. “I do not offer you a loveless union, my lady. I believe that in time, we could come to care deeply for one another. Respect and admiration are strong foundations upon which love can grow.”

His touch was warm, and you found yourself drawn to his sincerity. “You have given this much thought,” you remarked.

“I have,” he admitted. “For I see in you a partner worthy of standing by my side, not just in name, but in spirit.”

Your heart softened at his words. You had always been wary of suitors seeking your hand for your family’s power and influence, but Gwayne was different. He sought a true partnership, one built on mutual respect and shared goals.

“Very well,” you said at last. “I will consider your proposal, Ser Gwayne. But know this: I will not be swayed by mere words. You must prove your intentions through your actions.”

Gwayne smiled, a look of relief washing over his face. “I would expect nothing less from you, my lady.”

You sat in silence for a moment, the crackling fire providing a comforting backdrop. Despite the storm outside, a sense of calm settled between you.

“I will prove myself to you,” Gwayne vowed. “And together, we will weather any storm that comes our way.”

You felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps this alliance could be more than just a strategic move. Perhaps, in Gwayne Hightower, you had found a partner who could match your strength and spirit.

As the night wore on, you spoke of your dreams and ambitions, discovering a shared vision for the future. By the time the storm subsided, a new bond had begun to form, one that would shape the fate of your houses for years to come.

And so, amidst the lingering echoes of the storm, a promise was made. Not just a promise of alliance, but of a partnership forged in the fires of mutual respect and growing affection.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood

#house of the dragon #gwayne x reader #gwayne hightower #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd season 2 #hotd x reader #house baratheon #house targaryen #hotd smut #hotd greens #gwayne x you #ser gwayne

289 notes · View notes

asleepinawell · 3 months

Text

1) The hearts of men are black with corruption and must needs be cleansed!

2) I call out to the skies and tremble as the brilliance of a thousand bolts blinds mine enemies and tears their flesh asunder.

3) Open your eyes to the darkness and drown in its loveless embrace. The gods will not be watching.

4) Misfortune hangs heavy on a head once held high. Such is poor cover for when the heavens fall.

5) Seven shadows cast, seven fates foretold. Yet at the end of the broken path lies death and death alone.

6) To live by the sword is to die by the sword. There is time enough for regret in the flames of hell.

7) Honed is the blade that severs the villain's head. Endless is the path that leads him from hell.

#ffxiv #ffxiv polls #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14 #orbonne monastery #return to ivalice #mp

307 notes · View notes

forzaferraris · 7 months

Text

NOTHING MATTERS — op81

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! engineering intern! reader

summary: the best way to get over someone who broke your heart is to get under someone else and (unintentionally) break theirs. / inspired by nothing matters by the last dinner party, listen on spotify here !

style: primarily written with a single smau element at the end.

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, smut, unprotected sex ((p in v) please wrap it before you tap it)), oral (m! receiving) finger sucking, sub/don undertones but nothing serious, i swear on my life oscar piastri is a grunt and groaner but simultaneously considerably vocal during sex (i will die on that rock), afab! reader, readers kinda uncaring about who she hurts because she’s hurt, reader is referred to as she/her, miscommunication trope, oscar piastri has been in love with reader since the beginning of the season and just assumed one-sided pining. authors refusal to write with capitals, you can pry them out of her cold dead hands.

faceclaim: sofia dirado, although feel free to imagine reader as anyone else.

word count: 4.1k +

YOU WERE NO STRANGER TO HEARTACHE.

you fear it followed you around more often than not, like a dark cloud that covered your entire existence in this bubble of heartbreak that nothing ever felt good to you, nothing was ever worth it. from your parents divorcing after years of suffering in a loveless marriage to every single relationship you’d ever been in never making past the first time you sleep together — you’ve genuinely felt about giving up on life, going so far as to consider a life as a celibate nun or maybe not, perhaps just the life of a girl who burns through multiple packs of AA batteries using her rose toy.

however, when you’d met levi, your first year of finally being allowed to leave the mclaren technology centre to shadow tom stalland during the 2023 f1 season. you genuinely thought this man had reshaped your entire perspective of love, he made love easy, made loving him feel less like a sport and more like a hobby you could never get sick of, being with hom felt like you’d been going through all the “firsts” all over again, like a cheesy romance movie monologue.

and yet, here you are, sat in your hotel room after the japan gp, suzuka has always been your favourite gp to watch and unfortunately for some reason, instead of standing in the mclaren garage doing your job, you’re sat clad in your team clothes (a stark contrast to the white bed linen) and sobbing over a text message paragraph explicitly telling you that levi has decided to break up with you after he fell in love with someone else during the summer break, someone who “rewired his brain chemistry in a ways you could never do.” you want to get angry, you wish you were an angry person, instead when you got angry you cried, when you got too happy or even just laughed too hard you cried, you were a crier.

your heart is heavy, as you scroll through the other woman’s posts, she’s gorgeous, and that’s where you begin your myriad of self deprecating comparisons of you to her. you doom scroll for what feels like forever until you spiral even further down the heartbreak rabbit hole, your attention drawn to the fact that levi had both unfollowed and removed you as a follower at some point between when he said goodnight and then broke up with you the next day. you watch as stories of their summer break spent together is shared and your jealousy sends you into a blind rage that you block the both of them; because ultimately you knew that he will hold her life he used to hold you — for levi was boring, a one trick pony you’re only just now coming to terms with.

