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thef1diary · 4 months

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While It Lasts | L. Norris - 2

Summary: Lando expected nothing more than relaxation and fun for two weeks during his summer break. What he didn’t anticipate was meeting you, someone who felt like a perfect match in every way. As the days quickly passed, he found himself falling deeply for you, only to be confronted with the heart-wrenching reality that your time together was far more limited than he ever imagined.

Part 1

PLEASE READ: This story contains themes of loss, morality, fear, death, relationship strains, mental health struggles, including significant emotional impact related to the reader’s journey with a chronic illness and some scenes are set in hospitals. Reminder that this is simply a work of fiction, please don’t take it to heart.

wc: 16.5k

You woke up to the faint clattering of dishes in the kitchen. Groggily, you opened your eyes, feeling the stiffness from sleeping awkwardly on the couch. Stretching, you realized Isaac was already up, making breakfast.

“Isaac,” you called out, your voice hoarse from sleep.

He didn’t seem to hear you, the noise of the kitchen drowning out your voice. With a sigh, you decided to hobble over to him, each step a reminder of your twisted ankle and the awkward position you’d slept in.

Reaching the kitchen, you leaned against the doorway for support. “Isaac,” you said a bit louder.

He turned, surprise and concern crossing his face. “You should be resting.”

“I know,” you replied, wincing slightly as you moved closer. “But we need to talk.”

Isaac set down the pan he was holding, his expression turning serious. “Alright, let’s talk.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the words you were about to say. “Isaac, I’m sorry for yelling at you yesterday. I know you’re just trying to take care of me.”

He shook his head, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and pain. “Every single day for the past four years, I have this fear that you’ll leave me at any moment. Yes, it is selfish, very selfish because I truly don’t know what you’re feeling, what you’re going through. But while you might’ve accepted that you’re dying, I didn’t! I just wanted to make sure you’re taking care of yourself, so you can live another day, so you can see me graduate college, see me – I don’t know – find the love of my life or get married. I’m sorry. You’re my sister, you are the last person I need to act like I’m on eggshells around you.”

Your heart ached at his words, the depth of his fear and love hitting you hard. “Your fear is valid, Isaac. Just because I’ve accepted it, doesn’t mean that I like it. But it won’t change fate, will it? It won’t change the fact that I’ve been dealt a shitty hand at life. All I know is that when I’m taking my last breaths, whenever it is, I don’t want to regret anything. I don’t want to regret not living enough because of the fear of dying. Just because I have a stupid countdown doesn’t mean I should be afraid to live.”

Isaac looked at you, his eyes moist with unshed tears. “I just want you to be here, to live as long as possible.”

“I know,” you whispered, reaching out to engulf him in a hug. “I’ll try to take better care of myself.”

He nodded slowly, his grip tightening around your body. “And I’ll try to be less overprotective, I promise, I’ll try.”

You smiled, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Thank you, Isaac.”

As you stood there, holding onto each other in the quiet morning light, you felt a sense of peace. When he pulled back, he scrunched up his face. “But it’ll be harder to explain that to mum and dad.”

You shrugged, “they’ll get it, one day, hopefully.”

After breakfast, Isaac announced he needed to run some errands in town. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he said, grabbing his keys. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. Take your time.”

As the door closed behind him, the house fell into a quiet lull. You settled back on the couch, trying to get comfortable and rest your ankle. Just as you were starting to drift off, the doorbell rang.

With a sigh, you swung your legs off the couch and hobbled toward the door, wincing with each step. When you finally reached it and pulled it open, you were greeted by Lando’s mischievous grin that quickly turned into worry.

“Hey,” he said, his brow furrowed as he took in your hobbling form. “You shouldn’t be up and about. How’s the ankle?”

“Hey, Lando,” you replied, leaning against the doorframe for support. “It’s sore but I’ll survive. Come in.”

He stepped inside, immediately reaching out to steady you. “Here, let me help you back to the couch.”

You nodded, grateful for his support. You leaned against him and held his hand as he guided you back to your spot on the couch. You couldn’t help but notice the warmth of his touch and the genuine concern in his eyes.

“Thanks,” you said once you were settled again. “What brings you here?”

Lando shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “I wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re not getting into any more trouble.”

You chuckled softly. “Well, I did manage to twist my ankle pretty badly.”

His expression turned serious. “I know. I felt terrible leaving you like that last night.”

“It’s alright, I was already sleeping before you left,” you waved off his concern.

“Speaking of falling asleep…” Lando began, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I couldn’t resist stopping by the bookstore you mentioned. Figured I’d pick up a couple of books to keep us entertained.”

You grinned, appreciating his thoughtfulness. “You went to the bookstore? You really are determined to explore every corner of this town, aren’t you?”

Lando nodded enthusiastically, pulling the books out of the bag he carried when he entered. “Of course! And since my favorite tour guide is out of commission,” he said, gesturing to your injured ankle, “I had to take matters into my own hands.”

He revealed two identical books, holding them up with a grin. “Thought we could have a reading competition. Winner gets bragging rights.”

You chuckled, shaking your head in amusement. “It’s always a competition with you, isn’t it?”

Lando shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “What can I say? I’m a competitive guy. Comes with the territory. Oh, and by the way,” he added casually, “did I mention I’m a Formula 1 driver?”

You blinked, surprised by the revelation. “Wait, seriously?”

Lando grinned, “yeah, been racing for quite a few years now.”

You nodded, a smile spreading on your face when he delved into the details, and it’s evident that he loves talking about his passion.

“That actually makes so much sense, that’s how you know the Sainz family, right?”

Lando’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Yes, but how do you know them?”

You laughed softly, and it quickly became a sound Lando loved hearing. “I live next to the villa, remember?” You teased jokingly.

A sheepish smile grew on his face, “oh, right. So what, you’ve met Carlos too? And here I thought I was the first F1 driver you’ve met.”

You nodded. “Yeah, in passing. We never really talked much, but I’ve seen him and his family around often.”

Then you leaned closer and whispered, “but don’t tell him that he may no longer be my favourite.”

He quirked up an eyebrow, leaning in as well and responding with the same amount of energy. “Then who is?”

You shrugged, leaning back with a small smile and a faint blush covering your cheeks. “I think I might have to watch a race to decide.”

As you continued chatting with Lando, the pain in your ankle seemed to fade into the background. His enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself drawn into his stories about racing, the thrill of waiting for the lights to go out, and the camaraderie between his fellow drivers.

Eventually, you decided to start the reading competition. Both of you settled into the couch with your respective books, determined to see who would finish first. But as the minutes ticked by, Lando found it hard to focus on his book. His gaze kept drifting to you, watching the way your eyes moved across the pages and the little expressions that flitted across your face as you read.

He couldn’t help but want to talk to you, to hear more about your thoughts. Finally, he put his book down with a sigh, unable to concentrate any longer.

“So, what’s next on the agenda once your ankle’s better? Something less adventurous, perhaps?”

You placed your book down after marking your page, chuckling as you looked at him. “Can’t focus, can you?”

“Not with you around,” he shrugged casually.

Trapping your lip between your teeth to prevent a smile from growing on your face, you chose to focus on the question he asked.

“There’s this amazing seafood restaurant nearby. It’s a local favorite, and the food is incredible. Fresh catches of the day, and the chef’s specials are to die for. You’ll love it!”

As you spoke, you didn’t notice Lando’s face pale slightly. He wasn’t a fan of seafood, but he couldn’t bring himself to dampen your excitement by telling you the truth. The way your eyes lit up talking about the place made him want to experience it with you, even if he never wanted to be around any sort of fish.

“Sounds great,” Lando said, forcing a smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

You clapped your hands together, beaming. “You won’t regret it, I promise. The view from the restaurant is amazing too. It’s right by the water, and you can see the boats coming in and out of the harbor. It’s a perfect spot for a relaxing evening.”

Lando nodded, matching your enthusiasm as best he could. “That sounds perfect. I can’t wait.”

“How about we go there for dinner tomorrow?” you suggested, your excitement bubbling over.

“Tomorrow night it is,” Lando agreed, his smile genuine due to your smile despite his seafood reservations.

The next evening came around too quickly for Lando’s liking. Instead of stressing over what to wear this time, he was worried about the food itself. The prospect of seafood was daunting, but he didn’t want to let you down. As he rummaged through his closet, Max walked into the room with a teasing grin.

“Mate, you like her so much that you’d willingly eat seafood for her?” Max said, leaning against the doorframe.

Lando looked up, a mixture of nerves and amusement on his face. “Yeah, well, it’s not just about the food. It’s about the company.”

He chuckled, “you’re a brave man.” Then he sighed exaggeratedly, “oh the things you do in love.”

Lando’s back straightened suddenly. “It’s not love… yet. We’re just hanging out.”

Max’s eyes widened since he didn’t expect such an answer, “wait a second, ‘yet’? Do you actually like her?”

Lando shrugged, trying to play it off, but the slight smile on his face betrayed him. “I don’t know, Max. Maybe. It’s… complicated.”

Max studied him for a moment, then a grin spread across his face. “I should’ve seen it coming, but she’s great! Maybe even a little out of your league,” he spoke with a teasing grin, that only made Lando roll his eyes when he saw his best friend’s face.

“She’s beautiful,” he said softly, not denying Max’s words.

Max's teasing grin softened into a more serious expression. "Hey, I'm serious though. You don't have to go through with this if you're not comfortable. You shouldn't feel like you have to force yourself to like something just to impress her."

Lando appreciated Max's concern, but he shook his head. "It's not about impressing her. I want to spend time with her, Max. She's... she's different."

Max raised an eyebrow, a knowing look in his eyes. "Different, huh? Well, just be careful, okay?"

Lando nodded, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty and anticipation. "Of course."

As Max left the room, Lando took a moment to collect his thoughts. He knew Max was just looking out for him, but there was something about you that made him want to take the risk. With a determined smile, he finished getting ready and was about to head out to meet you, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement building inside him.

Right as he was leaving the villa, Max’s voice rang out. “If you need an excuse to skip out, I can come up with something. No need to torture yourself over fish.”

Lando shook his head, appreciating the concern. “Thanks, Max, but I’ll be fine. I just… I don’t want to ruin this. She’s really excited about the place.”

A very short drive later, Lando knocked on your door, and when you opened it, his eyes widened appreciatively as they swept over you. You wore a simple yet elegant dress, the color complementing your features perfectly.

“Wow,” he breathed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You look amazing.”

Blushing slightly at his compliment, you thanked him and closed the door behind you as you left your cottage, walking towards Lando’s car. “Thanks, Lando, you don’t look too bad yourself.”

He fell in step beside you, still admiring your outfit. “So, do you have a hot date or something?”

You chuckled at his question, shaking your head. “Nope, no dates, just going out with some racer guy, not sure if you know him.”

Sitting in his car, he instantly looked at you with a raised eyebrow and a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “Hmm, sounds like a great guy! Is he interesting?”

You laughed, nudging him as he drove. “Very.”

When you arrived at the restaurant, the sun was just starting to set, casting a golden glow over the water. It was nestled right by the harbor, with a perfect view of the boats coming and going. Lando parked the car and helped you out, his hand lingering a moment longer than necessary as he offered support for your still-healing ankle. Even though you could walk without needing support again, you didn’t mind holding onto his hand.

“Wow, this place is beautiful,” he said, genuinely impressed by the picturesque setting.

“I told you,” you replied with a satisfied smile. “Come on, let’s get a table by the window.”

The interior of the restaurant was cozy, with soft lighting and a gentle murmur of conversation filling the air. A small fish tank adorned one corner of the room, the colorful fish swimming lazily in the water. Lando couldn’t help but chuckle nervously as he glanced at the tank.

“Kinda cruel, isn’t it?” he joked, nodding towards the fish tank. "Having live fish in a seafood restaurant," Lando remarked with a wry smile.

Still, you laughed, nodding in agreement. "The owners think it adds to the ambiance."

As you were seated and handed the menus, Lando took a deep breath, steeling himself for the seafood-heavy options. But when he looked across the table and saw your excited expression, he hoped it would all be worth it. This evening was about enjoying your company, and he was determined to do just that, and perhaps if everything went very well, he might casually mention that he’d like to take you out on an actual date.

As the waiter took your orders, you couldn't contain your excitement, eager to indulge in the fresh seafood the restaurant had to offer. Lando, however, seemed a bit hesitant, but he eventually settled on a dish, trying to mask his apprehension with a smile.

Once the food arrived, you dug in eagerly, savoring each bite of the delicious seafood. However, as you glanced over at Lando, you noticed something was off. His attempts to conceal his discomfort were evident, and you could see the struggle on his face as he hesitantly bit into a shrimp, his expression revealing disgust as he tried to swallow it.

Concerned, you leaned closer to him, your voice soft with worry. "Is everything okay, Lando?"

He hesitated, clearly torn, spitting the piece of shrimp into a tissue before finally admitting, "I'm sorry, I just... I can't do seafood."

Surprised by his confession, you felt a pang of guilt wash over you. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Lando shrugged, looking sheepish. "I didn't want to ruin your plans, you looked so excited to come here and I thought I could handle it, but..."

Without hesitation, you reached out, taking his hand in yours. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Leading him out of the restaurant, you felt a mix of disappointment and concern. Disappointed that he didn’t feel comfortable sharing such a simple detail with you, and concerned that he attempted to eat a shrimp, knowing he disliked it, all for your sake.

But as you walked together, you were determined to salvage the evening because you didn’t want the night to end just yet. "How about we find a burger place? Is that something you'll enjoy."

Lando's gratitude was evident in his smile as he nodded, and together, you set off to find a new spot to continue your evening, determined to make it memorable for all the right reasons.

You and Lando ended up sitting in his car, munching on takeout burgers and fries, the mood was light and laughter filled the air. Lando was in the middle of telling a funny story from his racing season, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he recounted the antics of how multiple of his fellow drivers tried to convince him to try seafood but failed.

You couldn’t help but laugh along, enjoying the animated way he described each moment. You playfully nudged Lando, a grin spreading across your face. “Well, it seems like all those F1 drivers couldn’t get you to try seafood, but I did, even if it was just a bite!”

Lando leaned back in his seat, a lighthearted smile playing on his lips. “You know, for you, I’d try anything… except seafood.”

As you heard Lando's words, a soft realization came to you that his remark held a hint of flirtation.

“Why don’t you like seafood anyways?” you couldn’t help but ask, especially since this town was full of loads of seafood options and now you had to think of other restaurants for him to try.

Lando shrugged, taking another bite of his burger before answering. “I guess it’s just not my thing. I’ve never been a fan of the taste or the texture.”

As you indulged in your burger, a smear of sauce found its way to the corner of your lips. Lando's eyes caught the small detail, and with a gentle smile, he pointed it out. "You've got a little something right there."

You chuckled, raising your hand to wipe it away, but before you could, Lando's fingers grazed over the corner of your lips, wiping away the sauce. His touch was gentle, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary as he leaned in close.

A subtle warmth spread through you at the intimacy of the gesture, and for a moment, time seemed to slow as you met his gaze. There was something unspoken between you, a silent acknowledgment of the growing connection that seemed to deepen with each passing moment.

His fingers lingered at the edge of your lips, and you could feel his breath, warm and inviting, mingling with yours. The world around you faded, leaving only the two of you in that fleeting instant.

“Lando…” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. The space between you grew smaller, your faces inching closer together.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes flicking down to your lips and back up to your eyes. The anticipation was electric, a charged moment that seemed to stretch on forever.

But then, he pulled back, a faint blush tinting his cheeks. “I don’t want our first kiss to be like this,” he murmured, his voice soft but resolute. “You deserve a proper date first.”

A mix of disappointment and warmth washed over you. His thoughtfulness, his desire to make things right, only made your heart ache more with affection. Amidst the laughter and shared stories, his words hung between you, a promise of something more.

As quickly as the thought arose, the weight of your illness pressed down on you, reminding you of life's fragility and the uncertainty of tomorrow. Your thoughts lingered on wondering if you even had a future in general. To entertain the idea of a future with him would only cause your heart to ache, knowing that you might not live to see those dreams come true.

The thought of a future, a proper date, a real kiss—all of it seemed so painfully out of reach.

It was a bittersweet realization, knowing that even the simplest of dreams could be overshadowed by the reality of your condition. While he would return back to the fast paced world of racing, you would remain in this small town, wondering how many more dreams you would have to crush because fate decided to take away your life, inch by inch.

Awkwardness filled the car on your end, your emotions shifting to cold and stoic, like they were before you met him. The warm connection you had felt only moments ago was replaced by a wall you erected to protect your heart. Lando noticed the change, his cheerful demeanor faltering as the silence grew heavy between you.

Soon enough, you both finished your burgers, and Lando started the car to drive you home. The ride was quiet, the earlier laughter and easy conversation now replaced by a tension that neither of you acknowledged. When he pulled up to your house, he turned off the engine and looked at you, a hint of concern in his eyes.

“Do you want me to walk you to the door?” he asked softly.

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “No, it’s fine. Thanks for the evening, Lando.”

He watched as you climbed out of the car, a confused and worried expression on his face. As you walked to your door, you could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t look back. You shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment as a tear threatened to slip down your cheek.

Lando sat in his car, staring at the closed door, wondering what he had done wrong and why the evening had ended on such a somber note. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something important had changed, but he had no idea what it was or how to fix it.

—

Over the next couple of days, you don’t acknowledge the thoughts that are bubbling up in your mind, instead choosing to tread carefully and immerse yourself in your daily routine. You’ve lived a lot more than you have over the past couple of months, and felt the joy that it brings. But now, you had to face the consequences causing you to distance yourself away from Lando before you got too attached to the happiness that came with being around him. Once you realized that you truly wanted to kiss him that night, everything changed. You had to take a preemptive measure, a self-imposed boundary designed to shield your heart from potential pain.

Your health deteriorated significantly. Your energy waned, and simple tasks like walking around the house left you breathless and exhausted. Fortunately, you have a doctor’s appointment scheduled, a simple routine checkup. However, it coincided with plans you made with Lando. Determined to distance yourself from him, you don’t tell him about the change of plans.

At the doctor’s appointment, you sit in the sterile examination room, the familiar scent of antiseptic mingling with nerves that coil in the pit of your stomach. These appointments, routine yet crucial, serve as a barometer of your ongoing battle against your illness.

As the doctor enters, his expression is professional yet compassionate, his eyes scanning through your medical history with a practiced ease. You recount the recent symptoms you’ve been experiencing, the fatigue that seems to seep into your bones, and the persistent ache that lingers despite treatment.

With a sympathetic nod, the doctor orders a series of tests, his urgency palpable as he reviews your file. The minutes stretch into an eternity as you wait for the results, each passing second filled with a silent plea for a glimmer of hope.

When the test results finally come back, the doctor’s demeanor shifts subtly, his tone measured yet grave. “I’m afraid the results are not as we had hoped,” he begins, his words heavy with significance.

Your heart sinks at the confirmation of your worst fears, the reality of your illness casting a shadow over your hopes for improvement. Despite your best efforts, it seems that the tide of your health is turning against you once again.

A sense of dread fills you as he explains that the illness has advanced more rapidly than expected. “We need to keep you overnight for observation,” he says gently. “Your vitals are unstable, and we need to adjust your treatment plan.”

You nod, too emotionally tired to object, allowing a nurse to lead you to the hospital room, one that you became too familiar with over the past few years. You would spend yet another night under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital, experience another round of tests and treatments, and take another uncertain step into the abyss of your illness.

You lie in the hospital bed, hooked up to various machines, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over you like a heavy blanket. The familiar beeps and hums of the medical equipment provide a disconcerting backdrop to your thoughts, each sound a reminder of the precariousness of your health.

As you drift in and out of consciousness, your mind wanders to Lando, the plans you had made together now nothing more than distant dreams. Guilt gnaws at the edges of your consciousness, knowing that he waits for you, unaware of the sudden turn your day has taken.

Just as the shadows of doubt threaten to overwhelm you, a soft knock on the door interrupts your thoughts. Startled, you turn to see Isaac's familiar face framed in the doorway, concern etched into his features.

"Hey," he says softly, crossing the room to sit beside you. "I got your text. Are you okay?"

You manage a weak smile, grateful for his presence amidst the sterile confines of the hospital room. "Yeah, just another setback," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Isaac reaches out to squeeze your hand gently, his touch a comforting anchor in the sea of uncertainty. "You’ll get through this," he says, his voice steady and reassuring.

As Isaac settles into the chair beside your hospital bed, he observes the flurry of activity around you—the nurses bustling about, the doctors conferring in hushed tones, tweaking the machines, their purpose still a mystery to him after all these visits.

When there's a lull in the commotion, Isaac hesitates before speaking, his voice soft with concern. "Hey, I wanted to let you know... Lando stopped by the cottage today."

“What’d he say?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"He asked about you today," Isaac begins, his tone gentle. "Said you had plans but you didn't show. He mentioned he hasn't seen you in a couple of days. Is everything okay between you two?"

You nod weakly, offering a small smile to reassure Isaac. "Yeah, everything's fine. I just... I don't know, I guess I realized that I've been enjoying his company a lot more than I should, given my condition."

He frowns, “what’s wrong with that? You’re both happy around each other, so why are you distancing yourself away from him?”

You scoff, “have you seen me?” You raise your arm that has an IV inserted, along with the other wires connected to you.

“It doesn’t matter,” Isaac insists gently. “He cares about you. You deserve happiness too, regardless of what’s going on with your health.”

You shake your head, a hint of frustration in your voice. “You don’t understand, Isaac. I don’t have a guarantee of how I’m spending the next week, let alone the rest of my life. I don’t want to hurt Lando by snatching away his happiness one day too. I’m just… preventing myself, and him, from getting too attached to each other.”

Isaac sighs, his expression softening with understanding. "You're not scared of getting too attached, are you? You already are, whether you admit it or not. But by staying away, you're only hurting yourself and him more."

You avert your gaze, feeling the weight of his words sinking in. "I know," you admit quietly. "But I don't know what else to do."

"He deserves to know if he's falling in love with you," Isaac says gently, his voice filled with concern. "And you deserve to have someone by your side, especially during the tough times."

You let out a heavy sigh, knowing he's right but still unsure of what to do next. "I guess I did find someone that fate hates more than me."

"So you agree, that he's in love with you?" Isaac probes, searching your eyes for confirmation.

"He's only in love because he barely knows me," you reply, your voice tinged with sadness.

“Maybe you should give him a chance to know you, the real you,” he responds.

You bite your lip, unsure of how to respond. Deep down, you know Isaac is right, but the fear of hurting Lando is overwhelming. Yet, the thought of pushing him away hurts just as much.

Before you can dwell on it further, a nurse enters the room, breaking the momentary silence. Isaac gives you a reassuring smile before standing up to give you some privacy. As he leaves, his words linger in the air, leaving you to contemplate the complexities of your situation.

The next morning, you’re discharged, feeling even more drained. The doctors have adjusted your medications, but the prognosis remains grim.

You left the hospital, walking in step beside Isaac for a moment until he headed towards the parking lot to bring the car around. As you were blinking in the bright morning sunlight, you nearly collided with Max, who was just outside chatting with someone on his phone.

“Hey there!” Max greets you with a wide grin, sliding his phone into his pocket. However, his expression quickly turns into a frown as he notices the hospital wristband adorning your wrist. “Wait, were you in there?” he asks, concern lacing his words. “Is everything okay?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, not wanting to worry him unnecessarily or dive into the complexities of your recent hospital stay. “Oh, it was just a routine checkup, some bloodwork, you know how that goes, nothing to worry about,” you assure him with a tight-lipped smile.

Max’s eyes narrow slightly, clearly not entirely convinced by your explanation, but he decides not to press further.

He glances over his shoulder, then back at you. “I was just at the café right down the street.”

You nod, “good choice, they make the best coffee in town.”

He smiled as his choice was approved by you. “Do you need a ride? I’m heading back to the villa.”

You shook your head, “no it’s alright, Isaac’s bringing the car around.”

“Alright, I guess I’ll see you around, only a few more days left before we leave this paradise,” he reminds you.

You offer him a grateful nod. “Yeah, time flies, doesn’t it?” you reply with a forced smile since you were hoping to return home soon. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

As Max nods in agreement and starts to walk away, you can’t shake the feeling that he suspects something isn’t quite right. But you push the thought aside, determined to focus on the present moment and put on a brave face as you step away from the hospital and back into the world outside.

As Isaac parks in the driveway, you notice Lando pacing back and forth by the front door, his brows furrowed in concern. The sight of him fills you with a tumult of conflicting emotions. Isaac’s words echo in your mind, urging you to be honest with Lando, to tell him how much you care about him, to share the burden of your illness. But fear gnaws at your insides, whispering that revealing the truth will only drive him away.

His expression changes from relief to frustration as he sees you approaching.

“Where were you?” he demanded, his voice tinged with worry. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

As you and Lando stand in front of each other, locked in a tense silence, Isaac takes a step back, sensing the need for privacy between you two. With a subtle nod, he heads inside the cottage, leaving you and Lando alone on the doorstep.

The weight of unspoken words hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you both with its palpable intensity. You struggle to find the right words to break the silence, to bridge the growing chasm between you, but fear and uncertainty grip you like a vice, paralyzing your tongue.

Lando shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flickering between you as if searching for answers in the depths of your eyes. His expression is a mix of hurt and confusion, mirroring the tumultuous storm raging within your own heart.

You want to tell Lando the truth, to let him in, but the thought of exposing your vulnerabilities terrifies you. You can’t bear the idea of him seeing you as fragile, of pitying you. So, holding your head up high, you decide to make him hate you before he realizes that he loves you.

You force a nonchalant shrug, trying to play it off. “I had some errands to run, and I forgot we had plans.”

“Forgot?” he repeats, incredulous. “We made those plans a while ago. Forget that, I haven’t seen you for days. What’s really going on?”

Annoyed, and wanting to distance yourself from him before your feelings grow even stronger, you let a hint of irritation seep into your voice. “I don’t owe you an explanation for everything I do, Lando. It’s not a big deal.”

He’s taken aback by your rudeness, his face falling slightly. “Not a big deal? I’ve been worried sick about you.”

“Well, you don’t need to be,” you say curtly, avoiding his eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

An awkward silence falls between you two, the tension palpable. Lando’s expression shifts from hurt to confusion. He takes a step back, clearly stung by your words.

“Fine,” he says quietly, his voice pained. “If that’s how you want it.”

You nod, turning away from him and heading inside, each step feeling heavier than the last. Lando stands outside for a moment longer, staring at the closed door. He can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to your abrupt change in behavior, but he respects your wish for distance. With a heavy heart, he turns and walks away, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the echo of the door closing between you

You lean against the door, quickly sliding down and sitting on the floor as you cover your face with your hands, fighting back tears.

Pushing him away is probably the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but you convince yourself it’s for the best.

Isaac spots you sitting on the floor, and quickly rushes towards you. Moving your hands away from your face, he notices the tears staining your cheeks and has an idea of how the conversation went with Lando.

"You're still as stubborn as ever, aren't you?" he remarked rhetorically, but then he enveloped you in his arms, holding you close as you trembled with sobs.

You pulled back slightly, sniffling as you tried to compose yourself. "I can't tell him," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rush of emotions.

Meanwhile, Lando trudged back to the villa, his mind heavy with thoughts and his heart weighed down by the encounter with you. When he arrived, Max was idly sitting around.

“Hey, mate,” Max greeted but his expression turned serious as he observed Lando’s demeanour. “You okay?”

Lando shrugged, sitting next to Max as he tried to brush off the weight of his emotions. “I saw her today.”

He nodded, “how’d it go?”

Lando frowned, furrowing his brows. “I don’t know, Max. That’s the thing. It’s like I saw a completely different person today. Someone I thought I knew, but now… she’s like a stranger.”

Max furrowed his brow, concerned. “What do you mean?”

Lando shook his head, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like she was pushing me away, Max. Acting cold and distant, like she didn’t want anything to do with me.”

Max nodded in understanding. “Well, mate, maybe she’s just having a rough day. I mean, she was at the hospital earlier.”

His words caught Lando off guard. He blinked in surprise, his brows furrowing as he processed the information. “Wait, she was at the hospital?” he asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice.

Max nodded solemnly. “Yeah, I saw her leaving earlier today. Said it wasn’t serious, just a routine check up but she looked very tired, like she hadn’t slept properly in days.”

Lando’s concern deepened as he absorbed Max’s words. “Why didn’t she tell me?” he murmured, a mix of worry and frustration evident in his voice.

Max placed a comforting hand on Lando’s shoulder. “Maybe she just needs some space, mate. It’s not easy opening up about personal stuff, especially to someone you care about a lot.”

“You think she cares about me?” Lando asked, his tone almost a mumbling mess.

Max scoffed, “see I knew you were an idiot but not to this extent that you don’t even see the obvious. Of course she cares about you, mate!”

“Well I know that, it’s just I don’t wanna read into something that’s not there, you know?”

Max squeezed Lando’s shoulder reassuringly. “Trust me, mate, it’s there. Sometimes, we just need a little nudge to see what’s right in front of us.”

Lando nodded slowly, his mind still swirling with doubts and questions. “I guess you’re right,” he conceded, a faint glimmer of hope starting to flicker within him.

Max grinned, clapping him on the back. “That’s the spirit! Just give her some time, and I’m sure things will sort themselves out.”

The cottage exudes a somber atmosphere, suffused with memories of those initial days when you sought refuge from your parents' house, just across town. After your diagnosis, living with your parents became unbearable, evoking memories of your tumultuous teenage years, always feeling scolded and misunderstood. With persuasion and determination, you relocated to the cottage, that has always acted as a second childhood home, with your brother, longing for respite from the tumult of your parents' home. Eventually, your parents themselves moved to the next town over, seeking their own fresh start, leaving you and your brother to navigate the challenges of your illness in your quiet abode.

Now, as you sit in the same kitchen where you once grappled with the harsh reality of your illness, the mood is eerily similar. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you as the silence in the cottage seems to press down, a stark contrast to the vibrant conversations and laughter that once echoed within these walls during your childhood summers. Even more palpably, you recall the warmth of recent memories, the shared laughter with Lando when you had twisted your ankle, filling the space with a joy that now feels distant and elusive. The air is thick with unspoken words, the tension palpable as if one wrong move could shatter the fragile peace you carefully built.

Isaac sits across from you, his presence comforting amidst the somber atmosphere. He watches you closely, his gaze filled with concern and understanding.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breaking the silence that hangs heavy between you.

You force a smile, but it feels hollow on your lips. “Just tired,” you reply, the words barely audible over the quiet hum of the refrigerator.

While Isaac may be aware of some of the pain you feel, he doesn’t know the full extent of what you’re enduring. You want to shield him from the worst, hiding just how much it hurts. The pain has been relentless, gnawing at you day and night, with only a brief sense of comfort for a few hours after taking your medication. Every movement feels like a struggle, every breath a reminder of the fragility of your condition.

Isaac studies your face, his eyes narrowing with concern. “You should call Mom and Dad,” he says softly, breaking the silence. “They need to know what’s going on. Your health is getting worse.”

You shake your head, the thought of burdening your parents with more bad news twisting your stomach into knots. “They’ve been hoping I’m getting better.”

Isaac sighs, reaching across the table to take your hand. “They’re gonna find out soon enough and they’ll want to be here for you, to support you. It’s better they hear it from you than from anyone else.”

You look down at your hands, Isaac’s warmth a stark contrast to the cold dread settling in your bones. “I just… I don’t want to shatter their hope again.”

Isaac squeezes your hand gently. “They love you. They’re not going to be disappointed in you. They’ll be worried, sure, but they need to know. You need all the support you can get.”

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. “Okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I’ll call them.”

Isaac gives you a reassuring smile, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Good. We’ll get through this together. You’re not alone.”

You manage a hint of a smile, looking at Isaac. “You know,” you say softly, “you’re such a good older brother especially for someone who’s younger than me.”

Isaac chuckles, a warm, comforting sound in the quiet room. “Age is just a number,” he says, squeezing your hand gently. “Besides, someone has to keep you in line.”

“Keep me in line? I think we’ve switched roles, remember how I used to keep you out of trouble?” You remark.

You can feel the tension ease in the room as Isaac laughs at the memory before standing up to prepare dinner, allowing you to pick up your phone.

The thought of hearing your parents’ voices fills you with a mixture of fear and relief. You know Isaac is right, but the conversation ahead feels like another mountain to climb. Taking a deep breath, you dial the familiar number, bracing yourself for what’s to come. The phone rings, and with each passing moment, you feel the weight of the upcoming conversation pressing down on you.

Finally, your mother answers, her voice warm and familiar. “Hello, sweetie. It’s been a while since you called. How are you?”

You hesitate for a moment, trying to keep your voice steady. “Hi, Mom. I… I need to talk to you about something.”

There’s a pause, and you can hear the concern in her voice. “What is it, honey? Is everything alright?”

Before you can respond, she quickly switches to a video call. Her face appears on the screen, eyes wide with worry. “Tell me what’s going on,” she says, her voice trembling slightly.

Seeing her face makes it harder to hold back your emotions. You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “Mom, I’ve been trying to stay strong and not worry you and Dad, but… my health has been getting worse.”

Her expression shifts from concern to fear and then to a hint of anger masking hurt. “Worse? How worse, dear? Are you not taking care of yourself properly?”

You wince at her words, knowing they come from a place of worry. “I stayed a night at the hospital,” you continue. “They said if it doesn’t get better with the new medication, I’ll have to go back. The pain has been relentless. I can barely move without feeling it, and the medication only helps for a few hours.”

Your mother’s face pales, her eyes filling with tears. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner? We’ve been hoping you were getting better.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you admit, your voice cracking. “I wanted to protect you from the worst of it.”

Your mother shakes her head, wiping away a tear. “We’re your parents. We want to be there for you, no matter what. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I know,” you say, your own tears starting to fall. “It’s just so hard. Every day feels like a struggle, and I didn’t want to burden you.”

Isaac rounds the kitchen table and speaks up, his voice steady and supportive. “We’re all in this together, Mom. We need your support now more than ever.”

Your mother nods, her expression determined, though the hurt still lingers in her eyes. “We’ll be there for you, sweetheart. Every step of the way.”

Just then, she turns her head and calls out, “Honey, come here. It’s important.”

A moment later, your father appears on the screen, his face etched with concern. “What’s going on?”

Your mother explains quickly, her voice trembling. “She’s not doing well. She had to stay overnight at the hospital, and she might have to go back soon. We need to be there for her.”

Your father’s expression hardens with resolve. “We’ll come over soon. Don’t worry, just be careful.”

Hearing his firm, supportive words, you feel a sense of relief and hope. “I will, thank you, Dad. I love you both.”

“We love you too,” he replies, his voice full of emotion. “We’re here for you, no matter what.”

After exchanging goodbyes and promising to see each other soon, you hang up the phone, feeling a slight sense of relief wash over you. Though it's only temporary, the weight on your shoulders lifts ever so slightly.

As Isaac reveals dinner, the aroma of his culinary creation fills the air, tempting your senses with its savory goodness. But as you take a closer look at your own plate, disappointment washes over you. The food in front of you is bland and uninspiring, reminiscent of the tasteless hospital meals you’ve grown accustomed to.

You poke at your food with little enthusiasm, knowing that the increased dosage of medication has left your taste buds dulled and unresponsive. “I can’t eat this,” you mutter, pushing the plate away with a sigh.

Isaac looks up from his own meal, concern creasing his eyebrow. “Come on, you need to eat something,” he urges, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s important for your recovery.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “But it tastes like nothing,” you protest, the monotony of the hospital diet weighing heavily on your spirit.

Isaac nods sympathetically, understanding your struggle. “I know it’s tough,” he says softly. “But remember what the doctor said about avoiding spice. It’s all part of the plan to help you get better.”

Reluctantly, you take a small bite, forcing yourself to chew and swallow despite the lack of flavor. The effort feels futile, but you know Isaac is right. You need to keep up your strength, even if it means enduring tasteless meals for the time being.

As you pick at your food, Isaac’s voice breaks through your thoughts, his tone lighthearted but determined. “Hey, once you’re feeling better, we’ll have a hot chicken wing contest,” he suggests, a playful twinkle in his eye. “Just like old times. And I promise, I’ll make them so spicy, you won’t be able to taste anything for a week.”

Despite yourself, a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips. The idea of a hot chicken wing contest brings back memories of happier times, when your biggest worry was who would win the next round.

