#to the point you know a man's cause of death after 3 notes

[forteafy]

A House, A Home | CL16 & CS55

Summary: A loveless marriage usually comes after years, not before. You've always loved him, his best friend has always loved you.

Word Count: 10.1k

Warnings: Hard Angst, Cheating, Mentions of Sex, Death.

Note: This piece has two heavy inspirations. The first is @lxclerc's amazing pieces 'Moth to a Flame' and 'Call out my Name.' They are both incredible pieces and I highly suggest you give them a read. The second is from a TikTok Account called 'ForPercival,' they are currently doing a social media AU which I cannot recommend enough.

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'

Charles Leclerc is a husband. 

At least, he was your husband on paper. One year ago, a hidden agreement had been put in place between Scuderia Ferrari and the Leclerc Household; their son, the ‘Il Predestinato,’ of the team, (albeit one whom had had the most terrible season,) could continue to drive for the team, so long as he married the daughter of one of their longest-running investors.

That so happened to be you. 

You had been against the entire idea since the first day. After being introduced to Ferrari’s driver, you had instantly felt the divide between the two of you. You’d reluctantly shaken his hand and since then, had been thrown through a mixture of fake dates, a fake engagement and the fakest wedding that could possibly be imagined. The ceremony hadn’t even ended with a kiss, per tradition. 

It didn’t take long for your walls to crack; living with Charles, seeing him at his highest and lowest points, his most vulnerable behind the four walls of your home had caused your heart to soften. Forget being forced into this marriage, you’d grown to care, to adore the man who’d once burdened you with his presence. You dreamed of the day he would return your affection; how long would it take for you to realise you lived in denial? In your late-night fantasies, lying alone in one of the guest rooms you’d sought refuge in on moving into this ­house, you’d dreamt of lying in his arms, lazy morning breakfast, slow kisses when he would come back to you. To your home.

A home, however, is where you feel safe, warm, protected. You lived in a house with Charles. The man who would barely glance your way and after three months of your marriage, started coming home, smelling of rich perfume and lipstick marks littering his jawline.

The first anniversary of your marriage should have been special, even if he despised you in every known form to man. You’d woken up in your room, slipped on the silk robe which had been lying on the empty bedside and slipped out of the bedroom. In your heart of hearts, you knew there would be no significance of today; no flowers, no card, not even a simple text from your husband to signify the date in question. The only text you had received that morning, was a stern reminder from your father, that you were due to attend the Monza Grand Prix in less than one week. 

A soft sigh emitted itself from your lips; it was a routine you knew all too well. Every few races, the more significant ones; Monaco, Silverstone, Spa-Francorchamps, Monza, you’d play the doting wife; cheering for your husband whilst dressed in soft summer dresses, a forged grin if he managed to battle his way into the points. On those rare days when he would obtain a podium position, he’d greet you on the barriers with a soft kiss. It was all fake; a routine which had been performed so many times. Yet, each time his lips met yours, you could dream he meant something behind the affection. 

The train of thought had played through your mind for so long that you were unaware of the tears pooling on your lower lash line. So, what if Charles wasn’t at home for your anniversary? It was your thought for feeling any kind of emotion towards him in the first place. It was a business deal, after all. Did your husband enjoytreating you like this? His disappearance on that morning was a cold reminder that he felt nothing towards you. No sentiment, no adoration. 

Despite the tears which had bade your eyes that morning, until the mid-afternoon, you had a productive day. Of course, leaving the house was out of the question; what would the media say if devoted wife of Ferrari’s driver was seen without him, on their wedding anniversary of all days? 

Instead, you’d played soft music whilst re-organising your wardrobe, something you’d put off for a while now. Cooking a meal whilst lazily treading around the kitchen, experimenting with the spices that Yuki had gifted to you on your previous visit to a Grand Prix. The meal itself was too big to eat alone. Instead, you boxed up the remainders of what was left in the tray, carefully placing it in the fridge, knowing Charles wouldn’t actually eat it. 

Your evening had been…less productive. You’d found solace in a glass of red wine, lounging on the sofa of the main living area; usually, you kept as far away from that zone as possible. Charles would spend his evenings in the couch, eyes flickering between the television and his phone, no doubt sending longing messages to his mistress whilst his wife was in the home. 

The ­third glass had just about been drained. You were adamant upon gaining a fourth, no longer caring of any commitments you had the next day. Instead, you sat up abruptly from the sofa, hearing the gentle click from the front door. 

He had come back to the house. 

His green eyes barely took a second to meet yours, slipping off his shoes and placing them into the rack situated by the front door. A rustle of his jacket signified his option to stay. You saw him carry the garment over his arm as he trudged into the living area, set to lie in front of the television for some personal relaxation. 

With his entry to the room, you suddenly remembered your position. You’d hastily stood up from the couch, collecting the half-finished bottle from the low table, holding the glass to your chest to draw the attention away from your beverage. 

Charles said nothing; he’d unlatched the top two buttons from his dress shirt; faint purple marks nestled on the lower joint of his neck; a clear mark that his mistress had previously made, a sinful reminder of his adultery. 

“I left you some dinner in the fridge.” You mumbled, voice barely picking up over the sound of the television. “There’s some clean loungewear on the end of your bed, too.” You finish your sentence. Your husband doesn’t even attempt to tell you he’s acknowledged your words, eyes transfixed on whatever news was currently playing on the television. 

“Happy Anniversary.” You mumble, feet leading you back to the kitchen, the bottle of wine against your chest now seemingly the only attention you’d ever get. 

Charles Leclerc is an actor. 

The entire drive to the track had been bade in complete silence; not even the radio had been switched on to drown out the undeniable tension in the car. You had originally tried to make light conversation with the man; he couldn’t even be bothered to make a sound in response to any of your questions. 

You couldn’t handle the harsh tone he had snapped at you with the previous time you had been in the car; instead, you watched the rolling hills and glistening sun of Monza. It was always one of the highlights of the year. If not for the racing, you would have come here in your own time, to bask in the sun and to enjoy the secluded section of Italy as an individual. 

The incredible views soon began to fade out, instead replaced by expensive cars and adoring fans, leaning over the barriers in an attempt to see their favourite drivers; there was an uproar as your husband drove past the crowds; he was clearly the home favourite, as any member of the Ferrari crew would be in this location. Silently, you slipped on the sunglasses which had been resting in the pouch of your bag, knowing the paparazzi would be blistering your eyesight sooner rather than later. 

Charles effortlessly parked his car in the allocated spot. Silently, he switches off the engine, removing the keys and shoving them into his jean pocket. The man doesn’t so much as register your presence as he opens his door, leaving you to venture out of the car yourself. You’d carefully adjusted the flowing fabric of your dress; the patterned fabric flowing gently around your calves. 

You looked beautiful. You just wished your husband would care enough to tell you.  

Instead, his priority is the cameras leaning over the barriers. He doesn’t even look in your direction, instead firmly grasping your hand in his own; an act the two of you had performed for the crowd oh-so-many times. He waves towards the crowds; neither of you miss the adoring sounds, the coos for many of the fan’s favourite ‘couple.’ To so many, his affection seemed to clear to you, and yours did to him. 