your disheveled appearance and self imposed seclusion from the events of the day were not left unnoticed, you’d resigned yourself to just stand on the outskirts, occasionally moving to sit down and watch the screens as the friday practice begun, you’re uninterested, unmotivated and trying your dandiest to not cry, for the sole reason of simultaneously not wanting to draw unwanted attention to yourself and the fact that the mascara you’re bought at the duty free at the airport was most definitely not waterproof.

the good thing was that you’d be in japan for the rest of the weekend, the worse thing was you knew not s language lick of the language — sure you could probably call someone an idiot in japanese thanks to the sheer amount of one piece you’d watched eith levi during days he didn’t want to do anything you had planned or suggested; however, the single knowledge of know the word idiot in japanese will not get her very far. you’re almost too zoned out to notice the first free practice had finished, oscar’s team engineer tom standall dismisses you, tells you that whatever happened before you came to track is to be sorted out before it potentially jeopardises a race and without a word or argument against hai decision you shuffle out of the garage and into the paddock.

“name, hey wait — wait up” a voice you’ve only heard considerable muffled by a racing helmet and through large oversized noise cancelling team gear headphones when you got to play pretend engineer whenever it was during his practice laps and his qualifying laps, it sends a shiver up your spine, always has and you’re unknowing if it always will.

“oscar? hey! you did so good today, from what i say, p3 is so awesome how are you not more elated about that!” you’d found yourself smiling, wide across your face and sinking into the gentle rhythm of the conversation with oscar. the smile he returns is equally as wide as if his whole face were smiling, you want to punch him — the cuteness aggression playing devil on your shoulder.

“oh nah, i am actually it just hasn’t like kicked in gully yet, i’m waiting for the full body visceral reaction i’m about to have,” he pauses for a brief moment, hands itchy to fiddling with something snd find solitude in dragging one hand after the other through his tangled and sweaty hair. “like just, honestly, jesus christ and in japan of all places fuckin’ hell” he seems both simultaneously out of breath and ready to compete in a marathon.

had it not been a considerably formal setting you swore you can picture him jumping up and down on the spot whilst trying to contain all of his excitement, you allow him to be excited not wanting your own mood and misery to overshadow his complete and utter elation at his podium win. it’s the first time in the few days you’d been moping about that the smile you give off reaches your eyes and oscar’s always paying attention to these things, unbeknownst to you of course.

“your excitement is infectious, surely the team have planned something celebratory for you! you’ve gotta celebrate this i’m sure lando is!” you can’t help but practically beam, you’re mesmerised by the excitement the unashamed amount of happiness this boy is oozing and the bitter feeling in your stomach over it all is just barely going by unnoticed.

oscar shakes his head, overs a tiny shrugs and barely gets another word into the conversation you teo ate having before he’s whisked away by the team to be dragged off towards the podium, you watch as he shakes the bottle of champagne onto lando and max. any and all brief untouched moments of happiness are immediately replaced when your phones buzzes, a notification alert from your ring door bell and the video supplied of your now ex boyfriend grabbing whatever stuff he’d left at your apartment. the situation just breaks your heart even further than when with the whole of the mclaren team being called upon for s group shot with both the boys and their podium wins you ignore it and decided you’d had enough of it all.

the hotel’s quiet as you tap your keycard against the inside of your hand waiting for the elevator to come back down, the traffic from the track back to the designated hotel meant you’d wound up leaving just as all the other drivers had and whilst you weren’t in the mood to face anymore interactions you were lucky to bypass the small group of fans loitering in the hotel lobby. the elevator itself is slow, like most and the way your stomach drops at the incline is almost akin to how you felt when you’d first received that break up text at the start of the week.

if there was one thing you were thankful for, it was the fact the hotel had a bar just off the lobby, which is where you’d found yourself, skirt a little too short, shoes a little too high and too the perfect amount of booby that you won’t get in too much trouble but also attract someone willing to take away the ache in your chest for the night.

you’d been sat at the bar for just under an hour, occasionally chatting to some of the other patrons but mostly the bartender herself; the paper straw mushy and impossible to drink out of sits on a napkin as you sip on the glass uncaring or the lipstick mark on the rim or the smudging it does to your own lipstick — in fact you’re hoping something else smudges the lipstick further if the night doesn’t continue to progress as slowly as it is.

“can i get a beer, whatever you’ve got in the bottle and another one of what she’s drinking” there it is again, the chill on your spine and the heightened sense of the hand that brushes past your ear to give the bartender a bank card. every single nerve ending in your body is on fire when the stool beside you in moved and a body now begins to occupy it, perhaps you’re a bit drunk, you’d already had two of these and what if the different alcohol consumption laws you’re unsure how much alcohol is actually in the fruity little cocktail you’d ordered.

“oscar piastri, i thought i told you to go celebrate your podium with lando, why are you still at the hotel?” there is is, a tone you’d never thought you’d use with someone who wass essentially your bosses boss, which therefore makes him your boss, and yet here you are — sultry tone and lips loosened by the alcohol in your system, shamelessly flirting with him.