“Deal,” you agree, the idea of better days ahead spurring you on. But deep down, you know the truth that you can’t bring yourself to voice aloud in front of him again. You’re not getting better, no matter how much you wish you could.

The next day, you wake up with a sense of urgency gnawing at your insides, an inexplicable feeling pulling you towards the lighthouse. It’s as if an invisible force is guiding you, compelling you to make this journey one last time.

As you slip out of bed and prepare to leave the house, a mixture of determination and trepidation fills your heart. You know deep down that this might be the last opportunity you have to climb those stairs, to feel the wind on your face as you stand at the top and gaze out at the vast expanse of the ocean.

Isaac notices your movements and steps forward, concern etched into his features.

“Hey, where are you off to?” he asks, his voice gentle yet probing.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should share your intentions. But then, you meet his gaze and find solace in his familiar eyes.

“I’m going to the lighthouse,” you reply, your voice steady despite the weight of your words. “I just… need some time alone.”

Isaac’s expression softens, understanding dawning in his eyes. He reaches out to squeeze your shoulder gently, offering silent support.

“Take all the time you need,” he says softly. “And if you need anything, call me.”

With a grateful nod, you offer him a small smile before turning to leave, the weight of your decision heavy on your heart.

You make your way up the stairs to the lighthouse, each step feeling heavier than the last. The climb feels like an uphill battle, and you find yourself pausing every few steps to catch your breath.

Your chest heaves with the effort, and a wave of dizziness washes over you as you reach the halfway point. You lean against the railing, willing yourself to continue despite the fatigue that threatens to overwhelm you.

With each step, the distance between you and the top of the lighthouse seems to stretch on forever. Your muscles ache with exertion, and your breath comes in ragged gasps.

But you refuse to give up. You grit your teeth and push through the pain, focusing all your energy on reaching the summit. With each step, you draw closer to your goal, fueled by the determination to see the view from the top one last time.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you reach the top of the lighthouse, gasping for air, only to find Lando already there, leaning against the railing and gazing out at the horizon. He turns as he hears your footsteps and ragged breaths, surprise flickering across his face.

He takes a step back, clearly intending to give you some space. “I’ll go down,” he mutters awkwardly, gesturing towards the stairs. “This place is your spot.”

But before he can move away, you reach out and grab his hand, stopping him in his tracks. “No,” you say firmly, your voice stronger than you feel. “Stay.”

He hesitates for a moment, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, but then he nods and settles back against the railing, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart as you lean against the railing beside him. Despite the exhaustion that weighs heavily on you, being close to him brings a sense of comfort that you can’t quite explain.

“Thanks,” you murmur, grateful for his presence beside you.

He offers you a small, tentative smile in return, his hand tightening around yours in a silent gesture of support.

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you turn to Lando, feeling the weight of the unspoken tension between you two like a heavy blanket.

"Listen, I owe you an apology," you begin, your voice soft but sincere. "I've been acting... differently lately, and I want you to know that it's not because of anything you did. That day, I was at the hospital for a routine checkup, and it just tired me out more than I expected. I’m sorry about ditching our plans."

You technically didn’t lie, but also didn’t tell him the whole truth either. You pause, searching his face for any sign of understanding or acceptance. His expression softens, and you feel a flicker of relief.

"I shouldn't have been so rude to you," you continue, your tone earnest. "I appreciate your patience, and I'm sorry if I made you feel unwelcome."

Lando nods, his eyes reflecting empathy. "It's okay," he says gently, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "I understand. And I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable by showing up here."

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "No, you don't need to apologize. I'm glad you're here."

With that, the tension between you starts to dissolve, replaced by a sense of mutual understanding and acceptance as you stand side by side, watching the waves crash against the shore below.

Taking a moment to admire the breathtaking view from the top of the lighthouse, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. But as the adrenaline of the climb begins to wear off, your legs start to tremble beneath you, threatening to give out at any moment.

Recognizing the warning signs of exhaustion, you carefully lower yourself to the ground, your muscles protesting with each movement. Sitting down with a heavy sigh of relief, you lean back against the cool stone wall of the lighthouse, grateful for the brief respite from the physical strain.

Lando joined you as well, sitting side by side on the floor of the lighthouse. You continue to hold onto his hand, your fingers tracing patterns absentmindedly. However, despite your attempt to clear the air, he still seems hesitant, his brows furrowed with confusion.

Finally, unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, Lando breaks the silence. “Hey, can I ask you something?” he begins, his voice tentative.

You turn to him, meeting his gaze with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. “Of course,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the weight of the conversation.

He hesitates for a moment before plunging ahead. “Did something happen the night we went for burgers?” he asks, his words carefully measured. “I mean, you seemed off after… and I’ve been wondering if I did something wrong.”

Realization dawns on you that he’s talking about the almost kiss. The memory of that night floods back, the charged moment in his car when he had pulled back. You had admired his restraint, his desire to do things right, but it also made your heart ache with longing.

Your heart sinks at his words, the guilt weighing heavy on your chest. “No, Lando,” you assure him, squeezing his hand gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You glance at him, seeing the earnest concern in his eyes. How you wish you had the courage to pull him in by his collar and kiss him then, to let him know just how much he meant to you despite everything.

But he doesn’t seem convinced, his gaze searching yours for any sign of dishonesty. “Don’t lie,” he says softly, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration.

You hesitate, grappling with the weight of your own emotions and the truth you’re desperate to conceal. Part of you wants to tell him how much his presence means to you, how his laughter lights up even the darkest corners of your world. But fear holds you back, whispering cruel reminders of the inevitability of heartbreak both of you will experience.

Instead of answering his question, you take a deep breath and change the subject. “So, when are you leaving?” you ask, trying to divert his attention away from your own turmoil.

He furrows his brow, clearly surprised by the sudden shift in conversation but decides not to push for an answer. “Tomorrow,” he replies, a hint of sadness in his voice.

You offer him a small smile, “well, I hope you had a good time despite my lackluster tour guide skills,” you quip, attempting to lighten the mood.

He chuckles softly, the sound warm and genuine. “Meeting you was my favorite part,” he admits, his gaze unwavering as he meets your eyes. “Spending time with you, even if it wasn’t every day, made this trip unforgettable.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks at his admission, the warmth of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. There’s a playful glint in his eyes that ignites a natural spark of flirtation between you.

In the quiet solitude of the lighthouse, you find yourself caught up in the moment with Lando, the days missed due to your own fear melting away with each shared smile and genuine laugh. Despite the lingering weight of your illness and the uncertainty that shadows your future, you're finally able to let go of the constant worry and embrace the present.

You realize that constantly dwelling on the unknown, on whether you'll have more time together or not, only serves to rob you of the joy of the moment. So instead, you allow yourself to be fully present with Lando, savoring each precious second together.

Yet, beneath the surface of your newfound acceptance, there still lingers a trace of fear. You know that distancing yourself from Lando won't protect either of you from the inevitable pain that lies ahead. His genuine smile, the way his eyes light up when he's with you, speaks volumes, and you can't deny the pull you feel toward him.

Despite the uncertainty of what the future holds, you're willing to take the risk, to open your heart to the possibility of love, even if it means facing the inevitable heartache that may follow. Because in the end, the fleeting moments of happiness you share with Lando are worth every ounce of pain.

Lando straightens up, his movements fluid and confident, as he leans in closer, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. "Hey, do you mind giving me your number and surname?" he asks casually, but there's a hint of mischief in his tone.

You raise an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. "What are you going to do with that information?" you inquire, your curiosity piqued.

His smile widens, a charming grin that could melt anyone's heart. "Well, first so we can still stay in touch even if I’m on the other side of the world, and second so I can send you a pass for one of my races," he replies smoothly, his voice laced with playful charm.

You can't help but chuckle at his response, shaking your head in amusement. "And why would I come to your race?" you tease, enjoying the banter between you.

Lando's gaze softens, a warmth in his eyes that catches you off guard. "I think you might be my lucky charm," he admits, his tone sincere.

You pause, feeling a flutter of excitement mixed with uncertainty. "You believe in lucky charms?" you ask, a hint of skepticism in your voice.

He nods, his smile unwavering. "I didn't," he confesses, "but now it seems like a good time to start believing. Why are you asking so many questions?" he adds playfully, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You can't help but smile at his lighthearted demeanor, appreciating the way he effortlessly lightens the mood. "You don't want me as a lucky charm," you reply, a touch of self-doubt creeping into your voice.

Lando's expression softens, his gaze filled with genuine warmth. "Why not?" he counters, his tone gentle yet determined.

"It won't last long," you murmur, a pang of sadness tugging at your heart as you glance away.

He reaches out, gently tilting your chin to meet his gaze. "It'll last as long as you're by my side," he insists, his voice sincere and unwavering. "That is up to you, don't you think so?"

His words catch you off guard, stirring something deep within you. "Now who's asking lots of questions?" you tease, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Still you," he replies with a chuckle, his eyes twinkling with affection.

You shake your head, feeling a surge of warmth at his playful banter. "You're something else, Lando."

"So are you," he replies, his smile soft and genuine. "In the best way possible."

You oblige Lando’s request, typing your phone number into his phone and saving your full name in his contacts. It’s a small gesture, but one that feels significant in the moment, despite the fact that you know you’ll never take him up on the offer for a pass to his race.

As the sun casts its golden glow across the rugged coastline, you and Lando sit side by side, taking in the breathtaking view from the top of the lighthouse. The air is filled with the sounds of seagulls circling overhead and the distant rumble of waves crashing against the shore below.

Lando’s arm around your shoulders feels like a lifeline, grounding you in the present moment amidst the tumult of your thoughts and emotions. You find solace in his presence, a sense of calm washing over you as you soak in the warmth of the afternoon sun.

The playful banter and teasing remarks give way to a comfortable silence, allowing you both to simply be in each other’s company without the need for words. It’s a moment of quiet intimacy, where the weight of the world fades away and all that matters is the connection between you and Lando.

You lean into his embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing and the reassuring strength of his arm around you. In this moment, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the warmth of Lando’s presence, you feel a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that whatever the future may hold, you’re grateful for this moment of shared serenity.

As you both prepare to descend the stairs, Lando pauses, noticing your reluctance to leave the view behind. "Shouldn't I be the one lingering back to admire the horizon? After all, I'm the one leaving, not you," he quips with a playful smirk.

You chuckle at his remark, shaking your head in amusement. "Come on, Lando, don't act like you're the only one who appreciates a good view," you tease back, nudging him lightly.

He grins, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before turning back to the scenery. "Fair point," he concedes, his tone light and playful. “I’ll wait for you downstairs then.”

You nod, watching him make his way down the stairs. The gentle breeze ruffles your hair, and you take a deep breath, committing the scene to memory.

With a sense of purpose, you scan the area, searching for the perfect spot to leave your message. Your eyes alight on a small alcove tucked away in a corner, sheltered from the wind and hidden from plain sight. It’s a secluded nook, easily overlooked by passersby, but will be found if it’s searched for.

Slipping something into the alcove, you ensure it’s nestled securely among the shadows, a subtle gesture meant for only the most observant of visitors. With a satisfied nod, you turn to follow Lando down the stairs.

—

The following day is a whirlwind of activity as your parents arrive at the cottage. They come bearing an array of supplies and comforts, ready to pamper you with their love and attention.

"Sweetheart, we brought some of your favorite homemade meals," your mom chirps, bustling into the kitchen with bags of groceries in tow.

Your dad follows closely behind, a stack of freshly laundered blankets in his arms. "And I made sure to pack extra blankets in case you get chilly," he adds with a warm smile.

Isaac turns to your mother, his expression gentle yet concerned. “Just a heads up, she can’t have any spicy food because of the doctor’s orders,” he explains, hoping to avoid any culinary mishaps.

“Isaac, don’t ruin it,” you mutter, holding the tupperware filled with your favourite dishes.

Your dad, overhearing the conversation, interjects with a reassuring pat on Isaac’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, son. Your mother has spent many hours in the kitchen cooking up a storm for our girl here,” he says with a fond smile. “A little taste of home can work wonders for the soul.”

You can't help but smile at their fussing, feeling a mixture of gratitude and guilt at their doting gestures. "How long are you planning to stay?" you inquire, trying to gauge the extent of their visit.

"Until you're better, of course," your mom replies without hesitation, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Throughout the day, your parents dote on you, attending to your every need with unwavering devotion. They fluff pillows, brew tea, and fuss over you as if you were a child again, and despite the sadness that tugs at your heart, you find solace in their presence.

As evening falls and the cottage is filled with the aroma of home-cooked meals, you can't help but feel a pang of bittersweet nostalgia. These moments of familial closeness are precious, and you savor each one, knowing deep down that they may be fleeting.

Amidst the cozy atmosphere that had filled your cottage, a sudden realization dawns on you. Today is the day Lando is leaving, and with the flurry of activity happening throughout the day, you had almost forgotten.

Abandoning your dinner mid-bite, you quickly put on a pair of shoes, your heart pounding with urgency. As you rush towards the door, your parents pause in their fussing, exchanging puzzled glances as they notice your abrupt departure.

“Where are you going?” your mom asks, concern etched in her voice.

You pause in the doorway, a sense of determination driving you forward. “I have to see Lando,” you reply, your words rushed and breathless.

As you disappear out the door, your parents turn to your brother, confusion evident in their expressions. “Who’s Lando?” your dad asks, his brow furrowed in bewilderment.

Isaac sighs, shaking his head as he meets their gaze. “He’s the one she’s in love with,” he explains softly, a hint of sadness in his voice. “But I’m not sure if she’s ready to accept it yet.”

As you reach the villa, your breath comes in ragged gasps, each inhale becoming a struggle. Pain pulses through your chest with every heartbeat, but you refuse to let it slow you down. Adrenaline surges through your veins, driving you forward with an urgency born of raw emotion.

Your eyes scan the scene before you, taking in the sight of Max hurriedly loading the car with his and Lando’s bags. The trunk is nearly full, a testament to the impending departure that looms over you like a storm cloud. You feel a knot form in your stomach, a sense of panic seizing hold of you as you realize that time is slipping away.

Then, amidst the chaos, you spot Lando emerging from the villa, his expression one of surprise and concern as he catches sight of you. His brow furrows in confusion, his eyes searching yours for an explanation.

Without hesitation, you push yourself forward, your feet carrying you towards him with a desperate urgency. With trembling hands, you reach out to him, your fingers brushing against his arm before wrapping around him in a tight embrace. His warmth envelops you, a comforting anchor amidst the storm raging within you. For a fleeting moment, the pain in your chest eases, replaced by a sense of peace that only he can provide.

For a long moment, you simply hold onto each other, the world around you fading into insignificance as you find solace in each other’s arms. The weight of unspoken words hangs heavy between you, the truth lingering on the tip of your tongue, waiting to be unleashed.

As you finally pull away, a silent understanding passes between you, a shared acknowledgment of the depth of your connection. Lando’s gaze searches yours, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and affection, silently asking if you’re okay.

You manage a faint smile, though it feels fragile on your lips. “I just had to see you before you left,” you confess softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His expression softens, a warmth in his eyes that speaks volumes. “I’m glad you came,” he replies, his voice gentle and reassuring.

You linger for a moment longer, drinking in the sight of him, committing every detail to memory. Then, with a heavy heart, you reluctantly release him, knowing that time is running short.

As Lando returns to help Max with the bags, you watch him go, a sense of longing tugging at your heart.

Once everything was packed up, Lando and Max walked towards you, their footsteps echoing on the gravel driveway. Max reaches you first, his face lit with a warm smile. Without hesitation, he pulls you into a brief, friendly hug.

“Thanks for the good company,” Max says, his voice full of genuine gratitude. “And for keeping Lando’s mood up throughout this trip. You’ve been a real lifesaver.” He chuckles, the sound infectious, and you can’t help but laugh along with him.

“Anytime,” you reply, your smile widening. “It’s been fun having you both around.”

Max steps back, giving Lando space to step forward. Lando’s eyes meet yours, and there’s a depth of emotion there that makes your heart skip a beat. He takes your hands in his, holding them gently as if afraid you might disappear.

“This isn’t goodbye,” Lando says softly, his tone filled with a mixture of hope and determination. “Just a ‘see you later,’ alright?”

You nod, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “See you later,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

Lando pulls you into a tight embrace this time, his arms wrapping around you protectively. You breathe in his familiar scent, the comfort of his presence grounding you in the moment.

He pulls back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he searches your face. “Don’t think I forgot about giving you a pass,” he says with a small, teasing smile. “I’ll be waiting for you at the race.”

You smile through the tears that threaten to spill over. “We’ll see.”

Max claps Lando on the back, breaking the emotional moment. “Come on, mate, we’ve got a plane to catch.”

With one last look, Lando releases you and heads towards the car. You watch them drive away, a mix of sadness and hope swirling within you. The ache in your chest grows, but you try to push it aside, focusing on ways to fulfill the promise of seeing him again.

As you start walking back home, the exertion from earlier catches up to you. Your breath becomes labored, each step feeling heavier than the last. A sharp pain radiates through your chest, and you find yourself struggling to stay upright. Determined to make it back to the cottage, you push on, but every movement is a reminder of your body’s limitations.

By the time you reach the door, you’re barely holding on. You collapse onto the porch steps, gasping for breath, the world around you blurring as you fight to stay conscious. Moments later, the door swings open, and Isaac is there, his face pale with worry.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, rushing to your side. His voice sounds distant, echoing in your ears.

You try to speak, but the words get caught in your throat. Instead, you manage a weak nod, though it’s clear you’re far from okay.

Isaac doesn’t waste another second. He scoops you up in his arms, carrying you inside. “Mom! Dad!” he calls out, his voice frantic. “Something’s wrong. We need to get her to the hospital.”

Your parents appear almost instantly, their faces a mixture of fear and determination. Your dad grabs the car keys while your mom hurries to gather your things, her hands shaking.

In the car, you drift in and out of consciousness, the pain and exhaustion overwhelming you. Your mom holds your hand tightly, whispering soothing words that barely register. Isaac drives with a grim focus, the worry in his eyes reflected in the rearview mirror.

At the hospital, the staff quickly takes over, whisking you away on a stretcher. Your family is left in the waiting room, their anxious faces a blur as you’re rushed through the halls.

As the doctors and nurses work to stabilize you, you catch fleeting thoughts of Lando, Max, and the brief, bright moments you shared. The reality of your condition settles in, and you realize just how fragile your hope had been.

The doctors stabilize you for now, but you wake to the sound of your mother's soft cries in the room. Her face is buried in your father's shoulder, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Your father is holding her close, his eyes red and puffy, a grim expression etched on his face. Isaac stands nearby, his jaw clenched, trying to hold himself together.

You blink, the fluorescent lights above casting a harsh glow on the stark white walls. A doctor stands at the foot of your bed, looking somber. You catch bits and pieces of his words, the clinical detachment in his voice contrasting sharply with the raw emotion in the room.

"...best if she doesn’t return home... too weak... last days in the hospital..."

The full weight of the words crashes over you, and a sense of helplessness fills your heart. You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and the words come out as a rasp. "Mom? Dad?"

Your mother's head snaps up at the sound of your voice, and she rushes to your side, taking your hand in hers. "Oh, sweetheart," she whispers, tears streaming down her face. "We're here. We're right here."

Your father moves closer, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "We won't leave your side," he promises, his voice steady despite the tears in his eyes.

Isaac approaches the bed, his usual bravado stripped away. "Hey," he says softly, trying to muster a smile. "We’re all here for you."

You swallow hard, trying to process the reality of the situation. "How long?" you manage to ask, your voice barely a whisper.

The doctor steps forward, his expression compassionate. "It’s hard to say for certain," he admits gently. "But we’ll do everything we can to keep you comfortable."

You nod, a mixture of fear and resignation settling over you. Your mother's sobs have quieted, but the sorrow in her eyes is unmistakable. "I’m so sorry," you whisper, feeling a pang of guilt for putting them through this.

"No, don’t apologize," your father says firmly, squeezing your shoulder. "This isn’t your fault. We’re just grateful to be here with you."

Your family’s presence brings a small measure of comfort, but the reality of your condition is a heavy burden. You look around at their faces, trying to memorize every detail, every expression. The room feels both claustrophobic and infinite, the moments stretching out like a fragile thread.

As the night wears on, you find solace in their presence. Your mother hums softly, stroking your hair, while your father reads to you from a book you loved as a child. Isaac sits by the window, watching the night sky, his expression pensive.

You know that the days ahead will be difficult, but for now, you take comfort in the love that surrounds you. The hospital room, with its sterile walls and beeping machines, becomes a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you can hold on to the precious moments with your family, no matter how fleeting they may be.

—

The sterile scent of the hospital room is overwhelming, the beeping of the machines a constant reminder of the deteriorating state of your health. The wires and tubes attached to your body are a constant presence, their weight both physical and symbolic. The medication dulls the pain, but it also leaves you in a fog, half-aware of the world around you.

Isaac sits by your bedside, his expression a mix of forced cheerfulness and hidden sorrow. He tries to make you laugh, telling stories and cracking jokes, but there’s an underlying tension in his voice.

You take a shaky breath and glance at Isaac. “So, this is it, huh?” you say with a dry laugh, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the sadness in your voice.

He looks at you, the forced cheerfulness slipping from his face. “Still laughing?” he asks, his voice quivering.

“If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t want that to be the last expression you remember me by.”

Isaac’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Remember when you said that you weren’t able to be a proper older sister to me ever since you got diagnosed?” he asks softly. “That’s wrong. You still were because you powered through every moment of pain on your own. Even now, you’re as selfless as ever.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you swallow hard. “I got a taste of how it feels to be selfish recently,” you confess, your voice trembling. “To see what you want right there in front of you, waiting for you to take it, but I almost got too attached to it that fate had to rip it away from me again.”

“Are you talking about Lando?” Isaac asks gently, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, the memories of your brief time with Lando flooding back, a bittersweet ache in your chest. “Life is so cruel, so fickle,” you say, your voice barely audible. “When I finally accepted my fate, it flipped and gave me a chance to be happy, to fall in love, to live like I’ve never done before. When I experienced it all, it just made me greedy. I wanted to keep living like that. But I won’t be able to because in a moment, it’s taken away again.”

Isaac squeezes your hand, his grip warm and reassuring. “You deserved every moment of happiness,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “And you brought happiness to those around you, too. Remember that.”

The days pass in a blur of medical checks, whispered conversations, and the quiet hum of machines. Your parents come and go, their faces lined with worry but always offering words of comfort and love.

Then comes Sunday, one that’s special for you because it’s also race day.

The hospital room is dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the television screen mounted on the wall. The muted hum of machines and the occasional beep provide a constant backdrop to your labored breathing. Your family surrounds you, their presence a source of comfort even as your strength wanes. The room is filled with an unspoken tension, a fragile hope that somehow, you might find the strength to hold on a little longer.

Earlier in the day, you had pleaded with the nurses to let you watch the race. “Please,” you whispered, your voice weak but determined. “I just want to see him race one last time.”

The nurses had exchanged glances, their expressions softening. “Alright,” one of them had said gently. “We’ll make sure you can watch it.”

Now, the vibrant colors of the Formula 1 race contrast sharply with the sterile white of the hospital room. Lando’s car, resplendent in its sleek orange design, zips around the track with an elegance and speed that seems almost otherworldly. The commentator’s voice crackles with excitement as they describe the race in vivid detail.

“And Lando Norris takes the lead! He’s showing incredible skill out there today, really pushing the limits of his car and his own abilities. The crowd is going wild!”

You try to focus on the race, on the laps ticking by, the thrill of each turn, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult. Your vision blurs, the lines between the real and the surreal beginning to merge. Every breath is a struggle, each one more labored than the last.

Your mother sits by your side, her hand gently stroking your hair, her eyes red-rimmed but determined to stay strong. Your father stands at the foot of the bed, his face etched with lines of worry and sorrow. Isaac holds your hand, his grip firm and reassuring, his eyes never leaving your face.

You gather your remaining strength, turning your head slightly to look at Isaac. “Can you give him a message for me?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper, each word a struggle.

Isaac leans closer, his face etched with concern and determination. “What do you want to say?” he asks gently, his eyes locked onto yours, ready to carry your words to Lando.

You pause, the weight of the moment settling over you. With great effort, you manage to form the words that have been in your heart. “Tell him… tell him that he made me believe in living life again. That he gave me something beautiful in my last days. And… and that I’ll always be cheering for him, even if I’m not there.”

Isaac’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, and he nods, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. “I will. I promise.”

On the television, Lando navigates the sharp turns of the track with precision and grace. The roar of the engines and the thrill of the race create a stark contrast to the quiet, somber atmosphere of your room. The commentator’s voice booms with excitement.

“Norris is extending his lead! This could be his race if he keeps up this pace. The team must be thrilled with his performance!”

On the Formula 1 track, the atmosphere is electric. Lando sits in his car, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He can feel every vibration of the engine, every nuance of the track. The pit crew buzzes with activity, their movements synchronized and efficient. Over the radio, his engineer’s voice provides updates and encouragement.

“You’re doing great, Lando. Keep this up and the win is yours.”

Lando nods inside his helmet, his focus razor-sharp. The crowd’s cheers blend into a singular wave of energy that propels him forward. He pushes the car to its limits, every fiber of his being dedicated to the race.

Back in the hospital, your breathing becomes more labored, and your family’s concern deepens. Your mother’s voice breaks as she hums softly, a lullaby from your childhood. Isaac squeezes your hand, his own tears finally breaking free.

“I love you,” you whisper, the words a final, heartfelt goodbye.

“We love you too,” Isaac responds, his voice choked with emotion. “More than anything.”

On the track, Lando crosses the finish line, the checkered flag waving triumphantly. The crowd erupts into a frenzy of cheers and applause. The commentator’s voice is almost drowned out by the noise.

“Lando Norris wins the race! What an incredible performance!”

In the paddock, Lando is overwhelmed with joy, the culmination of his efforts and dedication. He pulls off his helmet, his face breaking into a wide smile as he celebrates with his team. He can’t wait to share the victory, to tell you about the race, to see the look of pride in your eyes.

You watch from the hospital room, as Lando stands on the podium, lifting the trophy high, a sense of accomplishment filling him. A smile graces your lips, noticing the pure joy on his face. Then, you close your eyes, the vision of Lando’s smile still fresh in your mind.

Time stands still. As the world fades around you, your family holds you close, their whispered goodbyes blending into a chorus of love and sorrow. The light in your eyes dims, and with one last, labored breath, you slip away into a place beyond suffering.

As soon as the machine flatlines, the piercing sound of the monitor cuts through the room, signaling the end. Your mother's cries shatter the silence, raw and heart-wrenching. She grips your hand with desperate strength, her knuckles turning white, as if her hold on you could somehow bring you back.

"No, no, please!" she sobs, her voice cracking with each word. Tears stream down her face, her body trembling with the force of her grief. She shakes you gently at first, then more insistently, refusing to accept the finality of it. "Wake up, please wake up!"

Your father stands by her side, his own face etched with anguish. He places a hand on her shoulder, trying to offer support, but his own tears betray his stoic exterior. Isaac, standing a little apart, is frozen in shock, his eyes wide and uncomprehending as he watches the scene unfold.

The room is filled with the oppressive weight of sorrow, the air heavy with the collective grief of your family. The nurses, having done all they could, step back to give your family space, their own expressions somber and respectful.

Your mother’s cries grow louder, a desperate plea to a reality that feels too cruel to be true. She holds your hand to her cheek, her tears wetting your skin as she rocks back and forth. "Please, don’t leave us," she whispers, her voice breaking. "We need you."

The doctor steps forward, his face grave, and gently places a hand on your mother’s arm. "I’m so sorry for your loss," he says quietly, his words sincere but powerless against the tidal wave of their grief.

The only reality that matters is the unbearable pain of losing you, and the impossible task of trying to say goodbye.

On the top step of the podium, Lando basks in the glow of victory, the thrill of the race still pulsing through him. But amidst the celebration, a nagging feeling tugs at him, a sense that something is missing. A bittersweet undercurrent flows through his triumph.

Unbeknownst to him, a message of love and gratitude is on its way, bridging the distance between the track and the hospital room, connecting two hearts in a moment that transcends time and space.

Suddenly, your phone rings, the shrill sound cutting through the flatline beeping on the monitor. Each ring echoes through the room like a mournful dirge. Isaac’s hand hovers over the device, his heart pounding in his chest as he hesitates to answer. But when the call comes again, he knows there’s no escaping the inevitable.

With trembling fingers, he accepts the call, the voice on the other end sending a shiver down his spine. “Were you watching the race? I told you that you are my lucky charm.”

Isaac’s breath catches in his throat, his eyes welling with tears at the bitter irony of Lando’s words. He struggles to find the strength to respond, his voice choked with emotion. “Lando… it’s Isaac.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line, followed by a tremor of uncertainty in Lando’s voice. “Isaac? What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

Isaac’s heart clenches at the desperation in Lando’s voice, his own grief threatening to consume him. “She’s gone, Lando,” he manages to choke out, his voice breaking with sorrow. “My sister… she’s gone.”

The words hang heavy in the air, a painful reminder of the cruel twist of fate that has robbed them of their happiness. Lando’s breath hitches, his voice barely a whisper as he responds. “No… no, that can’t be true. Tell me you’re lying, tell me this is some sick joke please”

Isaac’s heart aches as he hears the disbelief and anguish in Lando’s voice. He wishes he could erase the truth, to shield Lando from the devastating reality they now face. But there’s no escaping it, no denying the painful truth that hangs between them like a heavy shroud.

“I wish I could, Lando,” Isaac murmurs, his own voice choked with sorrow. “I wish this was just a sick joke, but… but she’s really gone.”

There’s a long, agonizing pause, broken only by the sound of Lando’s ragged breathing on the other end of the line. Isaac can imagine the turmoil raging within him, the crushing weight of grief threatening to overwhelm him entirely. He relays the message that you had for him, only hearing Lando breathing heavily in response.

As Lando stands there, clutching the phone that brought him devastating news, the world around him seems to blur into a haze of incomprehensible grief. The congratulations from his fellow drivers fall on deaf ears, their voices distant and muffled as if coming from a far-off place. Daniel, Carlos, George—all of them offer their heartfelt congratulations, their smiles genuine, but Lando can't bring himself to respond.

He feels disconnected, as if he's merely a spectator watching his own life unfold from a distance. The cameras flash around him, capturing the jubilant celebrations of victory, but Lando feels nothing but a hollow emptiness gnawing at his soul.

Unable to bear the facade any longer, Lando excuses himself from the crowd, retreating to the sanctuary of his driver's room. Once alone, the weight of his grief crashes over him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him in its depths.

With a gut-wrenching scream, Lando releases the pent-up anguish that has been building inside him since the moment he received that fateful call. He falls to his knees, his body racked with sobs as he grapples with the cruel twist of fate that has torn his world apart.

In that moment of agonizing despair, Lando feels utterly alone, lost in a sea of grief with no shore in sight. The victory he had worked so hard for feels meaningless now, a hollow triumph overshadowed by the devastating loss of someone he held dear.

As the echoes of his cries fade into the silence of the empty room, Lando finds himself consumed by a profound sense of despair. In the midst of his greatest triumph, he is confronted with the harsh reality of mortality, and it is a bitter pill to swallow.

Alone in his hotel room, Lando’s victory feels hollow amidst the empty silence that surrounds him. Instead of celebrating with the fanfare of music, alcohol, and camaraderie that would be expected after such a result, he finds himself throwing his belongings haphazardly into his suitcase, his movements mechanical and devoid of purpose.

The room feels suffocating, the weight of grief pressing down on him like a physical force. With a sense of urgency, Lando hastily gathers his things, his hands trembling as he zips up his suitcase.

As he exits the hotel, he fires off a text to his manager, explaining the situation briefly, typing through his clouded vision full of more unshed tears.

Lando chooses not to drive, the mere thought of operating a vehicle feeling like an insurmountable task. Instead, he hails a taxi, his mind consumed by thoughts of you and the gaping void left in your absence.

The taxi driver casts him a curious glance as he climbs into the backseat, his tear-streaked face a stark contrast to the typical fare. But Lando pays no mind to the stares, his thoughts consumed by the overwhelming grief that threatens to consume him.

Throughout the journey to the airport, Lando’s tears continue to flow unabated, his heart weighed down by the magnitude of his loss. He feels adrift, lost in a sea of pain and sorrow, unsure of how to navigate the tumultuous waters of his emotions.

Lando finds himself grappling with conflicting emotions as he boards the plane back to the town filled with memories of you. Despite the overwhelming pain of revisiting every corner suffused with reminders of your presence, he knows deep down that he cannot stay away.

The thought of pretending that everything is fine when it's not feels like a betrayal of the love you shared, a denial of the profound impact you had on his life. And so, with a heavy heart and a mind clouded by grief, Lando embarks on the journey back to the place where his heart still lingers, knowing that he must confront the pain head-on in order to find a semblance of peace.

Lando’s return to town is marked by exhaustion and dishevelment, the toll of a sleepless night evident in the shadows beneath his eyes and the weariness etched into his features. He barely manages to greet Isaac before retreating to the solitude of the lighthouse, seeking solace in the familiar embrace of its quiet sanctuary.

As Lando stands at the top of the lighthouse, his gaze fixed on the horizon, he can't shake the feeling of déjà vu that washes over him. The flickering beam of the lighthouse casts eerie shadows against the walls, the only sound the mournful cry of seagulls in the distance. It's as if he's been transported back in time, to a moment frozen in history, when tragedy and loss hung heavy in the air.

Tears stream down his cheeks, his sobs echoing in the empty space around him as he allows himself to surrender to the overwhelming tide of emotion.

In the stillness of the lighthouse, Lando is consumed by a sense of profound loss, his heart aching with the absence of the one he longs for. He sits there for hours, his thoughts consumed by memories of you, his soul yearning for the warmth of your presence.

In the dim light, Lando recalls the story you once shared with him, of the tragic love that had unfolded within these very walls decades ago. A woman, waiting faithfully for her lover's return, had spent countless nights standing vigil at the top of the lighthouse, her heart filled with hope and longing. But as the years passed and her lover failed to return, her hope turned to despair, her love transformed into bitter regret.

Now, as Lando stands in the same spot, he can't help but draw parallels between that long-ago tragedy and his own situation. Like the woman of the story, he finds himself clinging to a glimmer of hope, praying for a miracle that may never come. In his heart, he still holds onto the belief that you'll come back to him, that the news of your loss is just a bad dream from which he'll soon awaken.

With each passing moment, however, the harsh reality of your absence becomes more pronounced, the weight of grief bearing down on him like a leaden cloak. Yet, despite the pain that threatens to consume him, Lando refuses to give up hope. He remains steadfast in his vigil, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of your return, his heart yearning for the moment when he'll finally see you again.

His gaze sweeps over every corner of the lighthouse, wanting to etch every detail into his memory. The soft glow of the fading sunlight filters through the windows, casting a warm golden hue over the space. He takes a deep breath, trying to imprint the scent of saltwater and sea breeze into his mind.

As he moves around, his eyes fall upon a small alcove tucked away in a corner, hidden from plain sight. Something tugs at his instincts, urging him to investigate further. With cautious curiosity, he steps closer, his heart pounding in anticipation.

Reaching into the alcove, his fingers brush against something smooth and delicate. He pulls out a folded piece of paper, his breath catching in his throat as he realizes what it is. With trembling hands, he unfolds the note, his eyes scanning the words written in your handwriting.

Lando, I hope this note finds its way to you. It's strange how emotions can turn even the fearless into cowards. I couldn't bring myself to give you this letter in person, so I'm leaving it here, hoping it reaches you. I'm guessing you already know the truth, and that I'm no longer here by your side.

As he reads those words, he can hear your voice in his mind. The acknowledgment that you couldn't face him in person fills him with a mix of sadness and understanding. He feels a pang of guilt, wondering if there was something he could have done differently to make you feel more comfortable sharing your feelings with him.

I don’t think a mere ‘I’m sorry’ is enough for keeping the truth from you. The reason why I did is because every moment with you felt like a dream, and in my dreams, my illness never existed. I’ve always cursed fate for the shitty hand it dealt me but I never would’ve gotten a chance to live something close to the perfect life if it wasn’t for fate.

A melancholic smile tugs at his lips as he reflects on the sentiment expressed in your words. Each moment spent with you had indeed felt like a dream, a precious respite from the relentless demands of the racing world.