Charles didn’t hold your hand with any adoration. His grasp was harsh, palms roughly mashed together, no intent to keep your grip safe against his own. You were certain that if you were to let go, he wouldn’t think to remedy the situation. Your theory is proven when you gently let go, instead keeping in step, just behind his figure; Charles’ hand seems as if it’s gone into idle mode. His eyes, however, stayed alert, vigilant. Silently, the two of you pass through the paddock security, pausing every few moments for Charles to sign a cap, take a photograph with a fan. 

It isn’t until you reach the outskirts of the Ferrari Building that you see her. Soft hair around her shoulders, clothing exquisite, her eyes flickering to your husband, offering him a sympathising smile. 

He may have been a devoted husband towards the press, to Ferrari, even to the majority of his team. However, the moment that the cameras were turned off, microphones pushed away, he was sneaking to his mistress, one he had shamelessly invited to so many Grand Prix’s over the past nine months. She was what he wanted; a fun and fancy-free lady, rather than the wife whom stood by his side. There’s a glance between the two of them, as if a whole conversation is had in that moment. 

You stay silent as you follow Charles into the Ferrari Building. Instantly, you’re overwhelmed by the welcomes that your husband obtains; so many of them pass onto you. Upon the questions of how married life is treating him, he smiles, fakes a laugh as he pulls you into his side, one hand firmly resting upon your waist. 

“Married life is perfect.” He insists, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, one which you falsely giggle about, ignoring the butterflies which were nestling in the pit of your stomach. “It’s even better when she’s standing right here, beside me.” 

The entirety of the room buys the staged scene, all except for two people. The first, obviously, is your father. He’s always there, watching that the driver is performing well. He knows of his affair, but in his mind, as long as the affair is kept out of the light, and his marriage was still official, their deal continued. Besides, he would speak to you both sooner rather than later upon extending the family; that would seal both of your fates towards one another. Nobody liked a husband whom left a wife and child. 

The second was Carlos Sainz; the second driver for Scuderia Ferrari. 

The Spaniard was all too aware of the affair between Charles and his mistress; after qualifying from Baku, Carlos had found his teammate behind the garage, his hands with a firm grip on her waist, their kisses entirely formed of tounge and teeth. The man had furiously ripped Charles from the woman, bellowing in his face about the wife he had, whilst this woman warmed his bed. A deep blush had formed over both of their cheeks, Charles explaining that you were aware of his actions. 

Carlos didn’t want to believe it; he’d frantically messaged you that evening, to which you had answered his question, confirming you knew of the affair. That evening, you had revealed everything to him, watching his eyes get glossier as the cruel details were flickered in front of his eyes. It pained him; he’d cared for you since the moment you’d first stepped foot into the paddock alongside your father. His heart shattered upon finding out that you had been betroved to Charles, that he had missed his chance, all that time ago. 

He waits; waits until later in the day to approach you. By this point, you had made yourself comfortable in Charles’ driver room. Of course, your husband isn’t actually there. After a brief encounter with most of the members on his team, he’d excused himself. Carlos knew that he had snuck away from the crowds adorned in red to see his mistress, likely stealing kisses and rough fumbles between one another. Whilst that was happening, you, were sat in his drivers’ room, skirts spread across the soft lounger, eyes engrossed in a book which had been enclosed in your bag alongside your sunglasses.

 You were the epitome of beauty in Carlos’ eyes. He could have stood at the ajar door to the room, watching you as you engrossed yourself in the story. Instead, he offers a light cough, drawing your attention from the book in your lap. He’s engrossed by your eyes, how the light reflected off them, the glow they offered. Your smile, how you presented your real smile to him so naturally, not the one you forged next to your husband on every single encounter. 

“Good morning, Carlos!” You greet him with a bright tone, standing up from your position on the couch. You offer him a hug, feeling his warm arms wrap around your waist, his breath against your face when he kisses your cheek gently. ‘In another life,’ you always tell yourself. One where you were happy, free to marry a man who would return your affection. 

“Good morning, Mariposa.” The nickname rolls of his tongue; one he had presented ever since you had once showed up in the paddock, the most beautiful butterfly-imprinted dress flowing in the soft breeze of that Monaco weekend. “You’re hiding out in here today, yes?” He teases. You offer him a small shrug, eyes not able to meet those sweet brown ones of the man stood in front of you. 

“Charles is…busy.” You finish the sentence abruptly. Carlos knows not to question further; the two of you have a mutual understanding as to where he would be at this point during the day; wrapped up in the arms of another woman. “He’s probably on his track walk…maybe. I’m just…keeping occupied.” You motion towards the window, looking onto the first straight of the track. “Plus…it looks windy out there.” 

“Well…” Carlos invites himself into the room now, looking down at your attire, seeing that your feet were enclosed with the brilliant white trainers you’d left home in that morning. The man shrugs off his own windbreaker, holding it in his arm. “If I give you my jacket, would you like to come on my track walk?” He offers, holding out the garment to you. 

You knew you would probably live to regret that moment. However, if you stayed resting in Charles’ driver room much longer, reading the same line of your book whilst your thoughts trailed away to how he would be with his mistress, you would go crazy.

“I’d love to.” You finally respond, slipping your arms through the large sleeves of Carlos’ jacket. Offering you a pat on the shoulder, he motions towards the exit of the driver’s room, determined to keep you on his side whilst walking across the track loved by fans far and wide. He hopes that everybody misses the longing gazes and soft smile on his face every time you make a comment, or your hands brush a little too closely. 

Charles Leclerc is a neck kisser. 

It’s not as if you would know this. The only kisses you ever had were those for show. Cold, meaningless interactions between somebody who attempted to show unconditional love and one who could dream of being anywhere else in that moment. 

You’d carefully unlatched the front door of the house, your wireless earbuds resting comfortably in your ears, unable to hear any other sound apart from the music playing. Slipping off your shoes, hanging up your jacket; your only intention for the afternoon was to go through some of the notes you had made regarding education courses in the area; sitting at home day after day was truly aggravating. You couldn’t pick up yet another hobby. Maybe some form of learning would interest you. 

But first, you needed a drink to cool yourself off from the sun. You’d remembered the smoothie packs you made earlier in the week; one of those and going through your notes seemed a perfect plan for the current moment. 

The second you rounded the corner into the open-plan kitchen, you wished that you could have taken the scenic route home. 

His mistress was sat up on the kitchen island, back straight, legs wrapped around the waist of your husband, her hands grasping at the soft curls atop of his head. Charles’ hands slid across her back, soft grunts coming from his lips, his mouth leaving open-mouthed kisses along her slender neck. She was loving it, at least, that’s what you could judge from the noises leaving her mouth. 

Before either of them could clock your arrival, both too wrapped-up in their embrace, you’d stepped out of the kitchen, hand over your mouth to silence the sobs which were threatening to escape. In a moment, you’re out of the hallway, letting your feet carry you up the carpeted stairs. 

The only intention now embedded in your mind was to drink so much you would forget the scene unfolding in front of your eyes. 

Charles Leclerc is a slow replier. 

The smell of tequila and sweat is strong in the cramped hallway of the club. It was insane to believe that less than three hours ago, you had been cocooned in your king-size duvet, lips slightly parted as you strung a meaningless thread of text messages to one another; you didn’t truly care how one of your friends felt in that moment, the heartbreak shattering in your chest was stronger than any other emotion you could begin to comprehend. 