“well, you see, i’m more of a pub person than i am someone who prefers nightclubs and being touched and bumped into by random strangers, i fear that’s more of a lando thing than my own” oscar laughs, the way he’s relaxed and carefree shows signs he did however, get roped into pregaming with lando beforehand, the neck of the beer bottle sits between his index and middle fingers, a comfortable position one you're sure would feel weird if you so much as tried to mimic.

you fear you're done for when it comes to watching the way his throat bobs as he takes a swig of the larger, it's a japanese brand one you've never heard of nor tried and you can tell oscar hasn't by the way his nose scrunches at the taste, he still continues to drink it though. time seems to float by, growing continually more comfortable with one another to the point you'd sauntered away from the bar stools and are sat perhaps not even an inch apart in a booth in the corner.

"favourite race destination, so far?" "monaco. most definitely, melbournes a close second, but that's just because of a personal bias" "personal bias?" "yeah. . . you."

you'd never thought to combine the flavours of japanese beer and strawberry liqueur, and yet here you were, back-pressed and arched up against the wall beside a hotel room that not yours, the elevator ride was one stop too long to have it be that you'd gone back to your hotel room, hands, not your own, are roaming places never thought to be touched, the bluntness of their nails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs has your separating from the kiss to lean your head back and full indulge in the simple pleasures received in this moment. arousal builds when soft lips find the pulse point in your neck, your choice signature scent perfume the most aromatic in that area brings a subconscious reaction from oscar, the thigh between your legs juts up and you also convulse right then and there, your own hands ove from holding the back of his neck to drag through his soft, product-free hair, tugging on the last few strands that slip through your fingers.

the beep of the room door unlocking pulls you to your senses, and a hand tight around your waist drags you inside, you cling onto him in the worst way possible, you can see the smudges of lipstick on the corners of his mouth and god, does he look beautiful. you're unsure for a moment, even if the alcohol had loosened you up a little, you still didn't know how to react around oscar, he's looking at you in a way you can't describe, it makes your stomach flip and you're eager, thighs clenching to distribute the friction of your building arousal. you want his lips on yours again, there's zero space between you, you're simply sharing each other's breath.

his hand finds the back of your neck, tangled in your darkened locks and pulls you back in for a kis, is soft, he must moisturise your brain supplies before it fizzes out, the kiss is messy, all teeth, tongues and spit. you whimper into the kiss, knees buckling, your own hands are on a mission sliding under the hem of his shirt to perfectly feel the warmth that radiates off his skin against your cold hands, you can feel the exact moment your cold touch makes him hiss into the kiss and it finally ignites the fire in your stomach. this is what you want.

you two remain lip-locked until your chest hurts and you've traded the same breath back and forth that it's completely died, when you pull away, you finally take notice of the blown-out pupils staring down at you. his a look entirely of lust, desire, arousal and it shows, especially with the bulge in his pants. your bottom lip finds sanctuary in between your teeth when you raise an eyebrow and one of your hands slips out from under his shirt to palm him through the cargo shorts he'd donned to wear.

if oscar's voice sent a shiver down your spine, the way he groaned at your touch against his bulge chilled you from the inside out, the noise rough and gravelly like he'd not uttered a word in weeks, it's deep and low in his chest that you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't practically flush against him. your hand continues to palm him, making riskier moves as your other hand moves to dip your fingers into the waistband of his pants, you don't wait, you don't even need to ask for permission when his own hands are practically shucking off his own clothes for you.

he looks so gorgeous standing right in front of you, the wet patch you can only assume of precum on the front of his boxers has you licking your lips involuntarily, you try to ignore the voices, fight the urgers but you're but a simple girl, eager to please, that you're flicking your gaze up at him as your sink to your knees, the carpet is soft enough against you but you know better and are already seeing the red marks you'll have the next morning.

oscar looks confused for you in the briefest of moments, your nails dragging along his thighs, soft blonde hairs tickle your finger tips and you bite back the sweet giggle you want to let out as you're finally tugging his underwear down. a moment of shock halts your movement, eyes flicking up and down between oscar's gaze and his cock, tip pink, throbbing and leaking — it's a sight to be seen and you're the one who gets to gaze upon it.

your hand wraps around him, fingers barely meeting at the girth and you moan, can feel the saliva pooling in your mouth, your oral fixation working into overdrive, a single flick of your wrist has a louder groan rolling out of oscar's mouth, a quick "fuck" followed after it that as you once again clenching your thighs. your hand sets an easy rhythm, tried and true, one that allows for long strokes at a steady pace and your thumb to swipe between the slit on his tip that has his stomach clenching. his own hand grabs at your hair, both for something to hold onto and to keep it out of our face when you inch closer and allow your tongue to tease his tip with small kitten licks.

"fuck, fuck, name, fuck suck my cock"

the verbalised plea is all you need to finally wrap your lips around the swollen head, the saltiness of his precum mixing with your spit as you moan around him, your tongue swirls around his tip every time you pull back, only to resume bobbing your head and matching the movement of your hand to the pace you set as you take more of him in your mouth, your mouth feels so full and you can practically feel his dick pulse against your tongue when your other hand moves to squeeze his balls.