Before you came to town, I felt like a living corpse, waiting for my illness to take me under, but when I met you, it gave me a purpose to look forward to the next day. Being your tour guide, although I think it was because you just wanted to spend time with me, was probably the most I’ve lived ever since I was diagnosed. While I used your presence as an excuse to live like I used to, I didn’t ever imagine falling in love with anyone, much less a British racing driver.

A wave of emotions wash over him as he reads your heartfelt confession, his own heart aching with a mixture of sadness and longing. Tears blur his vision as he continues reading, slightly tracing over your words with his finger.

I wish I had the courage to say this to you face to face, to witness your reaction and perhaps hear you say the words back. But one thing I admire about you is your ability to live in the moment. So, in this moment, I want to tell you that I love you, Lando Norris, even though I'm no longer by your side. I hope our memories bring a smile to your face, just as they did to mine.

Please, don’t blame yourself for any of this. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. You're the reason I found joy again, laughter again. Lando, you brought me back to life. Thank you. I'll love you always.

- Your favourite tour guide

As he reaches the final words of the note, he clutches it to his chest, feeling your presence close to him. In that moment, amidst the quiet solitude of the lighthouse, Lando finds a fleeting sense of peace amidst the storm of his emotions. He knows that no matter what the future holds, your love will always remain a guiding light in his heart.

With tears streaming down his cheeks, he whispers a silent promise to you, his beloved tour guide, into the salty breeze surrounding your favourite place. “I’ll never forget you. I’ll carry your love with me, always.”

Then he adds with a sob wracking through his body, “I love you too.”

As he sits in the lighthouse, Lando no longer waits for your return. Yet, he feels your love enveloping him, every word of the note etched into his heart. Though you may be gone, your presence lingers, filling the space around him with warmth and tenderness. In that moment, he finds solace in the memories of your love, knowing that you'll always be with him, no matter where life takes him.

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peachsukii · 19 days

Text

𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱

( chapter 6 - Tourniquet )

『 ♡ bakugo x fem!reader ; pro-heroes au | friends to lovers 』

꒰ summary ꒱ Devastating news is dropped in your lap about your future career as a pro hero. A few days in the hospital leaves you listless about life in general before being sent back home to reality. Even though your environment hasn't changed, your world has been rocked and coming back down to earth feels impossible. Thankfully, Bakugo's more than patient with you and willing to walk you back into normalcy, one day at a time.

꒰ tags & warnings ꒱ suggestive themes (nothing graphic), PTSD, cursing, talks of trauma, lots of medical talk & diagnosis | sweet confessions, soft bakugo, angst with happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, mutual pining, friends to lovers

꒰ masterlist // cross-posted to ao3 // word count: 8.1k ꒱

~ TIME: 7:15AM - Hospital (One Hour Earlier)

"I'll help you back into bed and then we can go over your test results." Saki carefully assists you out of the wheelchair and lifts you into the hospital bed, gracefully tucking you into the sheets.

"We received the toxicology report and bloodwork results while we performed the MRI. We were unable to decipher what drugs were administered during your time in the compound, but it affected your quirk factor tremendously."

"What does that mean?" you question. Before all of this, you had no idea a quirk factor could even be manipulated, let alone damaged.

"In plain terms, your quirk being forced to activate caused it to weaken in strength. Your bloodwork thankfully confirmed you do not have any bacterial infections from the injections you were given, however," Saki pauses to grab her clipboard from the countertop. "The EKG results showed signs of an arrhythmia, which is common among drug related issues."

You don't say anything, too weary to form a cognitive thought about everything she's telling you.

"I know this is a lot to process, we don't expect you to make heads or tails of it today. We'll be keeping you for one more day for observation while we create a treatment plan for your recovery. This means you may not be able to return to pro hero work for sometime." Saki takes your hand in hers. "Get some rest for now. I'll be back in a bit to check on you."

All you can do is nod while settling into the bed, trying to get comfortable enough to sleep. The thoughts swirling in your head are making you dizzy alongside the pain killers they've hooked you up to. It doesn't take long for your eyes to feel too heavy to hold open, drifting off to sleep, avoiding the weight of your reality for a little while longer.

A familiar figure approaches you in an empty room, a shadow standing in front of you.

"Hey," a familiar voice greets - your voice. "Didn't think I'd see you again."

"I don't know who you are."

Yes, in fact, you do. You're too afraid to face the truth. Demons don't vanish overnight, they become apart of you.

"What do you want?"

She moves closer, extending her hand out to you. "Come with me."

Calm down, it's only a dream...right?

You take her hand, walking with her into the nothingness of your mind. She halts, staring forward before turning her gaze toward you. It's the same reflection you saw in the compound that one night, but she looks...sad, not wicked.

"We're in this together now."

We?

There's no way she's comforting you right now.

"Don't believe me? Think about what I am."

That's when it hits you all at once - she's the manifestation of your trauma. She’s gotta be, there’s no other explanation. Or is she a leftover hallucination from the drugs?

"You can't erase me, I'm part of you now."

You begin to speak as she's fading away into the ether, hiding in your thoughts as you fall into too deep of a sleep to continue dreaming.

~ TIME: 8:40AM - Hospital (Current Time)

Bakugo's hesitant to ask for clarity. "What...does that mean?"

Saki continues. "The narcotics she was forced to take are unlike anything we've seen in recent years, which is, unfortunately, to be expected from an underground experimental drug ring. It's all homemade and untraceable, but what we can conclude is that it did do detrimental damage to her quirk factor by forcing it to activate against her will for long periods of time. It also explains the mild heart arrhythmia we found during her EKG."

Silence cuts through the hallway, the world going quiet as Bakugo ruminates on her words. If only he was faster that night, none of this would have happened. You'd be safe and sound, lying on the couch together without a care in the world.

That day feels so long ago.

"I know this is tough to swallow," Saki says quietly. "But it's not impossible for her to regain strength. We have a specialized rehab program for quirk degeneration that would benefit her recovery, it'll be awhile until she's back to full strength. The hospital offers a wonderful PTSD therapy program as well."

"How long's awhile?" Bakugo presses.

"It's hard to say for certain as it depends on her recovery speed. Some see results in a few months, but it could be a year or more."

A whole fucking year? All because...no, he can't keep blaming himself. But goddammit, he's furious about the whole situation.

"I have a few other patients to get through this morning, but I'll be back soon to check on her and let you know any further updates," Saki adds as she's hurrying down the hall and into another room. Bakugo exhales the breath he was unconsciously holding as he returns to your room and sits in the chair by the window, picking up his book to pass the time.

He may as well be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders knowing his intuition was right.

~ TIME: 9:17AM - Hospital

It wasn't long until Midoriya showed up to the hospital with your mother in tow, quietly peaking into the room to see if you were awake. Bakugo looks up from his book, giving them a silent nod of acknowledgement. He gets up from his seat and ushers them out into the hallway to avoid disturbing your much needed sleep. Your mother locks her arms around Bakugo before he can reciprocate, squeezing until she couldn't anymore.

"Thank you, Katsuki," she mumbles into his chest. She lets go of him, taking a step back to compose herself. "Do you know when she'll wake up?"

"She's not in a coma," Bakugo explains. "Just restin' up. Nurse told me the painkillers make her sleepy."

The immediate look of worry drops from your mother's face.

"Oh, okay. Do you know anything else?"

Midoriya glances at Bakugo - his expression doesn't give Midoriya confidence on your condition.

"Her quirk factor's been damaged. Otherwise, she's fine." Bakugo tries to keep it together while giving a minimal explanation. He knew the more information he'd pile on to your mom, the more she'd spiral and endlessly worry about your condition. "Said there's a program to help her strengthen it again. I'll let her fill in the blanks for ya when she wakes up since I haven't gotten a chance'ta talk to her today."

"That's great news!" Midoriya chirps, trying to lighten the mood. A brief pause falls upon the three of them when a noise comes from your room, a groan and the sound of rustling sheets. Your mother takes a step back and peeks inside to see you moving around, signaling that you're awake - alive.

"Honey!" she cries, running to your side to scoop you up into an awkward hug. "My sweet girl, I am so glad you're alright."

You're barely awake enough to register who's speaking, let alone touching you. Your eyes flicker open to see the boys at the foot of your bed while your mother's face is burrowing into your shoulder.

"M-mom?" you question. "Not...not so tight. Everything still hurts."

She lets you go, apologizing under her breath and moving to cradle your face in her hands. "I'm sorry sweetie, I'm happy that you're safe."

"It's okay," you murmur, groggy from all the medicine flowing through your system.

Midoriya walks to the opposite side of the bed to place a hand on your shoulder and offers you a bright smile. "How are you feeling?"

You know Midoriya means well, but that question may as well be an invisible gun, locked and loaded with all your traumatic memories ready to fire at any time. It's only a fraction of a second, but one glance in Bakugo's direction tells him all he needs to know. Your eyes hold a certain type of despondence to them - not rage or fear, but grief.

"I'm alright!" you affirm, a fake smile plastered on your face. "Dizzy, but okay."

Bakugo's heart sinks.

He knows you're lying through your teeth.

"Tell me everything," your mother pleads as she takes one of your hands in hers, carefully running her fingers over your palm like she used to when you were a kid. She winces at all the bruises littering your arms, tears pricking the corners of her eyes from seeing her little girl in such a weakened state. As if she was summoned, Saki appears in the doorway once more, returning from her round of checkups.

"Oh! You've got a full house," she jokes as she treads over to your mother. "Hi, I'm Saki, Y/N's nurse. You must be mom, pleased to meet you. The boys have been very kind and understanding while your daughter's been in our care."

"What can I say, they're both one of a kind." She wavers, thinking of how to phrase the dreaded question rattling in her head. "Can you go over all of the test results with us, please?"

Saki takes a minute to rummage through her stack of files and flips one open.

"Of course, have a seat."

Medical Chart Patient: Y/N Age: 23 Gender: Female Hero Alias: Y/H/N Admitted @ 11:30PM - BP 132/81 (Hypertension) - Upper thigh wound - Patient conscious but severely dehydrated & dazed - Victim of a drug experimentation ring, unknown substances consumed for 30+ calendar days - Started IV of nicardipine/vitamin c/saline to lower BP & re-hydrate - Dissolvable stitches & adhesive for thigh wound - Administered 5mg of morphine IV for pain relief 2:40AM - EKG, MRI & Bloodwork/Toxicology performed - BP 121/62 (Elevated) - Administered additional 5mg of morphine IV for pain relief - Started second round of saline solution via IV to flush leftover substances 7:00AM - BP 114/58 (Normal) - EKG Results: Irregular heart rate - mild heart arrhythmia detected - MRI Results: No abnormalities or long-term internal damage Bloodwork Results: CBC (WBC: 3,200 RBC: 2.9, HGB: 10.1) Metabolic Panel (Glucose - 45mg) Unknown substance found in sample, potentially causing health degeneration Diagnosis: Patient is clear of any long standing terminal illness, no internal injury found during testing. Return for a follow up EKG and determine if beta blockers are needed for arrhythmia. Unknown substance found in toxicology report - appears to be non-lethal but has acted as a poison to the patient’s body, causing an infection. Bloodwork revealed low levels of Glucose as well as lowered red & white blood cell counts. Quirk factor has been affected, rehab is needed to regain strength. Patient recommended to finish a round of antibiotics during detox. Patient should refrain from working until further notice. Follow up with a psychological evaluation for further treatment regarding potential withdraw and PTSD.

"Do you have any questions?" Saki queries, eyes trailing back and forth between you and your mother.

"So..." Her words start sinking in as you struggle to find your own. "My quirk regressed due to the drugs, gave me a blood infection and a potential heart problem. And I can't continue to be a hero?"

The room stills, your question anxiously hanging in limbo. Saki's response cuts through the dead air like a knife. "That is correct."

Everyone around you begins to press further, but it all becomes TV static to your ears as your vision tunnels on the tiniest specks in the linoleum flooring, finding anything else to think about. The weight of your current reality is catching up to you and the only response you can muster is to shut everything out.

Seems like you're fresh out of miracles.

~ TIME: 9:49AM - Hospital

After the nuclear news about your health, your mother decided it was best to head back home, leaving you in the loving care of the boys.

"If you need anything, please call me, honey," she sighs over your shoulder in an embrace. "I'm happy you're back, safe and sound. Don't worry, you're a strong woman, sweetie. You'll get back on your feet in no time."

Yeah...strong.

What if you didn't want to be strong? What if you want to fall apart and let it all go?

"I love you. Please call me when you get released and let me know what's going on. If you don't," she shifts her focus to Bakugo. "I'll call Katsuki, he doesn't sugar coat anything."

"Mom!" you whine, shaking your head in embarrassment. "I'll call you, promise."

She nods while walking to the doorway, Midoriya tailing behind her to drive her back to Musutafu. He gives you a nod as he disappears into the hallway. A few seconds pass until you have the guts to look in Bakugo's direction at the end of the hospital bed. His eyes are cautiously studying your body language, trying to decode how you're truly feeling, but goddammit, he's terrified to ask.

"Kat?" Your voice is meek, barely above a whisper.

He can practically hear his heart begin to fracture at the crack in your voice. He knows what's coming. And honestly? He's not sure if he can handle seeing you in such a broken state. Your dream was shattered in front of everyone you love.

"Yeah?"

You can feel your lower lip start to wobble as you hold the words on your tongue, eyes screwed shut and the sheets tightly balled in your fists.

"Can you...hold me?"

Bakugo reaches for the collar of his shirt and pulls on it timidly. He can't be gutless right now, you need him - now more than ever. You hear the shuffle of his feet approach the side of the bed, followed by the sheets being gently lifted to make room for him to sit down. When you finally look up with glassy eyes, his head is tilted with one arm extended in your direction, welcoming you without any further uncertainty. You blink a few times, tucking your legs inward and carefully stretching them over his lap, scooting closer until you're curling up into his chest. Strong arms make their way around your body, encasing you with a comfort you've hopelessly missed. The embrace he wraps you in feels like a homecoming and stronger than any armor you could wear.

"S'only you and me," Bakugo whispers, cradling your head against him. "I got ya."

It hits you like a hurricane, the storm of emotions surging through you with an intensity you've never felt before. There's no use in holding it in anymore. And so, you let the rain fall, sobbing, snotty and sniveling, shrinking into a scared little girl in his arms.

He's always despised the rain, but in this moment? Bakugo's found a new hatred for it.

~ The Following Day: Discharge - Hospital @ 5:53PM

Two days in the hospital and its felt like an eternity. A handful of antibiotics and withdrawal medication, a recommendation to a psychiatrist and quirk rehabilitation treatment plan later, they're ready to send you on your merry way. The boys have been a blessing in the last two days with Midoriya taking care of your mom while Bakugo's been by your side for whatever you need, no matter how big or small. Bringing you comfy clothes, sneaking in snacks, and reading a book out loud until you fell asleep being the short list of niceties.

How the hell are you ever going to being able to pay him back for all these selfless sweet nothings?

"Ready to go, Lite-brite?" Bakugo double-checks while taking a second glance around the room, a backpack thrown over his shoulder. "Izuku's at the checkout desk to get all your paperwork for the agency."

You nod. "More than ready. Let's get the hell outta here."

Bakugo holds out his hand for you to take. Without meaning to, you pause.

"What?" He pouts, taking a half-step back to give you space. "Don't wanna hold my hand?"

"Of course I do." You take his hand and intertwine your fingers with his. "Didn't mean to make you think otherwise."

He hopes you don't notice the obnoxious amount of sweat coating his palm under yours, or the intense thumping of his heartbeat through his fingers. Thank goodness you two are still in the hospital - he might actually faint over holding your goddamn hand. As you two approach the lobby, Midoriya waves at you from the checkout area, signaling for you to come over to the desk.

"I ran copies of your paperwork over to the agency earlier, so you are free to head home. They told me they'd call you later to review everything and want you to get some rest," Midoriya informs. "I called your mom as well to let her know you're heading home. The agency did recommend that you shouldn't stay at home since the kidnappers have your address. They're in custody, but better safe than sorry."

"Then she's stayin' with me," Bakugo declares, tapping his fingers along the back of your hand for assurance. "I'll look after her."

"That's for the best. Oh, right!" Midoriya exclaims as he reaches into his bag and hands you...a new phone?! "Here. We were able to take all of the stuff from your old one and transfer it, too."

You're staring at it in disbelief as the lock screen flashes a picture of the three of you.

"I'll pay you back," you say with a bittersweet smile. "Thank you, Izuku. You didn't have to do that."

"Don't worry about it! Kacchan and I split the cost."

Bakugo rolls his eyes and turns his head away from you. "S'no biggie, y'dont owe us shit. C'mon, let's go home." ~ Bakugo's Apartment: 6:45PM

Walking into Bakugo's apartment for the first time in over a month fills you with tranquility, the aura of his home welcoming you with open arms. Would you have loved to go back to your own place? Of course, but you have no idea if anyone from the drug ring knows where you live, like Midoriya said. It's one more stressor you don't want to think about until you need to.

"Are ya hungry?" Bakugo questions with a hand on your upper back. "I can make you somethin'."

You flash him a smile, but it fades away as fast as it appears. "Not right now, I desperately want a hot shower."

"Knock yourself out, y'know where everythin' is. Grab whatever clothes you need from my room. Leave yours in the bathroom and I'll wash'em."

Oh...right. You didn't bring anything with you except the clothes on your back.

It's not like you haven't worn Bakugo's clothes in the past, but it feels way more intimate than ever. Imagining him doing your laundry makes you blush something fierce, suddenly self-conscious about it. You have to force yourself to shake the thought away. He's folded your underwear for years and vice versa. You’ve showered here plenty of times. Hell, you’ve slept in his bed numerous times.

What's the big deal?

"I know that face." Bakugo comments. He caught on to the anxiety emanating from you the second you walked through the door. Being apart for a month didn't seem to weaken his ability to perceive your true emotions. "Quit your worryin', wouldn't offer if I didn't wanna do it."

"Alright," you mutter lowly. "Sorry, still feeling a little out of it."

Bakugo pats you on the head. "Don't be sorry. Go shower, I'll make some dinner for us. You're gonna be starvin' afterward, and y'should eat before takin' any more meds."

You might not be hungry, but can't deny he's right.

“Alright. Thanks, Kat. Mind if I leave the bathroom door cracked?”

A brief wave of sadness crashes through him at your tone. What did they do to you to make you so paranoid? He knows it’s gonna take time for you to acclimate back to a daily routine, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch you walk around with a cloud over your head.

“‘Course not. Yell if ya need me.”

You slink back into Bakugo’s bedroom, waltzing over to his dresser to pick out a set of clothes to wear. It takes an embarrassing amount of convincing to open his underwear drawer, barely looking and blindly grabbing a pair for yourself to change into. You pick out an old All Might t-shirt as well and head off to the bathroom before you change your mind and make things even weirder than they needed to be. You pause at the sink to stare into the mirror, unable to stop yourself from making a mental checklist at every little detail that’s changed in your appearance. The lifelessness in your stare makes your stomach sour, unable to keep eye contact with yourself longer than a few seconds. It reminds you of the last time you looked in a mirror for too long, that shadow-self taunting you to set her free. You can't risk encountering her again - not today.

Bakugo waits for the shower to turn on, only continuing to shuffle around the kitchen in search of ingredients when he hears the water running. He hasn’t gone shopping in a few weeks, living off of protein bars and shakes instead of his usual prepared meals. His appetite waned while you were gone, unable to bring himself to eat consistently like he used to. He’s about to turn the stove on when he hears your voice echo faintly down the hallway, dropping what he’s doing and hurrying to the bathroom door.

“Need somethin’?” Bakugo calls out, loud enough to be sure you hear him over the sounds of the water and ventilation fan.

“This is gonna sound so needy,” you whine, feeling ashamed to keep asking him for help after all the trouble him and Midoriya have gone through. “Can you…stay in here and talk to me? Being alone is giving me stupid anxiety.”

He sighs, slipping through the door and perching himself on the vanity. "You're not needy, don't say shit like that. What do y'wanna talk about?"

What the hell do you talk about? What he did while you were gone? The weather or the news?

"Uhh...what's for dinner?"

Good enough.

"Was thinkin' something basic like chicken and rice. Don't wanna make you sick by eating somethin' too rich off the bat."

The pause in conversation is gnawing on your nerves. Bakugo clears his throat. "That sound okay to you?"

"Mhm."

Popping open the bottle of shampoo, the familiar scent invades your senses and forces nostalgia upon you that you didn't even know you had tucked away. A handful of memories come back in flashes - movie nights, late night dinners, 3AM phone calls, early morning workouts, afternoon coffee runs during patrol breaks...it hits you like a train, crushing you mentally to know you're using everything that's his, consuming pieces of him that you've craved after being apart for so long. Something as simple as goddamn 'Pine Trees & Campfire' shampoo is destroying you all over again. You try to stop the hiccup in your throat from being heard, but it's too late.

"You alright in there?" Bakugo asks when he hears it, worried he upset you. "I can make whatever y'want, I'll run to-"

"That's not it," you interject awkwardly. You can't tell him that you're distraught over a stupid fragrance, no way in hell.

"Do you...want me to help you?" He stumbles through the words, embarrassed to be thinking about your bare skin and the potential of seeing you in such a vulnerable light, the only thing keeping you hidden from his sight being a thin layer of steam and suds.

"I..." you start while continuing to rush through the rest of the shower routine as a distraction, but it doesn't work. Of course it doesn't - there's no shoving this down anymore. What good would it do now to lie to him about how you feel? You might as well tell him the truth.

"I realized how much I missed you."

Bakugo's head falls into his hands, heat radiating from his face and warming his palms. There's so much you two need to talk about. You've both gotten through the confession portion, but the weight of it all is becoming too much to bear. He's, for lack of a better word, dying to hold you, kiss you, to bask in your presence like old times.

"Yeah, missed bein' able to call you to talk about stupid shit and hear your voice. Did a few times the first week. Old habits die hard."

The bathroom falls quiet when you turn off the shower, the subtle squeak of the metal rack as you pull the fresh towel behind the curtain being the only sound filling the room. It sends Bakugo into an unexpected cold sweat. You're about to walk out in nothing but...that.

Should he leave? Do you want him to leave? Is he...allowed to see you in only a towel?

His eyes shoot to the floor the second he hears the curtain rings clink together, white-knuckling the edge of the vanity like his life depended on it.

"Katsuki," you laugh, gripping the top of the towel draped over your body. "Don't be such a nerd about this."

Bakugo's eyes whip back to you, eyebrows scrunched together with his cheeks slightly puffed. He's adorable like this, a strawberry hue spreading like wildfire across his features.

"I-I'm not!" he argues. "You wanna walk around in nothin'? Be my damn guest."

Shit, that's not what he meant to say.

You start to snicker, devolving into a cackle that has you in tears, holding your side and wiping at your eyes.

"Stop laughin' ya brat!" he shouts, not able to keep a straight face himself once he sees the real you come to light, the radiant girl he loves. It brings him comfort knowing he can still make you laugh until you cry happy tears after the hell you've been through. Your giggles are music to his ears - an angelic choir. He launches himself off the vanity and heads for the door, mumuring "Get your ass dressed already" as he's shutting it behind him.

After staring at the pile of clothes for too long, you throw on the chosen shirt and pair of boxers, savoring the warmth it fills you with as the fabric lays atop your damp skin. Maybe things will be easier than you think and you won't turn into a phantom that listlessly wanders through life. Maybe, just maybe, Bakugo's the key to finding your old self and stepping back into her shoes. Exiting the bathroom, you're about to head into the kitchen when you overhear Bakugo fidgeting with something in his bedroom. You patter down the hall and peer into the room, curious with whatever he's messing with. He catches your silhouette out of the corner of his eye and nearly jumps out of his skin.

"God, you're like a fuckin' mouse!" Bakugo yells, dropping the box in his hands. "Thought y'were still in the bathroom, scared the shit outta me."

"Sorry," you apologize with your hand over your mouth, holding in a laugh and covering up the sneer tugging at your lips. There's a small box on his dresser, a coral colored jewelry case of some kind. "What's that?"

Bakugo groans dramatically and slumps his shoulders. You've caught him red handed.

"Dammit. It's somethin' I bought a long ass time ago."

His fingers graze over the cotton material delicately, reminiscing about that day from years prior. The two of you had gotten the approvals for your apartments in Tokyo, ecstatic that you were able to find places within a mile walking distance of one another - Midoriya, too. After meeting with the realtor in the city, you two were free to wander around for the day. Bakugo remembers how adorably ecstatic you were, tugging him toward the train station to go to Shibuya and celebrate, a.k.a window shop through the square, play arcade games until he berated you for wasting money, and bar hop to indulge in the best food and drinks for hours.

Who was he to say no to you?

While roaming through the shopping district, you'd stopped to fawn over a piece of jewelry in a window display, your wonderstruck stare that had him melting as you squealed with delight. "Wow, look how pretty that is!"

Bakugo's too spellbound on how gorgeous you appear in the golden hour sunlight to focus on the words you're saying. He's transfixed by the luminous glow reflecting on your skin, convinced this sunset was handcrafted to your intensify beauty. He finally tears his gaze away from you to see the necklace shining back at him in the window.

"Lockets are so sweet, I love their sentiment," you swoon mindlessly. "And this one has a teeny carnelian in the middle. They're meant to keep you driven and motivated."

He couldn't deny it looked nice, a small rose gold heart locket with the stone nestled in the middle. Bakugo looks at the price tag and winces - $300 for something so...dainty.

"Damn, did they dig this outta the dirt themselves for that price?"

"It's how you know it's real and won't leave a green ring around your neck. Carnelian actually reminds me of you, Kat. Nothing gets in the your way of your dreams, your ambition is truly unmatched."

Bakugo's body heats up, such a casual compliment enough to have him bursting into invisible flames.

"S'there a rock for nerds like you, too?" he grins, playfully poking at your side.

"Ha-ha," you huff sarcastically. "C'mon, I'm starving. Let's go to that bar around the corner."

He takes a mental note of the store name, the street you're on, and the name of the locket on display. He'll come back for it in a few days, hiding it away for the right time to give to you. Maybe at your birthday, or whenever your hero ranking jumps into the top 40. Or he'll keep his feelings locked away with it, letting it waste away in the back of a drawer somewhere with no intention of it ever seeing the light of day.

"Are you gonna tell me, or should I act like I didn't see it?"

Your voice shakes Bakugo out of his daydream, realizing he's been standing there staring at the box for god knows how long. You two have somewhat confessed to one another, what's he got to lose?

"C'mere," he instructs, motioning for you to sit with him on the bed. You blink at him curiously as you follow his lead, plopping down on the mattress next to him. His mouth forms a tense line before exhaling heavily. "Turn around."

And you do, albeit puzzled, but compliant. Bakugo opens the box and fumbles with the necklace, untangling the chain from where it laid on the satin pillow inside. He leans into your back, hands coming into view from behind and the weight of something resting on your chest. After a few tries with shaky fingers and mumbled 'fuck's, he gets the clasp to successfully close, pulling your dampened hair out of the way and letting the chain lay across your nape.

"Bought this after that trip to Shibuya with my first check. I went back'ta get it after you wouldn't stop lookin' at it. And..." he pauses. "Ya said it reminded you of me, so it felt special."

He's had this locket hidden away for years?!

"I didn't put anythin' in it, figured we could find somethin' together."

No one's ever loved you this deeply, so blisteringly profound as Bakugo. How could you be so blind to it all this time? His pining for you is clear as day. All those times you questioned it and how you could've been together this whole time.

You swing around and collide with Bakugo, sore arms wrapping securely around his shoulders. His arms instantly encircle your frame as the two of you topple sideways onto the bed, entangled in one another. You stare up at him through your lashes with a soft pout stretched over your lips.

"You really are force to be reckoned with, huh?" you tease. "Thank you, Katsuki. I love it."

You move up to comfortably lay your head next to his on the pillow, noses practically touching as you navigate the stars in each other's eyes. You can hear Bakugo swallow roughly - he’s nervous. He goes to say something, but you place a finger to his lips, shaking your head nimbly to cut him off.

"And you."

Your hand moves to caress his cheek as you inhale a trembling breath, taking in all of his gorgeous features. He melts into your touch. The usual flames in his eyes have dimmed into embers, ruby irises flickering under the bedroom lighting. Every ounce of your body feels like an inferno, the equivalent of Icarus flying too close to the sun. The only difference? You don’t mind the burn - you welcome it this time.

The final piece of the puzzle clicks into place as your lips connect with Bakugo's, the world fading away around you two and transporting you into a luscious dreamscape full of stars. Everything from the last month begins to dissipate into nothingness, his kiss draining the negativity from your soul and replacing it with sickly sweet love. The two of you have waited for what feels like an eternity for a chance like this, and despite the circumstances, it has brought you two together in a way that you've only fantasized about. The fact that it's actually happening? You may explode, overwhelmed by the emotions traversing the avenues of your heart.

Bakugo pulls away to catch his breath, unable to fathom the reality unfolding in front of him. You're here, in his bed, wearing his clothes and the locket he thought would never see hanging from your neck, snuggled up and kissing him like he's the last person on earth. His head is in the clouds, way beyond the stratosphere and floating through deep space. He's convinced this is nirvana, the perfect slice of heaven. But one thing is missing - three little words he's dying for you to hear, straight from his heart.

He snakes an arm around your waist and tugs your body to be impossibly close to his. Bakugo pecks your forehead, nose and cheek and hovers over your lips. You can feel the infatuation exuding from him, comforted by the way his chest rises and falls with yours in quick successions.

He feels like home.

"I love you," he finally confesses, his throat tightening as the phrase spills out of him. It's no longer out of fear, it's the enthusiasm of finally being able to say it with confidence.

You can't help but chuckle while remembering his text, leaning forward to kiss him before answering. "Why don't you remind me how much?"

The way Bakugo's cheeks glow scarlet at your question makes your heart swell - his sudden bashfulness is exhilarating. He takes a deep breath as his fingers rub circles on your lower back absentmindedly, staring at your lips until he has the strength to make eye contact again.

"I should'a told ya ages ago how I felt. And from now on, I won't let a day go by without tellin' you."

Even though you knew how he felt about you, hearing Bakugo say it aloud makes the swarm of butterflies in your stomach flutter violently. The feeling is almost uncontainable, overflowing in ways you didn't think was possible.

"I love you too, Katsuki. Like a stupid fucking amount," you smirk, relishing in the way his irises gleam when you quote his original confession. He tilts your chin upward to slot his lips onto yours once more, eager to consume every drop of adoration pouring out of you. It's innocent, tender, the spell he's been dying to put you under for years. The mood shifts into something more sensual when your hand roams to the hem of Bakugo's shirt, slipping underneath to run your hand up his back, desperate for skin contact and sinking into a deeper kiss. You're tingling, a new sensation beginning to build in your belly when he experimentally sucks on your bottom lip, opening your mouth for him to swipe his tongue along yours. You squeak in surprise at his advance, but melt into him all the same, a groan rumbling in his chest at your pliancy. His hand starts to wander down your figure and sneaks under the oversized t-shirt, mimicking your touch and tracing your spine with his finger tips.

Oh my god.

This is real.

This isn't a dream.

He feels so fucking good pressed up against you, intoxicated by the way his fingers ghost over your skin, sending sparks of electricity rushing through your veins. You want him viscerally, no - need him. Maybe it's the touch starvation talking, but you could consume him whole and it wouldn't be enough right now. He's everything you've ever wanted, and even thought you literally have him in the palm of your hand, something about this continues to feel illusive.

You're lost in him. Everything fiber of your being is screaming Katsuki, Katsuki, Katsuki.

In the heat of the moment, you pull away from the kiss and press your lips to the underside of his jaw, slowly leaving a trail of featherlight pecks down to his collarbone. You can feel Bakugo shiver under your touch, his fingers applying firmer pressure on your back. His reaction gives you the courage to push further, delicately sucking on the pulse point in his neck. The noise that floods out of him makes your thighs clench, one that you've never heard him make. His whole body twitches, fingers moving to squeeze your side in an attempt to keep himself together.

"Fuck," he sighs harshly above you, breathing heavily and immediately biting his lip to prevent any other flustered sounds from spilling out as your lips continue their plush assault. When your hand inches slowly down his back and to his hip to graze the waistband of his sweats, Bakugo freezes. His hand rockets to your wrist to stop you. He breaks away from your embrace and the sight of him is enough to knock you out; eyes half-lidded, out of breath, lips swollen and face flushed cherry red.

God, he's so beautiful.

"W-wait," he stutters, removing his grip from your wrist and sliding his fingers to tangle with yours. "I...I don't wanna rush this."

Oh.

"N-not...shit. Not that I don't want to," Bakugo continues while biting the inside of his cheek to calm himself down. "I wanna earn you, every part of you."

Oh.

That might be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to you.

He notices your eyes beginning to well up with tears and panics, thinking that you're taking this as a rejection rather than his true intentions. "Hey, I didn't mean-"

You interrupt him with another sweet peck to his lips. "I know. You're right, and I'm sorry for smothering you."

Bakugo didn't mind that one fucking bit, he's waited years for the chance to kiss you. Shit, he wants you to touch him, to explore every scar and muscle that adorn his figure. He wants to memorize the way your delicate fingers set him ablaze as you roam his body with your touch. And he can't dare to think about the seductive journey of mapping out every inch of your skin, worshiping you from head to toe for hours. He screws his eyes shut momentarily to collect himself for a third time, shoving that thought into the back of his mind to save for a rainy day.

"Nothin' to be sorry about, sweetheart." Bakugo pulls you into him, cushioning your cheek with his chest. "M'happy like this for now. Don't wanna spoil all the surprises right away."

Sweetheart.

Your heart pitter-patters in your chest at the new pet name, loving how it sounds falling from his lips.

"But if ya ask me with those puppy dog eyes'a yours, I might turn into a kid on Christmas morning and unwrap everything in one night." He snickers, the vibrations mixing into the strong bass of his heartbeat in your ear. The pulse becomes a comforting lullaby of sorts, blanketing a sense of calm over you and letting you drift into a blissful daze.

Until the trance is broken by the rumble of your phone incessantly buzzing against Bakugo's dresser. Reluctantly, you push yourself out of his grasp and lurch to grab it from across the room, the caller ID making your stomach plummet.

~ INCOMING CALL: AGENCY

The time has come. It's now or never to hear what they have to say. You click the "Accept" button and raise the phone to your ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello, this message is for Y/H/N. If this is correct, please press 1."

They couldn't even bother to call you themselves, but sent a recording instead?

"What is it?" Bakugo asks as he sits up in the bed.

"Bastards at the agency sent a recording, it's not even the board members themselves."

He gives you a look of disgust, appalled they'd treat one of their fellow heroes like a number in their system. Well, maybe he shouldn't be surprised, all things considered. Those suits only care about appearances at the end of the day.

"Throw it on speaker," he insists, patting the bed for you to sit next to him. You plop down on the mattress, press 1 on the screen and click the speaker icon.

"Y/H/N, we are pleased to know you've returned safe and sound. Deku and the others went a bit rogue to rescue you, but we are willing to excuse it this one time due to the success of their tribulations. Thank you for sending over your paperwork from the hospital. We've contacted Deku, as he's one of your emergency contacts, for further information to allow you to properly rest. He informed us you'll be under Dynamight's care until we can confirm your home is safe to stay return to. We will be reaching out to him momentarily in regards of this matter and how to proceed in the coming weeks. As of now, your status in the hero database has been changed from "Missing in Action" to "Leave of Absence." You will be paid 75% of your normal salary during this time and your ranking will be reset. In order to return to physical hero work, we require a written recommendation letter from your doctor and therapists, including progress reports and evaluations regarding your quirk's strength. You will, unfortunately, need to re-apply for a position and re-take the agency's entrance exam. In the interim, you may complete office work at your leisure after three months of leave. We will be following up in a week for updates on your health and then monthly going forward. If you have any questions, please reach out to the agency's HR department. Thank you, and we wish you luck in your recovery."

A few seconds of static linger in the air before the line ends. The phone feels heavy in your hands, a weight you can't hold on to for much longer.

Shh...stop thinking. Push it down. Lock it up. Keep that dread buried six feet under.

As much as you don't want to listen to your inner critic, she's right. For now, you've gotta suffocate that existentialism and shelve it for another day - preferably one when Bakugo's not around to witness another breakdown. You notice him staring at you with the similar face he made in the compound, one filled with worry about the impending doom and gloom. It's obvious he searching for something to say, anything to get your mind away from being told you're potentially losing your job.