No, your sole reason for texting was to leave this god-forsaken house. You kept telling yourself not to care. Charles’ eyes were all you could think about as you picked out your shortest, slinkiest dress; one which enhanced every curve and dip in the most elegant way. Charles’ dimples were all you could think about when your attention was drawn to outlining your lips with a deep red gloss. Charles’ lips were all you could think about, your foot sliding into the black heeled shoe, your feet finding no solace in being propped up within six inches of their life. 

Your friend had messaged you the location of the designated club. How anybody could enjoy one of those places sober was beyond your comprehension. Instead, you had taken the route of every other supposed being in that club; one shot of a suspicious-looking liquid had turned into sixteen – his number, you couldn’t help remembering. That was the reason you had found yourself stood motionlessly in the hallway, trying to navigate yourself back to the bar. At least seventeen wouldn’t have been tied to any other emotion. 

The plan, however, was short-lived when you hear a familiar voice call your name. Turning too quickly in your ridiculous heels, you’re met with the figures of Kelly Piquet and Max Verstappen, hands linked together, clearly nowhere near as intoxicated as you were in that moment. 

Kelly moves first; you had always enjoyed her presence, spending time with her around the Paddock when you were bade to attend. Penelope was one of the sweetest three-year-olds you had ever come across, always greeting you with a toothy grin and a story of her and ‘Maxie’s’ escapades. When her mother encloses you in a hug, you can feel the tears fall, your drunken façade falling immediately. The woman simply cups your hand in her face, delicately wiping the tears from your lash line, making sure to remove any heavy clumps of mascara. She asks you where Charles is, where your husband is. You can’t make any sound which you believe is cohesive, something about him being back at the house.

Max by now, has his own arm resting around your shoulder. You were Charles’ wife, after all. He knew Charles would do the same for Kelly if she was ever to be found in this state. Something strange stabs at his chest; maybe he was too protective, but he would have never of let Kelly get into this state, at least, not on her own. The driver carefully fumbles in his back pocket, unlocking his own device and filing through his contacts to phone Charles. 

The phone goes straight to voicemail, not even a dialling tone. Max tries a second time, a third time. Instead, he leaves messages. How on gods earth did Charles feel relaxed, knowing his wife would be out, probably on some form of alcohol, and not think to check that she would be safe returning home? If only he knew. 

The duo moves to a second plan. You needed some fresh air before they could attempt to get you into a car and take you home; standing in the corridor of a nightclub was not an ideal situation, instead moving you to the exit. Your eyes widen, looking up to Max and Kelly as if you had shrunk right down to Penelope’s age, as if they would be the saviours to get you home. By the way Max was holding you by his side and Kelly stroking your hair behind your ears, you may as well been their daughter. 

Conversations are had; neither of them is sober enough to drive you home, nor do they think it’s wise to try and sneak you into their hotel room when they had already issues when checking in a little too late. Their prayers are answered when a group of men wander past, one of them stopping to smack Max, his fellow driver on the back. His dark eyes, ones you know so well, widen when he sees your figure, looking so fragile in the light of the early hours in the city. 

“Mariposa.” He murmurs, running a hand across your cheek, wanting nothing more than to hold your frame against his chest. Your soft eyes meet his own dark ones, glossed in concern for how on earth you could do this to yourself. The man murmurs something to Max and Kelly, ensuring them that he’d been the sober friend out of his group; promising he would get you home himself. The duo has no reason to not trust him, both of them leaving a gentle kiss on your cheek before retiring to their own hotel. 

As the couple walk away from the club, you can only feel the warmth of Carlos’ hand, still resting on your face. When he at last turns his attention back to you, he simply wraps a strong arm around your waist, supporting you to stand in those awful, heeled shoes. At the pace you’re walking back towards his car, you would get there just after the sunrise. Instead, he scroops you into his grasp. 

The affection, the physical contact is all too much for you. It had been so, so long since anybody had held you, cared for you like this. Your clouded mind, now overwhelmed by warmth and alcohol allowed you to lean your head into Carlos’ sturdy chest. If you were sober, you’d be able to feel the way his heart raced when feeling you rest against him. 

“Why do you do this to yourself, Mariposa?” He murmurs, settling you into the passenger seat of his car. He can’t help but remove his own jacket, wrapping the soft fabric around your arms, letting you nuzzle into the scent of his fabric softener and aftershave. Once settling himself into the driving seat, he begins the route back to the house, one hand gently resting atop of your leg, some form of comfort for the world in your mind which seemed to be caving in. 

“I’d never do this to you.” He whispers, turning into the driveway that he had become accustomed to since the marriage. 

Across the city, Max Verstappen is sound asleep. His phone, plugged in on the dressing table across the room buzzes once, notifying a text from his racing rival. 

03:21: Charles Leclerc

Hey, sorry, was busy with something. Is everything good?

Charles Leclerc is a traveller.

You hadn’t expected anything to awaken you after the way your body had reacted to the previous night. A natural awakening, however, would have been a lot nicer than hearing the clicking sound of wheels against flooring. Whatever, whoever was outside of your room most certainly had a death wish to awaken you that morning. 

It felt as if pins had been pressed into every square inch of your head, the task of even sitting up and forcing yourself towards the door of your bedroom, still dressed in your slinky garment and…somebody’s jacket? The night for you had truly ended as soon as you had that ninth shot of tequila; you thought you could remember Max and Kelly in the same location at some point, maybe that was your mind playing tricks on you, longing for people who enjoyed your company. 

You were pulled back to the present when the figure of your husband appears at your doorway. He’s dressed already; loose hoodie and tracksuit bottoms cover his frame; his hand is clasping tightly onto a suitcase. There wasn’t a Grand Prix this weekend, you were certain. He would have left days ago for that. There was-

“I’m going to stay with…” He pauses, clearly trying to think of the correct way to word the fact he would be staying with his Mistress until further notice. Even in your state, you understand, simply raising your hand to stop him from speaking. You didn’t want to hear her name, you didn’t want to know that he would be spending the next nights wrapped in her arms, because for once…you didn’t care. 

They say alcohol causes dangerous mistakes, but in this moment, your hangover seemed to be your best friend. Every single time, you would think later, Charles would come back from seeing her, would leave to spend an evening by her side or sneak away during your paddock appearances…and you would be focused, your sole attention being on when he would return. Now? Your sole focus was on throwing up the remains of alcohol in your stomach, placing on a facemask and ordering some kind of comfort food to your home. 

You didn’t care about him, not right now. Your actions relay this, simply offering him a nod before speaking, your voice surprisingly clear for how much your throat was weeping for a drink.

“Okay.” You pause. There’s nothing left to say after that. What does he want you to do? Wish him a happy time? Charles looks equally taken aback, usually expecting some kind of warm drabble on how he needed to stay safe. In that moment, he can’t help but…want it.

“I’ll be back on Wednesday to pack for Singapore.” He pauses this time, taking in your appearance, your face so…gentle, soothing. “You’re coming, yes?” He remembers a conversation had many a time; his wife should be there to support him as much as possible, even if he wasn’t a fan of the sly ways he would have to leave her in front of his team members.

He isn’t expecting a shrug of the shoulders, bringing a hand up to rest on the door, clearly ready to close it at any given moment. 