"holy shit — where did you learn that, fucking hell"

you smile when you pull away, uncaring of the drool that rolls down your chin, oscar seems not to mind either when he's pulling you back up to kiss him, your hand still stroking him slowly. he can taste his pre cum still on your tongue and as someone who'd assumed he wouldn't be fond of the idea, seems more or less enjoying it solely because it's coming from your mouth. his tongue overpowers your own and he's licking in your mouth with such severity that you can feel your own wetness pooling in your panties, had you been horny before you were now basically unbearably horny at this point.

your clothes feel bothersome, and your top and bra come off rather quick once your legs meet the edge of the bed you'd been pushed back against. the cool air of the hotel room meets your nipples and you gasp out once oscar's hot mouth chooses to settle on one and his hand favours the other. it's magic, that's what you can choose to blame it on, with the way oscar's fingers tug and twist one nipple all whilst his mouth and suck away on the other, your back arches up against him when his teeth graze the sensitive bud and you swear you could achieve your first orgasm of the night just from that alone.

his mouth switches to give the same treatment to the other nipple and yours that tug and pull on his hair only urge him on more, whining and desperate and what you want to happen is not happening. you need him, you crave him, you desire him.

"please oscar, fuck me"

there is it, the words oscar had been waiting to hear since you'd kissed him, and who would oscar be if not someone who listened when he was asked to do something. he sits up on his knees, jerks himself a couple of times as he watches you, skirt rugged up to your hips, a perfect picture, a sight for sore eyes, so beautiful, all for him to bare witness too. you back arches, your eager and needy and positively soaked you don't even need to touch yourself to know, your panties are finally pulled off and you hiss at the air that hits your center. you're clenching around nothing, sticky and sweet, eager, he looks up as your and you nods a final confirmation before you supply a weak "please" before his tip is aligning with your entrance and he's sliding in.

the stretch is everything to you, he is perfect, your hand stretching splayed out against the pillow as the tiniest whine falls from your lips, oscar grunts, face and chest flushed, you can hear exactly how we you are just from the squelch when he finally bottoms out and you moan loud enough that if anyone had been walking past the room they would have heard. oscar doesn't move, allowing for your pussy to stretch and get comfortable around him before you nod, rolling your hips to signal him to move and move he does.

"you're so tight, holy shit."

his hips rock back and forth into you, it's slow and sensual something you hadn't expected, your legs shift and wrap around his hips and your body rocks back against his thrusts willing him to move faster. unlike past partners, oscar seems to get the hint almost instantly as he pulls out and shifts slightly, hand holding onto your hips before he's sheathed himself back into you entirely in a singular thrust.

you moan out, toes curling and your legs wrapping around him so tight as if you'd practically become some sex-fueled boa constrictor. you swear his muscles are working overtime as his abdomen flexes with every deep thrust inside you, your body abuzz with electricity, the fire in your stomach scorching as a particular thrust has him hitting your g-spot and your back arching receptively.

in a world where you'd thought this was ever possible, all imaginations and scenarios have proven wrong already as oscar's thumb finds solace on drawing circles on your clit, causing your pussy to clench around him and a hiss to drag itself from his lips. to oscar you feel amazing and the flush on your face perfect evidence of his inability to be shy about telling you so and all you can do is ooh and ahh in return. something pulls in your stomach when he bottoms out in you again, your leg twitches and you're hyperaware that you'd just orgasmed around him, vocalising how it feels and your back arching however, his hips remain relentless only to come to a halt as he pulls out; your words are stopped as you're flipped over with a gentle tap against your thigh.

arms stretched out in front of you and your back arched, give oscar the perfect view to just take a moment to stare at your fluttering pussy, clenching around nothing as you suffer through a partially stunted orgasm. fingers drag through your folds and your body jerks at the sensitivity, the dip between them, pumping in and out similar to the rhythm he kept previous, his middle finger hooks and your face is thrown forward into the pillow as it hits the spongey feel of your g-spot, you gasp out hand white-knuckling the pillow as he focusses his fingers on that one particular spot

"fuck osc – fuck want you back inside me"

you don't bother with caring much about how whiney and desperate you'd begun to sound, throat dry from the gasping and the continuous noises he pulls from you, your tempting him, ass swaying as he chuckles, pulling his fingers out, he coo's at you as you whine to mourn the loss of the feeling, teases you as he slips the tip of his dick through your flushed red folds and bottom out with a quick hard thrust. you scream out, the pleasure perfectly combining with the sudden stretch to make the sweetest mixture of pain and pleasure you'd ever felt and to silence you, the fingers he'd just fucked you with had found the way into your mouth and if there was one thing you were, it was a good girl.

the sounds reverberating around the walls of the hotel room are borderline pornographic, the new pace oscar has set, deep and hard, skin slapping against skin as he practically bounces off you, his free holding your hip steady as your own knees buckle and you can feel the way his dick pulses inside you, the way his movements become sloppy yet still hitting your pleasure spot every time. the fingers in your mouth licked clean of your own arousal now replaced to be covered in your own drool. oscar grunts, his hips snapping against you in a final thurst as he slumps forward to press the most delicate of kisses to the nape of your neck as he feels you up and you cum around him for a second time.