"It's okay, Katsuki. You don't need to say anything," you assure as you take a deep breath. "Are you still offering to make dinner, or should we order something?"

Is that a good sign? He can't determine whether or not you're upset or accepting the inevitable. Bad news be damned, Bakugo's confident he can take your mind off of things, even if it's for a few hours at a time.

"Whatever you want, I'll let you pick."

As much as you'd kill for some fast food to mask the panic building in your chest, a home cooked meal - specifically a Katsuki Bakugo home cooked meal - sounds incredible right about now.

"Cook me the best dish you've got in your arsenal, that's what I want."

Bakugo's lips upturn into a grin, fired up for the challenge to impress his best...no, girlfriend.

"Lemme go to the store on the corner an' pick up a few things. Go get comfy on the couch in the meantime." He takes your cheeks in his hands, squishing them together playfully to leave another kiss on your lips. "Dinner and a movie, right where we left off."

"Where we left off and then some," you joke, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you, Kat. For everything."

"Don't mention it," he waves you off, a dusting of pink crossing the bridge of his nose and coloring the tips of his ears. "Be back in twenty. Try not to miss me too much.”

With a nod, you let him go. He stops at the door of his bedroom, turning to face you.

“I love you,” Bakugo repeats. "Wanted to remind ya, in case you forgot."

“You’re so cute, I love you too. Don’t trip and fall off the face of the earth on your way there.”

“I'm not cute!” reverbs through Bakugo’s apartment as he shuts the front door. You lay back in his bed, twirling the sheets in your fingers as his scent lingers in your space. You could get used to this, a life full of sweet nothings with him by your side. Dreams can begin to replace your nightmares, and hope seems fathomable once more. It won’t be an easy journey, you’ve got multiple glass ceilings to break through before returning to normalcy. And she’s here to remind you of every hurdle along the way. It’s only been a few hours since your release from the hospital, but this is the best you’ve felt in a long ass time.

Until your reality comes crashing down around you. You've really gotta stop asking for trouble.

Everything contrasts, your throat constricting and limiting the breath reaching your lungs. The doctor warned you about the potential side effects of drug withdraw, but couldn’t pinpoint exactly how these symptoms would appear. How could they know if they couldn’t identify the drug itself? You try to grab your phone, but you can’t find the damn thing in your hazy vision, frantically patting around on the bed in search of it to call Bakugo for help.

Don’t panic, breathe.

"I can't!" you pant between shallow breaths.

Yes, you can. Don't let it take you back into that cell.

Is this the psychosis they warned you about? It's terrifying, but therapeutic in the same breath. You’ve gotta trust that intuition - it may not be malicious in nature anymore.

Lay on your back, hands and feet against the bed. Let me pass through and you’ll be safe, don't be afraid of me.

You ground yourself to the bed and breathe deeply. In and out. In...out. In. Out. After a minute, your breathing stabilizes, eyes opening cautiously to surprisingly clear vision.

See? We don't need to be enemies.

What the fuck was that, a panic attack? It felt too quick to be one. The creak of the front door opening and rustling of bags distracts you from spiraling further about it, Bakugo's voice carrying down the hall. "Lite-brite, I'm back. Grabbed ya a few treats, too."

Are you able to move? You flex your fingers, your toes, and then roll your shoulders back as a test. Everything seems to be back to normal. No use in worrying him further, the episode's passed and you're okay - that's what matters. You'll tell him after dinner when the night winds down. You can't ruin the mood he's crafting for you two after everything he's done. You can unload that another time, and pray it doesn't happen again anytime soon.

"Everythin' okay while I was gone?" Bakugo presses while tossing the bags on the counter.

One more white lie won't hurt.

"Yeah, all good. Can I help with anything?"

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duachai · 2 months

Text

G8MER BOI - JEON WONWOO

Super Smash Bros You So Ass Though Proly Pick Kirby So You Don't Get Smashed On

PAIRING : JEON WONWOO X MALE READER

SYNOPSIS : M/n, a competitive gamer, is distracted by fellow gamer Wonwoo's charisma and flirtatious advances during a match. After the game, Wonwoo's commanding demeanor leaves M/n flustered and vulnerable. They share an intense, intimate encounter backstage, leading M/n to experience a whirlwind of emotions. Overwhelmed by Wonwoo's touch and words, M/n feels a deep connection forming, hinting at a promising new chapter in his life.

CONTENT WARNING : This writing contains explicit sexual content and mature themes.

AUTHOR'S NOTE : I know nothing about E-sports, but I tried my best 😭

LINKS : Wattpad | Kofi

M/n had never been so nervous going ANYWHERE before today. This was the day he could make history and he carried an insane amount of weight on his shoulders as he walked through those arena doors. Even in a room full of people he still found himself zoned out and very unfocused while doing a fan sign.

He felt someone staring at him, his eyes slowly looking up from the table. A pair of eyes were staring at him, unbreaking eye contact. It sent chills down his spine. He was always a bit reserved during these events and always kept his head down so as to not engage with many people. He didn't like a lot of interaction anyway so this set-up worked for him fairly well.

Except with this particular person.

He knew this guy. This guy... he was a legend. But not one of those old crinkly ones that don't really do their fortay anymore.

He was Jeon Wonwoo.

He slowly lifted his sharpie off the desk, eyes still locked with the other male. He was just so intense. It's like he's trying to burn a hole into my brain. He thought. He tried to ignore the way his stomach churned beneath his button-up and continued signing the girl’s team T-shirt in front of him. She could sense M/n's attention was not on her at all.

M/n quickly tore his gaze from the other person and plastered on a smile for the girl in front of him. Come ON, stop staring! Just mind your own damn business! He cursed in his head, trying to focus back on the girl.

The girl in front of him tried to talk to him to which he desperately tried to answer, eyes darting to the side every so often only to see the man still staring at him. "Are you okay?", the girl asked, waving her hand in front of his face "You seem distracted."

"O-Oh, yeah. I'm sorry... um thank you for supporting us! I hope to see you in the arena later today.”

She nodded and moved away, making room for the next person. M/n took a small breather, closing his eyes for a moment. Ok M/n, pull yourself together. Just focus, do your job and then you can g- He glances up only to see Wonwoo sitting down in the seat in front of him. Ah, you've got to be kidding me...

The male in front of him sat back casually, resting his t-shirt right on the desk in front of him. M/n felt his heart speed up a bit. He glanced down quickly then back up to see Wonwoo grinning at him like he knew exactly what he was thinking.

It almost looked like he was teasing M/n and it ticked him off a bit. He was here to do his job and this guy was distracting him. "I guess it's my turn," Wonwoo spoke, his voice so sweet it almost made M/n shiver.

"U-Um, you don't need to get in line... you're like VIP."

The male laughed heartily. "VIP huh? I like the sound of that"

Jesus, he's even got a beautiful laugh M/n thought, trying to shake the idea away.

Wonwoo said generously, "But I'm no different than the other teams here. I just am a fan... I want a signed shirt from my favorite junior team.”

M/n let out a short laugh, trying to be casual about the whole thing. "Yeah right, like you can call yourself any team's fan when you're the main part of your team's success," he says. It came out a bit harsher than he intended but the confidence the man had was starting to irk him. "You're a legend, Jeon Wonwoo."

Wonwoo smirked and leaned in a little closer. "Say my name again" he says. M/n stared at him, dumbfounded. Say it again? Why the hell does he want me to say his name? What is his angle..

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and took a breath. "Wonwoo.." he said slowly.

The tension was cut by an intercom coming on. "Please everyone please gather in the area for the SVT and Fifty-Forty’s team matches.” M/n's head snapped up to the speaker above his head when the announcement went off. An overwhelming sense of relief washed over him. Finally, now i'm out of this awkward position.

He looked back to Wonwoo only to find him still staring, that smug smile still plastered on his lips. He tried to glare at the man which only made him smile more. He felt his face get hot again. Damnit, why am I letting him get to me?

Wonwoo leaned even further forward and M/n could feel his breath on his cheek. He was so close M/n could count the individual eyelashes framing the other man's eyes. Damnit, Why is his face so close? What is he doing… Wonwoo spoke up, his voice low and sultry in his ear "Are you gonna sign me that shirt now?"

With a trembling hand M/n picked up his marker and signed the shirt. He tried to keep the letters straight but his hand was shaking like crazy and he felt like sweating buckets. How was this man making him so nervous? Why could he feel his heart pounding in his chest like this? It was insane...

He finished the signature and was about to set the shirt down when Wonwoo took hold of his wrist, stopping him from moving. M/n's heart nearly stopped. Wonwoo's hand was on his wrist, not to mention it was so large as well. His fingers were wrapping all the way around him, his long slender fingers completely covering his wrist.

He swallowed a lump that formed in his throat and made the mistake of looking up into Wonwoo's eyes. His eyes met the other man's intense stare and he couldn't look away. He felt like he might pass out if he did.

His mind was going a mile a minute, there was so much going on. Their faces were mere centimeters from each other and M/n felt like he would have a heart attack right there, and on top of all of that, he had never felt more... excited? for something in his entire life.

M/n swore he felt the thump of his heart skip a beat. "You're a lot cuter than I thought you'd be.." he said quietly. M/n's eyes widened and before he could reply the intercom came back on, cutting off whatever he was about to say.

"All teams to the main stage please, the match is beginning in a few minutes.”

Wonwoo's hand finally left his wrist and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He felt lightheaded like he might pass out at that very moment.

The man leaned back in his seat, picking up his signed shirt and smiling. "See you after the match," he said before he stood and headed for the stage. M/n could only watch as the man left, a thousand thoughts running through his mind. What was just happening? He thought I was cute? Why was he being so upfront? Why did he make me so nervous?

He needed to get himself together and quickly. There was a match about to happen and he needed to be focused. He looked over to the crowd and saw all the fans waiting. As much as he wanted to go back and hide in his room, he couldn't. Just do your best, and after you can freak out.

He took a deep breath and got up to join the rest of his teammates on the stage. The game began and M/n tried to focus on playing, which he usually had no problems doing. Except this time, he couldn't seem to find and kind of concentration.

Every time he would start to get into the game, his mind flashed back to Wonwoo's eyes. His words, his grip on his wrist, the way he made his heart stop...

He was so distracted, he was even making mistakes in-game, which was completely unlike him. Usually he was so precise and careful with his playing but today it was like he was just going through the motions. He was doing everything on auto-pilot.

Wonwoo was amazing. His hair, his perfect form, his talent, his lips, all of this just drove M/n absolutely insane. The game wasn't even on his mind. All he could think about was how he just had to have Jeon Wonwoo.

The game was over as quickly as it had begun. Wonwoo's team had crushed his, leaving him and his teammates with no chance to even compete. As the two teams made their way off the stage and into the hall, M/n felt a hand on his shoulder.

He felt that intense sense of nervousness fill him again as he slowly turned to come face to face with Wonwoo. M/n's heart nearly stopped when they stood face to face again. Every single thought he had from earlier came rushing back to him all at once, leaving him feeling vulnerable.

Wonwoo smirked down at him which made him feel even more flustered. Why did he keep doing that?!

"You guys put up a good fight, I'll give you that," he said, his hand still on M/n's shoulder.

M/n couldn't find a single word to say, he just stood there like a complete idiot as his brain malfunctioned. He didn't know what to say or do, he just stared at the man with his mouth slightly open.

Wonwoo chuckled lowly, which caused the hairs on the back of M/n's neck to stand up. Damnit, why is his laugh so attractive? Is he trying to drive me insane?

"Cat got your tongue?" he asked, lifting a hand and running his thumb over M/n's bottom lip. M/n suddenly forgot how to breath. His hands started to shake and he swallowed down a lump in his throat. What does he think he's doing? Just.. touching my face like that. It's making me so.. His thoughts were cut off when Wonwoo began to speak again.

"You're cute when you're nervous, you know that? You get a little red too," Wonwoo said cooing as he swiped a slither of hair that fell on M/n’s forehead.

Jesus Christ, he's so handsome..

M/n tried and failed to keep control of his composure. Why does this man make me so nervous? I can't even form complete thoughts with him staring right at me.

He finally gathered the strength to speak, his voice quiet and shaky. "I'm... not nervous.."

Wonwoo laughed again with his perfect teeth showing. "You're not? You're shaking like a leaf right now." he said with a smirk. His hand came up again, this time cupping M/n's cheek in his warm palm. M/n felt his legs begin to get weak.

"You're a terrible liar, you know that?" he chuckles again before leaning down so his mouth was right next to M/n's ear.

M/n could feel his heart pounding against his chest as the other man's breath tickled his ear. "I can probably make you even more nervous,” he said, his low voice dripping with confidence.

M/n's mind seemed to be a complete jumble at this point. His thoughts were a complete mess and he felt like he might explode. The proximity of the other male's body was almost overwhelming, especially since he was so much taller than M/n himself.

He swore it felt like he was in a trance of some kind when Wonwoo spoke again, his breath warm on his ear. Wonwoo's warm hand shifted from his cheek to the nape of his neck, resting there and making shivers run up M/n's spine.

"You know.." he began, his tone was like silk. ".. I thought you were cute from just watching you play, but now I think you're even more adorable up close.”

M/n chuckled nervously, "U-Um... I should really catch up with my team. They're probably heading to the hotel... y'know. Tired and stuff.

Wonwoo's hand on his neck seemed to tighten a bit, keeping M/n from moving away. "Your team is going to be fine without you for a few minutes," he said, his tone a bit more demanding now.

M/n's breath hitched in his throat as the other man's grip pulled him a little closer. "O-Oh... kay, okay..."

M/n's head was spinning, the man was way too attractive for his own good.

Suddenly, Wonwoo's hand slid from his neck to his jaw, his long slender fingers wrapping around his chin and turning his head to the side. M/n didn't resist, he let him move him, his mind foggy from the closeness.

"You have really pretty eyes" he said lowly in his ear, his thumb brushing across M/n's bottom lip again.

M/n felt his heart flip and his breath shuddered again. He was trying so hard to keep what little composure he had left, but the other man was making it damn near impossible. His touch was driving him insane and he found himself unable to speak, his mind completely blank.

"They're brown... not very unique. Um, how about we move to another area... it's kinda hot h-here. Yeah?" M/n says in a slight pant. Wonwoo chuckled softly and leaned back slightly so he was hovering over M/n's face.

"Oh my god, you are so adorable when you're nervous," he said, his eyes raking up and down M/n's body as he spoke. M/n's stomach flipped at the look in the other man's eyes, Jesus, that stare is going to be the death of me he thought. "I have an idea," Wonwoo said as he grabbed M/n's wrist, his large hand wrapping all the way around him again.

A shiver ran down M/n's spine at the feeling.

With one quick move, he found himself being led down one of the backstage hallways into a secluded backroom. As soon as the door closed behind them, Wonwoo turned and pushed M/n up against the door, trapping him between his body and the hard surface.

M/n felt like he was going to have a heart attack. His heartbeat was so loud he swore Wonwoo could probably hear it. Wonwoo placed a hand on the wall on either side of M/n's head, effectively trapping him against the door.

He was so close M/n could feel the other man's breath on his face, it was warm and smelled faintly of cinnamon. Wonwoo was just staring again. Those brown eyes staring directly into his own, leaving him frozen in his spot.

His mind was swirling, his body was hot, why was this man having this effect on him? The other man smirked down at him, a wicked smile that made M/n's body shiver again. "You're so innocent, you know that?" he says, his eyes raking up and down M/n's body again.

This new side of Wonwoo was turning M/n on in ways he never thought possible. The intense gaze, the smirk, and the commanding tone, it was making his legs feel like jelly.

"M-Maybe I should get back to the group... I-" Wonwoo's hand on the wall moved to M/n's hip, resting there and grabbing it firmly through the material of his shirt. M/n felt a jolt of pleasure run through him. Jesus... that hand, it's so big

"I don’t want you to leave, sweetheart," he stated, his tone commanding. M/n was speechless. The nickname made his heart skip a beat and the hand on his hip made his legs even weaker. He was having a very hard time breathing at this point.

"O-Okay."

Wonwoo chuckled, the sound sending another shiver through M/n. "You're so easy to tease," he says as he leans closer to M/n.

His hand was still tight on his hip, his grip almost possessively tight. "Tease?" M/n asked almost in a whine. Another sultry chuckle escaped Wonwoo's lips as he leaned in even closer, his mouth now right next to M/n's ear.

"You heard me," he said, his warm breath sending more chills down M/n's spine. M/n's mind was a mess and his body a wreck, all from a simple hand on his hip. M/n began to lose his balance. Trying not to fall, his arms wrapped around Wonwoo's waist instinctively.

Wonwoo chuckled again, the sound so deep and smooth, it left M/n's mind feeling blank once more.

"You're a little clumsy, hm?" he asked, his tone almost mocking now.

M/n was trying desperately to keep his mind from completely shorting out, but the man's proximity and his voice was messing with his head.

"Oh.. sorry. Um, Wonwoo? I don't understand, why... why me? I-I'm not complaining I'm just... confused.”

This time a frown appeared on Wonwoo's face instead of his usual cocky smirk. He moved back from M/n's ear, looking down at him with an almost serious expression.

"Why you? I'll tell you why" he said, his gaze never leaving M/n's face. M/n's heart rate quickly began to pick up at the intensity in which the man was staring at him.

"You're cute, that's obvious.." he began, his eyes roaming over M/n's flushed face. "But on top of that... you're talented.. and I could tell when I was watching you earlier... that you're so damn hot when you're focused.”

M/n couldn't understand why this man was having this effect on him, why his words were making him feel weak and his body hot. And Wonwoo noticed. He could feel the rise in M/n's pants.

A smug smirk reappeared on the man's face, as he took notice of M/n’s predicament.

"Looks like I'm having an effect on you, hm?" he purred in M/n's ear again.

M/n 's face flustered with embarrassment, "I'm sorry! I-I don't know what's happening, I'm sorry.”

Wonwoo laughed lowly, his laugh doing absolutely nothing for M/n's already fried brain. "You don't have to apologize, I enjoy it," he said as he pulled M/n's hips forward, closing the distance between their bodies. M/n's eyes darted down to Wonwoo's lips. Wonwoo smirked again, the expression causing M/n's stomach to flip.

"You keep looking at my lips sweetheart, what are you thinking about?" he asked, his voice still low and smooth. "You're speechless a lot, you know that..?" he asks, his grip on M/n's hips tightening. "You're not saying anything because you're too busy thinking about my lips, I can tell," he said, a low chuckle escaping again. "You don't have to speak yourself then. I'll make you.”

And with that, he pressed his mouth to M/n's. M/n's mind suddenly went into overdrive, the soft pressure of Wonwoo's lips against his own sending sparks of pleasure shooting through him.

Wonwoo's mouth felt so warm and soft against his own. He couldn't get his mind to form a single thought, the only thing he could process at this point was the feeling of Wonwoo's lips moving against his. Wonwoo deepened the kiss, pulling M/n even closer by his hips.

The room was suddenly getting a lot hotter, the only thing that M/n could focus on was the man in front of him. The kiss was intense, and M/n was losing himself further and further with each passing moment.

His fingers found the way to the back of Wonwoo's shirt and clutched at the material tightly. Wonwoo let out a light moan as M/n gripped the fabric of his shirt, the sound sending yet another shiver of pleasure through him.

He continued to kiss him, his tongue slipping between M/n's lips and tasting every crevice of his mouth. Wonwoo suddenly bit down on M/n's bottom lip, causing him to gasp out a moan at the mixture of pain and pleasure.

"Jesus, the noises you're making are going to put me over the edge, you know that?" he says in a low, sultry tone. M/n's brain could barely process the words coming out of the man's mouth. "You're... you're driving me crazy," he managed to get out in a pant.

Wonwoo's hand inched up the underside of M/n's shirt, running his fingers along the bare skin of his stomach. M/n let out an involuntary noise at the feel of the man's fingers on his skin, his stomach felt like it was on fire wherever Wonwoo touched him.

Wonwoo began to trail his mouth down M/n's neck, peppering kisses lightly over his skin. M/n's head fell back against the door of the small room, a soft moan escaping his lips.

The feel of Wonwoo's lips on his neck sent a fresh wave of hot pleasure through M/n's body.

"God... you're so whiney, I love it," he says softly between kisses. Wonwoo continued to mouth at M/n's neck as his hands began to wander further up his shirt. M/n could feel his body burning up, every touch from the other man was making his brain malfunction. "You feel so good" Wonwoo whispered against his neck.

M/n took one of Wonwoo's hands down to his crotch, "Wonwoo please... help me.” M/n let out another moan, the man's touch was doing wonders on his body. "Just... touch me, please," he begs, his hands coming to rest on Wonwoo's hips.

Wonwoo quickly began to undo the buckle of M/n's pants, his fingers working quickly to get the material off of him. M/n let out a low moan, the anticipation driving him crazy.

"You're so cute... I need to see more of you," Wonwoo says lowly. Wonwoo's hands were roaming over his thighs. "God, you're perfect" he says as he squeezes the flesh of one of his legs, his eyes roaming over his exposed body.

"So damn pretty" he mutters under his breath as he begins to kiss down the skin of the thigh in his hand. Wonwoo continued to mouth at the skin of his thigh, he was making his way closer to the one place that M/n wanted him to be.

Each little bite and kiss was sending more jolts of pleasure through him, his body felt like it was on fire. "Please, please.. Woo...”

"Please what, gorgeous? You have to tell me what you want," Wonwoo says, his mouth mere inches from the hardness of M/n's lower body.

M/n could barely form a coherent sentence, his brain was mush at this point. "Your mouth.. I need your mouth," he says in a pant, his hands tightening around the material of Wonwoo's shirt.

Wonwoo hummed against his thigh in response to his words. "Beg me, baby. Tell me how much you need me," he said lowly, his breath ghosting over the flesh of M/n's inner leg.

"Please, please Woo I need you. I need your mouth, I need your hands, I need you. Please." M/n was practically pleading now, the anticipation was killing him.

Wonwoo hummed again, satisfaction in his voice. "Such a polite little thing... can't say no to that now can I?" he said as he leaned forward in between M/n's thighs.

He wanted to see how much more he could break him down.

"You're being such a good boy for me, I'm going to make you feel so good, you hear me? You're going to feel so good, all because of me"

"Yes... please. Only you make me feel this way," M/n manages to pant out, he wanted the man's mouth so bad his body was aching for it.

"Mmhm, no one else but me can make you feel this good, and no one else ever will," Wonwoo says lowly as he continues to mouth across the inside of his thighs. M/n was already a mess, his breathing was uneven and his skin was hot.

"I'm going to have you begging for more, I'm going to have you screaming my name," he says in a murmur against the flesh of M/n's skin.

Wonwoo continued his ministrations to the flesh of his thighs, marking the soft skin with his mouth and teeth. He was purposely avoiding the one place M/n wanted him most, he wanted to hear him beg for it.

"You're already a mess and I've hardly touched you. You really are desperate, aren't you baby?" he said in a low tone. "My Good boy," Wonwoo says with a smirk.

Without any warning, he suddenly sank down to his knees, his face now level with M/n's hardness. M/n let out a low moan, finally giving in to the overwhelming sensations coursing through him.

Wonwoo's hands slid up M/n's thighs, his touch firm yet gentle, sending shivers up his spine. He looked up at M/n with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and without breaking eye contact, he pressed a kiss against the fabric covering M/n's arousal.

M/n's breath hitched, his hands instinctively reaching to tangle in Wonwoo's hair. The other man smirked, his fingers deftly undoing the button and zipper of M/n's pants. With deliberate slowness, he pulled down the material, freeing M/n's hardness from its confines.

Wonwoo's warm breath ghosted over M/n's exposed skin, causing him to shudder with anticipation. He placed a series of teasing kisses along M/n's length, each one sending jolts of pleasure through his body.

"Wonwoo... please," M/n murmured, his voice barely a whisper, filled with need.

Wonwoo chuckled softly, the vibrations of his laughter adding to M/n's pleasure. "Impatient, aren't we?" he teased, his lips brushing against M/n's tip.

Unable to take any more of the teasing, M/n's hips involuntarily bucked forward, seeking more of Wonwoo's touch. Wonwoo finally took pity on him, wrapping his lips around M/n's hardness and taking him into his warm, wet mouth.

M/n gasped, his head falling back against the door as waves of pleasure crashed over him. Wonwoo's mouth worked expertly, his tongue swirling around M/n's tip before taking him deeper.

The sensations were almost too much to bear. M/n's fingers tightened in Wonwoo's hair, his hips moving in time with the other man's rhythm. Wonwoo's hands gripped M/n's thighs, holding him steady as he continued to pleasure him.

M/n felt the tension building in his core, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. "Wonwoo... I'm close," he managed to say, his voice strained with need.

In response, Wonwoo increased his pace, his mouth moving faster, taking M/n as deep as he could. The sight of Wonwoo on his knees, his lips wrapped around him, was enough to push M/n over the edge.

With a final, shuddering gasp, M/n came, his release spilling into Wonwoo's mouth. The other man swallowed greedily, his eyes never leaving M/n's face as he rode out his climax.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, M/n slumped against the door, his legs feeling like jelly. Wonwoo stood up, a satisfied smile on his lips as he wiped a stray drop from the corner of his mouth.

"You're even more adorable when you're completely undone," he said, his voice low and teasing.

M/n could only nod weakly, his mind still reeling from the intensity of the experience. Wonwoo leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to M/n's lips.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he murmured, his tone now gentle and caring. "We can't have you going back out there looking like this."

With Wonwoo's help, M/n managed to pull himself together, his body still tingling from the aftershocks of pleasure. As they made their way back to the main area, M/n couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of connection with Wonwoo.

The game may have been over, but for M/n, a new and exhilarating chapter had just begun.

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apparentlytheproblem · 7 months

Text

j e a l o u s y

fandom- Harry Potter

pairing(s)- sirius black

a/n: im so sorry it took so long, my questions are flooded and im trying my best but regardless my requests are open luvs :)

so this is actually kind of based on a boy i liked (like) and i can't say its been as happy as this but that's where i found a bit of my inspiration for this and its honestly eh

requested- yes

warnings- there is a bit of insecurities and doubt showing, mature themes, jealousy (if that wasn't obvious), it could be seen as toxic, mention of a vagina

siri's masterlist . navigation

Sirius absolutley loathed Bertram Aubrey with every being in his body. His name itself was a bad omen, it was as if conjuring the evil spirits if anyone dared to acknowledge his presence anywhere near Black.

It's always, Aubrey is a liar, Aubrey is a cheat, Aubrey has no backbone, but Sirius would never admit why he targeted him so much without a second glance. his feud all led down to the same road

Bertram fancied the girl he's been pinning on for over two years and what has become of him when he was so easily placed at the same level as him? he's never had a problem with winning people over with his charisma.

So when he saw Aubrey anywhere near you, a cold sweat ran down his back. he had nothing to be afraid of. he knew you would never chose him, he could never be Sirius fuckin Black.

but why was there a burning sensation when his hands brushed yours, when you smiled back at him? it made the gryffindor see absolute red.

you were pulled into a broom closet in the middle of a an abandoned and dusty hallway by a familiar hand with familiar rings.

only a dim light entered the wooden box, enough to see an annoyed and arrogant face.

"Why are you so worked up?"

his right hand slid up your waist bringing you impossibly close to him while the other rested under your arse. he lightly nudged you to lean and place your support on the wooden surface as he observed your words.

"Because I can't stand the sight of him near you," Sirius whispered, his voice low and dangerous. hot.

His grip tightened on your waist, pulling you even closer to him. do you know when you feel butterflies in your stomach? you felt it in your pussy instead. she was aching. god.

You could feel the tension radiating off him, his body pressed against yours in the confined space of the closet. His eyes bore into yours, searching for any sign of betrayal.

"But he's just a friend," you protested weakly, trying to lightly push against his chest to create some distance between you, but Sirius wouldn't budge.

"friend huh?" he scoffed, his tone dripping with disbelief. "He wants more than that, and you know it. I've seen the way he looks at you. Its how I look at you."

You swallowed nervously, feeling the weight of Sirius's accusations. There was a part of you that wanted to deny it, to reassure him that Bertram meant nothing to you. But another part, a small and treacherous part, couldn't deny the thrill of attention from someone like Bertram.

Sirius seemed to sense your internal struggle, his grip softening slightly as he searched your face for answers. "Do you wanna fuck him huh?" he asked, almost hesitantly, as if afraid of the answer.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. How could you admit to Sirius, to yourself, the conflicting emotions swirling inside you?

Before you could form a coherent response, Sirius leaned in closer, his lips dangerously close to yours. "tell me baby," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin, "who do dream of?"

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken implications. And in that moment, with Sirius so close you could feel the heat of his body, you realized that the answer didn't matter.

All that mattered was the pull between you, the undeniable magnetism that drew you together despite everything else.

You reached up, tangling your fingers in Sirius's hair as you pulled him closer, closing the gap between you in a desperate kiss that left no room for doubt.

The kiss deepened, igniting a fire that had been simmering between you for far too long. Sirius's hands roamed over your body, leaving a trail of heat in their wake as he pulled you impossibly closer.

Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in each other, the world outside the closet fading away until there was nothing but the two of you.

Eventually, the need for air forced you to break the kiss, but you remained pressed against each other, chests rising and falling in unison as you tried to catch your breath.

"You. Only you." you whispered, your voice barely more than a breathless exhale.

But Sirius shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "That's what I thought" he said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

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acute-scary · 9 days

Text

Between The Ropes… a Jey Uso x Rhea Ripley fanfic.

Chapter 10: Intensity

Themes Warning: S*x described.

Damian sat on the couch in the living room of the suite, a half-empty bottle of water resting on his knee, his mind drifting as he stared blankly at the TV. The tension in the air was suffocating, his thoughts circling the chaos that had unfolded in the last few days. He was loyal to Rhea, no matter how deep this mess ran. But he couldn't deny how heavy it all felt now—Jey, Rhea, the push, everything. He leaned forward, running a hand over his face.

The door creaked open, pulling Damian out of his thoughts. His head snapped toward the entrance as Jey and Rhea walked in together, side by side. There was something different about them—something raw and unsettled, like they’d crossed an invisible line. Jey’s hand hovered at Rhea’s lower back, almost protective, and the air between them crackled with unresolved tension.

Rhea’s eyes flickered to Damian, and she took a breath before speaking. “I know it was you,” she said, her voice low but steady. “I know you told Hunter everything.”

Jey’s jaw clenched beside her, but he didn’t say anything, his gaze fixated on the floor as if grounding himself for what was to come.

Damian nodded, his expression unreadable as he set the water bottle aside. “I did,” he admitted. “I couldn’t sit by and say nothing anymore. You deserve better than this mess.”

Rhea’s lips pressed together for a moment before softening. “I… I want to thank you for saying something.” Her words were genuine, and Damian could see the turmoil behind her eyes—the storm of emotions she was barely keeping at bay. “If you hadn’t, maybe we wouldn’t have gotten to this point.”

Jey shifted uncomfortably, but his hand didn’t move from Rhea’s back. Damian noticed, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he exhaled slowly and gave Rhea a small nod.

“I’ve always got your back, Rhea. You know that.” His voice was firm, solidifying his loyalty to her above anything else.

Jey finally looked up, his eyes meeting Damian’s with a tension that hadn’t quite dissipated. “We’re gonna talk about our future,” Jey said, his voice rough, like the words had been scraped out of him. “Figure out what we’re doing… with everything.”

The weight of what he didn’t say hung in the air like a cloud—Her marriage, his marriage, the choices they would both have to make.

Damian studied them for a moment, taking in the gravity of the situation. His loyalty was pledged to Rhea, but he could see this was a conversation he didn’t need to be present for.

He sighed and stood up, grabbing his jacket from the arm of the chair. “I’ll leave you two to it,” Damian said, shrugging his jacket on. “I’ll spend the night with Kayden. You both need the space.”

Rhea’s eyes softened with gratitude, and she gave Damian a nod. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Jey said nothing, but Damian didn’t expect him to. He knew the mess between Jey and Rhea ran deeper than anything he could untangle.

With a final glance at the both of them, Damian headed for the door, his heavy footsteps fading away into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind him, and silence fell over the room.

For a moment, neither Jey nor Rhea moved. They stood there, inches apart, the weight of everything pressing down on them like a tidal wave. Jey’s eyes flicked to hers, searching her face for something—anything—that might tell him what she was thinking.

Rhea’s gaze met his, and for a long, agonizing moment, neither of them said a word. The silence was thick with all the things they couldn’t say, with all the emotions that had been simmering between them for months.

They stared at each other, the unspoken tension pulling them closer, even though they were both too afraid to cross that line again. The room felt electric, every breath, every heartbeat loud in the stillness.

Jey’s hand twitched at his side like he was aching to reach for her, to pull her into his arms again and erase everything that had come between them. Rhea could feel it, too. Her body was drawn to him, despite everything—despite the chaos, the mess, the fear of what came next.

Her breath caught in her throat as Jey took a hesitant step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. Neither of them knew what to say. Words wouldn’t be enough to untangle the mess they were in. All they had was this moment, standing on the edge of a decision that could change everything.

They were stuck between the truth and their emotions—between everything they wanted and everything they knew they shouldn’t.

Jey stepped closer, his breath mixing with hers as he leaned in, his forehead almost resting against hers. They were so close, their bodies practically buzzing with the tension that had been building since the moment they’d walked in.

“Ask me again…” Jey murmured, his voice barely audible.

Rhea’s heart pounded in her chest, her lips trembling as she stared up at him. “Make love to me Joshua…” she whispered back.

The raw, urgent plea in her voice cut through the air, and Jey's eyes darkened with a blend of desire and vulnerability. He stepped toward her, his expression a tumultuous storm of longing and regret. With a decisive movement, he pulled her into his arms, lifting her effortlessly. The weight of her body against his felt like a promise—a promise of what they both craved, but could not yet fully grasp.

He carried her to the bedroom, his strides purposeful, each step heavy with anticipation.

Rhea's arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her breath warm against his skin. She clung to him as if he were the only anchor in a storm-tossed sea.

Jey set her down on the bed with a tenderness that belied the intensity of his feelings. He looked at her with a mix of desperation and reverence, his hands moving to undress her.

Each layer of clothing except for their underwear that fell away seemed to shed not just fabric but also the walls they had built around their hearts.

Their kisses were a clash of need and desire.

Jey's lips devoured hers, his tongue exploring with a hunger that matched the fire in her eyes.

Rhea's moans were muffled against his mouth, her hands gripping him with a fierce intensity.

Each touch, each kiss was a declaration of the raw, unfiltered passion that had been simmering between them.

Jey's hands explored every inch of her body, his touch rough yet tender, as if he were trying to memorize her with his skin. Rhea's breath came in gasps, her body arching into his touch, every sensation amplified by the urgency of their connection. He pushed her legs open as his tongue did the dance of the alphabet. Rhea let out moans of ecstasy as she looked at him, he didn’t stop and he grabbed her breasts as he shoved his tongue into her. Rhea couldn’t control how much she moaned… After what felt like forever, Jey came up and he kissed her again, Rhea immediately tasting herself.

“I want to take care of you…” Jey said, his voice barely a whisper.

“Prove it to me..” Rhea said, her voice gasping for air. Jey kissed her while he managed to pull down his briefs and pull out his very lengthy manhood. Rhea felt him rubbing up against her and she scooted more up onto the bed so he could position himself better, all the while not breaking the passionate kiss. Once Jey’s feet were not on the bed he entered her and that’s when Rhea broke the kiss for a gasp, she still could never get use to how big he was. Jey took a deep breath in, the way Rhea felt… her downstairs was like heroin and he was an addict.

Rhea’s legs relaxed and opened a bit more as Jey thrusted, deeper but slower, he wanted her to feel every inch.

“I love you so much..” Rhea moaned.

“I love you even more…” Jey replied, his thrusts now become a bit fast pace but still keeping the sensuality.

“I want you to have my baby..” Jey told her. Rhea lost in the sexual intensity told him, “I wanna have your baby..”

After 20 minutes their movements became urgent, a frantic dance of bodies pressed together. Each thrust, each gasp was an expression of the depth of their need. They moved together with a raw intensity that left them both breathless, their physical connection a manifestation of their emotional tumult.

Jey lifted up Rhea as he thrusted into her, their gaze meeting instantly, Rhea knew he was about to climax, this was always his favorite position and thankfully she was almost there too.