“I’m not sure.” You offer him, sighing as you begin to close the door yourself. “My father said that race isn’t a priority.” That was the last sentence you offered him before closing the door. You obviously do not see it, but on the other side of the wall, Charles stands in confusion for a full twenty seconds before snapping back to his reality, his clutch on the suitcase a little tighter as he begins his decent down the stairs, wondering where on earth he had seen that jacket you were wearing before?

Your own priorities that morning was in full swing; you had placed your phone on charge, messages beginning to thread through as you stepped into the shower, the cool water savouring your skin. A fluffy robe is tied around your waist, brushing your hair around your back whilst your attention focused on rehydrating your skin, brushing your teeth and cleaning the dirt from underneath your eyes. 

The silence is strong when you walk back into your bedroom. In that moment, you opt for some music whilst changing into some comfortable loungewear, easy to roam around the house in and let your hair dry naturally. Sitting at the end of the bed, you’re able to check notifications, seeing Kelly had sent you a photo of Penelope that morning, smiling for her favourite aunt. You see your most recent text had come through from none other than Charles’ teammate, following one which had been sent early that morning. 

03:45: Carlos Sainz

Sweet dreams, Mariposa. Let me know if you need anything please. 

11:51: Carlos Sainz

Just seen on Twitter Charles is at the airport, he’s not off to see her, is he?

His message brings so many emotions to you, and also answers the question of who’s jacket you had been wearing that morning. Your heart can’t help but soften, knowing already that Charles is on his way to see...her. You think back to your mindset from earlier, how it was the last thing you wanted to care about. Why on earth would you care about them, when you could be focusing on ordering your favourite food and calling your nail technician to come to the house? That would make you feel better, better than he ever had.

You first drop a message to Carlos in response, wanting to let him know you had woken up from potential alcohol poisoning. 

12:25: You

Yeah, he is. Didn’t seem so happy that I couldn’t care less. Thank you for the jacket last night, I hope you had a good evening. 

12:28: Carlos Sainz

All the better for seeing you. Hoping the hangover isn’t too bad today. 

The messages spring backwards and forwards between the two of you for the afternoon; you’re smiling whilst you go through your favourite meal, the taste of it filling your mouth in the best way possible. There’s still a smile on your face when your nail technician arrives, painting some delicate designs into your fingers and toes, subtly asking who on earth has you smiling that much.

It isn’t until that evening; you’re sat in front of the television, a series you had watched one-too many times playing, your eyes glued to the storyline as if it would change again. The notification on your phone instantly drew your attention away from the screen, looking down to see a text on your screen.

21:03: Carlos Sainz

Why don’t you come and stay in Madrid for a few days? I’m sure we could both do with the company.

Charles Leclerc is a stalker. 

Well, maybe stalker was too strong of a word. However, his intentions were identical, having watched your latest Instagram story three- no, four times. Since leaving the home several days earlier, his mind could not stop thinking about the fact you truly could not care less about where he was going. This wasn’t you, was it? 

He’d arrived at her house, being temporarily distracted by luring himself into her bedroom, an afternoon of escapades and touches until she had rolled onto her side, telling him she was going to shower, and he would be more than welcome to join her. Instead, he pulled out his phone, seeing if you had done your usual; texting him to check that he had arrived safely, asking when he could be coming back to the house. 

There’s no messages, no notifications. Huffing to himself, Charles instead pulls up your Instagram, seeing that you had posted a new story that evening, a suitcase in hand, an emoji of an aircraft and a Spanish flag. You were off somewhere, and hadn’t told him? No, no. You always told him where you were going, you always-

“Are you not joining me, then?” Charles’ mistress’ voice suddenly draws him out of his trance, a towel wrapped around her body, hair around her shoulders. It was nowhere near as soft and as gentle as yours was, he realised in that moment. He eventually nods, pulling himself from his phone and following her into the en-suite. 

He’s so…distant for the remainder of his visit. When the two of them go to a secluded spot for lunch, when they go for a drive in a car they had hired for the afternoon. When she’s lazily pressing kisses along his neck, trying to grind into his crotch, desperate for his attention. When she finally falls asleep, Charles pulls out his phone, looking through any of the photos you had posted from that day. The soft sands of the beach, a hugestrawberry ice-cream cone, a mirrored selfie of yourself in the most beautiful sundress, hair curled and clearly ready for an evening in the Spanish sun. 

The routine continues, he sees your adventures, day after day. You’re touring small markets, trying local delicacies. One day, you’re simply lounging by a pool for the afternoon, a fat paperback resting on your stomach, clearly engrossed by the story which was resting on your stomach. Each time he sees a post, he can’t help but be drawn to how he wants to know how you’re doing. Maybe that’s why he drops you a text message, trying to gain some sort of traction from how you were doing. 

23:54: Charles Leclerc

Are you home? I’ve got a flight tomorrow afternoon.

You don’t respond; now, your phone is at the bottom of your bag, resting on the inside cabin of Carlos’ boat. For your final day in Madrid, he had insisted on taking you for a boat ride. You’d shyly mentioned earlier in that week that Charles had never taken you on his own boat, despite the fact that you were indeed married. 

The sun began to set over the rolling waves of the ocean; the boat is gently rocking, the sounds of water lapping over one another was music to your ears. You were sat at the edge of the now stilled boat, contemplating dipping your toes into the water. Your attention is so drawn to the scenery that you don’t hear him step away from the wheel, crouching next to you. 

“You could just go in.” He teases, “rather than staring at the water. You know how to swim.” The taunt causes you to roll your eyes, simply looking to the Spaniard on your right-hand side. 

“What? And have you speed off without me?” You retaliate, using your shoulder to nudge his body. Carlos clicks his lips together, mumbling something incoherent, before he’s suddenly scooped you up into your arms; despite your sounds of protests, he simply holds you against his chest tighter. His dark eyes flicker between yours and the ocean water below the two of you. Before you can say anything, his feet have made their own choice, jumping off the edge of the boat, both of you tumbling into the sea. Your briefly submerged entirely, before your head pops out of the waves, blindly reaching around until two strong arms encircle your waist. 

Both you and Carlos laugh for a moment, in pure awe that you just did that. He moves first, one of his hands releasing from your waist, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. There’s a silence between the two of you, where the only sound emitting from your surroundings is the gentle waves of the sea. In that moment, Carlos Sainz wants nothing more than to lean forward, pressing his lips to your own. They look so…soft. He craves to give them the attention they had been longing for so long. But…you’re married. And even if your marriage is loveless, to a point where your husband is openly in an affair, he would never do that to you. Instead, he settles for resting one hand on your cheek, gently kissing the top of your forehead, murmuring some Spanish wording you would never remember. 

If you did understand it, however, you would have known that he said there and then that he would always be devoted to you. 

Charles Leclerc is a loud shouter. 

His voice seemed to travel for miles, you were almost certain the entirety of the secluded neighbourhood could hear him at this current moment. The man had returned home from his secluded stay with his mistress to an empty house; at that point, you were still in the depths of Madrid, packing up your own suitcase, wishing Carlos luck on the Singapore Grand Prix. You had intended to return to the house after Charles had left himself; the heartbreak of seeing him littered in love-bites, his eyes transfixed to his phone from her messages was too much for you.

However, if you had been at the house when he had arrived home, you would have seen his neck clear, phone shoved into his back pocket as he called out your name, wondering if you had returned home yourself. Charles notices your trainers haven’t been left on the shoe rack; there’s no music to signify your afternoon relaxation. A light knock to the door of your room signifies there’s nobody home. The house feels empty. 