it's messy, whatever hadn't spilt inside you now jerked off onto your back as your knees give out and you slump against the bed. worn out and woozy you're hardly paying attention to oscar cleaning up, the warm washcloth drags along your hot, sticky and sweaty skin in a way that twists your brain and brings out the regret that seeps into your stomach, had your legs not been feeling like they weren't attached to your body you would have scrambled to get dressed and done the walk of shame back to your own hotel room; however, you stay, regretfully.

you don't cuddle, oscar tries not to act hurt about it as you roll over and away from him when he finally climbs in himself. to you this didn't matter, you fucked him, like nothing matters. come the morning you'll be gone before he wakes. because this didn't mean a thing. to you as least.

yourusername just posted . . . ♫ nothing matters . the last dinner party

liked by lando.jpg, yourbestfrienduser, lolatung and 11,219 others yourusername and i will fuck you, like nothing matters. load more comments

oscarpiastri oh.

authors note: please excuse my smut skills, i'm rusty a lil ngl. i love a bittersweet ambiguous ending. if this gets enough recognition and asks, i'll definitely more than likely make a part two or even multiple parts. reminder, if you weren't tagged it means i couldn't find your account.

add yourself to the taglist here !

taglist: @iluminaya @therealcap @marshmummy @@im-an-overthinker @a1leexxa @chasing-liberosis @marauderssworld @nesssywrites @valntynebaby @larastark3107 @justtprachisblog

#𐙚 paige’s works #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri smut #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagines #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one imagines

449 notes · View notes

brookghaib-blog · 3 months

Text

Shattered Dreams

Pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x Reader

tw: abusive behaviour, angst, pregnancy

Summary: Y/N navigates a loveless marriage to Hoshina Soshiro

pt.2

The morning sun cast a warm, golden glow across the room, but it did little to dispel the cold atmosphere within. Y/N stood by the window, her eyes focused on the horizon, though her thoughts were miles away. Her hands absentmindedly caressed her growing belly, a reminder of the life growing inside her, a product of a union devoid of warmth.

She had dreamed of being a painter, of bringing colors to life on a canvas, but those dreams were tucked away like the paintbrushes and canvases she kept hidden in the small corner of their home. Her parents had been ruthless in their determination to see her married into a powerful clan, and so, her fate had been sealed with Soshiro Hoshina, the Vice-Captain of the Defense Force's Third Division.

Their marriage was an arrangement, a strategic alliance between families, devoid of love or affection. Soshiro was often away, his duties calling him to fight kaiju, the monstrous threats to humanity. When he was home, their interactions were minimal, their conversations cold and formal.

One evening, as Y/N was finishing a small painting, the door creaked open. Soshiro walked in, his uniform stained with the grime and blood of battle. He looked at her, his expression unreadable.

"You're painting again," he remarked, his tone flat. It wasn't a question, merely an observation.

Y/N nodded, trying to find her voice. "It helps me pass the time."

Soshiro walked past her, his eyes scanning the room with a detached indifference. "I wish you wouldn't waste your time on such frivolities."

Her heart sank at his words, but she kept her composure. "It brings me some peace."

He turned to face her, his eyes cold and unyielding. "Peace? In a world like ours, peace is a luxury we can't afford."

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on her. "I know, but it's all I have."

Soshiro's expression hardened, his voice dropping to a low, harsh whisper. "I wish I could get out of this situation. This marriage is unbearable."

The words cut through her like a knife, and for a moment, she felt as if the room was spinning. She had known their marriage was not built on love, but hearing him say it so bluntly, so cruelly, was more than she could bear.

She looked down, blinking back tears. "I... I understand."

Soshiro sighed, his frustration evident. "Do you? Do you really? I am bound by duty, by obligation, and this—" he gestured around the room, "—this is a prison."

Y/N felt a sob rise in her throat, but she choked it back, refusing to let him see her break. "I've tried to make the best of it. I've tried to be a good wife to you."

He laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "A good wife? You're just another chain, another burden I have to bear."

She looked at him then, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and defiance. "And what about our child? Is that just another burden to you?"

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes, a hint of regret, perhaps, but it was quickly extinguished. "I didn't ask for this. Any of it."

Y/N felt the tears spill over, and she turned away, unable to look at him any longer. "I know you didn't. But this is our reality now. Whether you like it or not."

Soshiro said nothing more, and after a few moments, he left the room, the door closing with a soft click behind him. Y/N stood there, her heart shattered, the weight of his words crushing her spirit.

She walked over to her painting, staring at the vibrant colors she had once found solace in. Now, they seemed dull and lifeless, a stark contrast to the dark void that had settled in her heart. She placed a hand on her belly, a silent promise to the child within her.

"I'll be strong for you," she whispered. "Even if he can't love us, I'll find a way to give you the love you deserve."

As the sun set, casting long shadows across the room, Y/N realized that her dreams of being a painter, of finding happiness, were just that—dreams. Her reality was a loveless marriage, a life of duty and sacrifice. And in that moment, she vowed to find a way to survive, for her child's sake, if not for her own.

But deep down, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was as much a prisoner as Soshiro, trapped in a cage built by obligations and unfulfilled dreams.