“I think…. Fuck I think…” Rhea could barely muster out a sentence.

“Cum’ for me baby… let your body go..” Jey said as held a grip on her waist, Rhea tightened and she cried out for Jey.

Jey feeling her grip couldn’t control it anymore and he let out a moan as he came deep inside of her. Jey slowly let her down and pulled out of her. Rhea kissed his head as he collapsed on her, the sweat dripping on her…

There was no room for anything but the overwhelming connection they shared. The intensity of their climax was a culmination of all their desires, fears, and unspoken words. The room was quiet, the aftermath of their intense passion leaving a stillness that hung in the air like a lingering fog. Rhea had fallen asleep, her chest rising and falling softly under the tangled sheets, her body exhausted from the day’s emotional and physical toll. Jey had managed to sit himself on the edge of the bed, his mind far from quiet. He glanced at Rhea, feeling the weight of everything they’d been through bearing down on him, yet the tenderness in his gaze remained. He glanced at the clock, 8:24 P.M, had he really been awake this whole time?

He slowly stood up, pulling his shirt back over his head, trying not to disturb her, he slipped into his joggers and pulled on his socks. His movements were careful, almost mechanical, as though he was afraid that any sudden action might shatter whatever fragile peace they’d found in each other. With Rhea now sleeping, Jey needed space, some distance to process the whirlwind of emotions churning inside him.

As he walked toward the balcony, he heard a knock at the suite door. His heart skipped a beat. Who would be knocking that hard?

Jey froze mid-step, his eyes darting to the door. A second knock followed, softer but insistent. He quickly looked back at Rhea down the hallway, still asleep, before moving cautiously toward the door. Peering through the peephole, he saw… nothing. No one stood on the other side. His confusion grew, and instinctively, he glanced down the hall through the narrow gap between the door and the frame.

Nothing.

But when his eyes shifted downward, he saw it—an envelope. Manila, plain, with no markings other than a handwritten name on the front.

His name.

Jey stepped out into the hallway, scanning both directions, but the halls were empty. He grabbed the envelope, glancing around once more, then quickly shut the door behind him.

Curiosity and suspicion clawed at his chest as he walked back into the suite, the weight of the envelope heavy in his hands. Sitting down on the arm of the sofa, he tore open the flap. A note fell out first, neatly folded. He unfolded it, his brows knitting together as he read the brief message.

“Forgot to give you two this. - Hunter"

Hunter? Jey blinked, feeling a surge of unease. What could he have possibly sent them? With a deep breath, Jey reached inside the envelope again and pulled out a piece of glossy paper. No, not just a piece of paper—a sonogram.

Jey’s heart stopped.

It was her sonogram. Their baby.

His eyes stayed glued to the grainy black-and-white image of the tiny life growing inside her, the blurred outline of their child unmistakable. The world around him seemed to spin, and Jey felt his breath catch in his throat. His fingers trembled slightly as he clutched the sonogram, the weight of the moment crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

For a long moment, he just stared, his mind struggling to comprehend the enormity of it all. The baby wasn’t just some distant idea anymore. It wasn’t something he could rationalize away or avoid thinking about. It was real. There, in his hands.

He glanced back toward the bedroom where Rhea slept peacefully, unaware of the revelation that had just landed in their lap. Her words echoed in his mind, her uncertainty, her fear. The conversation they’d had about abortion lingered in his head, twisting his thoughts into knots.

Was he ready for this? Was she? Could they really bring a child into this fractured, complicated mess of a situation?

Jey needed air. Desperately. Without another thought, he slid open the balcony door and stepped outside. The night air hit his skin like a shock, momentarily clearing his head. He walked to the lounger chair and sank down into it, still holding the sonogram in his hands.

Staring out at the Portland skyline, Jey felt his chest tighten. He hadn’t anticipated this—this level of responsibility, this level of commitment, and yet… it was happening. It was all happening so fast. The love he felt for Rhea was undeniable, but what did that love mean now? How did it change everything they had already risked?

The sky was dark, the city lights twinkling in the distance like stars, but Jey couldn’t focus on anything but the image of his child. Their child. His mind raced, flipping through memories—Takecia, his boys, the family he swore to protect. But this child was part of him, too. A part of Rhea. And that reality terrified him in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

He gripped the sonogram tighter, wondering how they could possibly navigate this. Rhea had asked him what to do. She had asked him if he could hate her for wanting to abort the baby. In that moment, he hadn’t been able to find the right words. Now, holding this fragile piece of evidence in his hand, he knew one thing for certain.

He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t lose this child, no matter how terrified he was. But would she feel the same?

His mind raced with thoughts of how to approach her, how to talk to her, how to convince her that maybe, just maybe, they could figure this out. But deep down, the uncertainty gnawed at him. What if she still wanted out? What if this was all too much for her?

The night air felt heavier now, pressing down on him as his thoughts drifted away from Rhea and toward Takecia. He hadn’t let himself really think about her—about their life together—in a long time. Not since all this with Rhea started. But now, sitting there with the image of a new life in his hand, memories of his old life flooded in.

He could still remember the first time he saw Takecia in high school. She was standing by the lockers, laughing with a group of friends, and something about the sound of her laugh caught his attention. It was carefree, full of life. She had that way about her, drawing people in without even trying. He’d been shy back then, unsure of himself in a way he hadn’t felt in years. But with her, everything had just clicked.

They dated through the ups and downs of high school, through football games and prom nights, through family gatherings and shared dreams of what life could be. Jey had fallen hard, the way only a teenager can fall in love, thinking that nothing would ever change. When he’d put that ring on her finger in 2015, standing at the altar in front of all their friends and family, he’d felt like he was on top of the world. Like they could take on anything together. She’d looked so beautiful that day, her smile so wide it lit up the entire room.

He swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he remembered the birth of their first child. That moment when he’d held his son for the first time, the rush of love that had hit him like a freight train. He hadn’t known he could love anyone the way he loved his kids. The pride, the protectiveness. The way that little boy had made him want to be better, do better.

And then came their second born. Jey had thought his heart was already full, but when he held that tiny bundle in his arms, his heart had somehow grown even more. He’d promised himself, and Takecia, that he would always be there for them. That they would always come first.

But now… now everything was so complicated. He loved his kids. That would never change. They were his world, his blood, his legacy. But Takecia? Somewhere along the way, they’d lost something. Or maybe he had. His heart wasn’t in it anymore. Not like it used to be. He cared for her, respected her, but he wasn’t in love with her anymore.

Not the way he was with Rhea.

The guilt twisted in his gut as he thought about how long he had been lying to himself, to her. Every time he went home to his family, he felt the weight of the lie growing heavier. The secret he kept from her was like a wall between them, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t tear it down. He’d made a commitment, a promise, but what was the point of staying if his heart was no longer there?

The sonogram in his hand felt like a ticking time bomb. What would happen when the truth came out? What would Takecia say when she found out about the baby? About him and Rhea? Would it destroy everything they had built, or would she already have known deep down that something was wrong?

Jey leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands running through his hair. His mind flashed to his kids again—their laughter, their smiles, the way they looked at him like he was their hero. He wasn’t ready to lose that, but could he really keep living this double life?

And what about Rhea? She was carrying his child now. The thought shook him to his core. Could he really ask her to keep the baby while he still had one foot in his old life? Could he tear himself away from Takecia and still be a good father to the children they shared?

He let out a deep sigh, his mind swirling with conflicting emotions. The sonogram stared back at him, a silent reminder that time was running out to make a choice.

—

Takecia, Jon and Trinity were all in the living room as their kids were up in the game room making all the noise they could make. Takecia had invited them to stay over with her so she wouldn’t feel alone in the house but when the topic shifted on Jey, she asked Jon if anything had been bothering him but of course… Jon had to lie.

Takecia leaned back into the cushions of the couch, her drink resting on the coffee table, her eyes fixed on Jonathan. The tension in the room had been building ever since she brought up Jey, and she wasn’t about to let it slide. Not this time. Something had been eating away at her, gnawing at her gut for weeks now, and it all pointed to Jey’s recent behavior. His distance. His strange, unexplained absences. She had to know what was going on.

“So,” she began, her voice calm but with an edge, “you’re really gonna sit here and tell me everything’s fine? That nothing’s going on with Jey?” She leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing at Jonathan. “Come on, Jon. You’re his brother. If anyone knows what’s up, it’s you.”

Jonathan stiffened immediately, his shoulders tensing as he glanced at Trinity, who was watching the exchange closely. His hands gripped his drink tighter, and he forced a chuckle that didn’t quite land.

“Takecia, I already told you,” he said, his voice a little too defensive, “Jey’s just busy. You know how it is with the schedule, the shows. He is just worried that maybe he won’t get this title belt after all yaknow? He’s fine.”

But Takecia wasn’t buying it. She could feel the discomfort radiating off Jonathan, and it only made her press harder. “Busy? Jon, he’s always been busy. He has spoken with me about not being able to be a singles champion. That’s not new. But this—this is different, and you know it.” She crossed her arms, staring him down. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Jonathan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting to Trinity again, as if silently pleading for help. But Trinity stayed silent, her expression unreadable as she watched her husband squirm under Takecia’s gaze.

“Look,” Jonathan said, his voice tightening, “I don’t know what you want me to say. Jey’s… he’s got a lot on his plate right now, alright? But it’s not my place to get into it.”

Takecia’s eyes narrowed even more. “Not your place?” she echoed, her tone incredulous. “Jon, I’m his wife and the mother of his kids. If something’s going on, I need to know. Why are you being so secretive?”

Jonathan’s discomfort quickly turned into defensiveness. “I’m not being secretive!” he snapped, sitting up straighter. “I’m just telling you what I know. Jey’s got his own shit to deal with, and maybe you need to talk to him about it, not me.”

Takecia’s jaw clenched, and she leaned forward, her eyes locked on Jonathan. “I have tried talking to him,” she said, her voice low but intense. “But he keeps shutting me out. That’s why I’m asking you. Don’t you think I deserve to know what’s going on?”

Jonathan looked like he was ready to bolt, his leg bouncing anxiously as he avoided eye contact. “Look, I get it, okay? But I’m not gonna betray my brother’s trust. If he’s not talking to you, that’s between you two. It’s not my place to get in the middle of it.”

Takecia’s frustration boiled over, her hands gripping the edge of the couch. “You’re already in the middle of it, Jon! You’ve been acting weird ever since he left. You know something, and I can tell you’re holding back. So stop with the bullshit and just tell me the truth!”

Jonathan’s face hardened, his defensiveness kicking into high gear. “You think this is easy for me? I’m trying to protect my brother, alright? I don’t want to get involved in your marriage issues. That’s not what this is about!”

Trinity, who had been quietly observing the exchange, finally spoke up, her voice calm but firm. “Jon, you’re doing a terrible job of hiding whatever it is. If you don’t come clean, this is only going to get worse.”

Jonathan shot her a look, exasperated. “Trin, don’t—”

“No, Jon,” she interrupted, her voice steady. “Takecia deserves to know if something’s going on with Jey. You can’t keep covering for him forever.”

Jonathan ran a hand through his hair, frustration mounting. He was caught, and he knew it. But he wasn’t ready to give in just yet. “I’m not covering for him!” he insisted, though even he didn’t sound convinced anymore. “I’m just—he’s got to figure this out on his own, okay?”

Takecia’s eyes burned with frustration and hurt. She could see that Jonathan was dodging, deflecting, doing everything he could to protect Jey, but in doing so, he was leaving her in the dark. And that was something she couldn’t accept.

“Jon,” she said, her voice softer now but no less intense, “I’m not asking for all the details. I just need to know if something’s seriously wrong. I need to know if my marriage is in trouble.”

Jonathan let out a heavy sigh, his defenses crumbling just a little as he looked between his wife and Takecia. “I don’t know, T,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what’s going on in his head. But whatever it is, it’s weighing on him. I’m not saying it’s nothing… but you need to talk to Jey. He’s the only one who can give you the answers.”

Takecia sat back, the weight of his words sinking in. She knew Jonathan wasn’t telling her everything, but at least now she had a sliver of truth to hold onto… or did she? Something was wrong with Jey, and whatever it was, it was bigger than she had thought. She didn’t know how she was going to get through to Jey, but one thing was certain—she wasn’t going to stop until she had the answers she deserved.

Takecia’s frustration grew palpable, her fingers gripping her glass so tightly it was as if she were trying to crush it. “I told Solofa to use his connections and stop that storyline with Jey and that Rhea Ripley bitch. I just don’t trust it. I don’t like it at all.”

Jonathan sighed heavily, his patience wearing thin. “It looks like they’re moving forward with it, Takecia. There’s not much we can do now.”

Takecia’s eyes flashed with anger. “Moving forward? Jey has never been involved in any romantic storyline before. Why start now, and why with her? This is exactly how things start going wrong.”

Jonathan attempted to calm her. “It’s not a romance; it’s more of an alliance with Rhea and Damian Priest’s team. It’s part of The Judgment Day angle. They’re just playing it up for TV.”

Takecia’s disbelief was palpable. “An alliance huh? Just look at Edge and Lita. That wasn’t supposed to be a storyline; it was a mess that started when Matt Hardy was injured. It became something real and ruined lives. And don’t forget Chris Benoit and Nancy. That started as a storyline and turned into a real affair. I don’t want Jey to get dragged into that kind of mess.”

Jonathan tried to assure her. “I understand your concerns, but this situation is different. Jey’s role is just part of the show. It’s not supposed to turn into anything more.”

Takecia’s face reddened with anger and worry. “I don’t buy it. Jey has never been part of any romantic angle. Why the sudden change? I’m not convinced this won’t end badly.”

Jonathan suggested, “Have you checked Jey’s social media recently? It could give you more insight into the storyline.”

Takecia’s expression shifted to one of sudden realization. “Social media? I haven’t looked at it in ages. Ever since the WWE PR Team took over the accounts, I didn’t feel the need to check.”

Trinity, who had been observing quietly, added, “Actually, Takecia, the WWE PR Team stopped managing the wrestlers’ social media accounts a few months ago. The wrestlers are handling their own posts now.”

Takecia’s eyes widened, a mix of fear and anger flashing across her face. “They stopped?” Her voice full of disbelief.

Her frustration reached a boiling point. Without another word, she pulled out her phone and swiftly navigated to Jey’s Instagram profile. Her fingers moved with urgency as she scrolled through his recent posts. She then went to google and took a deep breath as she typed it in…

Recap of Jey Uso and Rhea Ripley

Jonathan and Trinity watched as Takecia’s face grew increasingly tense with every image she scanned. Her lips tightened into a thin line, her emotions clearly running high as she flipped through pictures of Jey with her…

Takecia’s hands shook as she scrolled through the google images, the TikTok preview images, the videos, her anger morphing into deep hurt. The images of Jey with Rhea Ripley were not just part of a storyline; they looked alarmingly intimate. The moments they did share, they seemed too personal to be mere scripted drama. Her sense of betrayal grew with each swipe, each photo and video blurring the line between fiction and reality.

“Jonathan,” she said, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear, “is Jey cheating on me?”

Jonathan’s face went pale, his concern evident. He moved closer to Takecia, trying to offer comfort. “No, Takecia, I promise you, it’s all just a storyline. The WWE creates these dramatic angles to entertain the fans. It’s not real.”

Takecia’s eyes filled with tears, her frustration palpable. “It’s supposed to be a storyline, but this feels different. I know about storylines, but these images—they don’t feel fake. They feel like he’s really with her.”

Jonathan took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “I understand that it looks bad, but Jey’s not cheating on you. It’s all scripted. He’s just playing a part.”

“I can’t shake the feeling that it’s more than just acting,” Takecia said, her voice breaking. “I need to process this, I need you both to watch the kids for me.”

Trinity, noticing the anguish in Takecia’s eyes, placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’ve got the kids covered. You should take the time you need.”

Takecia nodded, her expression pained but resolute. “Thank you. I’m going to try and get some sleep. Please make sure they’re okay.”

Jonathan and Trinity exchanged worried glances as Takecia slowly made her way upstairs. Each step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by her mounting fears and the sense of betrayal she felt.

Once she was in her bedroom, she shut the door softly behind her and sat on the edge of the bed. The room felt cold and distant as she stared blankly at the wall. The images of Jey and Rhea on social media replayed in her mind, each one a reminder of her shattered trust. Her tears flowed freely now, a release of the overwhelming pain and uncertainty she felt. She needed to be alone, to come to terms with her feelings, but the betrayal she felt left her feeling isolated and broken.

—

Takecia tossed and turned, the clock on her bedside table glaring back at her with its cold, unfeeling numbers. It was well past 2 a.m., and sleep remained elusive. Her mind raced in a chaotic whirlwind of betrayal, hurt, and anger. Every time she closed her eyes, the images from Jey’s Instagram replayed in her mind with haunting clarity—the photos and videos that seemed so intimate, so painfully real.

She replayed their conversations, the moments of affection and the times they’d shared, searching for clues she might have missed. She knew something had been off for a while, the emotional distance between them growing wider. The undeniable truth hit her hard: Jey had been unfaithful, and she had been living a lie.

The bed, once a place of comfort, now felt like a prison. The emotional weight pressed heavily on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. Her thoughts spiraled, focusing on the future and what her next steps would be. The betrayal stung, but she had to be pragmatic about how to move forward.

She envisioned the conversations she would need to have, the legal battles, and the emotional strain. Her reputation was important, and she knew that any public scandal would only add to her pain. She wanted to ensure that the divorce process was as controlled and respectful as possible, especially for the sake of their children.

Her thoughts turned to what she wanted from the divorce. She knew she couldn’t be lenient. She needed to protect herself and secure her future, but she also wanted to ensure that their children were provided for. Her mind raced through the legalities, the demands she would make.

“I want shared custody,” she thought fiercely. “I want no alimony. Just make sure the kids’ college education is covered. And the house—it’s mine. It’s the one thing that’s been a sanctuary for us.”

The idea of shared custody felt like a fair compromise, ensuring that the children wouldn’t lose their father’s presence. The stipulation about no alimony was a matter of principle—she wanted to be seen as strong and self-sufficient. The college education for the kids was non-negotiable; they deserved the best opportunities, and Jey had to be responsible for that. As for the house, it was more than just bricks and mortar; it was a symbol of stability, and she wasn’t willing to give it up.

Takecia’s resolve solidified as she lay in the darkness. She knew the path ahead would be fraught with challenges and emotional turmoil, but she was determined. She would confront Jey, lay out her terms, and begin the process of untangling their lives. The betrayal had been a bitter pill to swallow, but it also ignited a fire within her. She had to act decisively, protect her dignity, and secure her children’s future.

As Takecia looked into herself, the depth of her inner turmoil began to reveal itself. The betrayal was a piercing wound, but it was not just the act of infidelity that cut so deeply—it was the very foundation of her identity and future that felt shaken. Her thoughts turned inward, questioning her own choices and identity.

She remembered her maiden name, Travis. The name had been hers before she became Fatu, before she was entangled in the life she had built with Jey. The name Travis symbolized a past she had left behind, but now it seemed to beckon her with a sense of reclaiming something fundamental. She wondered what it would be like to revert to that name, to start fresh. But such thoughts only added layers to her already complex emotions.

"Should I confront Jey first, or should I go to a divorce attorney?" she pondered. The uncertainty gnawed at her. Confronting Jey would mean facing the man she had loved, the father of her children, and the person who had betrayed her. It would be a moment fraught with emotion and potential conflict. On the other hand, consulting an attorney would mean taking a step toward a future she was not entirely ready to embrace, a future that would require a legal battle and public scrutiny.

Her mind raced through a myriad of scenarios. What if Jey was not cheating? What if there was an innocent explanation for the intimate images she had seen? The doubt lingered, mixing with the anger and hurt. The possibility of him being faithful, of her misinterpreting the situation, felt like a fragile thread of hope that she clung to despite the overwhelming evidence. She vacillated between determination and uncertainty. The idea of confronting Jey was daunting. She could imagine the confrontation—the raw emotions, the accusations, the possibility of reconciliation or even further heartbreak. The thought of seeing Jey’s face, hearing his explanations, and facing the truth was both terrifying and necessary.

On the other hand, starting the divorce process without confronting him first seemed harsh and cold. It felt like jumping to conclusions, sealing the fate of their relationship without giving him a chance to explain or make amends. Yet, the fear of being wronged again and the desire to protect herself made the legal route seem more secure.

As she lay there, the minutes ticked by, and the morning light began to seep through the curtains. Takecia felt a sense of deep weariness, her mind still swirling with questions and emotions. The sun’s early rays seemed to mock her, bringing a new day that promised more of the same struggle. The clarity she had felt earlier in the night now seemed distant, replaced by a murky sea of doubt and indecision.

She had to decide her next steps, but the path forward was shrouded in confusion. The early morning hours felt like a silent witness to her internal battle—a battle between confronting the truth, protecting herself, and navigating the uncertain waters of her future. As the sun rose, Takecia felt the weight of her choices pressing down on her, knowing that whatever decision she made would shape the course of her life from this point forward. She looked at her phone and typed in the search bar…

Flights from San Francisco to Portland

—

It was 5:30 AM on Sunday, September 15th. The suite was still cloaked in the early morning haze when Damian, clad in his gym clothes, rapped loudly on Jey's bedroom door. His enthusiastic voice cut through the quiet. “Wake you damn sinners! We got a morning workout!”

Jey, half-awake and tangled in the sheets, turned his head to see Rhea on the other side of the bed. Expecting her to be still snoozing, he was surprised to find her already stretching, her movements smooth and purposeful. Her eyes met his with a spark of energy.

“Come on, Jey,” she said firmly. “Enough relaxation time. Get up and join Damian and me for the workout.”

Jey groaned, his initial irritation flaring up. He had been hoping for a few more hours of sleep, but the idea of lying in bed versus working out with Rhea and Damian presented a clear choice. He reluctantly sat up, realizing that he hadn’t had a good workout since Monday morning. The guilt of neglecting his fitness routine nudged him towards action.

“Alright, alright,” he grumbled, pushing himself out of bed. “You win. I’m up.”

Rhea flashed a triumphant smile and hopped out of bed, heading towards the mini bar. “Good. I’ve been so out of routine cause of everything but Damian suggested last night while you showering and I agreed for both of us. We can’t let him down now.”

Jey quickly got dressed, his movements sluggish but determined. As Rhea handed him a protein drink from the mini bar, Jey took a grateful gulp, feeling the energy boost.

“So, you guys do this every Sunday?” Jey asked, stretching his arms as he made his way to the suite’s living room.

Damian, already in workout mode, grinned broadly. “We usually work out every other day, but with everything that’s been going on, we figured a good two-hour session today will help make up for it.”

Jey’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Two hours, Uce?” His face scrunched.

Damian laughed heartily. “Wepa! We’ll make it count. It’ll be good for all of us.”

Jey shook his head, a mixture of amusement and trepidation crossing his face. “Alright, if you say so. Let’s get this over with.”

As they headed down to the hotel gym, Jey started to connect his AirPods and he scrolled through the several playlists he had in his iPhone.

“Don’t feel up to Bad Bunny, Jey?” Damian joked as they stood in the elevator.

“No he doesn’t like our heavy metal..” Rhea said.

“We are definitely not alike…” Jey said jokingly.

Hunter had reserved the gym for then three of them, to keep this situation more under wraps. Jey tried to mentally prepare himself for the rigorous workout ahead, his mind still buzzing from the past few days. Despite his initial reluctance, he knew that immersing himself in a solid workout might help clear his head and offer a temporary escape from the emotional turmoil he was navigating.

—

Midway into the workout, Rhea was focused on her routine, lifting free weights as her favorite band blasted in her ears. The rhythm of the music kept her pace steady, each rep pulling her away from the complications that weighed on her mind. But then, force of habit, she glanced in Jey’s direction.

He stood across the room, shirtless, sweat dripping from his body, his tattoos illuminated under the gym lights. His muscles flexed with each movement, and Rhea couldn’t look away. The barbell in her hands slowly lowered as she drifted into a trance…

Suddenly, she snapped out of it when Damian Priest waved his hand in front of her face. “Yo, Rhea,” he said, snapping his fingers again with a grin. “I get he’s handsome, but you’re supposed to be lifting, not daydreaming.”

Rhea chuckled, slipping off her headphones. “Handsome? Please. That’s my baby daddy.”

Damian froze, his playful grin slipping off his face as he processed her words. The silence lingered for a moment, and Rhea didn’t notice his expression until she glanced at him. She gave him a confused smile. “Oh... I forgot to tell you. It’s confirmed… I wanted to tell you but I fell asleep and you were with Kayden—” Before she could finish Damian blinked repeatedly , his eyes widening in surprise. Then, a huge smile broke across his face. Without another word, he stepped forward and pulled her into a tight hug, his excitement bubbling over. “Rhea, that’s amazing! How long?”

Rhea laughed, patting Damian’s back as he squeezed her tighter. “She said 13 weeks.”

He pulled back, holding her at arm’s length, his eyes filled with joy. “I’m so happy for you, really. This is... wow. Your first baby.”

Rhea’s smile softened, but the excitement in Damian’s eyes sent a flicker of unease through her. He didn’t know the whole story. She hadn’t told him about the private conversations she’d had with Jey. How they had discussed all the possibilities—even the option of not going through with it.

But Damian didn’t need to know that. Not yet.

Rhea cleared her throat and forced the smile back on her face. “Yeah, first one,” she said quietly. “It’s... it’s a lot to think about.”

Damian didn’t catch the hesitation in her voice. He was too busy grinning like a proud uncle, clearly thrilled by the news. “Man, this kid’s going to have one badass mom. And hey, if you need anything, I’m here. You know that, right?”

Rhea nodded, grateful for his support even if he didn’t know the full truth. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, Damian. Really.”

As Damian walked back to his weights, still smiling to himself, Rhea’s heart felt heavier. She glanced at Jey again, her thoughts swirling. They had a decision to make, and it wasn’t going to be an easy one.

#fanfic #fanfiction #jey uso #rhea and jey #rhea ripley #wwe smackdown #wwe raw #yeet #wwe #rhea x jey #rhea ripley and jey uso #wwe jey uso #jey x rhea #the judgment day wwe #the judgement day #wwe damian priest #damian priest #jimmy uso #jimmy and naomi

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againstacecilia · 9 months

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No Words Needed

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, blood, near-death experience leading to emotional confession, mention of alcohol but in a simile so no drinking.

A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to @sweetercalypso! I had so much fun writing this and I hope you like it. It isn't really holiday themed, but you said "partners to lovers" and my brain ran with it because it's such a good trope. 🙈

“Din, look out!” Your voice bounces through the cockpit, hands flying over the controls of the borrowed U-wing as the Mandalorian next to you struggles to control the ship. Unyielding winds buffet every side and puffs of labored breath escape Din’s helmet.

“I’m-” he coughs, wet and sticky- “I’m trying.” Arms shaking, he finally pulls the yoke up to level the U-wing over the barren landscape of your unlikely sanctuary.

It wasn’t your first choice to land on Nentan; nothing but rocky spires and unchecked winds greet you through the viewport. It was becoming more and more clear, however, that making it all the way to Station 88 wasn’t going to be possible if whatever injury Din had sustained fleeing Baltizaar wasn’t taken care of. Usually the best pilot you knew, Din’s flying had diminished significantly since leaving your pursuers behind on the small planet.

Taking charge of the flight controls, you keep one eye on Din as you lower the ship to the planet’s dense surface. His hands never loosen their grip on the yoke, but the tension radiating off him shakes his entire body. Sweat darkens the cowl covering the skin of his neck.

The moment the ship is settled and engines are cut, you yank him from his chair and support him down the few steps from the cockpit to the crew hold. No other people came on this run, they would’ve just slowed you down, but the reinforced bench in the middle of the room was kept in place. The full weight of man and beskar collapse on the padded surface with a groan.

You aren’t sure what happened. The blur of running full out to the ship, blaster bolts whizzing past your head, heart pumping adrenaline through your limbs, it all drowned out everything not happening immediately within your line of sight. Grabbing the first aid kit, you fall to your knees next to Din’s prone form.

“Tell me what happened,” you demand, rolling the Mandalorian onto his back. “Where are you hurt?”

Silence is the only answer you receive.

“Din?” Your hands still on the latch to the first aid kit. With the lights on in the hold, you have a better look at what you were observing in the cockpit. His body still shakes, and more blotches of dark fabric show just how much he’s sweating under all the armor. Your eyes light on his cowl, now noticing just how dark the fabric is there compared to the rest of his body…

Reaching your hand up to move the garment away, you notice the shock of red painted along the pads of your fingers. What you mistook for sweat is actually blood, and a flare of panic courses through you.

“No,” you whisper, pulling the cowl away fully and exposing a frightening slice stretching around Din’s throat. Without pausing, you fumble with the bindings of his armor, needing access to more than the sliver of skin you can see. You know about his Creed, you know you can’t remove his helmet, but he never said anything about the rest of his armor.

While your fingers desperately try to work the clips and buckles securing his chest plate, tears burn the corners of your eyes. “Come on, Din, not like this. I need you to say something. I need you to wake up and tell me what to do…”

Finally slipping the layer of armor off his chest, you tear the fabric of the cowl to get it away from his neck. A base layer long-sleeve sticks to Din’s body, sweat and blood indistinguishable as they mingle and drench the fabric. You rip the collar down the middle, not caring about what you were ruining as the full wound is exposed. The tears finally fall free as you survey the damage.

A nasty gash haunts his bronze neck. Someone must have gotten a lucky swing with a vibro-blade as the two of you ran from the group protecting your bounty. How Din had even managed to get to the ship, let alone gotten you into sub-light without you even knowing he was wounded, completely mystifies you. The blood loss alone…

Setting your hands moving again, you rifle through the first aid kit to find the tools you need. Soaking a sterile pad in the disinfectant, you steady your hands to get cleaning when orange-tipped fingers wrap around your wrist.

“Din!” You exclaim, eyes searching the dirty visor for any sign of lucidity.

His words barely register through the modulator in his helmet. You watch his throat work through a painful swallow before he says, “Where are we?”

“Nentan,” you answer. “Don’t speak, I need to take care of this cut. You’ve bled too much, you need to just focus on staying awake.”

“Cyare,” he says, the word unfamiliar to your ears, “it’s dangerous that we stopped. They’ll be looking for us.”

You shake your head. “They didn’t follow us off-world. We’ve been alone since we broke atmosphere. Now hush.”

As you try to remove your hand from his grip, he squeezes tighter. “I can’t let them hurt you, we need to-” that sickly cough wracks his body again, blood again oozing from the wound- “we need to go. Now.”

While he talks, his chest begins to heave. His breathing becomes shallow and fast and panic seems to grip at him as surely as he holds onto you. He even goes as far as to try to sit up with a cry of pain. Placing your free hand on his chest, you gently push him down and look into where you assume his eyes to be, saying as confidently as you can, “We are safe. We were not followed, and I need to take care of this wound so please let me do that. Let me take care of you.”

His fingers cling to you for another heartbeat before letting go and dropping to the bench. You work in silence, counting every one of his too-shallow breaths as you clean the cut along his throat. Once you’re satisfied with your handiwork, you open a bacta patch and apply it to his fevered skin.

Hating to leave his side, you begin to clean up the mess of the hold. Garbage gets bagged and the first aid kit gets put away, security measures are triple checked, and all seems to settle for a moment.

After the longest half hour of your life, Din begins to stir.

“Hey, be careful,” you whisper, dropping again to his side. “You shouldn’t move too much yet.”

He nods, his chest rising and falling with a cautious full breath. Relief floods your veins at the sight. At least the bacta was working. You lean your back against the bench and let your muscles relax, breathing deeply to ground yourself. He’s safe, you think to yourself. We’re going to be fine.

In the stillness of the hold, your mind starts to wander and his words creep back into your memory. “Din, can I ask you something?”

His helmet turns to look in your direction.

“What does cyare mean?”

The silence continues for another handful of heartbeats. You begin to wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but then he’s slowly sitting up, brushing off your attempts to help him. Gently, so gently, he takes your hands and pulls you onto the bench beside him.

Angling his body to face you, your hands still wrapped in his, Din begins to speak. “Cyare is a term of endearment in Mando’a, the language of my people. It means…” He pauses, shoulders rising and falling with a slow, intentional breath. “It means beloved.”

Confusion and something akin to hope flares in your chest. “Din…”

“As we were running for the ship, one of the guys chasing us was catching up to you. He slipped by me while I was distracted fighting off one of the others. I managed to get the guy off me after he got my neck, but I didn’t care about the wounds. All I cared about was keeping this guy away from you. So I ran. I ran as hard as I could so I could catch up to that bastard. I didn’t even think to use my blaster because my instinct was to use my own two hands to protect you.

“In the end, I slid my knife between his ribs and left him lying on the ground, following you as you leapt into the ship.” The cold fury in his voice as he describes what he did settles into your bones. You had no idea all this had happened right behind you not more than a couple of hours ago.

“What does this have to do with-”

“I’m telling you this,” he says, voice instantly warmer and softer, “because you have to know that I care for you. When he threatened you, I realized that everything I’ve been lying to myself about not feeling… It was all real. And you needed to know.

“I should have told you sooner,” Din’s voice catches and he clears his throat, “but I was scared. Scared that telling you how I feel about you would change whatever it is we have. But after today…” His head drops with a sigh.

“Din,” you angle your head to try and meet his gaze through the inky blackness of his helmet, coaxing him to lift his head again, “we’ve been working together for months. Been stranded on planets and ripped away from people we love… Did you think I would run away from this? From you?”

He goes still as night as your words sink in, visor finally lifted to you again. You pause to consider all of the emotions barreling through you, to figure out how to explain that the thundering of your heart isn’t from fear or that the tears lining your eyes aren’t from pain; it’s all from joy. Joy filling you like honeyed wine and warming you down through your very soul.

While scanning his helmet, you remember a story he told you once. About a way Mandalorians show affection when other displays weren’t possible due to their Creed. As the memory sparks, you realize words aren’t needed to tell him how you feel.

Closing your eyes, you gently rest your forehead against the cold beskar of his helmet. Din’s fingers tighten around yours, the warmth of his hands seeping through the worn leather and settling into your skin. A shudder runs through his body.

“We’re in this together,” you whisper, opening your eyes and pulling away with a smile. The sun starts to peek through the windows of the ship, warm light bathing the hold and sparkling off the armored man in front of you.

He nods, pulling you into his arms. “Together.”

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authoralexharvey · 4 months

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INTERVIEW WITH A WRITEBLR — @sleepyowlwrites

Who You Are:

M.J || She/her

I'm a relentlessly optimistic affectionate creative who will impart love to the world through whatever means possible, and this includes my writing. And it shows, because all my kids are either full of love or in desperate need of it.

What You Write:

What genres do you write in? What age ranges do you write for?

Action, Adventure, Contemporary, Fanfic, Fantasy, Poetry. Young and New Adult.

What genre would you write in for the rest of your life, if you could? What about that genre appeals to you?

Fantasy, it's always been fantasy. Even my contemporary pieces have trace elements of fantasy in them. I like having rules in my worlds, but ones that I made up instead of science or society.

What genre/s will you not write unless you HAVE to? What about that genre turns you off?

Romance. I sometimes think about trying it, but I quickly turn away. There's nothing about romance that is fulfilling in a way that I couldn't find elsewhere. It's just not enough for me. I want everything else, everything in the wider love spectrum, all the kinds I personally treasure in my own life.

Who is your target audience? Do you think anyone outside of that would get anything out of your works?

Anybody, but especially people who have emotions that refuse to be processed. I'm hoping to help them process those emotions through the lens of character. If a reader isn't ready for striking combinations of whimsy and weight, or unexpected feelings, then they might not jive with my stories.

What kind of themes do you tend to focus on? What kinds of tropes? What about them appeals to you?

Mental illness, friendship, hurt/comfort, the mortifying ordeal of being known, purpose, trauma, personal choices, siblings, raw depths of emotions, and shenanigans. One of these is not like the other. I like to put relatable qualities in fantastical realms and make it intimate. I want you to indulge, and I want you to think.

What themes or tropes can you not stand? What about them turn you off?

Romanticized abuse or toxic relationships, romanticized mental illness or disabilities, fake redemption arcs, poorly realized characters or cheap twists, and sex. I'm entirely uninterested in sex. There are too many things I dislike to think of them now that I've been asked, but they're just preference. Don't backtrack on character growth for the sake of drama, please.