Maybe, Charles Leclerc was beginning to understand how you felt. 

His first instinct is to message you. Surely, you would have seen his text from his previous message by now; what would it hurt to check in once more. The man feels against his rough jean pocket for the device, swiping away from the multiple notifications from his mistress, instead scrolling to your contact’s name, seeing you hadn’t been active in almost twelve hours. You hadn’t even opened his message. 

His thumb hovers above the keyboard, not entirely sure what to say in this situation. Instead, he opts to call your number instead; you had always picked up to him; whenever he needed you to stay away from the house, or to remind you to be ready to leave at a certain time. The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth ring, your voicemail comes through the speaker, signifying him that you were too busy to pick up the telephone. 

Charles didn’t grow concerned during the evening; he grew angry. You were his wife. You were supposed to be at the house to greet him, to welcome him with open arms, ask about his day. Even if…even if he had chosen to ignore your welcoming’s and kind heart for over a year. The man found a distraction in going through the information that Scuderia Ferrari had sent him for his journey tomorrow, making sure his passport was in the correct place. He hadn’t needed to pack; you had made sure to do that for him before your own departure, making sure his comfortable clothes were packed and sunglasses safely secured in the pouches of the case. 

It was late, late for you when the door finally opened, signalling the arrival of a second being. Charles immediately sits up from his slouched position on the couch, stepping up from the sofa, almost ready to give you a piece of his mind. Upon reaching the hallway, he sees you, slipping off your trainers, leaving the suitcase next to the front door. Even underneath your jumper, he can see your skin is glowing from the Mediterranean sun, yet your eyes are watering, tears leaking from your lower lash line. 

“Where on earth have you been?” He snaps, not actually wanting to hear an answer. You open your mouth to respond, but the man cuts you off before you can speak. “I am your husband. You’re supposed to wait for me!” His temper is getting the better of him, green eyes flickering with anger. 

At this point, you’re exhausted, overwhelmed from the news you had received on your drive home, and for this man to question your loyalties to your marriage? You can’t help the scoff which falls from your lips, the emotions building a little too much.

“You’re my husband?” You mock in confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise my husband was around at long last, not wrapped in the arms of another woman!” Your temper flares, pushing your hair behind your shoulders, grasping the suitcase to take upstairs and repack. 

“You didn’t pick up your phone once.” Charles retaliates. Oh, the cheek of-

“Like when you pick up your phone when I call?” The tears are beginning to flow freely now, wanting nothing more than to get upstairs and completely ignore what has been happening. “You don’t Charles. You’ve done nothing to show that you’re my husband in the past twelve months!” You can’t help yourself now. Instead of seeking the new suitcase, you simply turn around on the step of the front door, slipping your trainers back onto your feet. 

“Where are you going?” His voice is now laced in concern; you couldn’t leave yet, surely? You’d only just returned; you wouldn’t be safe to drive in this condition. Why on earth did he care now? His question is answered, but not in the way he desired. 

“Like you would care.” It’s the last thing you say before the door to the house is slammed shut. 

Charles Leclerc is an investigator. 

When arriving in the Ferrari Garage of Singapore, there’s already an eerie feeling through the air; there are no smiles, sympathising looks thrown towards the back end of the garage. The driver isn’t stupid, he knows something must be wrong. He’s unsure of who to ask; who would know what is going on? 

His original plan was to ask Xavi, maybe during their morning briefing, until he is told that his flight has been delayed and wouldn’t be there until the late afternoon. Eventually, he spots his racing partner, nestled in the corner of the garage, his eyes flickering across his own phone screen, rapidly typing a message to somebody he would rather not admit to. 

“Hey.” He speaks softly, not wanting to startle the man. Silently, Carlos looks up from his device, offering his teammate a small nod, not wanting to prolapse the eye contact for too long. Charles can sense he knows what has happened, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Why is everybody so…quiet?” 

The look on Carlos’ face signifies he’s said something wrong. His eyes darken, shaking his head in disappointment rather than fury. It correlates to the kind of look his father would give him during a long talk, when he had broken something and not admitted to it. The Spaniard isn’t sure he should even tell his teammate what had happened. Instead, he changes his phone application to the Emails App, handing the device over to Charles. His eyes flicker across the screen, taking in the information. 

Ferrari’s biggest benefactor, your father, would not be attending the race weekend after the untimely death of his wife. Your mother. It suddenly correlates; how the night before, you had seemed inconsolable, despite the fact you had obviously had an incredible vacation. You’d tried to simply walk away, to let yourself grieve without bothering him. Instead, you had found comfort in Carlos as he had driven you to the airport, whispering sweet words of comfort, promising that everything was going to be okay. 

Charles feels his blood run cold, he feels sick. The look on the man stood in front of him tells him enough; he had made the biggest mistake of his life. Murmuring an excuse, he leaves the garage, stepping to the secluded back area, the realisation that he is everything his mother never wanted him to be, hitting hard. He still had the ability to run to her, to ask for her advice. You didn’t have that anymore. You didn’t have anybody, least of all your husband. 

The first thing he does in that moment, is pull out his phone, scrolling to the contact of his mistress.

10:09: Charles Leclerc

We need to talk. 

Charles Leclerc is a phone call away.

The past day had been filled of tears, clinging to your father, to your younger siblings, to your elder cousins. How on earth your mother had left this world early was beyond you. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. Your mother was the one whom had been your rock for the past miserable year of your marriage. If not for her, you were almost certain that you would have thrown your silvery key to the house down a drain so long ago.

Without her guidance, without her tutoring, you felt like bird trying to fly individually for the first time; surrounded by fears and almost certain you’d fall into compromising position. 

You hadn’t rested. Not since you had arrived at the bleak family home. As customed, every curtain was drawn close, doors to each room sealed, no natural light emitting to the large house, making every shadow and crook of the building seem more terrifying. Eventually, your father had retired to his own bedroom, your younger siblings tucked into their beds, butterfly kisses pressed against their foreheads, a silent promise you were only down the hall if they so desired you. 

The bedroom you had grown up in remained almost identical to the one you had painted in your mind; pale pink wallpaper, a luxury bed lined with a rosebud-patterned quilt set. The vanity you had last used to get ready on your wedding day remained pristine, the perfumes and scents which had been your favourite still sitting atop of your shelf. And the photographs. A polaroid of your two closest friends from your childhood; one of your sisters on her christening day, the entire family dressed so elegantly; Charles is in that photograph, off to the side alongside his brothers; you had no idea there and then that boy with the ocean eyes would become your estranged husband. 

You could have continued going down memory lane, if not from the buzzing which was coming from your bed. The phone you had carelessly thrown atop of the blankets when first entering the room had finally got some service, a thread of text messages and missed phone calls beginning to filter through. Silently, you take a seat on the edge of your bed, eyes flickering across each message. Some are from members of the Ferrari team, others from family members you hadn’t heard from in what felt like centuries. 

There’s one. One from the man whom you had spent the previous week with. The one who had consoled you whilst travelling to the family home. Your husband’s teammate. 

23:05: Carlos Sainz

Mariposa, please let me know how you are doing. I’m so worried about you. Let me know if you need anything at all. 

23:31: You

Thank you, C. I should be heading home tomorrow, with a bit of luck I’ll be able to swing by and say hello. 