--flashback--

The memory of their wedding day came flooding back, unbidden. The grand hall had been filled with guests, a sea of faces all watching her, judging her. Y/N had worn a traditional kimono, its intricate patterns and vibrant colors a stark contrast to the cold, emotionless ceremony.

Her parents had stood beside her, their expressions stern and unyielding. There was no joy in their eyes, only the satisfaction of a deal well-brokered. Soshiro had been there too, his face a mask of indifference. He had looked through her rather than at her, as if she were an obligation rather than a person.

"Remember your duty," her father had whispered harshly in her ear as he led her down the aisle. "You must uphold the family honor."

She had nodded, her heart heavy with resignation. This was her life now, a life chosen for her, not by her.

As the days turned into weeks, Y/N found herself growing increasingly lonely. Soshiro's coldness was a constant presence, a wall she could not breach. She spent her days painting in solitude, each stroke of the brush a small act of defiance against the life she was forced to lead.

One evening, she gathered her courage and approached him as he sat at the dining table, reading reports from the Defense Force. The room was dimly lit, the shadows playing across his stern features.

"Soshiro," she began hesitantly, "I was thinking... maybe we could try to talk more. Get to know each other better."

He looked up from his papers, his eyes cold and distant. "There's nothing to talk about."

"But we're married," she insisted, her voice trembling. "We have a child on the way. Shouldn't we at least try to understand each other?"

Soshiro's expression hardened, his voice sharp. "Understand? There's nothing to understand. You were forced into this marriage just as I was. We are bound by duty, not choice."

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat, but she pressed on. "I know it wasn't our choice, but can't we make the best of it? For the sake of our child?"

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I'm doing my duty. That's all that matters. This... relationship," he spat the word, "is nothing more than a facade."

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "I don't want to be just a facade. I want to be a family."

Soshiro's eyes flashed with anger. "You want? What about what I want? Did anyone ever ask me if I wanted this?"

Y/N recoiled as if struck. "No one asked me either."

He took a step towards her, his presence imposing. "Then you should understand. This is a prison for both of us."

She stared at him, her heart breaking anew. "But it doesn't have to be."

He shook his head, turning away from her. "Yes, it does. Accept it, Y/N. This is our reality."

With that, he left the room, leaving her standing there, her hopes shattered. She sank to the floor, the sobs she had been holding back finally breaking free. The walls of their home, once a place she had hoped would be filled with love and warmth, now felt like the cold, unyielding bars of a prison.

Y/N sat in the corner of their modest home, her brush gently sweeping across the canvas. The soft strokes of paint were like whispers, echoing her unspoken thoughts. Her fingers traced the curves of a landscape, every stroke a memory of a love lost and a life forsaken.

"My dear," she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "this painting… it's a piece of my heart. Just like you."

She paused, her hand resting on her swollen belly, feeling the gentle movements within. The baby kicked gently, as if in response to her words. Y/N smiled faintly, a bittersweet expression crossing her face.

"You know," she continued, her voice tinged with sadness, "there was someone before your father. Someone who made me feel… alive."

Her mind drifted back to a time before the arranged marriage, before duty overshadowed desire. She remembered a young officer in the Defense Force, his smile warm and his eyes full of kindness. They had shared stolen moments of happiness, their love blossoming amidst the chaos of kaiju attacks and endless battles.

"He was an officer," she whispered, her voice catching with emotion. "Brave and kind. He made me feel loved, truly loved."

Tears welled up in her eyes as she recalled the day he had died, sacrificing himself to protect others from a rampaging kaiju. The pain of loss still lingered, a wound that had never fully healed.

"I wished…" Y/N's voice trembled as she spoke to her unborn child, "I wished it could have been him. That I could have married him instead."

She paused, wiping away a tear with the back of her hand. The painting before her was a testament to her longing, a silent tribute to a love that had been torn away too soon.

"But life doesn't always give us what we want," she whispered sadly. "Sometimes we have to accept what we're given and find our own strength."

As she painted, the colors blended together in a kaleidoscope of emotions. Each brushstroke was a testament to resilience, to the quiet determination to create beauty from pain.

"You," she said softly, placing a hand on her belly again, "you are my hope. My reason to keep going, even when the world feels cold and lonely."

The baby stirred within her, as if sensing her love and sorrow. Y/N smiled through her tears, her heart heavy yet somehow lighter for having spoken her truth.

"We'll make our own happiness, won't we?" she whispered, her voice filled with quiet determination. "Together, we'll find a way to make our own path, away from duty and expectations."

With a final stroke of her brush, Y/N completed the painting. It was a masterpiece of longing and loss, a testament to a love that had been and a love that was yet to come.

As she gazed at the finished canvas, she knew that her journey was far from over. But with her unborn child nestled safely within her, she found a renewed sense of purpose and a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for happiness in the midst of duty and sacrifice.

The memory of her lost love lingered like a soft breeze in the corner of her mind. He had been an officer in the Defense Force, dedicated to protecting humanity from the relentless kaiju assaults. His name was never spoken aloud anymore, but in the quiet moments of solitude, Y/N allowed herself to remember.

"He was everything to me your father is not," she whispered to her unborn child, her voice a mix of reverence and sadness. "He was kind, gentle… he made me feel cherished."