What are you currently working on? How long have you been working on it?

That's a trick question. I work on multiple projects at once because that's what my brain prefers. My longest wip is 10 months old and my oldest is almost 7 years.

Why do you write? What keeps you writing?

I've always talked my thoughts aloud to make them make sense - my adhd doesn't think in sentences, so it can get very jumbled in my brain - and stories are an additional way of explaining the world or people to myself, or explaining myself to other people, or of explaining nothing but exploring the unnamed. I write because I feel these things anyway. Might as well share them.

How long have you been writing? What do you think first drew you to it?

Since I was 9, so 20 years ago. The same reason as above, and also my mom said I was talented. I was decidedly untalented in various other areas, so I jumped on that talent and went for it. I do still think I'm talented but I'm a good writer because I kept at it. I have the skills now to back up the talent. It’s very gratifying.

Where do you get your inspiration from? Is that how you got your inspiration for your current project? If not, where did the inspiration come from?

Anywhere, and I really mean it. I can't tell you how many times I've been sitting at a stoplight, or cleaning, or watch Chicago Med with my mom bemoaning the horrible writing and poof! Idea. It just comes to me. Little bit gift, little bit curse, really.

What work of yours are you most proud of? Why?

Hard to say. Everything. The ones that barely exist and the ones that don't make sense anymore. The poetry from 2010 that is simply terrible. The ones from 2020 that are full of grief. The stories that change form but won't leave me alone. The ones I just invented. I'm proud of of it for impacting me, the audience I write for first.

Have you published anything? Do you want to?

No. Yes? It's not the only end goal like when I was 14. It's an idea I like to entertain. I'm currently happy just to be writing along with work.

What part of the publishing process most appeals to you? What part least appeals to you?

I'd like to self-publish first, and that means learning and doing new things, which I hate. I'm 29 and I still hate it. The upside would be more control, the downside would be more control.

What part of the writing process most appeals to you? What part is least appealing?

Least appealing is finishing. Most appealing is starting and middling. I'm also afraid of worldbuilding because it tends to squash my writing drive for some reason? I'm working on it.

Do you have a writing process? Do you have an ideal setup? Do you write in pure chaos? Talk about your process a bit.

It's pure chaos. I rubber duck until sentences settle like dew in the morning, and then I sometimes collect it to make tea, and sometimes I just watch it evaporate. Both activities are important. I write until I find a plot, and if I cannot find one, I will let the tea sit and grow mold. Sometimes I have to throw it out. Sometimes I recycle, plant flowers, and grow new stories. It's chaos. I love it.

Your Thoughts on Writeblr:

How long have you been a writeblr? What inspired you to join the community?

2018 - I converted from a kpop blog - I wanted to get back into writing original fiction again, and I wanted my writeblr to be my main. So. I did that.

Shout out some of your favorite writeblrs. How did you find them and what made you want to follow them?

How. Am I supposed to pick. Some? I found everybody from following a few people and seeing who they followed. I usually follow on a whim, and then make friends after. @zmwrites, @akindofmagictoo, @blind-the-winds, @oh-no-another-idea, @ink-fireplace-coffee, @avrablake, @chayscribbles, @mel-writes-with-her-dragons, @artbyeloquent, @writing-is-a-martial-art, @ashen-crest, I have at least 80 more people I could mention

What is your favorite part about writeblr?

Making friends and adopting each other's blorbos! And reading some truly excellent stories, obviously.

What do you think writeblr could improve on? How do you think we can go about doing so?

Initiate interaction. If you want asks, send some, if you want tags, tag people, if you want readers, read stuff. There's no guarantee of reciprocity - I'm often too tired to respond enthusiastically even when I'm happy to see a post - but the more we engage, the more we are engaging. Wow, I'm a writer.

How do you contribute to the writeblr community? Do you think you could be doing more?

I try to send asks whenever I see people asking, I post prompts lists and invent tags. I start conversations and make friends that way. I could be doing more, but it’s a balance between doing more and not breaking my boundaries. I talk to people all day at work and expend social energy. As an introvert, I have to not overreach or I get anxiety and burnout. Life's a balancing act, and writeblr is no exception.

What kinds of posts do you most like to interact with?

Tag games? It liberally depends on the day. I struggle the most with reblogging others' writing. But I'm getting better!

What kind of posts do you most like to make?

Writing memes or relatability, or new tag games.

Finally, anywhere else online we may be able to find you?

Not anywhere that I use frequently.

#iwaw #writeblr celebration #writeblr event #writeblr #writing community

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blightsbian · 1 year

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in case its not obvious i was incredibly disappointed in the finale. the writing was bad, the characterization was all over the place, they completely shafted the secondary cast, they wasted tons of time on dream sequences and weed belos visuals. there was no satisfying conclusion to the caleb/philip history, there was no satisfying reason for flapjack's death other than giving hunter magic he didn't use. the foreshadowing was painfully heavy-handed ("wow, the titan's heart is still beating, titans are sooo strong").

the epilogue was straight fanservice that totally dismissed a lot of major previous conflicts, like the existence of a door. they killed off luz for absolutely no emotional payoff because they shunted camila and the hexsquad so hard that they didn't even know luz died? if you cut out every shot of camila and hexsquad in the collector's palace NOTHING changes. total dismissal of the dynamics built in the prior two episodes for a fucking clipshow of how luz eda king became friends? why? who asked for that?

idk. i really disliked this. there are a handful of things i did enjoy but the rest felt like cobbled together voice lines written by a new fanfic author. it completely destroyed any emotional weight it might have held for me, and i am genuinely baffled seeing people say they cried. glad yall enjoyed it but this feels so drastically different from the rest of the show in both themes and quality that it genuinely makes me unhappy with the show on the whole.

i also do not see this as a symptom of disney shortening the show unless they personally sent in their worst writer to redo the script here. the team took on more than they could handle with the collector and they couldn't pull it off. the writing in this episode is the sort of thing toh satirizes. what the hell happened.

#toh critical #watching and dreaming critical #toh spoilers

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hanzajesthanza · 1 month

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Hii i have a question abt tlol u mihht know thr answer to. ❤️

While geralt and ciri fight their enemies on the stygga castle, geralt tells ciri several times yen wants to look at the sky. (If i temember correctly it was yen) Why?? Its so random? Does it have a hidden meaning? Does it refer to vilgefortz quote 'You Mistake Stars Reflected In A Pond For The Night Sky' ?

i can’t be certain that it’s not a reference to something elsewhere in literature, but i just interpret it as an expression of weariness and exhaustion. as geralt’s emotions are described:

He didn’t feel anger, resentment or hatred. He felt only weariness. And a huge desire to be done with all of it. (…)

as geralt learns from ciri, by a shake of her head, the rest of his company (cahir and angouleme) also did not survive. so he realizes all of his friends were lost. and that there is nothing left for them here.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he repeated.

‘Yes,’ said Yennefer. ‘I want to see the sky.’

‘I’ll never leave you both,’ Ciri said softly. ‘Never.’

* funny mistake here - in the official english translation, it was printed that yennefer says “I want see the sky” :’)

so they go to leave:

In front of them was a stairway, a great stairway drowning in smoke, in the twinkling glow of torches and fire in iron cressets. Ciri shuddered. She had seen that stairway before. In dreams and visions.

Down below, far away, armed men were waiting.

‘I’m tired,’ she whispered.

‘Me too,’ admitted Geralt, drawing the sihill.

‘I’ve had enough of killing.’

‘Me too.’

‘Is there no other way out?’

No. There isn’t. Only this stairway. We must, girl. Yen wants to see the sky. And I want to see the sky, Yen and you.

they want to get out of stygga castle, but between them and escaping it is one final battle, for at the end of the staircase they see stefan skellen and his men, who they know they will have to kill in order to leave from here.

they are tired, they are wretched after having killed so much. the moral weight of killing is a huge theme in the witcher, and here is no exception - it’s not glorified that the heroes brandish their swords, the heroes feel the weight of them.

they don’t want to kill anymore. but they have to, in order to get out of the place where they killed.

it’s like ‘the only way out is through.’

“seeing the sky” = an end to this episode, freedom from this place of killing and death, escape from this black citadel, return to life

why the sky?

a significant reminder here is that they cannot see the sky from within stygga castle. for it had no windows (which was mentioned in chapter 2, but likely ceases to be present in the mind by the time you get to chapter 9). but essentially, it’s dark in that stone castle, hewn from rock:

The tapestry measured about five foot by seven and its tassels rested on the floor. It showed a rocky cliff over a tarn, and a castle carved into the cliff, which seemed to be part of the rock wall.

The castle didn’t have any windows through which she could see the surrounding terrain, or even the sun to try to orient herself.

(what a horrible place, as percieved by our human heliophilia!)

i think generally, darkness/light symbolism (or cave/sky symbolism… hi plato) is very ancient, even primal, even biological.

another analogy might be finishing a work shift at a retail store where you’ve been under flourescent lights for eight hours, and now want to leave this infernal place and finally see the sky above. there’s a feeling of exhaustion, horror, nausea whenever you’ve been separated from the sky for so long

#it confused me for a bit because i thought they saw the sky when vilgefortz broke the fucking ceiling but idk #also since regis comes out of nowhere uh… idk if that’s as in he flew in from the night sky or just. appeared in darkness #the witcher books #analysis #ask #book: lady of the lake #anon

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verbenaa · 7 months

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to eden | chapter one

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: Rin lays there, her back against the grass as she stares resolutely up at the sky overhead, little drops of dew like tiny diamonds hanging heavy from blades of grass.

“I have nothing to say to you, just so you know.” She refuses to look over to the place where Astarion lays mere inches from her as she says the words, but it doesn’t stop her from moving her hand to rest it down in the small gap of space between their bodies.

It’s an offering, if nothing else, though it is one Rin doesn’t know if he will take.

“Well then, I suppose it’s a good thing that you so rarely have anything worthwhile to say.” Astarion’s words carry his usual unaffected haughtiness that has her eyes rolling despite herself, a small huff of annoyance escaping her lips.

But as she feels the coolness of his skin against her own, clever fingers intertwining with her delicate ones using only the slightest bit of movement she thinks that maybe, just maybe there can also be a little room for hope in whatever this thing between them is.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

In which Astarion and Rin learn how to bridge the gap, because maybe all that distance between them isn’t quite so large as they once thought.

A semi-retelling of events; focused on themes of learning trust, intimacy, and perhaps even love.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Female Tav

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: slight rivalmance, idiots to lovers, romance, adventure

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 5.6k

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: discussion of wild vampire bites, feeling EMOTIONS, astarion being astarion

𝑎/𝑛: hello and welcome to my delusions aka a multi chap fic about learning how love and build trust and intimacy because i want to help HEAL HIM ♡

ao3 here

masterlist

Rin’s eyes open blearily, gaze unfocused, as she blinks away the sleep from her eyes. She squints against the bright sunlight seeping in through the tent, the thickly woven blue and white fabric illuminated as diluted rays of sunshine beam down, tiny motes of dust drifting lazily through the air around her.

It takes her several moments to orient herself as she lays there unmoving on the bedroll—one second to remember who she is, another for where she is, and lastly, several seconds to remember exactly what it is she did the night before.

She drags her palms up to cover her eyes, limbs heavy as if weighted with steel as she groans into the emptiness of the tent that surrounds her.

“Oh, fuck.”

Rin lets her hands fall back down onto the threadbare blanket that covers her, fingers twirling around a pull in the weave, the motion a small comfort, as she forces herself to open her eyes once more, dark green irises focusing on the sunlight that shines in from above.

She narrows her eyes at the diffused orb of the sun where it hangs in the sky above, leveling a glare towards it as best as one can while still laying down in their bedroll far past the hours of dawn.

“I suppose it would be too much to ask for a little bit of cloud cover.” Her words bounce around the tent, aimed at nothing in particular, exhaustion still pulling at her limbs as she sighs audibly, drawing herself up to her elbows slowly as she looks down at herself, eyes scanning over her form.

She was, thankfully, free of tentacles. A win for the day, if nothing else.

The twinge of pain in her neck was a new one, though.

Rin brings a hand up, letting fingertips running over the tender marks that now decorate the column of her neck. It was a miracle she even woke up at all in retrospect, nausea curling through her body as the lack of blood from the night’s prior events wreak havoc through her system with every move she makes.

She can see the evening before clearly, the clarity of it all still bright in her mind’s eye. She remembers the way his lips twisted as he spoke words intent to be persuasive and confident, but those eyes of his had held nothing but thinly veiled desperation despite his every attempt otherwise.

She doubts he’s even aware of it, how expressive that handsome face of his really is. How his lips pull down ever so slightly at the corners, how his lashes sometimes shutter over crimson irises with a subtle apprehension she doesn’t quite understand.

She has no plans to tell him, either—she knows better than to waste a good weapon when she sees it.

It was a duality Rin found to be confusing, so at odds with the image Astarion works hard to present and had so carefully cultivated himself to appear to be.

This is a gift. This is a gift. This is a gift.

The words replay in her head over and over again, as if they were a broken prayer she never wanted to learn for an unknown god she does not want to know.

She doesn’t want to hear them.

Doesn’t want to hear him there in her head, that gratitude ruining her image of him so thoroughly that she no longer knows if she can ever go back to seeing him the way she had before.

The words claw into her mind and bury themselves there deep and she wishes she could rip them out, cut them away with shears of the sharpest steel to forget about that small bit of humanity she had seen within him.

Rin desperately wants to tell herself she won’t do it again, would never again agree to letting him partake in her but she knows such words would be in vain, despite everything she wants to tell herself otherwise.

She wants to be wanted. Wants to be needed far too much to ever deny him such a thing, a weakness in her that grows with every passing moment with leaves of green unfurling into her empty heart.

Rin stops that particular line of thought, ripping it out of her tadpole-addled brain before it can grow—before it too can bury its roots deep inside her mind and tangle there in the space next to his words. It was far too dangerous a feeling, one she is not keen to indulge in even in the supposed safety of her own mind.

Her cheeks heat at the memory against her will; the silver of his hair burnished to soft gold by the glow of the nearby fire as he followed her down against her bedroll, the rough fabric scratching over her too sensitive skin. The feeling of his breath against her neck as he searched for a place to bite, the brief lick of his tongue there, his murmured words “yes right here, perfect, darling” before the sharpness of his fangs pierced her tender flesh.

That icy knife of pain, lasting only a second, before he began to suck. The way her body had responded, a deep fire of her own answering to that frosted heat in her neck as he drank his fill, the soft curls of his hair brushing against her burning skin as his lips move along the blood spilling from her throat like rubies.

RIn shakes the memories from her mind—everything, all of it—with a clench of her fist in the blanket. With a soft groan she rises fully, letting the blanket fall from tensed fingers and onto her lap as she moves to sit, hands instead busying themselves with rubbing the last bits of sleep still clinging to her lashes.

At the rate her thoughts were going she was going to have to ask Lae’zel to put her out of her misery, perhaps sooner rather than later.

Perhaps it was the dear tadpole that now sits in the space behind her eyes, wriggling away with its sharpened teeth deep inside her skull, that is causing such troubling thoughts to enter her mind.

Rin raises her arms above her, limbs stretching high above as she lets the watery sunshine filter over the planes of her face, soaking up the weak beams of light as if they could cleanse her mind of everything that plagues her—of the tadpole, of this mess, of Astarion.

She doesn’t understand him, doesn’t understand why he would choose her—the one who he seems to carry such disdain for, out of everyone in this band of misfits. Her relationship with Astarion was competitive and petty at best, his half-hearted attempts at charm the only time he ever came close to being something that could be considered civil.

Maybe Astarion simply thought her to be the least intelligent of their group which, in fairness, she perhaps couldn’t outright deny. Maybe he’s not quite so far off the mark with that assessment if her present decision making skills are anything to go by.

Rin grabs at the decanter of water sitting next to her bedroll, the glass gleaming as she uncorks it before bringing it to her lips, taking small sips as she surveys the now familiar interior of her small tent, the space a surprisingly grounding constant in her life despite the short amount she’s had to call it her own.

It’s bare, mostly. She didn’t have many belongings before her illithid kidnapping, much less what she had on her actual person when she was taken and then deposited onto the sandy shoreline with little grace.

Not much but a worn bedroll and blanket sit in the center, several books found over the past weeks stacked unevenly in a corner still waiting to be read, a tarnished hand mirror she found sitting atop the stack.

Her lyre sits propped up against a tent pole, miraculously undamaged after everything so far, the carved wood darkened from years of use in the places where the tips of her fingers have learned to rest.

She sighs once more as she makes her way on her knees to the small basket she’s made use of as a table, turned upside down to hold the rest of the scattered belongings she has.

Her leather bound notebook still sits open from where she scribbled down the events of last night, drops of ink decorating the page around her words (neatness never was her forte). She’s written so much over the years—bars of music, lyrics to songs, words she’d never had the bravery to say out loud and instead immortalized with cheap, watery ink on paper.

She moves past the journal and past the tie for her hair, fingers searching for the small vial of perfumed oil sitting next to a chipped mug filled with the blue flowers she had picked from the riverbank days ago, blooms now withered and drooping.

She had stolen the perfume off a table at one of the many market stalls back in the city some time ago, the aroma of syrupy honey and fresh blooming jasmine filling the air as she uncorks the small vial to dab it onto her wrists and the space behind the slight points of her ears, running whatever oil is leftover through the waves of darkened gold as they cascade down over delicate shoulders.

Rin grabs at the mirror sitting off to the side, picking it up to look at herself. Still the same as always, her eyes flitting over the reflection looking back at her—the smattering of freckles across her sun-warmed cheeks still remain, same messy dark blonde waves a handful as always, lips still plush and pink despite the blood lost last night.

She changes out of her night shirt, tossing the wrinkled linen to the side to spread against her bedroll before pulling on a pair of leathers and a flowing linen tunic, laces still loose around her chest as she adjusts the collar to hopefully hide the bite mark adorning her neck before standing.

With one last fluff of her hair, Rin exits her tent, coming face to face with the full brunt of the Storm Coast sunshine.

She winces at the light, a hand coming up to shield her from the rays with a discontented noise as she makes her way to the fire roaring in the middle of camp, Gale stirring a pot of something with one hand as he holds a well-loved spell book in the other, brow furrowed as his eyes scan the faded text.

“I trust you slept well, friend?” Gale’s smile is warm and frankly all too chipper for such an hour as Rin approaches, setting down the book in his hand onto a small side table setting next to him, the wood aged and wrinkled with years of use.

“Any sleep is a successful sleep when it means waking up without tentacles, don’t you think?” She grabs at the apple sitting next to the spell book, bringing it to her mouth and biting in the crisp, red flesh. It snaps as her teeth bite in, the juice coating her lips with a refreshing, familiar sweetness.

“Ah, yes, our good friend ceremorphosis.” Gale ladles her out what looks to be some sort of porridge into a bowl, handing it to her before launching into a monologue on said topic with a confidence Rin can only envy.

Rin sits down on a conveniently placed stool next to Gale’s cooking pot, content to let him drone on about whatever he pleases as she listens to the cadence of his voice, hoping it will provide a successful distraction from the other thoughts moving relentlessly through her mind.

Everything about Gale was warm—warm brown hair and warm brown eyes, warm demeanor and warm voice. So very unlike another member of their group that seems to occupy her thoughts with a worrying frequency.

Out of the corner of her eye she can see a certain white-haired vampire trying his hardest not to look her way, a puzzled expression poorly hidden across his features as he fiddles with his hair, fingers brushing through the strands as he sways slightly from foot to foot.

His timing is poor as he glances up at her the moment her eyes flick over to him, their eyes meeting for the briefest of moments across camp before Astarion looks down again. He hastily grabs a book from his table and opens it at random, fingers forgetting to turn the pages as he simply looks down upon it without motion, body still as stone.

Rin blatantly ignores him as she moves her attention back to Gale as he drones on, nodding blandly and answering him when appropriate, giving him as much of her attention she can manage with Astarion pretending not to look her way.

“Thank you for such riveting discussion, Gale. And such good food too!” She interrupts Gale during his soliloquy, moving to stand as she takes the last bite of porridge in her bowl before setting it down amongst the other dirty dishes.

“I’m not sure how we’d ever survive without your talents at both conversation and cooking.” She lets herself wear a charming smile as her compliments hit home, Gale looking thoroughly pleased at her praise, standing up straighter as his smile widens.

“Ah, yes. Well, it is always an honor to be able to nourish both one’s mind and soul. And body.” Gale adds on the last bit hastily, drawing a chuckle from Rin as she leaves Gale where he stirs the porridge with a polite smile before steeling herself and sauntering over to where Astarion pretends to read his book by his tent.

“Too many big words on the page, Astarion?” She approaches him with a raised brow, nodding towards the book held open in his hands. “You haven’t turned it in quite awhile.”

“And here I thought you were trying not to look at me,” Astarion slams the book shut with an elegant motion, the pages clapping together audibly in the relative silence of the camp. “I can’t say blame you. I’d have a hard time not staring at myself too, if I were you.”

“Yes, well, your glaring ego does make it quite difficult to ignore, especially in such bright sunlight.” Rin crosses her arms as she leans back, bearing her weight on her hip as she cocks it to the side. “Good Morning, Astarion.”

“And Good Morning to you, darling bard.”

Astarion stretches out the syllables of the last two words, and the emphasis on them has Rin rolling her eyes despite how the words send something in her belly tumbling despite Astarion’s obvious insincerity.

Astarion sets his book down on a decorated table next to him before looking back at Rin, his eyes running up and down her body before settling onto the place where he left his mark on her neck, still half-hidden by her collar. His gaze is intense, something about the look in his eyes unsettling her as his eyes flick up to her own once more.

“How do you feel?” His question is surprisingly genuine, any trace of his usual persona far away as he waits for her answer.

She wasn’t quite sure what to expect from him, his usual attitude so at odds with these small pockets of sincerity that she has somehow managed to see twice in the past twelve hours.

She hates it.

“Concerned, Astarion?” Rin raises her brows in question before deciding to grant him as close to an real answer as she can, though she doesn’t fully understand why she finds herself leaning towards such honesty when it’s never served her terribly well in the past. “I’ve felt worse, don’t worry.”

“That’s…good. It will pass.” He nods his head slightly, silver curls bobbing with the motion. His voice carries that same thread of sincerity, the sound of it disconcerting.

“Well, it certainly beats waking up in an unmarked grave.” Rin’s tone is light, breezy; the tilt of her head almost charming as she steers the conversation away from such perplexing emotions.

“I can arrange that, you know.” He picks up a knife from where it rests on the table next to him, examining the blade with the same air of casual indifference he does everything, a familiar wicked smirk playing on his lips.

This is the Astarion she knows, the only version of him she is comfortable with knowing, and its reemergence has her confidence surging back with it.

“Can you? I’m not so certain those hands of yours have ever done much digging.” She nods her head where he still holds the knife between perfectly manicured fingers.

The shadow that briefly crosses over his eyes at her words is gone as quickly as it comes, Astarion leaning ever so slightly into Rin’s space instead, the motion distracting her away from the question forming on her lips.

“Darling, if you want to know what these hands are capable of, all you have to do is ask and I’ll gladly give you a demonstration.”

The smile Rin gives him is saccharine as she lets her body relax the slightest bit towards his own, ever mindful of that knife still held between nimble fingers that could so very easily find a home in the spaces between her ribs.

“I’ll pass.” She keeps her smile sweet as she leans away, shooting him a sly wink over her shoulder as she turns to leave him where he stands in the over-bright light of day.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The cave yawns above, the sound of their footsteps echoing high against the sharp stalactites that hang down like crooked teeth. Rin keeps her feet near silent as she makes her way down a small offshoot, the rest of her companions back at the mouth of the passage as she scouts ahead.

She’s not entirely sure what she’s even looking for, though any possible lead about their current predicament is better than what they have now. Slowly, she steps, careful to keep her footsteps light as she moves forward along the rocky ground beneath.

The darkness is heavy, cloying almost, the bit of darkvision from Rin’s partial elven heritage barely enough to help her see. Her ears perk slightly as she hears the smallest of noises behind her, the barest movement of a rock on the ground alerting her of his presence as she scents him behind her, the potent mix of bergamot and brandy one she has recently become more familiar with than she would like.

“Is that the slithering of a snake I hear behind me?” Rin whispers the words low into the air as she stops moving, not bothering to look over her shoulder to the place she knows Astarion sneaks from several paces behind, his own footsteps practically unintelligible against the ground as he draws nearer.

“Darling, you’ll have to say that once more because I’m quite certain I didn’t hear you right.” Utter disdain drips from the words, his scorn leaving Rin no choice but to steal a glance over her shoulder at him if only to witness the inevitable expression of contempt that decorates his elegant features, eyebrows drawing low over crimson eyes narrowed in her direction.

“Fine, have it your way.” She throws a smirk at him from over her shoulder as he approaches her. “Would a prowling panther suit you better, then? Though, frankly, I think you have more the air of a house cat than that of an actual predator.”

A lie, but he didn’t have to know that. The disbelieving raise of his brow tells her all she needs to know about what he thinks of her comment, though.

“Well, if I am to be a cat then what does that make you? Perhaps a little mouse in need of a chase?” He tilts his head with feline grace as his eyes flit over her features.

Rin opens her mouth to say something—pink lips parting to let out a retort, an insult, anything she can to fill the space, unwilling to let him have the final say—when she hears it, a subtle sound farther up the path that draws both of their attentions, heads turning in sync.

A bang echoes out, louder now as it reverberates off the cave walls, followed by ringing silence left to fill the space. Before Rin can react she feels Astarion move, his elven reflexes far quicker than her own as he grabs for her. His hands fall to her waist as he walks them both backwards with quick, quiet steps into the shadows of the damp wall, his claret gaze narrowed as he stares at something she cannot yet see farther down the way.

Warning bells go off in her head as her eyes search the darkness beyond to no avail, dread settling in her belly as the inky blackness gives no notion of unveiling whatever lays beyond it. She can feel the presence of the being as it no doubt wonders what dares to disturb its lair; its dark power oily as it radiates through the narrow space.

He’s barely breathing, she notices, his chest practically still as it only expands and releases with the slightest bit of movement. He no longer seems to try to hide his fangs, and she absently wonders how she was ever able to not see him for anything other than a vampire as she searches the planes of his face instead of looking at whatever it is that lay ahead—how could she have ever overlooked and dismissed what seems so obvious now?

He is a perfect predator, every inch of him screaming it with a certain darkness that seems undeniable, from the tension in his limbs to the brows dipped low over cunning eyes.

Rin looks away from him for only a moment, stealing a quick glance towards where Shadowheart and Karlach have too flattened themselves against the wall farther down as they try to blend as best as they can, the great axe in Karlach’s hands at the ready as Shadowheart practically glows in time with the pulse of her blessing from Shar.

Whatever it is ahead seems to be ill inclined at the very least to put in much effort to come searching for them, that same presence pushing no closer as the group all stand frozen, waiting.

She can feel the damp cold of the wall seeping in through the padding of her stolen armor, a chill sneaking in through the metallic plating that permeates into her skin. But it’s nothing compared to the feeling of where Astarion’s hand rests against her waist, the weight of his fingers resting above her hip heavy as they press into her.

Their armor brushes where their bodies touch, Astarion making the profile of their bodies as small as possible as he crowds her against the dripping wall, Rin barely daring to breathe for fear of the metals clinking against one another and drawing the attention of whatever it is that sits somewhere up ahead. She can feel the warmth in her cheeks, the slight flush stealing across her face with a telltale rosiness at the lack of space between them.

Some small part of her takes notice of that power receding slightly, slinking away slowly though she pays it little mind, her thoughts so suddenly filled with him that everything else seems unimportant in the wake of his closeness.

The proximity is electrifying.

Her mind whirls at the nearness, flitting back to the few times they’ve ever been so close—the memory of his body hovering over her own as cool lips move against her bloodied skin; that very first day on the beach, his body dragging hers down into dirty sand with a knife to her throat and those same cool lips speaking threats into her ear.

Blessedly, Rin thinks, he hasn’t yet truly noticed her scrutiny of him or the flush that stains pink across her cheeks. She is unable to look away from his face this close, her eyes memorizing the sharpness of his cheeks, the brightness of his eyes as his face still stares in the direction of the noise; his senses, vampiric or elven, searching for something she cannot even hope to find in that impenetrable darkness ahead.

Slowly, as if summoning his attention with her thoughts, Astarion turns his head to look back in her direction. His gaze moves downward, no doubt taking notice of the slight pink of her cheeks as his plush lips widen into a smirk.

Astarion steps in closer to her body, just slightly, but the effect is nothing short of exhilarating. Rin finds herself somehow closer to the wall, the hand at her waist pressing harder into her armor as his thumb brushes up and down in light motions that have the darkest parts of her she had hoped to ignore lamenting the barrier of their armor, wondering how his fingertips would feel against the softness of her skin instead.

With a torturously slow motion, Astarion drags a hand up, barely brushing over the silhouette of her body as he raises his gloved fingers to rest on the exposed skin of her neck. Rin stands there frozen as his eyes stare into her own with an intensity she’s wholly unprepared for.

Lightly, Astarion brushes his fingers over the new marks there, twin spots of healing red high upon the skin of her neck, barely visible above the collar of her armor. Rin’s breath catches in her throat at the feeling, a shiver running down her body at the touch, much to her dismay, as Astarion eyes stay stuck to her neck.

“You tasted absolutely divine, darling.” His words are a whispered, heady thing as his eyes move up to look into hers once more, full of a certain promise Rin is unwilling to put a name to.

But the expression on his face is one of perfected, calculated seduction that he tries to hide beneath a hot gaze as he watches and waits for her reaction. Rin keeps her features neutral as she considers him, the lack of much of anything there dousing any embers building inside her.

Astarion looks at her as though she is something he can simply win with a good enough strategy, as though if he plays his imaginary cards right he will emerge as the victor of some unknown prize.

She can spot a mile away what this is to him, what she is to him.

A game.

And she’ll be damned if she lets him win.

Rin puts on her best coquettish smile, looking up at him from under dark lashes as she wets her bottom lip.

She moves her hands from where they rest at her sides to slide up the armor of his chest, touch light as she stops just short of his collarbone, examining the sleek black material under her hands as her fingertips play with the artful metalwork. She raises her eyes to his own again, challenge rising to life in the deep emerald of her eyes.

Astarion leans in slightly towards her, his scent filling her nose at the closeness, the smirk playing on his lips deepening.

“Play your cards right, darling, and maybe I’ll let you have another taste.” Her words are sweetly mocking, whispered on an exhale as her palms move to press flat against the planes of his chest before pushing hard.

Astarion stumbles back a step, air coming between their bodies once more as he rights himself, a brief look of surprise crossing his features before a wicked smile takes its place.

A part of her regrets something in those words the minute they leave her mouth—something wrong about them she can’t quite put her finger on—but she brushes the feeling away, shoving it deep into the recesses of her mind to be analyzed later like she’s done for years and years as she breezes past Astarion with a victorious smirk, ponytail swishing.

Rin makes her way back to where Shadowheart and Karlach wait, unwilling to take note of the look exchanged between the two of them as she approaches, the blush yet to recede from her cheeks.

“Well, I think we’d better find another way around, don’t you?” Rin gestures to Shadowheart, ignoring the curious raise of her brow as she begins to walk ahead, Karlach coming into step beside her.

“Whatever you say, boss.” Rin dislikes how wide Karlach’s smile is as she turns to look at the tiefling.

“Oh, hush. Not a word from either of you.” And with one last noise of exasperation, Rin finds her way to the front of the group to lead them onwards.

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Rin glances up at Astarion over her cards, held between her fingers with the finesse she would any other weapon. Her eyes meet his own as they assess her, attempting to see through her strategy as his elegant fingers draw another card from the pile sitting between them, a fat candle melting wax onto the tabletop off to the side illuminating the woodgrain.

Shadowheart gives an exasperated sigh from her place next to Rin, her own hand of cards long since flung out onto the tabletop in defeat, arms crossed in front of her chest as she rolls of her eyes.

Astarion keeps his face still, careful to give no tells as he places two cards into play on the table and waits. A lucky hand, to be sure.

But as Rin draws the next card, bringing it up to her face to look at, she smiles wide, the card just the one she had predicted she would pull. She carefully places her cards onto the table face up, her own set trumping Astarion’s own.

“I win.” Rin eyes Astarion with sheer triumph as she says the words.

“I’m shocked, darling. I didn’t know you were such a little cheat.” Astarion’s words are mocking, though Rin swears she can see something akin to amusement in his gaze as he arches an elegant brow, adjusting his posture to lean back with an air of indifference.

“And here I thought you liked that sort of thing.” She preens in his direction, still bathing in the feeling of the win.

“You’re both awful. What a pair you two make.” Shadowheart stands with a noise of disgust, dark braid bouncing behind her as she leave them to move instead towards where the other group sits in front of the fire, conversing happily about something or other.

“Counting cards. Really?” There was no real point in denying Astarion’s accusation—she was, in fact, cheating.

But, then again, so was he.

“Oh, don’t pretend like you weren’t hiding a card up that sleeve of yours.” She nods to where he has an arm draped casually across the back of the wooden chair.

Rin grabs at the bottle of wine sitting on the tabletop, eager to busy her hands with something as she takes a swig to fill the silence. She still felt somewhat off-kilter following the interaction with Astarion earlier, could feel his eyes on her the rest of the afternoon, as if he was appraising some unknown part of her.

Her fingers play at the handmade label of the bottle, ink and parchment warped by drips of the dark red liquid. Her earlier words to him keep drifting in and out of her mind, unable to be dismissed.

She had written it out earlier, still fresh from their exploration, wet quill moving hastily over the vellum as she organized her thoughts the only way she knows how, penmanship rushed as she wrote word after word kneeling upon the packed dirt with still-armored knees.

He confuses her, and while she may not trust him (though she’s unsure she ever has really trusted anyone), she doesn’t want to let him starve either. Despite all his misgivings and abrasive nature, she is loathe to withhold and force him to work for his food when she could provide it so very easily.

Everyone deserved a chance to eat.

Even beautiful, pompous, agitating vampires.

“I didn’t mean what I said earlier.” She swallows, fingertips running over the smooth, dark glass in her hands, looking everywhere but his face as she finally says the words that had been plaguing her thoughts.

“You’ll have to clarify, darling. I don’t commit every silly little thing you say to memory.” So dismissive, as always. His consistency is a small comfort, at the very least.

Rin sighs as she forces her hands to stop their motions, resting her elbows on the table instead, as her eyes finally drift to his face. Astarion looks as calm and unbothered as ever as he pretends to be uninterested in what she has to say, though she can see the slight tension along the edge of him, lining his shoulders and neck he surveys her with a guarded indifference as he waits for her to continue her words.

“What I said earlier, in the cave.” She lets her eyes meet his own, darkened jade staring into depthless incarnadine.

“You don’t have to do anything, Astarion, to get my blood.” That carefully cultivated guarded expression on his face falls, lips opening as if trying to find words, but nothing but air releasing on his breath.

“I’ll give it to you, gladly. I won’t make you ask.”

Astarion does nothing, says nothing as he sits there and stares at her, face blank as the candlelight flickers softly over his features. No clever words, no cunning smirk.