You hadn’t expected anything else that evening. You were settled, ready to focus on yourself for the remainder of the evening; in your eyes, there was a high likelihood that your siblings would be burrowing into your blankets later. Once dressed in nightwear, the makeup that had stained your cheeks removed, you noticed the soft glow of your phone screen. Another message had just been received, and in your wildest dreams, you could not have imagined whom it was from.

00:24: Charles Leclerc

I heard about your mother this afternoon; I am truly so, so sorry for your loss. Please let me know if there is anything I can do. I mean it. 

Your eyes had barely had time to view the message which had just been received, before your phone screen changes, taking the message away from your sight. The message thread is replaced by a photograph of your husband, his name lighting up on you phone screen. You don’t even think; instead, your thumb swipes across the screen, pressing the green button and holding the device to your ear. 

“Charles.” You speak one word, hearing your husband visibly relax on the other end of the line. You realise it’s the first time you’ve said anything coherent in hours; the tone of your voices echoes around the room. Did you always sound that sad when you spoke to him?

“Hey.” He isn’t too sure what he wants to say; the lack of conversation between the two of you means he isn’t aware if there are any boundaries, anything you wouldn’t discuss with him. No, he just wanted to speak to you, to check in. In reality, he had realised how lonely the house was as an individual. His mistress was gone from his contacts, not inviting her around to fill the void had made him realise how you had felt for oh-so-long. 

“How…” He pauses, not sure on how to finish his question. He doesn’t need to, because despite the lack of understanding of one another, you know he’s trying, trying to make you feel better.

“I’m…yeah.” You can’t find the correct words to say; ‘sad’ is an understatement, ‘fine’ is a rude response. Neither of you can find the words, but in that moment, you crave somebody who isn’t mourning the loss of your mother as heavily as you are. 

“We have some new neighbours.” He’s trying to find anything to create some conversation. It’s almost as if he knows the quiet of the room is making you feel uncomfortable. “They left us an invitation to join them for a tennis session- not that I’m any good.” He laughs to himself, remembering the previous time he’d attended a tennis game alongside his fellow drivers; he’d had to step out after a few minutes, completely terrified he would end up breaking his hand. 

He doesn’t hear anything from the other side of the line but continues to talk. “Are you…” He catches himself for a moment. “Are you coming back soon?” His voice turns into barely a whisper, as if saying the wrong thing will cause you to hang up immediately. He doesn’t hear anything for a moment, taking a gentle sigh and awaiting your response. 

“Yeah.” You pause. Are you doing this? Are you having a conversation with your husband? “I’m going to fly home tomorrow afternoon. I think my father wants space.” Your sentence closes, looking around your room. The silence is deathly; in that moment, you don’t care about everything that’s happened. All you want is for somebody to hold you in their arms and tell you it would be okay. 

“I’ll come and get you.” Charles has spoken before his mouth has had time to catch his brain. Your eyebrows quirk in confusion. The only time your estranged husband ever drove you himself was on your endless journeys to races; you would sit silently, curled away from his figure, eyes transfixed as the world passed by around you. The man not only offering but wanting to pick you up from the airport was a new-found curiosity. 

“It’s okay.” You don’t let him continue. If previous standings have taught you anything, it’s that behind those mesmerising eyes cannot be trusted. You knew the secrets that lied beyond the ocean settled in his eye. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt you.” Part of your heart is craving to bring up his mistress; how she would probably be warming his bed in the current moment, walking around the house which you ached to find comfort in. 

“You wouldn’t.” Charles is quick to respond; in his heart of heart, he knows getting you to trust him again would be a monumental task. He’d do anything to prove he would be the husband who would look after you. Who would love you unconditionally; the husband you deserved.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve landed, okay?” It’s your final compromise. The woman whom you had been twelve months ago would love nothing more than to run into Charles’ arms; whether he cared for you the way you did; you would always desire his attention and affection. You’d had to learn through the months that some of life’s biggest temptations had to remain untouched.  

Charles Leclerc is your husband.

Landing back in the country was almost eerie; despite being away for only a miniscule amount of time, you felt changed; changed by the loss of your closest companion, changed by the fact your husband had been the one to call you, and not to throw some crazy request down the telephone line. 

Arrivals, as always, were completely smothered; couples reuniting, children screaming at the sudden change of scenery. After obtaining your own bag, your eyes flicker through the never-ending crowds, desperate to find some recognition. 

Standing apart from the crowd, looking effortlessly rugged in his athletic shorts and hoodie, hair pushed underneath a snapback. His eyes are trained on you, as if he had sensed your presence into the room in less than a moment. The breath catches in the back of your dried throat, a pair of eyes that you trusted undoubtedly. Stumbling, your feet carry you over to the arms of your favourite Spaniard, your head instantly finding solace in the joint between his shoulder and neck, the cologne you were used to from his attendances around the paddock creating a cloud of comfort. 

Carlos’ hands effortlessly lock around your torso, pulling you tighter into his chest, one palm rubbing up and down your back. It was the first time, the first time in a long time that anybody had offered you this sort of affection. Mindlessly, the soft tears begin to pool at the bottom of your lash line. Soft snuffles emitting from your lips cause the man to hush you gently, pulling your face away from his body, cradling your head between his larger hands. 

He mumbles something quietly, something about taking you back to the house. If it was him, the man would bundle you into his car and drive to his own home. He’d nestle you under his bedroom blankets, dress you in one of his hoodies. Instead, his rough palm finds your soft fingers, intertwining your hands together. Carlos takes your suitcase in his free hand, guiding you to his car parked outside of the airport. 

Not much is said during the shortening journey back to the house; the tears glossing your eyes reflect the streetlights, transfixed on the roads which you had left for a few short days. The tears will continue to fall; her loss had taken a part of you that you would you never thought would return. The man to your right, eyes focused on the road can sense your heartbreak. He doesn’t wait to push you; he had spoken to you shortly after the news had originally broken, in that conversation, you had barely been able to say ten words before your voice cracked. Instead, Carlos rests a warm hand on your leg, a silent promise that he will be there no matter what. 

The journey feels too short; eventually the driveway to the house rolls into sight, Carlos slowing down the car. When it comes to a halt, he steps out immediately, obtaining your suitcase from the rear of the car, placing it down on the wheels. By this point, you’d wiggled from the seat, ready to wheel your case into the house. However, before you can move, his arms engulf you once more, clinging so tightly, your feet began to lift from the floor. You had clung back just as tight, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek; a silent ‘Thank you,’ for everything. 

The embrace ended, Carlos awaiting until the door had unlocked, nodding when he saw you safely enter the house. The building is practically silent; no television sounds, no gentle music, not even the whirr of Charles’ simulator in his downstairs office. Ears pricked, you could hear the jets of a shower from upstairs, the assumption that he must have been in the shower. Paranoia threads your mind, she wouldn’t be showering alongside, would she?

You don’t let your mind wander; instead, you focus on lugging the suitcase along the staircase, silently glad you had gotten further with it since your trip to Madrid. Beelining towards your room, the suitcase rolls behind you, resting it in the corner of the room, a silent promise you’d wash everything tomorrow. However, a delicate bouquet of soft, pink and fresh flowers decorated the vanity of the room; you knew you hadn’t bought flowers since Madrid, and these…They looked as if they’d been placed mere minutes ago. 