She recalled their stolen moments together, stolen from the chaos of battle and the pressures of duty. Their love had been a secret, a fragile oasis in a desert of obligations.

"He understood my dreams," Y/N continued softly, her eyes distant as she painted. "He encouraged me to paint, to pursue what made my heart sing."

But fate had been cruel. In the heat of battle, he had sacrificed himself to save others, a hero's death that left Y/N shattered and alone.

"I never got to tell him," she murmured, tears glistening on her cheeks. "I never got to tell him how much I loved him."

The painting before her captured the essence of their love—a tranquil landscape bathed in warm hues, a reflection of the peace they had briefly found together.

Y/N set down her brush, her fingers lingering on the canvas. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustling of paper and the gentle rhythm of her own breathing. She glanced at the painting, feeling a sense of peace settle over her weary heart.

"And your father," she said softly, her thoughts turning to Soshiro Hoshina, Vice-Captain of the Defense Force's Third Division. "He's not like him. But he… he has his own strengths."

Y/N's gaze softened as she thought of Soshiro, proud of his position and the dedication he showed to his duty. Despite their strained relationship, she admired his commitment and the way he commanded respect among his peers.

"I wish he would make an effort," she admitted quietly to her unborn child, "to see beyond duty and obligation."

There were moments, fleeting glimpses, where she saw glimpses of kindness in Soshiro's eyes, moments that stirred a fragile hope within her. She longed for him to understand, to bridge the distance that separated them.

"He could be a good father," Y/N murmured, her voice tinged with longing. "If only he would try."

With a sigh, she placed a hand on her belly again, feeling the baby's reassuring movements. In that tiny life, she found solace and strength—a reason to hope for a future where love and happiness could coexist with duty and sacrifice.

As the sun began to set outside, casting long shadows across the room, Y/N vowed to cherish the memories of her lost love while nurturing the possibility of a new beginning with Soshiro and their unborn child. She knew the road ahead would be challenging, but she was determined to find a way to make peace with the past and embrace the future that awaited them all.

In the quiet of their home, amidst the whispers of her heart and the promise of tomorrow, Y/N found a sense of resilience and hope that would carry her through the trials yet to come.

"I think one day, he'll come around, he's a great man, but we are stuck to a evil situation, I'll keep pursuing him maybe with the right timing, he'll see i'm worth his heart."

Y/N stood before the mirror in the bedroom, her reflection framed by soft morning light filtering through the window. She smoothed down the fabric of the floral dress she had chosen carefully, a hint of makeup highlighting her features. Today, she had decided, would be different. Today, she would make an effort.

With a determined breath, she adjusted a stray lock of hair and nodded to herself. Maybe, just maybe, today Soshiro would notice her efforts. She clung to that hope like a lifeline as she gathered a lunchbox filled with his favorite foods and headed out.

-At the Defense Force Headquarters-

The Defense Force Headquarters bustled with activity as Y/N navigated the corridors, the lunchbox cradled carefully in her hands. She had never been to the headquarters before, but she was determined to surprise Soshiro and show him that she cared.

She found her way to the Third Division's office, heart fluttering with nerves. The door was open, revealing a team of officers engrossed in their duties. Soshiro stood at the front, his commanding presence unmistakable. Y/N's pulse quickened as she approached, a nervous smile playing on her lips.

"Soshiro," she greeted softly, trying to catch his attention.

He looked up briefly, his expression guarded. "Y/N? What are you doing here?"

Her smile faltered for a moment, but she pressed on. "I… I brought you lunch. I thought we could have lunch together."

Soshiro glanced around at his team, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. "You shouldn't have come here," he murmured, his voice barely concealing his annoyance.

Y/N felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her cheeks, but she pushed it aside. "I just wanted to do something nice for you," she insisted, holding out the lunchbox.

He hesitated for a moment before reluctantly accepting it. "Thank you," he said curtly, his gaze flickering over her outfit and makeup "Why are you wearing that? And are you wearing make up?"

She smiled, she did something right. "Yes, do you like it ? I thought that it would look nice."

"You're too big for that right now, wear something appropiate for God sake." ...oh

Some of his teammates exchanged glances, the awkward tension dancing in their eyes. Y/N fought to keep her composure, her cheeks burning with humiliation.

"Always putting on a show." Soshiro remarked casually to his team, his tone dismissive.

Laughter erupted from the group, the sound echoing in the small office. Y/N's heart sank as she fought back tears, her hands trembling, also laughing, as if she didn't recognize the mocking.

"I... I also made a cake for everyone, I hope everyone likes chocolate, you guys work really hard, so I decided to give you something since I was already planning on coming here." She tried, she really did, she just put it down and pretended to be as happy as she could fake.

"I… I'll leave you to it," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, she turned and hurried out of the office, the sound of laughter following her down the corridor.

Outside, Y/N found a secluded spot in the courtyard, hidden away from prying eyes. She sank to the ground, clutching her knees to her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks. The lunchbox lay forgotten beside her, the food suddenly tasteless.

"Why do I even bother?" she whispered to herself, her voice thick with despair. "No matter what I do, it's never enough."

She had tried so hard to make Soshiro notice her, to earn his affection and respect. She had dressed up, put on makeup, gone out of her way to show him how much she cared. And yet, it had all been for nothing.