And with those parting words Rin stands to leave, unknowing of the weight that those few words carry as she places the empty wine bottle down on the worn wood and walks to her tent, Astarion still staring at her empty chair aside the slowly burning wick.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #my writing #fic: to eden #oc: rin

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juni-ravenhall · 3 months

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we played the quest now and mostly its just like. all these recent quests are at the quality as if a child wrote them but that feels like an insult to child authors. imagine if any other game at this price point (!) put out main story updates at this quality and this playtime per month(s).....

more specific commentary under here

the dark riders still dont feel like actual villains or threats to me at all, due to the rushed and stupid way they were introduced after their design updates, combined with how bad the writing is. i feel like im just chewing on a tasteless gum when i play this. but thats an insult to gum. its very nothing. its neither dramatic nor funny nor meaningful in any way.

the writing and timing is so bad that nothing holds any real dramatic weight. i didnt feel anything about maya getting zapped - i assume shes fine tho??? - obviously yes its harmful to choose to hurt the lesbians rather than literally anyone else and its worth criticising bc ppl need to stop making oppressed characters suffer more than the not-oppressed, but also just the whole thing is handled so badly that i can barely even care bc its so fucking stupid that nothing holds any weight. at this point anything any of the charas says and does just feels completely empty.

like you could just have mr sands collapse to the ground from a heart attack in the middle of the dialogue and sabine say "lol loser" and it wouldnt even feel especially out of place in the current quality of writing and storytelling.

it was fun to see darko and sands again just because we have more relation to darko as a villain than any of the dark riders. the same way i am way more interested in ms drake or mr anwir (rip i guess) than i am in the dark riders bc they were sooo badly included in the story and then suddenly now theyre everywhere and talk all the time as if we know them and as if theyve been a consistent villain. i am way more interested in any other npc than in the dark riders, i have more emotional connection to ed field than i have to katja. bc they were not written into the story properly. this is a continuous frustration i have reading any main story updates.

anyway the erissa race was just.... fine. this is supposed to be a kind of mini boss moment in other games. however, due to my horse not being fed (a system that sse designed) i rode quite slow which in itself takes away drama, but also, the race just felt really.... nothing, again. its not bad... its just nothing. the floating objects in the forest were cool, and the yarn stuff is cute (tho i dont feel anything about this design bc again she and her design is just thrown at me with no buildup - like - a character having a theme that you build up a connection to, is not happening here), but it doesnt feel like an important race or like a mini boss, its just.... ok i went here and now i went there. why tho. how did this matter.

it wasnt a difficult enough race in any way that it felt like challenging gameplay (mini boss fight) and ive said before, yes sure there are 8yo players who never played a game before and need it to be relatively easy - but this can be achieved in other ways than forcing *all* players to play a really dumb easy race, and its also not consistent throughout the game - sometimes a race is randomly kinda hard, other times its something you could do blindfolded, but without any consistent relation to where when and why the race takes place.

normally in games, battles/races/whatever would get more and more challenging as the story goes on, as levels go up, as new mechanics get introduced, as player skill and experience grows.

but yeah i just really hate the story quests at this point. theyre empty. theyre badly written. they are forgettable and dont hold the dramatic weight theyre supposed to. they feel random and disconnected from the rest of the game we played until a couple years ago. the characters and stuff are just handled so badly. the story and lore is confusing and hard to understand. its a mess.

all of this would be fine if sso was a game you play for free. it would be fine if it was a game that cost 10 dollars. it would be fine if it had microtransactions that were like, 1-3 dollars here and there, not 30 dollars here and there to afford two items or one horse or whatever.

i wouldnt judge it so harshly for this bad quality in the story quests (the writing, the storytelling and lore, the characters, the gameplay, the animations, the models and designs, the feeling of making progress as a player....) if the game was overall as cheap as its quests are.

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djarinbarnes · 2 years

Text

me recordarás - five

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Pairings: Javier Peña x female reader

Rating: Mature - explicit themes

Word count: 4k

Summary: summer has come to an end. you find yourself thrown into a whirlwind of emotions, difficult choices and more adversity, like you’d never believed possible. someone is there to pull you out of it - but it’s not someone you’d ever imagined.

a/n: IT’S HERE! a quicker update this time!! I hope you enjoy! lmk what you think!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Read it on ao3 here

previous chapter

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A few days after your conversation with Eddie, Javi finally made an appearance at your door again. You’d started wondering where he was - if he wanted to see you again. You surely hoped he would, based on the way he’d held you and almost kissed you.

Almost. The thought of him and his scent and the feeling of him against you had your mind wandering and your soul quivering in your entire being. You hated the impact he apparently had on you - the tight grip he held you in.

You had so much you wanted to say to him - scold him for leaving you when you needed it the most, scold him for not being there when you needed him the most and mostly scold him because he left you wanting more.

You’d been trying to figure out in which order you would say the things you needed to say to him, repeating everything over and over again to yourself, almost like you had to prepare a speech for an upcoming exam.

Your racing thoughts have done nothing but make you sweat and worry even more. You decided on a warm shower to 1. calm your racing mind and 2. wash off the sweat that had soaked your thin nightshirt. While you stand under the stream of hot water, you’re thrown back to Colombia, where Javi ate you out in his shower.

You let your head fall forward, and take a deep breath, feeling the heavy patter of drops of water on your back. It’s like you can feel it - his fingers igniting your every nerve end under the touch of them, and the way they felt so deliciously thick inside of you.

You wanted him. You wanted only him, and it scared you. It scared you, that in a mere two weeks you were so dependent on a man - a stranger, almost - that you had a hard time imagining your life without him and imagining your cunt clenching around anything else than his cock, fingers and tongue.

Your hands held you upright against the wall as your legs quivered beneath you, and you felt the slick coating your inner thighs. It was so filthy of you - being so easily turned on by the mere thought of him inside you had your cunt clenching around nothing and your slick leaving you in heavy amounts.

You let your hand trail down your body, only one hand now bracing you against the wall, and you saw stars the second your fingers came into contact with your mound. You knew it wouldn’t be long before you came to a climax, and it felt so freeing and pleasurable. You dipped a finger into your heat - it felt nothing like the way it had felt when Javi had buried his fingers in you.

You swiped your thumb over your clit, and you came in an instant on your fingers. “Oh fucking hell,” you breathe out, feeling your legs give in under the weight of your body. It had been in Colombia you’d had your last orgasm - and you didn’t even realize it before now. It was like you had been entirely too focused on so much else than bringing yourself pleasure.

With a sigh and the water on your skin turning cold, you rinse yourself quickly and step out of the shower to dry yourself off. As you were wrapping the towel around you, you heard a few knocks against your door. You throw your hair in a towel as well, and as you open the door separating your bathroom from the rest of the apartment, some steam escaping the small room.

You don’t think twice before you throw open the door, revealing your towel clad body to Javi. A few moments pass where you just look at each other, Javi’s eyes traveling up and down your exposed body. You sensed that Javi did have a physical reaction to the sight of you, and you already knew you were fucked.

You let him into your apartment, and he watched you as you trodded around your small space. You wanted to say something. Tell him how much you had missed him, how much you longed for his touch and his presence. Yet you found yourself wanting to scold him more. To yell at him, and give him a piece of your mind.

You feel the anger grown within you, feeling the warmth blossoming in your cheeks and the hairs rising on the back of your neck. Your nostrils were flaring, and you kept your back to Javi as you came to a decision on what to do. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, but you lack the strength to keep your emotions contained.

“Hermosa…” Javi started, and you felt yourself unable to breathe properly. “There’s so much I want to say, yet I don’t know what I can allow myself to share with you. It’s… hard for me. These feelings. I want to, but it’s been so fucking challenging to even look at you and see nothing but hurt and…” you don’t look at him.

You hear him as he shut the door - his steps louder than you imagined. “You gave me twelve days, Javi!” Your face was burning, your skin on fire with anger. “Twelve days for me to show you who I am. What you gave me was twelve days of tumultuous thoughts and worry!” It felt good.

“I worried so much about you while you were away those days. If you’d been shot, if you’d found someone else! And then you come home, and tell me you love me while you hold me. Then nothing. I hear nothing from you! I try calling you multiple times a day, desperately trying to come in contact with you! You brushed me off like I was.. a plague to you!”

“Was it all just a lie? Am I really that gullible?” It’s merely a whisper, but it stings in Javi’s heart nonetheless. He wants to say something. Desperately. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words dare come out. He lets his gaze divert from the spot on the floor in front of you. Javi was embarrassed.

It felt so strange - getting reprimanded by a woman close to 15 years his junior, but he knew he deserved it. He felt like someone finally had the courage to talk back to him. “You know, this isn’t going to work.”

Javi looked at you, still only clad in a towel after your shower. You had your hair wrapped in a towel, and Javi thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid his eyes upon. Javi rubbed the back of his neck, knowing he wasn’t supposed to be thinking of you like that in a situation like this.

“What do you mean by ‘this?” He reluctantly asked, and sighed. He rose from the bed to crack open your window. “‘This’ can be a lot of things.” His lips were starting to get chapped from all the biting of them he was doing. You let out a huff.

“You and I.” you whisper, actually dreading what you were about to say. “This thing we have between us. It’s not going to work. It was never going to work. I can’t live in a situationship where I know nothing.”

“I’m not leaving you.” Javi lit a cigarette by the cracked window, and you let him. You were too upset to say something. And you certainly didn’t care, since you were moving out in less than a week. Javi rubbed the hand not holding a cigarette against his pant leg.

“Excuse me?” You breathe, and Javi follows your silhouette in the window. He assumes you’ve seen him with his back to you, since you pick the towel off your body and put on your underwear. He feels like a creep, yet he can’t take his eyes off of you. He feels his tongue jerk in his mouth, and he takes a last puff of his cigarette before flicking the butt out of your window.

“I said,” he speaks as he slowly makes his way over to you, his eyes on the length of your back. “I’m not leaving you.” His front is right up against your back, and you close your eyes at the feeling and the thought of the inevitable that’s about to happen. “Not again. I’m staying right here.”

His warm hands seek out your hips, and your eyes widen slightly. His touch feels like lightning against your skin, his touch heating your flesh in the form of handprints. Your lips part slightly, and you take a deep breath to calm yourself.

You feel Javi move closer, and you close your eyes, the next breath you draw in trembling. “Unless you really want me to.” It’s a mere whisper against the skin of your neck, before he kisses your skin ever so lightly. If it wasn’t Javi, and if your skin weren’t already on fire and your senses heightened, you surely wouldn’t have felt it.

“Say the word, and I’ll go. I’ll leave you alone. No matter how hard it will be for me to stay away.” With a shuddering breath you turn to face him, his face still close to our neck and yours close to his. It feels like you’re playing a game of hide and seek - the thing both of you are hiding are your feelings for each other, and the portrayal of the same.

“I’ll give you forever, if you just let me.” Your eyes flutter open slightly, and you study his shirt, feeling your hands growing clammier with the continuous heating of your skin and the way his breath is still alighting your nerve ends. “I swear. I’ll do anything.”

A few moments pass where nothing but silence and your bated breaths fill the room. You both await the other to make the next move. You decide to break the thickening atmosphere with a statement.

“Don’t leave me ever again,” you breathe against his neck, and the hands resting on your hips tightens. Your fingers come up and stroke his arms languidly, sliding all the way from his bare underarms, over his covered biceps, coming to rest against the heated skin of his exposed neck.

You pull back slightly to give you both room, your hooded eyes finding his expression mirroring yours. You crane your neck slightly, your fingers following the flush of his neck to where it meets his jaw. You tighten your trembling fingers, your thumb resting against his cheeks and the remaining fingers toy with his hairline behind his ear.

You lean in slowly and slot your lips in between his, right where they belong. You feel Javi relax against you, and you draw him closer, encouraging him to do the same. You feel his arms coming around you, pulling you against him tightly. One of the hands resting on your hips travels down over the expanse of your ass, caressing the globe of it before the other one follows, testing the waters.

When you let him, and with a moan of encouragement, knees bend and deft fingers grab at the inside of your thighs, and he lifts you like you were weightless. This time, you don’t comment on the strain on his back as he carries you to your bed, following you down as he lays you against the covers gently.

His lips are still slotted over yours, your tongue gently meeting his as your lips part further, his hand traveling down the center of your chest to grasp at your breasts. With a moan you press your head back into your pillow, allowing you to fully look at Javi for the first time since you told him to stay.

He sits back on his heels over you, swiftly undoing his shirt before discarding it by the side of your bed. You lean up and let your fingers graze the scar on his shoulder where he was shot, before you raise yourself further and place a kiss against the scarred skin. His eyes are lecherous as he watches you kiss his skin, the wet touch of your kisses making his heart thud harder in his chest.

He falls in love with you all over again. There was a certain glow in your skin, and he contemplates if he’s ever found anyone as beautiful as you, right in that moment. He needed to claim you back. Because it did feel like he had already lost you.

“I need you.” You breathe against his skin, and he feels his mouth run dry. “I want you so desperately.” it’s almost a whine, and if it was any other situation, Javi would have found it pitiful. He couldn’t bring himself to think that way about you, though.

“I need you to tell me what you want.” Javi breathes, his finger lifting your chin to gaze into your eyes. You easily get lost in his chocolate depths, and you feel a shudder wracking your body. His fingers caress the length and curve of your jaw, and a sharp breath gets stuck in your throat.

“I want you to eat me out. Prepare me, take care of me. I need you to fuck me with your fingers, before you fuck me with your cock.” You barely believe the words leaving your mouth. You’d never had the courage to say something so sultrily before.

Javi’s throat constricted around a lump. He had trouble breathing, yet it was a wonderful feeling. He watched as you reached behind you and unclasped the bra you had just put on, before you laid back on your bed, a shy expression playing on your features.

He halted. Javi had never halted in sexual acts, ever. He’d always been the one to initiate sex, any kind of sex. And here he was - looking down at the most intriguing woman he’d ever met, intriguing only because she had a wonderful mind and a mouth not afraid to speak.

You felt your stomach drop when Javi didn’t act as you’d hoped. Had you said something wrong? And then he pounced on you. His hands gripped the back of your head and your neck, fingers tightening in your hair as he kissed you ferociously, leaving you breathless.

His tongue met yours, and you whined. Javi was turning you on so wonderfully. He trailed wet, hot kisses down the column of your throat, between and over your breasts, his tongue circling your nipples. You wince slightly, and he notices. He pulls back gently.

“They’re a little more sensitive than usual…” you trail off, and Javi understands instantly. He leans down again and places a firm kiss against the peaked bud, the rosy patch complimenting the bloom of your chest perfectly.

He pushes himself further down to stroke his tongue over the skin of your stomach, his thumbs caressing your sides as he moves down. He pays special, careful attention to where your small incisions were stitched up, and you watched in awe.

While he kissed the skin between your naval and mound, his hands glided down your hips, his fingers hooking into your panties and pulling them off expertly. He looked up at you through hooded eyes and heavy lashes, and you nodded with a deep, irregular breath.

Then he continued his venture down between your legs, the light touch of his hands around your thighs sending shivers up your spine and making you even more nervous about what was to come. You knew you had already been turned on a little less than half an hour ago, and the feeling hadn’t subsided yet.

Javi looked up and met your eyes as he leaned in, the coarse hairs of his beard tickling the soft skin of your innermost thighs, his warm breath fanning over the sensitive petals defining the middle of your vulva. He leans in and spreads your folds with his tongue gently, and you whimper.

You’d forgotten how it truly felt. How it felt to be so close to Javi, and so intimate with him again. All of your thoughts disintegrate into nothing as he sucks your clit into his mouth, lightning jolting through your veins, and making you gasp.

You push yourself up to look at Javi, the redness blooming under the skin on your chest making your whole throat flushed in a sporadic manner. You whimper at his assault on your clit, all while his fingers are massaging your thighs heavily, keeping your legs still as he tastes you.

You keep yourself raised on your elbows but throw your head back when he swipes his tongue down again, catching a bead of saliva that has made its way down the length of your cunt. Javi is focused on keeping your wetness contained, and the action doesn’t go unnoticed as he keeps everything centered around your clit and your opening.

You barely feel as one of his hands lets go of your thigh before it’s buried deeply within you, and you let out a guttural moan at the action. Your mouth falls open and you don’t hold back - whimpers and heavy moans fill your apartment as he twists and curls his finger inside of you before he adds another.

You’re sure by now that you’ve died and are floating around the universe. Stars are the only thing you see, lust clouding your vision as your second orgasm crashes into you at full force, your cunt gushing against Javi’s face as he curls his fingers against the front of your channel, and holding them there.

He retreats from your clit and he smirks, watching as your chest heaves while you try and catch your breath. “Squirting on me and all, hermosa.” he grins and you flush impossibly redder. It was hot, there was no denying it. You had only heard about squirting and you hadn’t figured out what exactly it was - but now you knew.

“Holy fucking shit,” you breathe and finally open your eyes as your breath settles. You look at him through hooded eyes and smirk, casting a glance down to where coarse black hairs met denim. “Do you have anything…” you breathe, all shy now that it was finally going to happen - you sure hoped it would.

Javi nods, before pushing off your bed and undoing his pants, pushing them down his tanned legs. You suck in a breath at the revelation of no underwear, and you bite your lip as you take in his size again, for the first time in months.

He reaches over to search his jacket, prying open an inner pocket before pulling out a whole 10-pack of condoms. You stifle a giggle - you wouldn’t hesitate to fuck him again and again and again…

You watch as he pries the package open with his teeth, before his hand comes down to tug at his length a few times before he rolls the latex over his cock while his eyes are making their way up your body, from your feet to your eyes.

You hold his gaze as he climbs onto your bed. You spread your legs for him and scoot a bit further down to welcome him in. He rests on his elbow above you, caging you in slightly before you lean up to kiss him. It’s wet and heated, and tongues collide soon thereafter.

Your hand travels down between the two of you, finding his cock and tugging him closer to you. He moans at your gesture, and you align his cock with your entrance. He pushes into you languidly, two moans mixing into one in the cavern formed with both your mouths.

It feels surreal having him inside you once again, and your hands don’t know where to place themselves. One ends up on the globe of his ass, making sure he’s staying close to you. The other tangles itself in the hairs at the back of his neck, and he buries his head in the crook of your neck.

You feel his heavy, scorching breath against your collarbone as he starts a pace that has you whining for more. “More, Javi, please, faster…” It’s all words coming out of your mouth at what feels like the same time, and it encourages him to pick up the pace.

His mustache tickles your collarbone and the crook of your neck, all while he peppers kisses along your pulse point, his cock stroking against the utmost depths of your cunt. His hand strokes your side, grasping the skin of your waist, the other twirling your hair as he keeps himself upright.

He thrusts in long, heavy strokes, his balls drawing noise from where your skin connects, and you throw your head back at the overwhelming sensations overcoming you. It ripples in your belly, the coil tightening slowly but surely.

It’s like he can feel your climax approaching, because his hand travels down and finds the hood of your clit, urging your climax further, pulling you to the edge of euphoria quicker than you’d ever thought possible.

Your walls clench around him tightly as your climax overcomes you, your head craning itself further back as you gasp for air. Your body convulses unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, the overwhelming feeling sending sparks through your whole nervous system.

He groans against your skin before he empties himself into the condom, before collapsing on top of you. Your arms wrap around him and you exhale, relaxing against him. He raises himself slightly, his lips finding yours gently as you both catch your breaths.

“I meant everything I said, hermosa.” He shifts slightly, letting his softened cock slip out of you before laying on his side beside you. You turn slightly and look at him with a soft expression, urging him to continue. “I love you. I do.”

Your lips tug slightly, feeling your heart flutter. “I want you, and I want to be with you. I’m still scared shitless. With everything that happened…” He trails off, and you feel another tug at your heartstrings. This time though, it’s in sympathy. “I never told you.” Javi breathes and you grasp his hand in yours.

“Lorraine and I… tried. We lost three times. And it broke us. It broke me…” Javi lets his gaze focus on a freckle on your torso. “It didn’t feel the same after that. I couldn’t give her what she wanted, and it hurt more than anything.” Your thumb strokes the soft skin of his hand, and you lean in and rest your chin on his head.

“I’m afraid the same thing is going to happen with you. That I’m never going to be able to give you a family.” You feel a lump form in your throat, and a heavy tear landing against the back of your hand, intertwined with Javis. “That I’m never going to give you everything you deserve.”

“Oh, Javi.” You feel yourself tear up at his revelation, and it touches you deeply. You lift his head by his chin, urging him to meet your eyes. He does, his chocolate eyes glossy with tears. You lean in and place a kiss on his lips. “I am so sorry.”

You barely have the words to explain what you’re currently feeling. Javi gets up and rids himself of the latex, before he’s coming back to the bed. You sit up, and watch him as he kneels in front of you. There’s a short moment of silence, where neither of you speak.

“You must believe me when I say…” Javi starts, and you feel his hands grasp both of yours. His words halt, and he shoots his gaze down. You beat him to it, and open your mouth to speak.

“I want this, Javi. I want you. No matter what’s to come. And I’m not giving up on us. I believe in us.”

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

#javier peña #Javier Pena #javier peña x reader #javier pena fic #javier pena imagine #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier pena x reader #narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fanfic

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levis-coffeecup · 2 months

Text

chapter 27| Forgotten Flowers

WC-7.3k

Summary

The underground is filthy and dark. Dim lights, dull alleys, and desperate hearts. A place Levi knows as well as the back of his hand, and a place he would do anything to get out of.

Chapters of life roll by and with the turn of a page, things drastically change. In front of him is the opportunity to live on the surface. And the flimsy bridge that he has to cross. From an uncivil criminal to a disciplined soldier.

But life on the surface seems tougher amidst all the mockery, civilities, and the gaping hole left in his heart, after the demise of his dear friends Isabel and Farlan.

Content/Warnings

canon- compliant, canon-typical violence, spoilers for No Regrets OVA, descriptions of PTSD, grief, depression, heavy angst and themes, strong language, self-hate, physical assault.

Author’s Note

Heyyyy

Sorry for disappearing for 2 weeks without saying anything 🤡.

I had to look for a house, and work was also really busyy, so I didn't have the time to work on the fic. But my apologies for not updating again!

This chapter has a lot of time skips, so do keep the dates in mind to understand the timeline better. Also the last chapter ended with Levi going for the Mission to Reclaim Shinghansina, so this chapter will be more about post season 3 scenes, and season 4 timeskip stuff.

I hope you enjoyyy! Would love to know your feedback in the comments. Song for this chapter is Happiness by Orange Rex Country

Chapters

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

Masterlist | Playlist | Other Works

AUG 850

Maria has been reclaimed, and the people of Paradis rejoice. Throwing flower petals at the 8 remaining members of the Survey Corps.

This is the first time they have been welcomed this way. And this is the first time they have ever won. But Levi feels nothing close to victorious, as he tredges down the streets of Trost.

His feet ache, and the crowd cheers.

Silently he suffocates in the praises people sing of him.

For he has returned, not a valiant warrior, but a wimp who couldn’t even complete the promise he made to his dying commander.

The sound of the creaking wagons behind him is loud amidst the cheer. Erwin rests there, and so do Moblit, Marlo and many others. They couldn’t even get most of the bodies back, because of the shortage of carts.

And Levi has always been a part of their death, but this time, all responsibility falls on him. It was his decision to let his comrades march to death. It was his incompetence that let the beast titan slip away.

And now his shoulders can’t help but quake. For he has returned with unfathomable grief, and the weight of the entire survey corps on his head.

The loudness of the crowd, and the silence of his sadness are all too overwhelming. And Levi sighs, wondering if the heaviness in his heart will ever recede.

Hange agrees to take his horse back to the base. And Levi pushes through the people on the street, struggling to maintain the impertinent scowl that always rests on his face.

Soon his tired eyes meet the beautiful brown of hers.

She’s standing at the doorstep of their house. So grateful that he’s come back alive.

His breath quivers. It feels like it took him hours to reach her, as if he was walking in an endless circle.

“Levi,” her voice is one of love. She takes a step closer to him. Studying his body, smeared with victor’s blood. And he’s tried to hold it all in for so so long. But he’s home now, he can’t help but let his emotions crack through the mask.

“Levi…,” she puts a hand on his cheek, trying to elicit a reaction from him.

A few seconds pass by, thick in silence and then he lunges forward towards her. His arms encircling around her waist as he buries his face into the crook of her neck.

And she gasps, as she feels the slight tremor in his frame.

He reeks. Of sweat, of blood. Of death, of failure. And she can’t help but pull him closer, hoping that if she holds him tighter, it brings back all his pieces together.

She doesn’t know what he’s been through. And she doesn’t know what hurt him so bad, that he dares to hug her when they’re still standing at the doorsteps of their home.

But she wants to tell him that everything will be alright, and that he’s amazing. She knows he’s trying his best, and he’s fought to the best of his abilities in the mission as well.

But Levi always pushes her away.

Too proud to show his weakness. Too frightened to discuss his vulnerabilities. And Mae knows that he probably wants to pretend like he’s all alone. That he’s not breaking down like this in front of her.

The people around stop and stare. It’s not everyday that you see a man seek comfort out in public, much less Humanity’s Strongest.

And so Mae pulls him inside the house, away from the eyes that gawk during his times of weakness. She makes him sit on the sofa, so she gets the freedom to kiss his misery away.

“Levi, I’ve run a warm bath for you.” She speaks and Levi hums, thoughtlessly.

His brain has stopped working, or maybe he’s forcing it to shut. Not having the strength to face its never ending cynicism.

And so he lets her guide him to the bathroom. He lets her undress him and press a kiss on the new scar on his temple.

The warm water feels faintly welcoming. And as Levi dips himself in the bathtub, Mae sits on the platform behind him.

For a moment the only thing that remains is the stillness of the water, and the shell of the person Levi once used to be. Quaintly numb and horribly devastated.

The world hasn’t been gentle enough with him.

And so Mae lights a few scented candles around, hoping he doesn’t forget about the beautiful things in life.

It’s painfully domestic, and surprisingly Levi doesn’t complain. It's not like him to tolerate her presence when he’s so emotionally wrecked. Usually he gets snappy and pushes her away.

But this time his eyes are pleading to her. Asking her to stay.

And so she takes her time to wash him and his sins away. With gentle eyes, gentler fingertips and the gentlest lips.

And he gives in.

He gives in to her, as she lather soap around his shoulders. He gives in to her kind touches as she splashes warm water across his back. It makes him feel so loved and cherished, as if he’s a person who can still be accepted.

His eyes flutter shut, and he lets her find himself in places he’s never been in before. Vulnerable and naked, whilst she remains clothed behind him.

Her touches find his trembling skin. His bloodied hands that still quake under the weight of his regrets. And her lips find the souvenirs of war on his skin, scourged and engraved against his body. She tries to be the softest there, kissing all the spots where he’s been stabbed and hurt before.

When she looks up at him, his eyes are a crumbling shade of gray. And she sees the way he thinks he is a disgusting weakling. Nothing but a failure who couldn’t do anything.

And she dares to tell him that she loves him exactly the way he is. His scars, his bruises, and his battered soul that has been broken once again.

She dares to tell him that he’ll always be so much more beautiful than all his downfalls.

And Levi finds it easier to cry when water is already streaming down his face. He finds it easier to cry when Mae is sitting behind him, with her lips hovering over the sensitive skin of his neck.

He pivots and wraps his arms around her clothed back, keeping his head on her lap.

And Mae begins to comb his hair with her fingers. Making sure the shampoo has been washed off.

His eyes flutter close in surrender. He wonders how he got here? And how did he seek comfort in another person?

He has asked these questions to himself a million times before, and he still doesn’t have an answer..

But he likes to think that the universe gifted her to him. Maybe to compensate for all the people it has taken away from him. Maybe to restore his faith.

That she was supposed to help him grow, and become a better person. And he was born to rest beside her, with his head on her lap and his heart filled with love.

______________________________

FEB 851

Erwin stands tall amidst the oak trees planted in the City Square.

The forelegs of his horse are raised and his face is contorted in rage. His sword yields high, and his other hand is firm, fisted against his chest. A testament of his strength and will, as he carries his cadets into the storm of conflict.

The details of his face are set in stone . And dedicate your heart is etched in bold, right below it.

Needless to say, he looks glorious.

And Levi looks at his statue, with a distant look on his face.

The glory was never worth the carnage, and the war was never about bravery, it was about horror. And Mae sighs as her gaze lingers on Levi.

He came back to her in ruins, and she has tried awfully hard to piece him back together. But sometimes he still drifts off to a place, unreachable./ on some days, she still sees him crumble under the weight of his vows.

She wraps her hand around his wrist and tugs his arm.

“You were taking me to some market, weren't you?” Her sweet voice pulls him out of his thoughts. His features soften. And he lets her bring peace to him.

2 years have passed since the mission to Reclaim Singhansina. And the revelations in Eren’s basement have changed the trajectory for humanity. Or what they thought was the entire human race.

Turns out the entire world is against them.

Yet fortunately, some allies have also been found.

And with the help of the Anti-Marleyan Volunteers and the Azumabitos, Paradis is developing wonderfully. Train tracks are being built and strategies to secure the future are also being concocted.

Titans are no longer something people are scared off. And long gone are those days when soldiers would sacrifice their lives to kill mindless titans.

Things have been peaceful.

And the streets of Mitras look prosperous as ever. With the colorful bougainvilleas planted to the side of the cobblestone path.

“I still remember the day I came to Mitras…,”Mae recalls scornfully. “ They laughed at the dresses I wanted to sell, you know? It was so humiliating.”

And life has changed so much since then.

Mae's clinic has become one of the best in Trost. The line of patients is always long, and she works day and night. More of a workaholic than Levi now.

“I didn't even make enough money to save my parents.” A frown plays on her lips. There are days when old wounds resurface for her as well, sometimes triggered by the randomest of things.

“But you are doing so much better now… aren’t you?” Levi rebuttals with her thoughts, his voice soft. “Not to mention that you earn way more than me. And you’ve managed to save quite a huge amount.”

A genuine smile lights up Mae’s face. And her sun-creased eyes crinkle on the side. Getting praise from Levi still feels amazing. Because it's always genuine

“We've come far…” she affirms. ”We should be proud.”

And Levi’s fingers trail down her forearm, till they reach her palm. Their fingers intertwine, and he holds her hand in a soft grip.

The entrance of the market speaks a ton about its class. There’s a huge wooden arch built at the entrance. Fresh lilies dangle down from it, spreading an aroma that could captivate anyone passing by.

Carriages of the nobles are parked adjacent to it, stacked in a neat line, and chauffeurs stand outside, bored by the wait. The military police crowds around the gates, guarding it with astonishing discipline.

And Mae gasps, taken aback by the grandiose of the market.

The stalls are decorated with frilled tablecloths, and fragrant flowers are twirled around the pillars. A shop even sells small souvenirs of the railway trains that are being made. And there is seafood too, a special cuisine from the land of Marley.

Unlike most markets, this one isn’t loud. Ladies laugh, in their poised, practiced laugh. And the men speak in their fancy accent.

It makes Levi crinkle his nose. "Well, this place reeks of pretentiousness. I bet none of these swines could survive a day outside their fancy walls."

And Mae chuckles a little. “I'm surprised you wanted to come here of all places, Levi. You’ve always hated the nobility. “

“But I know you like fancy ass places.” Levi comments with nonchalance. His eyes land on a fashion boutique to his far right. Dainty, feminine dresses are placed on display, visible through the large glass facade.

And Levi doesn’t hesitate a second, before leading Mae to the shop.

Soon they step inside, and Mae’s eyes grow wide in awe. It doesn’t take long for her to slip her fingers out of his hand, and sashay around.

The store is as huge as the conference room at the Survey Corps. Tall wooden cabinets break the area into several aisles and the shelves are stocked with all kinds of fancy fabrics and clothes.

Much to Levi’s liking, there aren’t many people inside. And he strolls around, watching the wide collection of opulent garments.

His attention lands on a beautiful shade of peach that stands out in the pile of clothes stacked in the compartments. And he pulls it out to see the whole dress.

The fitted bodice is adorned with delicate details of lace. Its puffy sleeves are made of mesh, attached in line with the sweetheart neckline. And the skirt below is airy and voluminous, with layers of organza to add fluffiness.

Mae falls in love with it as soon as her eyes land on it. “That seems like something a princess would wear,” she gapes, as she ushers closer towards it.

There's another dress in her hand. A white one made of silk. And Levi feels a lump growing in the middle of his throat as he looks at it. “This dress looks so similar to what your dad made for your 18th birthday.”

And Mae nods, blinking away the stinging sensation in her eyes. “I always felt so guilty about selling that dress off, especially when it didn’t help me save either of them... But this feels like the universe is giving me another chance.”

And Levi’s smiles as he imagines her in all white. With satin bows on the bodice, and her skirt twirling around with every movement she makes. He's always wondered what she would look like in it, since it was her favorite dress.

He places his hand on the small of her back and he leads her to the front of the store. “Let’s get it then.”

And Mae hums as she turns to the shopkeeper.

But all her wishes come crashing down when she hears the price.

Her jaw drops and the silence that falls next is deafening.

The amount is beyond her imagination. For a moment she had truly forgotten how expensive this market was supposed to be.

“Should I pack it for you?” the shopkeeper asks with a practiced smile.

“NO,” her answer is immediate. And then she plasters a sweet smile as she keeps the dresses on the counter. But before she can march towards the exit, Levi grabs her wrist and drags her behind a shelf, where it’s just the two of them.

His brows furrow, and his eyes bore into hers. “Do you not like them?” He asks with all seriousness.

And Mae’s gaze flicks to the floor.

“It’s too expensive,” she mumbles. ”Now that I think about it, father wouldn’t want me to pay 3 times more for a dress that he made for free… I’d rather save that money.” She tries to convince herself.

But Levi doesn’t miss the subtle frown pulling on her lips.

“That’s fair…” He ponders for a moment. “But I don’t think your father would disapprove of me getting the dresses for you.”

And for a moment, all Mae can do is stand in shock. Her lips part, and her eyes grow wide with bewilderment. “You can’t buy me those dresses, Levi.” She crosses her arms in front of his chest.

“Any why not?”

“Because I earn way more than you, and no way am I going to let you buy even o-.”

He cuts her off by keeping a finger on the plush of her lips. His eyes trail from her mouth to her eyes. And he holds her in his gaze for a moment.

The months after the Return to Shinghasina were so hard. Hell chased Levi back from the battleground. And he found himself falling in an endless pit of horrors. Again and again. Over and over.

And throughout his battles with his own mind, Mae remained awfully patient.

He’d snap at her, still annoyed at the fact that he couldn’t save his comrades from the massacre by the beast titan.

He’d sit sad and dejected, crumbling under the weight of his vows. And she would look at him in pain, not knowing how to help him.

He would refuse her touch, sleeping on the edge of the bed, believing that he didn’t deserve it. And she would watch the war consume.

But not once did she raise her voice at him. Her gentleness with him was constant, no matter how difficult he was being.

And it's only the love she has shown him in the past few months that has made him accept himself again.

“Just because you earn more than me, doesn’t mean I can’t treat you.” He hooks his hand under her chin, lifting her face up so he can meet her gaze.

“Silly girl,” His voice comes out exceptionally soft.

He can never put into words how grateful he is to have her and so he presses a quick kiss on her lips. Hoping it does half of the job.

And Mae gawks, unable to recognize the man in front of her. He’s kissing her in the back of a store, holding her hand as they walk through the road. Ready to spend a month's salary on a dress she desires.

This is not the practical man she fell in love with.

But whatever it is, she feels loved and cherished.

“Are you sure, Levi? I won’t judge if you want to chicken out at any moment… It's a huge amount.” She tries to dapper her excitement by acting modest.

But he just nods. She’s worth so much more than the dress he’s about to buy. And unfortunately, it’s all Levi can’t afford at the moment. He hopes he can give her the world one day.

They walk back to the front of the store and the shopkeeper greets them with a smile again.

“The price might have thrown you off guard but both of them are from an exclusive couture collection.“ He goes off as he lays both the dresses on the counter. “Although we can surely find something cheaper for the lady.”

“Cut the crap-” Levi barges. “We’re purchasing it.”

And Mae taps her chin. The sweetness of the moment makes her heart melt a bit.

“I can’t decide which one to get though,” she mumbles, biting her lip. “The peach one definitely excites me more, since I’ve never worn something like that, but the white one really reminds me of my dad. And a part of me will feel guilty if I pick another dress over what my dad made.”

“Well… Levi's voice drawls. “If you’re feeling so conflicted …I can decide for you if you want.”

And there’s not an ounce of hesitation in his voice as he turns to the shopkeeper and says, “we’ll be purchasing both of them.”

Mae gasps, and then she nudges at his side, fazed. But he just blinks at her, as if everything is alright. Slowly her eyes light up like that of a little child, and he wishes he could pause the moment.

He is quick to hand out the cash, as if he’s been preparing for this moment all his life.

And Mae’s cheeks turn flush, as the shopkeeper packs the dresses and hands them to Levi. For a moment she feels too flustered to string a coherent sentence. And it’s only when they’ve stepped out of the store does she speak again.

“I almost drained your entire wallet.” She coyly stumbles over her words. “But thanks Levi, I appreciate it a lot! “

“Tch, stop acting like a formal, snobby brat.” He grunts, but his eyes glint with fondness.

They step into the busy streets again, and Levi's hand lands on the small of her back. Ensuring that he doesn't lose her in the crowd of the market.

The section they enter next is gleaming with gold on every fixture. Intricate necklaces studded with gems are on display at every corner. And mannequins are decorated with accessories that only royals could sport.

The security is tighter here, and Levi’s sure all the jewelry is made of pure gold.