Overthinking had always been dangerous; instead, you keep yourself busy, wiggling your skincare bag from the suitcase, padding into your bathroom with that and a fresh set of long pyjamas; the late-night breeze had begun to tickle your skin since removing yourself from Carlos’ warm arms. The relish indulges your body, shampoo trickling through your hair, body wash bubbles tickling your body. You’d stepped out a few moments later, changing into the soft clothing, sitting in front of the mirror, brushing your hair out as carefully as you could have. 

Silently, your feet carry you from the en-suite towards the main bedroom. Standing at the head of the doorway, is none other than your husband, hair own hair damp from his shower, dressed in soft tracksuit bottoms and a tight tee-shirt. He’d seen your suitcase nestling in the corner of your bedroom, your phone had rumpled the blankets of your bed. Charles had been the one to hear the shower this time, deciding to wait, just to see your soft eyes.

They’re bloodshot; you look so…frail. The years of heartbreak littered across your face. Charles’ heart practically breaks; before you can say a word, he’s across the room, arms pulling around your torso, pulling your head under his chest. Your instinct tells you to fight it, why on earth would you accept some form of affection from a husband who had openly destined you for so long? 

And yet, you subcome to his affection, hesitantly holding your own arms to his chest. His scent, his warmth.You felt as if you were dreaming, eyes wet from the overwhelming care, feeling gentle kisses press to the top of your head. 

You don’t remember when Charles scooped you to his chest, tucking you into your fresh blankets before nestling in behind you himself. You remind yourself; this is a one-off. You’re almost certain that by tomorrow, he’ll be back in the arms of his mistress, your moment tonight will be an absent moment to your husband. You’ll take it; if it’s one night in his arms, feeling his breath against the back of your neck, tip of his nose pressing into your back, one hand pressed against your stomach in comfort, you’ll take it. 

Some point during the night, your phone buzzes, the sound barely audible on the blankets of your bed. You groan slightly, the bubble of yourself and Charles giving you a true form of sanctuary, a true form of home. Curiosity in the night takes the better of you, lifting the dying device to your eyes, slightly blinded by the glow of the screen. 

Despite being wrapped in the arms of your husband; you can feel your blood turn cold when you read the one sentence which had been left for you to find. 

01:46: Carlos Sainz

I’m in love with you. 

#F1 #Formula 1 #F1 x Reader #Carlos Sainz #Charles Leclerc #CS55 #CL16 #Charles Leclerc x Reader #Carlos Sainz x Reader #Charles Leclerc Imagine #Carlos Sainz Imagine #Charles Leclerc One Shot #Carlos Sainz One Shot #Reader Insert #Reader x Charles #Reader x Carlos #Formula 1 Imagine #F1 Imagine #Ferrari #Mercedes #Aston Martin #Fanfiction #Carlos Sainz x You #Charles Leclerc x You #Charlos

[itsravenbitch]

how i revised my boyfriend’s mother’s death

a little backstory

— for the sake of privacy, we’re gonna say my boyfriend’s mother’s name is kay

kay’s “death” was caused by a car accident (wasn’t her fault) and she later passed in the hospital. this all happened in new york, and my boyfriend and i live in georgia. but about a 2 days after we found out, we flew out there.

my bf and his mom were super close so that loss was a lot on him. he started burying himself in the gym, sleep, work etc & eventually he became really depressed. he would not get up out of bed and i could not take that. that was when i decided to revise her death, and this was like a week after she passed.

the moment i learned she was dead, i naturally entered the state of loss. so, i simply and quickly went over what state of mind i was currently in, and what state of mind i needed to be in.

now y’all know i love meditating <3 so ofc i meditated. the one i used is by edward art, i believe i’ve mentioned it before. but here’s the link 😌💘

so yeah after this meditation i had completely satisfied my imagination, i had a great feeling of serenity, and i was in the state of the wish fulfilled. + i let go of any need to control the 3d.

— reminder: don’t look at your 3d as something to change. things change when they change in consciousness/imagination. if you wanna manifest something, don’t point out your current circumstance as something that you need to change. be cool and fulfill it in imagination;)

— also sn: my boyfriend knows about the law but he doesn’t necessarily study or consciously use it. so, i didn’t tell him i was revising his mom’s death.

— and i had to continue to act like his mom was actually dead when i was around him, even tho at this point kay was 100% alive in imagination.

so in the morning, i would wake up and assume the state of fulfillment. throughout the day, when i would go check on my boyfriend, he always expressed his feelings, how i could help, and new ways he was trying to cope. honestly, seeing him so hurt and confused hurt me. and throughout this, one of the few things i always reminded myself was that, i’m not my emotions and i’m my thoughts, and neither of those things matter (in terms of manifesting).

another thing i always reminded myself of was the fact that i’m god, BUT i’m also human. so, the ‘god me’ was relaxed & satisfied. the god in me also didn’t have a hurting boyfriend with a dead mom. but the ‘human me’ did and he needed my comfort.

so that’s what i did, i comforted him because he was grieving the death of his mother. so what? i’m human, and i have human decency so ima comfort my baby.

HOWEVER, i didn’t attach myself to that (accept it). i didn’t look at me comforting him as “his mom’s dead and that’s final”, i just did it because he’s my bf and he’s hurt. but i still maintained fulfillment in imagination.

— i talk about this more in depth here. but basically the post acknowledges that yes, you’re god, but you’re also still human and you have a human life to respond to. so do that, respond to your life (when necessary) while simultaneously fulfilling the inner man.

as long as you continue to return to the state and fulfill SELF, you will manifest whatever it is you’ve fulfilled.

when it manifested

the night before it manifested, my bfs dad asked everyone (the family) over for brunch. just so everyone could be together during rough times and whatnot.

the next morning when we woke up, my bf.. it was like he completely reverted; he just went back to his regular self. i made sure to take a mental note of it.

as we were driving to his dads house he was acting very normal. all that pain, hurt, etc was not there. his whole energy was different. then what really got me was when we had got to a red light. he said “i already know my moms threw down, i wonder what she cooked”……….and i’m like, i know i’m not trippin. just went along with it and agreed with him cause what was i supposed to do lol😭?

so we pull up to the house and get to the door, and one of his brothers opened it. as we’re saying hi and walking further into the house we start smelling food and my bf goes “YUP! I KNEW IT!!”

then he walks into the kitchen and says “hey ma watchu in here cooking? it smells good”……. and his mom was literally standing there smiling before she gave him a hug.

this all happened naturally by the way. it was like… she never died😂😂 the power of revision yall!

anyways the whole afternoon went by like nothing ever happened.

i honestly thought it was pretty funny. knowing how they used to interact with each other while they were grieving kay’s death vs now was hilarious. and what makes it funnier is they never knew and never will 😂😂😂

so there y’all have it, how i revised my boyfriend’s mother’s death. sorry i made y’all wait so long:) i literally got so demotivated while trying to type this.

feel free to ask questions cause ik yall got some😩😂 love y’all 🫶🏾

#law of assumption #neville goddard #imagination creates reality #loa #states #revision #success stories #successstories #law of attraction #affirmations #success story

[honourdoesart]

Actions have consequences. Simon 'Ghost' Riley X GN Civilian! Spouse! Reader) Part 2

( A very quick authors note before the fic- HOLY GODAMN CHRIST. I did not expect part 1 to reach so many likes- Ya'll are absolutely amazing ^^) @v1x3n

Summary: You still haven't woken up after that fateful day, and it's tearing him apart.