"He doesn't care," she sobbed, the weight of rejection crushing her spirit. "He'll never care."

The courtyard was silent around her, the air heavy with the weight of her disappointment. She wiped away her tears with trembling hands, trying to regain her composure.

"He's right," she muttered bitterly to herself. "I do try too hard. I should have known better."

But deep down, beneath the pain and humiliation, a small voice whispered defiantly. She deserved to be loved. She deserved to be seen, not as a burden or an obligation, but as a person worthy of affection.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N found herself retreating further into the confines of her room. The once vibrant woman, filled with dreams of painting and love, now felt like a shadow of herself. Pregnancy had brought changes to her body—subtle at first, but increasingly noticeable to her critical eyes. She avoided mirrors, unable to face the reflection that stared back at her with insecurities and doubts.

Her maids bustled about the house, attending to chores she once took pride in doing herself. Y/N had withdrawn from everything that brought her joy. The easel stood untouched in the corner, the canvas blank and waiting for strokes that never came. Meals went half-eaten as she tried to compensate for the weight she felt she had gained.

"I'm not pretty enough," she whispered to herself, fingers tracing the curve of her belly where their unborn child nestled. "Not worth it enough."

She stayed in a separate room from Soshiro, their marriage now a chasm of unspoken words and unmet expectations. The sound of his footsteps in the hallway made her heart race with a mix of hope and fear. She longed for him to notice her absence, to care enough to reach out, but each day passed in silence.

Soshiro returned from a long day at the Defense Force headquarters, his thoughts troubled. He had noticed Y/N's absence at meals, her retreating presence a stark contrast to the woman he had married—a woman he barely knew. His duties had consumed him, but now a gnawing worry clawed at his conscience.

"Soshiro," his second-in-command called as he entered their shared living space. "Have you seen Y/N? She hasn't been around."

He paused, his brow furrowing. "She's probably in her room," he replied nonchalantly, though his heart tightened with concern.

"She hasn't been seen all day," his second-in-command pressed, his voice tinged with worry.

Soshiro's footsteps quickened as he made his way to Y/N's room. The door was ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the dim hallway. He pushed it open gently, his eyes searching the room.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze fixed on the floor. She looked fragile, her shoulders slumped and her expression distant. The room felt suffocating with unspoken tension.

"Y/N," Soshiro began tentatively, his voice breaking the heavy silence.

She looked up, her eyes meeting his briefly before flickering away. "What do you want, Soshiro?" Her voice was hollow, devoid of its usual warmth.

"I've been worried," he admitted softly, stepping closer. "You haven't been yourself lately."

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, tinged with self-derision. "My apologies for inconveniencing you," she replied, her tone laced with bitterness.

Soshiro frowned, kneeling in front of her. "Y/N, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

She shook her head, strands of hair falling around her face. "It doesn't matter," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm just… not good enough, am I?"

He reached out to touch her hand, but she flinched away. "That's not true," he insisted, his voice firm. "You are more than enough."

Y/N laughed again, a bitter sound that echoed in the quiet room. "Do you know what it's like, Soshiro? To feel invisible in your own life? To try so hard, only to realize it's never going to be enough?"

He hesitated, at a loss for words. Guilt gnawed at him—the guilt of neglect, of failing to see the pain she carried beneath a facade of duty.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't realize…"

"You didn't realize," she echoed, tears welling in her eyes. "You didn't even notice."

Silence enveloped them once more, broken only by the faint sound of her stifled sobs. Y/N wiped away her tears with shaking hands, her resolve hardening with each passing moment.

"I'll make it easy for you, Soshiro," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "I'll be the perfect obedient wife. I'll fulfill my duty and nothing more."

"No," he protested, reaching for her hand again, but she pulled away.

"It's better this way," she insisted, her tone final. "You won't have to worry about me anymore."

With that, she rose from the bed, leaving him sitting there, his heart heavy with regret and a sense of loss he couldn't fully comprehend. She walked past him, her steps measured and purposeful, as if steeling herself against the pain.

Soshiro watched her go, a knot tightening in his chest. He wanted to chase after her, to hold her and tell her that she was wrong—that she was loved and cherished. But he remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by his own inadequacies and the weight of their fractured relationship.

Alone in her room once more, Y/N sank to the floor, her back against the cold wall. Tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked now, the weight of her despair crushing her spirit.

"I tried," she whispered to the empty room, her voice breaking. "I tried so hard."

Her hand rested on her belly, feeling the gentle kicks of their unborn child. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice choked with emotion. "I'm so sorry."

In the darkness of her room, surrounded by the echoes of shattered dreams and unspoken words, Y/N allowed herself to grieve. She grieved for the love she had lost, for the hope that had faded, and for the woman she had once been.

But amidst the darkness, a tiny spark of determination flickered—a resolve to survive, for her sake and for the child growing within her. She didn't know what the future held, but she vowed to find a way forward, even if it meant burying her own desires and dreams beneath a facade of duty and obedience.

#hoshina soshiro x reader #kaiju no. 8 #hoshina x reader #soshiro hoshina #fanfic #soshino x reader #kaiju art #fics #kn8 #kn8 x reader #kn8 fanfic #kn8 fanart

329 notes · View notes