“I’m so excited to wear these dresses, Levi!” Mae squeals .

H er energy spills out in waves of enthusiasm, and she walks with a slight hop in her step.

Levi finds her rather cute in her childlike excitement.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I’m feeling right now. I’ll wear the peach dress for a date, we’ll have a romantic dinner on the terrace where we’ll slow dance under the stars… and the white one would be perfect for a picnic.”

And Levi chews the inside of his cheeks. Baffled that she’s still so excited to spend time with him. After years of being together. Instead, he decides to focus on the elaborate displays of jewelry to stop the blush creeping up on his cheeks.

The sight around him is a manifestation of the luxury and opulence that corrupts this world. It’s something Levi hates, since he’s seen how bad the other side is. He sighs.

Every piece of jewelry is sparkling, and intricate. But they all look the same, with the same stones, the same metal. The nobles are always decked with these. And Levi has met enough thanks to the galas Erwin made him attend to secure funding for the Survey Corps.

“Any of these catch your interest?” He drones, as they walk past the largest stall that stands in the center of the section.

And Mae points her finger towards a ring that's kept in a small glass box. “That looks pretty,” she comments casually.

Oddly enough, Levi can’t recognise the gemstone. It’s a smooth sphere, cream coloured with an iridescent surface that shimmers in various soft hues.

He steps towards it. Inspecting it closer. The gem is like nothing he’s seen before,

It’s softer, white, pure and luminous, just like Mae.

“It does… it’s absolutely gorgeous.” He’s besotted the moment he looks at it.

The previous customer standing at the stall leaves, and the Vendor turns his attention towards Levi. His eyes glint with excitement. “You’re Humanities Strongest, right?”

And Levi hums. It’s common for him to be recognised these days.

“Well, what you’re looking at is not a gemstone… It’s all thanks to you actually… the Survey Corps.…” The vendor opens the glass case, and hands the ring to Levi. “It’s a pearl, a gem from the sea.”

“I see.” Levi takes it in his hand and examines it closer. The surface is smooth and lustrous, but it’s not loud like that of a diamond. ”Must be fairly expensive.”

“It's the most expensive product in this section for sure. ” The vendor chimes.“ It's the most beautiful wedding ring ever made in our studio!”

He extends his hand forward, taking back the ring from Levi’s grasp. “Unfortunately it's not up for sale.”

Levi raises his bow at that, and the vendor continues.

“It's a custom wedding ring made for the Franz family. It’s only up for display… I can make one for you if you’d like though.” The vendor goes on, and Mae looks at Levi, not understanding why he is taking part in such a futile conversation.

She steps closer to him and tugs at his sleeve.

“Let’s go Levi, we have no use for a wedding ring.” All the wedding rings around makes her want to hurl, but she manages to mask the bitterness in her heart.

And Levi throws the ring a final glance, before he decides to walk away as well.

Moments later they are laying on grass and watching the sunset.

It’s a quiet garden just outside the orphanage made for the Underground kids.

The grass is lush, and Levi closes his eyes as a gentle breeze blows by them.

His lithe eyebrows are slightly disheveled but relaxed. And in the outer corner of his eye, there are faint lines that mark all the years he’s spent on this land so far. Time has flown by very fast.

And Mae longs after him in silence.

She’s pampered him so much that he has put on a bit of weight. His thighs have become soft, and his cheeks are much more rounder now. He looks cute, she thinks to herself. This is probably what Levi looked like as a child, with the pudgiest of cheeks.

Ever since the Survey Corps headquarters got shifted to the coast of Paradis, Levi has been spending all of his weekends at home. Trost is convenient to go to the coast, and after Levi got to stay with Mae in the 3 month break after the Battle of Shiganshina, he realized there’s no place he would rather be than next to her.

And so he races back to home, Whether it’s from a long eventful week filled with meetings or a trip to the interior. Every Friday night he’s next to her, with his head on her lap. In the only home he’s ever known.

And Mae, too, finds the house extremely quiet without him, even though Levi hardly makes any noise.

Loving him has become a habit now. It comes easily, From cleaning extra hard, when he comes back home, to understanding the subtlety of his love.

His presence has almost become like the air that she lives on. Something not noticed when everything is perfectly normal. But something that suffocates her when she feels his absence.

“Why are you staring at me instead of the sunset Mae?” Levi doesn’t open his eyes, but he can feel her gaze burning his side.

And Mae bites her lip at his question. A little uncertain

“Levi… “ Her voice comes out hesitant. “You bought me these dresses today, and made me feel so loved, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder if you’re staying with me out of convenience?”

Levi’s eyes flutter open and he turns to his side, facing her.

“ Am I just a habit now?” She chokes, her voice getting caught in her throat. “ Do you not find me beautiful anymore?”

And Levi falls silent, as he looks at her longer. Beautiful is too weak of a word.

“No, not at all… why would you ever think that.” Levi places his hand on her cheek, And then a tint of pink dusts his cheeks as he mumbles, “ I know I don’t say it enough, but I'm grateful to have you.”

“Then…” Mae falters and exhaustion drags through her voice. “Then why wouldn’t you just marry me?

Tears well up in the corners of her eyes. “We’ve known each other for 8 years… and we’ve been in a relationship for 6, I’ve stayed by your side through whatever the world has put us through. I… I don’t know how else I should prove my love towards you?”

And Levi looks at her, at a loss for words. She doesn't need to prove anything to him… He knows she loves him. He knows she loves him with all her heart.

Her voice cracks, heavy with emotion, but she continues. “I don’t understand where the problem is? We do everything that married couples do… We make love, we manage finances. And we’ve also been living together ever since the Survey Corps headquarters got shifted to the outskirts of Paradis.” Her lips quiver, and she tries to suppress her sobs.

But he sees her pain reflect in her orbs.

She’s his peace, in this cruel, chaotic life. But when he looks behind her, the world is still in chaos.

There’s a war out there waiting for him. And if he doesn’t go out and fight it, this world might dangle on the brink of destruction again

“It’s not you Mae…” His voice trails out. “I just don’t see the point in marriage…. I mean we know what we have, so is there any need to bring law into it? And let everyone know of something that’s so private?”

“B-but Levi…,” she refutes quietly. “ I’ve always dreamt of getting married… I’ve always dreamt of getting married to you. Can’t you let your beliefs slide for me? I’m hitting my 30’s… and all my friends are married. Every time I meet someone they ask me when I plan to get married… And it’s humiliating to tell them that I've been with someone for 6 years, and that someone is still not ready to marry me.….Sometimes I feel like you just don’t love me anymore.”

Love, the word repeats in Levi’s subconscious.

He loved her when she was just a scarred apprentice, attempting to find her place in a world where she has lost everyone. He loved her when he became Humanity's Strongest and when she became a measly waitress in a tavern. He loved her despite knowing how fragile their relationship was, and how easily this world could break it apart.

And yet, he still loves her now, as he looks at her tearstruck eyes, asking him why he wouldn’t marry her. But he loves her a little too much to make a widow out of her

And Levi knows he’s fighting a battle that isn’t his. Maybe if this had happened right after he lost Isabel and Farlan, he would have left the Survey Corps and run away with her.

But too many lives have been lost now. He’s made promises to keep and his wounds run too deep. He can’t back out of the war.

And even though things are placid now, this peace is just a temporary illusion. A brief reprieve that’s only meant to be broken.

Because war will come again, knocking on his door. And Levi will be forced to choose between his duty as Humanity’s Strongest and Mae.

His fingertips find its way to her face. Her brows are wrinkled in frustration, and his touch hovers over it. Slowly the lines ease away.

Mae closes her eyes as his feather light touches follow the arch of her eyebrow. And Levi finds it easier to mask the yearning on his face when Mae is not looking at him.

Only he knows how he wants to take her hand, and run away, somewhere far away in some secluded cottage. Just the two of them, with their little kids. He wouldn’t mind if they take more from her, than from him.

Yes he doesn’t believe in marriage, but he doesn’t mind if it makes her life more peaceful.

But peace might only find him in the form of death, before it ever touches the rest of the world.

“The world is too unpredictable right now.” His tone is assertive. It’s a statement not something that is up for discussion.

And once again Levi succeeds in trampling his desires. The mask he always wears, materializes all over. Now his heart is tucked away, somewhere safer, in a dark and distant part.

He has to keep his head over his heart. Even when he falters, even when he trips, he has to be strong.

But when Levi's eyes meet the sorrow in hers, he can’t help but feel like a useless person. “I'm so sorry sweetheart.” he sounds remorseful, “You’re not the problem, I promise…It’s me who’s not able to give you want.”

She shifts closer to him, desperate to feel his presence. And his arms wound tight around her waist as they embrace the path that destiny has set out for them.

Levi loves humanity a little too much to leave it abandoned. And Mae loves Levi as much as he loves humanity. The path set out for them has more agony than happiness.

The sun drowns under the horizon. And they drink up their misery, looking forward to death together.

______________________________

DEC 853

The first ray of dawn only brings sadness to the town.

Levi lays on the bed in a nonchalant state of humaneness. Hair messily falling on his face, tousled by the pillow underneath him. Some stubble on his chin, and his half-draped body naked under the sheets that cover him.

He looks sublime. So beautifully human.

And Mae can’t help but take a seat on the bed, lean over and capture him with a kiss.

That’s all they do for a while. Kiss, embrace, with her fingers entangling into his hair. Heaven only breaks when her tears finally slip in. Leaving a salty aftertaste on his lips.

He catches the glimmer in her eyes, as she pulls away. And Mae tries her best to conceal her grief in the rush of her actions. But it’s Levi after all, he could never miss the slight tremor in her shoulders as she wears the dress that lays discarded on the floor.

It feels like Mae is spending all her efforts to stay away from. He steps into the kitchen, and she turns the other way to drink water. He leans closer, trying to kiss the top of her head, and she pushes away, telling him she needs to take a shit.

It’s only during breakfast that he properly gets to see her face.

Her eyelids are swollen, double the size of what they usually are. And her eyes are masked in a sheer layer of moisture, threatening to spill out any second.

“You were up early.” He questions, testing the waters.

“Yeah… couldn’t get much sleep” Her voice comes out hoarse. And her gaze doesn’t leave the egg that she’s frying on the pan. He can tell she’s been crying for hours.

Levi leaves again, today.

He’s going to the enemy nation. It's not brainless titans that he has mastered slaughtering. It's a whole new country with technology far greater than theirs, and a population that hates their race, for merely existing.

And even though Levi’s been on a hundred missions before. Something about this mission makes Mae stomach churn. Like everything is going to go wrong.

But what's left to say. Levi is going to put himself in danger, and Mae can do nothing to stop him.

And so she runs away from him again. Rushing to their room as soon as she puts the eggs on his plate.

Her grief is loud in all the silence. And Levi feels a little anxious to find out the reason behind her suffering.

“Mae?” he calls out cautiously. Stepping into their room, as he finishes his breakfast.

But words don’t dare to leave her lips, instead she grabs his wrist. Pulling him to where she has laid his clothes out for him.

And in the dim light of dawn, Mae dresses Levi up.

She fastens the belt over his plants, and closes the buttons of his favorite white shirt. Her steady hands speak nothing of her trembling heart.

She drapes the blazer over his broad, strong shoulders.

The air is too thick and the silence cuts like the edge of a dull blade.

And Mae tries to focus on the silken fabric of his tie rather than the pain of him leaving.

The navy brings out the blue in his eyes.

Needless to say Levi looks gorgeous. His suit transforms him from her lover to a soldier bound to his promises. And as Mae steps back to look at Levi, the tears that she’s trying to cage, come back with full force.

“It's been 7 years Levi… 7 years since we’ve been together… Can you believe it?” Her lips meld into a sad smile. “Time has passed away so quickly, hasn’t it? It feels like it was moments ago when I saw you sitting on that boulder, like an arrogant asshole… Who would have known I’d almost spend a decade with you.”

Levi smiles at her words. Tilting her head towards him, so that he can look at her. Their gazes lock, and a universe of shared memories and unspoken words pass through their minds.

And as Mae gives his tie a final tug, her voice comes out so defeated. “I tried to keep up with you, you know? Walk at your pace, so I could be alongside you on every path you take... But you’re so much more stronger Levi, so much more faster. You are a force of nature that no one could ever stop.”

Her touches linger, laden with yearning. And the pain reflecting in her eyes makes it torturous for him to gaze into them.

He tries to shush her cries away by pressing a lingering kiss on the top of her head. Again and again, hoping the familiarity mulls her to a happier place.

“And now my legs are giving up, my bones are becoming weak. You're pacing forward and I’m slowing down… I- I’m afraid I’ll be left behind.“ Her voice quivers, and she breaks into shambles. “I was a fool to think I was strong enough to endure this?”

And when he sees her like this, choking up on her own words. With her eyes swollen, and her lips trembling with heaving exhales. He feels his strength dwindling out as well.

“W-what are you trying to say sweetheart, I’m n-not able to understand it.” His voice comes out frail. “No one’s leaving you behind.”

Stay. Mae thinks, as she looks at him. Eyes filled with both love and torment.

Time has weakened me, and I’m not the same young girl who could go months without meeting you just to see a glimpse of your face by the end of it.

Stay, while I take a moment to catch my breath.

So she places both her hands on his cheeks, making sure they memorize every scar on his face. “C-can you hold me for some time… before you leave?”

And how can Levi not give in?

He takes a seat on the edge of bed, with her positioned on his lap.

She buries her head into his chest. And he encircles his arms around her waist. Rubbing long soothing strokes against her back.

But her tears don’t stop. No matter how many kisses he leaves on her face.

He can only watch as her body rakes with sobs.

Half an hour passes away in mere seconds.

But her grip only gets tighter. She cries harder. Forcing him to stay put. If he had the choice to stay he really would. It hurts to leave when she’s in so much distress. But life has never been kind enough to give him choices.

“You know I must go,” he speaks with sadness.

Her sobs get louder .

There are words on the very tip of her tongue that are dying to come out. But time is cruel as usual.

“5 m-minutes more p-please.” She turns on his lap, so that her back is pressed to his chest. Her fingers intertwine with all of his, and she leads his hands to the swell of her belly. Keeping it there, for the last few seconds she spends with him.

“I’m s-sorry… sweetheart.” His voice breaks. It hurts to be the cause of all her sadness. But the world outside is waking, and Levi can’t afford to stay on the sidelines for too long.

And so he forces himself away, knowing he physically won’t be able to separate himself from her if she still keeps holding onto him.

Gently he picks her from his lap, and places her on the bed. ”I’ll have to go now, I’ll miss my ship.”

He tries to step away but thoughtlessly she catches his wrist.

“Levi….” She begs and he takes in a sharp breath .

“Levi… I’ve loved y-you with everything I’ve had.” She speaks between her sobs. And her eyes look so lifeless, it makes Levi’s heartbreak.

“I know… I know.” He mutters as he takes steps closer, trying to comfort her. And she is quick to wrap her arms around his waist again, resting her head against his abdomen.

“So the next time, when you come back, you’ll come back only for me… No Survey Corps, no military, no politics, no Anti-Marleyan squad.” It's not an order, not even a desire. Her words hover on the brink of a desperate plea.

And he presses a lingering kiss on the top of her head, before he steps away and walks to the doorsteps.

Silence hangs like a bereaved soul, as Levi and Mae share a final kiss. “Take care of yourself,” He takes her hand and brings it to his lips. Pressing a kiss on her knuckles.

And before he can hear the torment in her voice, he walks the other way. Knowing that he’ll never be able to leave if he catches a glimpse of her heartbroken face again.

She leans on the door frame, watching him slip away. The tears streaming down her face seem unstoppable. And t ime runs so painfully slow, it feels like she’ll have to relearn how to breathe again.

“Levi,” she calls out one last time . Her voice is forced into a low whisper, and he’s meters away from her . She begs the universe that he turns back.

And he does stop, chin jutting over his shoulder, face somber with emotion he wishes he could blink away.

And the both of them stand with their sadness. Wishing they had the time to complete all the talks that have been left incomplete. All the desires that have been left unfulfilled.

He flashes her a reassuring smile nevertheless.

And with the little strength that remains in her, she forces a smile as well. Hoping that if this is the last time Levi sees her in this lifetime, then his last memory of her is that of her smile.

Yet amidst the happiness they try to force, their eyes remain truthful, real and plain. A final sentiment shared between.

Don't forget to keep your promise .

Author's note:

Don't know how this chapter is tbh because it was really long to edit lol. But let me know what you think.

We're kinda near the end of the story tbh (I don't know if that is surprising hahah).

Also the whole dresses convo in scene 2 comes from Mae selling her dresses of in Chapter 5. (Just incase someone has forgotten because I'm taking too long to update these days)

Please don't forget to vote, if you enjoyed!

See you soon<3

18 notes · View notes

daydreamtofiction · 2 years

Text

Thou Shalt Not Covet // 3: Faith

Contents | Part 2 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Fem Reader) After a less than ideal morning, you find the lines in your relationship with the priest continuing to blur.

Word Count: 4.2K

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, adult & sexual themes, unhappy relationships, emotional infidelity, drug paraphernalia. Readers must be 18+

There were voices in the kitchen; laughter, conversation, the sound of cutlery on plates, the smell of coffee drifting down the hall.

You wished you were a morning person, that you possessed the will to drag yourself out of bed early enough to join your housemates at the breakfast table, to eat toast and gossip before work like those people do on Friends. But you were nothing like the people on Friends - not unless Jennifer Aniston secretly rolled out of bed after snoozing her alarm four times too.

You'd made your way downstairs, sitting on the last step to put your boots on as you listened to the noise coming from the kitchen. The door creaked open soon after - making everything louder, clearer - followed by the sound of your housemate Sean walking into the hall.

"You're gonna make me late for work, Gee," he said with a slight laugh. "Yeah, whatever, bye!"

He let the door swing closed and walked down the hall towards the front door, passing you as you sat on the stairs tying your laces.

"Bye, Sean," you said.

"Jesus fuck!"

You watched as he practically leapt off the ground in fright, turning and looking down at you with wide eyes, clutching his chest and breathing heavily.

"You scared the shit out of me," he said.

"Sorry."

He sighed, calming himself and grabbing his car keys off the hook on the wall. "I swear you do it on purpose."

"I was just saying goodbye..."

"Yeah, like a little ghost girl all tucked away in a dark corner."

You rolled your eyes, returning your attention to your boots.

He opened the front door, stopping and turning back to you before stepping out. "Your boyfriend's a knob by the way."

"Yeah I know- Wait, why? What's he done now?"

"Let me down for those photos he said he'd do." He let all his weight rest on one leg, placing a hand on his hip in obvious frustration. "My clients rang me last night, fuming, saying the photographer I'd sent to take pictures of their house never showed up. The wife waited in for him apparently, closed her shop for the whole day and he never even called to say he wasn't coming. So they've decided to go with Goldberg's instead. Fucking Goldberg's."

"Isn't that the estate agents' next door to yours?"

"Yep. So that's why your boyfriend's a knob. Because I went out of my way to get him work, and he repaid me by losing a £1.2million house sale to the rival agents next door."

You stood up, pressing your lips together and exhaling through your nose. "I'll talk to him."

"Please do." He gestured towards the kitchen. "Because I just almost throttled him when he told me it 'wasn't a big deal' and he 'thought he could swing by and snap the pics any time'."

Sean's impression of Alfie was always spot on; somehow perfectly capturing his tone, his mannerisms, the nonchalance that teetered between charming and infuriating. It made you breathe out a slight laugh, partly because of the accuracy of his imitation. But mostly in resignation, like you weren't even surprised he'd been let down at all.

He walked out and closed the front door behind him, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the hall chewing the inside of your cheek. You let out a huff, shaking your shoulders and rolling your neck to relieve the tension that had stashed itself there, before grabbing your coat from the cupboard and shrugging it on.

You stuffed a hand inside your pocket as you pushed through the door to the kitchen, furrowing your brow as your fingers made contact with something small and metallic inside.

"Oh, good morning!" said Gina as she stood with her elbows resting on the breakfast bar.

"Morning," said Alfie, kissing you on the side of the head as he walked past you, sitting down at the bar with a bowl of cereal.

You pulled out the small metallic thing, looking down at a Zippo lighter sitting in the palm of your hand. It was heavy, gunmetal, flowers and a fancy 'G' engraved on the side.

"Gina can you please stop wearing my coat?" you said with an exasperated sigh.

"Sorry," she replied distractedly, like she wasn't actually sorry at all. "It just looked good with the outfit I had on."

You lifted the collar to your nose, taking in a slight smell of cigarettes, a perfume that wasn't yours, and grimaced to yourself.

"Anyway, I thought you wouldn't mind so much," she continued. "Since I let you off with paying your rent late again this month."

You rolled your eyes and slipped the lighter back in your pocket before making your way over to the kettle.

It was Gina's house. In more ways than one. While it was quite literally her house - a gift from her wealthy, property tycoon father, a place for her to live freely while charging cheap rent to a few friends - it was also her leverage, her way of getting away with whatever she wanted; playing loud music, having loud sex, decorating without consulting anyone, borrowing your clothes without asking.

She'd been your best friend once, and if anyone were to ask, you'd probably say she still was. You admired her; envied her confidence, appreciated her candor. But truthfully, you couldn't remember the last time you'd walked away from an interaction with her without having to unclench your jaw.

"I made too much smoothie if you want some," she said. "It's still in the blender."

"No thanks," you replied as you poured boiling water over the instant coffee in your travel mug. "I'm running late, got to head straight off."

"Running late? You're volunteering, can't you just show up whenever you want?"

You turned around, leaning back against the counter. "Doesn't really work like that, Gee."

You still weren't sure why you told them you were volunteering at the church; why you hadn't said it was a work thing, or maybe just not told them where you'd been going at all.

"Mm," Alfie mumbled, turning to you as he swallowed a mouthful of cereal. "I forgot, I'm not going to be able to pick you up later."

"What? Wh- But you promised. You promised I wouldn't have to get the bus home."

"Yeah I know, sorry. There's been a last minute change of-"

"It's my fault," Gina interrupted, placing a hand on her chest apologetically. "I asked if he could drive me to pick up some furniture from an online seller across town. It's gorgeous stuff, goes so well with the new living room decor. And well, I can't exactly lug it all the way back on foot."

Your eyes moved between the two of them, entirely unamused.

"I thought you wouldn't mind," she continued. "Since we'll all get use out of it."

"I don't sit in the living room. Ever."

"Well maybe you will once we have a nice new chaise lounge."

You blinked a few times, lips parted in stunned silence, before turning your attention to Alfie. "So is this your new thing or something? Letting people down?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he replied defensively.

"Me, Sean..."

"Oh fuck sake." He rolled his eyes and stood up, obviously still wound up by whatever Sean had said to him. "Tell you what then, Ellis, why don't you and Sean just go and throw an 'I hate Alfie' party-"

"Oh I would, but I doubt I'd make it back in time," you began, raising your voice as he marched out of the room. "Y'know, since I'm having to get the fucking bus home!"

He slammed the door behind him and the kitchen fell silent. You crossed your arms over your chest and let out a huff, your eyes flitting across the room to Gina as she sat down on Alfie's barstool.

"Why don't you just skip today?" she asked.

"Because I don't want to. I shouldn't have to." You shrugged. "I've... been enjoying it."

"But it's church," she laughed. "Honestly, Ellis, I don't think I've ever seen a non-religious person so enthusiastic about going to church in my whole life."

"Well... it's not just about religion. It's about... community and... and..."

"Yeah but you've been going a lot."

"So?"

"Is the priest fit or something?" she asked jokingly. "Because that's the only reason you'd catch me spending all my free time there-" She stopped suddenly, letting out an exaggerated gasp. "Oh my god, that's it, isn't it. You're fucking a priest."

"Ha ha," you replied sarcastically.

"Don't worry, I won't tell Alfie," she continued to tease.

"I'm not sleeping with the bloody priest."

It came out slightly more defensive than you'd meant it to. But she didn't seem to notice.

"Maybe you should. There's actually something quite hot about that, don't you think? Very erotic novel."

You turned around and grabbed your travel mug, screwing on the lid as she continued to talk.

"Imagine it: dirty talk in the confessional booth, wrists bound with rosaries, sunlight shining through stained glass onto your naked bodies, legs spread on the altar- Do you reckon he'd say grace before he ate you out?"

You snapped back around. "Gina."

"Oh I'm just taking the piss," she said, chuckling to herself. "You know I get carried away."

"Yeah well you've stolen my lift home so I'm not really in the mood."

"Sorry," she said sincerely, pushing out her bottom lip slightly.

You stayed quiet for a moment, just looking at her, watching her fingers slip into the handle of her mug, the way she flicked her hair off her shoulder before taking a sip.

She'd begun to stare off into space, eyes glossy, head cocked slightly to one side. And you wondered if she was still picturing it, still imagining you with whatever version of Father Benedict she'd created in her head. Or maybe she'd replaced you in her fantasy completely, so now it was just Gina and some random man in a clergy collar going at it on the altar of a church.

It was like you'd become a permanent fixture; as everlasting within the walls of the chapel as the tapestries and statues that adorned its walls. You'd been attending services and events within the parish for the past few weeks, swearing after each one that it would be the last, that you were going to put a stop to it. But somehow you always came back, like you were drawn to Father Benedict, like he was a drug you kept promising to quit.

You would always sit in the back row of the pews, eyes fixed on him as he spoke, his deep, resonant voice echoing against the tall ceilings. Sometimes you would really listen to what he was preaching, even find it interesting, thought provoking. But most of the time you were just waiting for it to end, practicing in your head what you were going to say to him after it was over.

Today was the first baptism service you'd ever witnessed, and you found it equally as fascinating as you did disconcerting, especially when one baby began to scream as the holy water touched its skin and the music from The Omen started playing in your head. You watched as Father Benedict carried out the service, admiring how charming and charismatic he was, how he managed to put the families at ease, make little jokes that created soft ripples of laughter through the chapel.

When he moved on to deliver his sermon, you found yourself catching his attention every so often; exchanging glances with him, subtle smiles, making him lose his place and stumble slightly over his words. It was as though every time he noticed you sitting in that back row, he was relieved to see you there. Maybe because he thought he was helping you on your journey, that his guidance was making it easier for you to return to the church. Or maybe it was because he enjoyed your company, perhaps even longed for it when he lay alone at night.

You were doing it again, letting your mind drift to those less-than-holy places where his voice didn't echo against a chapel ceiling, but instead groaned directly into your ear. Where those fingers that so delicately clasped together in prayer came apart to slip beneath the fabric of your clothes. You felt flustered, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly as you crossed one leg over the other, trying desperately to quell the growing ache between them.

"So just a few things to end on," said Father Benedict, rubbing his hands together excitedly. "We have our St Augustine's Primary children coming in with their parents next week for mass as they prepare for their first Holy Communion. I'm sure we'll all make them feel very welcome. Secondly, I've had a few members of the parish ask if we still have any dates available for weddings this year, and the answer to that is yes! We actually have quite a lot of availability so come talk to us about it, I would love to marry you all. Well, not marry you all. I mean marry- perform your marriage ceremonies." He paused. "I'm sure you're all lovely but I doubt we'd all fit under one marital roof."

A laugh rumbled through the chapel. You giggled too, relaxing back into your seat as he finished the rest of his announcement.

You waited patiently for the crowd to disperse, even exchanging smiles and muttering a quiet congratulations to the Omen baby's parents as they made their way out. But when you saw June walking in your direction with the donations tray, as usual you began to panic. It was as if she did it on purpose; enjoyed watching you fumble and scrape together whatever spare change you could find as she ominously shuffled towards you.

You shoved your hands into the pockets of your coat, brows coming together in confusion as you pulled out a rolled up £20 note that, like everything else in your coat, must have belonged to Gina.

You unrolled the note and looked up at June, before shrugging your shoulders and throwing it into the tray.

"How generous," she said plainly. "Funny how it's curled up like that."

You glanced into the tray, noticing how the note had rolled itself back up like a cigarette. Your mouth immediately pressed into a straight line as you realised what Gina must have been using it for.

"Yeah, weird," you said with an awkward laugh, glancing past her towards Father Benedict. "Sorry, excuse me."

You'd noticed an opening; a rare moment where he stood alone, unengaged by members of his congregation. You stood up quickly, rushing down the aisle towards him and tapping him on the shoulder.

"I think I just donated a coke-soiled bank note to your church," you whispered.

"You what?" he whispered back, brows furrowed, nose scrunched in confusion.

"It wasn't mine," you said, as if that made it any better.

He paused for a moment, shaking his head as he stared at you, the corner of his mouth raising with a mystified smile. "Lovely to see you, as always, Ellis."

You exhaled a soft laugh through your nose and began to eye him slowly, your gaze trailing over his face, lips, neck, chest, hands- It took a moment for you to realise what you were doing; the blatant ogling, how you were practically drinking in the sight of him, even in his long white alb and fancy patterned stole.

You snapped your eyes back up to his face and cleared your throat. "Anyway, I was about to head off," you said. "But I thought I'd ask first if there's anything I can help with...?"

That was a lie. You had no intentions of heading off, not if there was even the smallest chance of spending some extra time with him.

"No, not today," he said, before holding up his index finger like a thought had struck him. "But you did just remind me, I had a favour to ask you."

"A favour?"

He looked around the emptying chapel before gesturing for you to walk with him. You obliged, following him down a back hallway and into what you assumed was his office. It was a small room with only one narrow window on the far wall, letting in just a sliver of light to illuminate the cluttered space. There was a desk, a half-filled bookcase, and a small two-seater couch covered in boxes from his move.

He rushed over and picked them up, putting them in the corner of the room and dusting off the couch with his hand. "Have a seat," he said. "Sorry about the state of in here. I promise once I finish settling in at the rectory, I'll sort this place out too."

"it's fine," you said with a shrug as you sat down. "The favour isn't for me to clean up in here, is it?"

"Hm? Oh, no. No, of course not," he replied with a laugh, continuing to speak as he began to remove his long white robes, revealing a plain black shirt and trousers underneath. "Actually it's er- Well a friend of mine, her name's Catherine, she's about to open a bakery back in the parish I used to work in before I- well..."

"Had a crisis of faith."

"Yeah that one. Anyway, she's having a grand opening sort of thing this Wednesday and she wants to try and fill the place out with as many people as she can, y'know? So I wondered if... maybe you wouldn't mind coming? With me?"

Not a date, you began to tell yourself immediately, as if trying to extinguish the sparks of hope and delusion before they even had a chance to catch light. You also have a boyfriend, your mind added. A fact you were beginning to resent more than you valued.

"I just don't fancy going on my own," he continued. "And quite honestly, I enjoy your company."

You could feel a grin fighting to spread across your face, but you held it back. "Thanks," you said coolly. "I'll erm, I'll have to check I'm not working. But if not, I'd- yeah. I'll go."

"Great. Thank you." He paused, thinking for a moment. "I don't think I've ever asked you what you do for a living..."

"Baby photography," you replied bluntly.

"Baby photography..."

"Well, I work at a studio that specialises in it. But I don't take the pictures, I just edit them."

"Ah." He nodded, an eyebrow raised with intrigue. "Do you enjoy it?"

"Not really. I find the whole thing creepy, to be honest."

"Creepy?"

"Well yeah, these little fleshy things all folded up and posed while they sleep, dressed up in silly costumes and lay inside wheelbarrows and wicker baskets." You shuddered. "No human being should be small enough to fit inside a flower pot."

Amusement crept across his face, the unmistakeable smirk whenever you'd been unintentionally funny.

"Today must have been hell for you then," he teased. "Church full of babies."

You laughed softly. "I'd rather a church full of babies than be stuck at home."

"How come?"

"Oh, nothing." You waved your hand dismissively, like you were trying to sound unbothered. But the rest of your body seemed to give you away; chest deflating, shoulders sinking in on themselves, eyes falling to the floor.

"You know," he began, sitting down behind the desk. "I am your priest. If you're having troubles or concerns or you just need someone to confide in, that's what I'm here for..."

You glared across at him, almost annoyed with how easily he was able to draw things from you, before letting out a long sigh. "I don't know what to do about... someone."

He placed his hands on the table, clasping them together in front of himself as he leaned in to listen. "Go ahead."

"I- I wonder sometimes if I'm…" you trailed off, letting out an uncomfortable laugh and gesturing to where you were both sitting. "You know what, I can't do this. It feels like I'm in fucking therapy or something."

His eyes flitted between his desk and the couch. "Would it help if I came and sat next to you instead?"

You nodded. "Yeah, maybe. I don't know."

He stood up and made his way across the room, sitting down in the space at your side. You were twiddling your fingers, biting your lip in thought as you felt his body shift, twisting slightly to face you.

"Do you give relationship advice?" you asked without looking up.

He paused. "It depends. But I'll certainly try."

"Okay. Boyfriend of three years," you said quickly, like ripping off a plaster; finally saying out loud the thing you'd been dreading admitting. "He's a photographer - a good one, went to uni for it and all that - it's how we met-"

"At the creepy baby studio."

"Yep." You cleared your throat. "He doesn't work there anymore. Doesn't work anywhere, actually. Because he's unreliable. And he doesn't seem to care that he's unreliable, either. He lets people down and it's their problem for getting upset, he's unsupportive, he doesn't listen- like, for instance: I don't feel safe getting the bus after dark anymore since someone tried to follow me home a few weeks ago and-"

"You were followed?" His back straightened, brows coming together over concerned eyes. "By who? Were you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine, really. But the point is I told him I didn't feel safe and he still decided not to come and pick me up today. Let me down at the very last minute and left me to get the bus like he didn't even care." You took a sharp inhale, turning your body towards him, like the floodgates had opened and you suddenly couldn't stop it all from spilling out. "Three years and we still rent separate rooms in the same house, staying over in each other's bedrooms like bloody teenagers. It's embarrassing. And I've talked to him about getting a place together but it's like he's not interested."

He took a breath like he was about to speak, but you carried on before he could utter a word.

"Really, it's like he's not interested in anything anymore. He doesn't make an effort, ignores me when I talk, doesn't even pretend to care about what's going on in my life. It's as if he's gotten so used to having me around that he doesn't even see me anymore. Like he can't fathom the idea that I actually exist outside of the bed he fucks me in." You paused, grimacing to yourself. "Sorry."

"It's okay," he replied, breathing out a sympathetic laugh. "Not the first time you've mentioned the disappointing sex life."

"Oh god, I forgot about that." You closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose between finger and thumb. "There's- It's just- There's no excitement, y'know, no heat, no... tension. When I really actually think about it, I'm not sure I'm even attracted to him anymore. So many things I used to find endearing or charming or sexy just completely turn me off." You groaned. "I don't know what to do. I'm clearly not happy. But I'm scared. Scared I'd miss him, scared I'd hurt him, even though he doesn't seem to give a fuck about hurting me. But then I wonder if this is all because of me. After all, he's not the one-" you stopped yourself, trapping the words behind tightly pressed lips.

"Not the one...?" he caught your eye, waiting for you to finish.

He's not the one fantasising about sleeping with someone else.

"He's not the one moaning about the relationship," you said. "I am."

"You're allowed to vent."

"I'm not just venting, I'm asking what you think."

He pressed his tongue to the corner of his mouth, looking down at his hands for a moment, then back up to you.

"As a man of God, I would tell you to have faith. To honour the commitment you made to him and try to work through your difficulties." He paused. "As a man of... well, as just a man, I would tell you he sounds like a twat."

An unexpected laugh escaped your throat, making you cough slightly to compose yourself.

"He never used to be," you said. "I think because I liked him so much when we first got together and I spent so long pining after him before he even noticed me, I've been ignoring the fact that if I met him now, I probably wouldn't be interested. I suppose I feel like I'd be doing my past self a disservice by walking away from the man she wanted so badly."

"You're blinded by the fact that the relationship didn't start out this way."

"Mm." You fell silent, your eyes glazing over in thought. "I'm just a frog," you eventually said.

"Sorry?"

"You know how they say if you put a frog in cold water and slowly bring it to a boil it won't jump out, because it won't notice the rising heat? I'm the frog."

"Ah. See how things make much more sense when you give them context?"

You nodded with a giggle, falling silent once again as he watched you quietly, patiently, like he wanted to know every thought passing through your mind, but knew he wasn't entitled to it.

"I'm sure the frog thing's a myth, y'know," he said.

"Is it?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty certain they definitely try to escape the pot."

"Oh."

Part 4: Sacrilege

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