CW: Simon being an absolute wreck, Price giving hugs, swearing, emotional hurt, heavy angst, hospital visits, in-accurate military stuff, character death (?)

These past three weeks have been nothing but pure torture for Simon.

You still haven't woken up after all this time, and it was tearing him apart. Whenever he couldn't be by your side, he sat at home, silently crying to himself as guilt crushed him on the inside. He didn't eat, he didn't sleep, and he couldn't pretend that everything was normal while you were fighting for your life.

Because of him, he kept reminding himself.

The longer it took, the worse Simon got. He started to make mistakes on the field. Ghost, a well-respected man in his field, was acting like a rookie who just got out of basic training. His head wasn't with the 141; it was always stuck on you. The team had begun to notice as well. Price was the first, of course, knowing Simon as well as he did.

The captain had noticed it the first day he had come back to base. There was something unknown lingering in the lieutenant's eyes, and it was coming to bite him in the ass. After Simon made a mistake that could've caused multiple casualties, Price had enough. "Ghost. My office, now." He spoke sternly after the four of them got back. The lieutenant obeyed automatically, following the price mindlessly. Once the office door clicked behind them, Price turned around to face him.

"Now, you are going to tell me what the hell has been going through that bloody brain of yours." The captain crossed his arms, his form burning with authority as he stared at his lieutenant with hard eyes. "Every since 3 weeks ago, you have been making mistakes left and right." The captain huffed as he ran a hand over his face. His eyes had somewhat softened as he placed a hand on Simon's shoulder.

"Simon, whatever is bothering you, I need you to tell me. As your captain, it is my responsibility that you can do your job properly and keep you safe, no matter if it is physical or mental." It was then that Simon finally broke. He dropped to his knees with an agonizing cry, hot tears streaming down his face as he pounded his fist into the floor. "ITS ALL MY FAULT!" He yelled between harsh sobs.

"ITS ALL MY FUCKING FAULT PRICE! IF I HADN'T SAID ANYTHING-" Strong arms wrapped around Simon as he reached his breaking point, pulling him close as the comforting voice of Price filled his ears. "I got you, son. I got you." Simon's breath hitched as he let himself cry into his captain's shoulder. He didn't care about being professional right now; he just needed comfort.

And right now, Price was the one to give him that.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After letting his heart out to Price, he allowed Simon to take the week off. 'You need it more than ever, Simon.' Price had said as he escorted him outside of the base. 'Just make sure to screw your head back on before you get back?' Simon couldn't help but let out a forced chuckle at his captain's last statement, leaving to go back to you shortly after. He had the steering wheel in an iron grip, his knuckles turning white as he drove down the road.

The same road leads to your shared house.

The same road you drove on before-

The booming horn of a truck came from Simon's left, snapping him out of his thoughts as he swung just in time to avoid the crash. His eyes were wide, and his palms were sweating as he looked back at the truck that was speeding off into the distance. Simon shook his head firmly as he focused back on the road, the agonizing voice in his head screaming at him that, in an alternate scenario, you would've been able to come back home safe.

Simon pressed the gas, surely going over the speed limit as he came closer and closer to his destination. He bolted out of the car and towards the front desk as soon as the tired came to a stop, scaring the shit out of the elder lady who was just enjoying a cup of tea. Her wide eyes softened once she recognized the man who had come here every day to visit you.

She didn't even need to say anything as she nodded toward the left, allowing him to proceed further without writing anything down. Gratitude flashed in Simon's eyes as he ran down the halls, up the stairs, to the 4th floor.

He almost stumbled over his own feet as he reached your room, swiftly opening the door as the beeping of a heart monitor met his ears. There you were, still lying in bed with an oxygen mask over your face. Most of your wounds have healed up; only parts of your body are being bandaged up now. Simon's feet guided him towards the bed, tears welling up in his eyes as he once again sat down on the chair next to your bedside.

"Hey, love." He spoke softly while taking your hand in his. "Sorry for taking so long this time." Simon swallowed thickly. "The captain has given me some time off, which means I get to spend more time with you." His body began to shake as his bottom lip trembled.

"I'd love to treat you to lunch. We could go to your favorite place. With the silly black cat, you love so much." Simon's voice began to crack, hot tears streaming down his face as he held onto your hand. "I miss you so much, baby. Please… come back to me." He pleaded between sobs. You, however, remained unresponsive, the soft sounds of your breathing being the only thing to answer him.

Simon stayed by your bedside for the next 5 hours, talking to you and even telling some of his awful jokes to keep the one-sided conversation going. A part of him hoped that somehow you'd be able to hear him. Around 7 p.m., the same elderly nurse who had greeted and helped Simon whenever he came to visit you came into the room.

"It's time to go home, Mr. Riley." She spoke softly. Simon swallowed as he nodded. He stood up from the chair as he bent down to press a kiss on your forehead. "I'll be here again tomorrow, love." Simon moved himself away from the bed, passing the elderly nurse as he made his way towards the door.

"…Simon?"

Simon froze.

His hand hovered over the doorknob as his eyes widened. He heard the elderly nurse gasp, accompanied by a pair of quick footsteps going towards the bed. Your bed. Simon turned around agonizingly slowly, his own eyes filled with shock, as he was met with the sight that he had longed for ever since you ended up here.

You were looking at him, those big eyes he came to love filling with tears as you reached out to him.

It was then that Simon's heart started to beat again.

#simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #gn reader #no use of y/n #cod x reader #HonourDoesWriting

[saberlight1]

nurturing — billy the kid

pairing: billy bonney x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of violence, death, trauma, sickness, established relationship, reader is also a gunslinger, Y/N usage, standard billy the kid warnings.

authors note: yes i love this man so bad. him in billy the kid deadass altered my brain chemistry lmao. this fic is based off of this request— please, continue to send me your ideas and whatnot, i love reading them! i hope you enjoy <3

masterlist

When you woke up, that unusual ringing in your ears, that pounding in your head, and the scratchiness of your throat— you knew you had fallen ill. One of the boys in the gang, or hell, maybe even someone you had came across had given you something— you didn’t really want to know.

You groaned, rubbing your eyes as you pulled the covers closer to you, attempting to sleep away the sickness. You didn’t want to get up to go to the doctors nor did you have enough money to even pay one. So you did what you do best— ignoring the problem completely.

You fell back asleep easily, sleeping the day and night away completely. When your eyes first fluttered open due to the sunlight intruding on your slumber, you thought you were free from the confines of your illness, but you were mistaken.

The second you sat up, all symptoms that were now arguably worse returned within an instant, causing you to get dizzy. You crashed back down instantly, a whine leaving your lips. Your muscles ached from staying in bed all day, and you wanted a damn drink— a real one. And you wanted to see your cowboy.. so bad. But with the pounding in your head feeling just as powerful as your heartbeat, the thought of even moving made you want to throw up.

And it did— you wanted to cry as you were forced to rush to the trash can in the corner. After 5 minutes of throwing up, your stomach finally relented. You carried yourself back over to your bed, the exhaustion taking over once again.

Hours later, a soft yet powerful knock on your door woke you up with a jump. Your eyebrows knitted as you heard the knocks only get louder. Now alert and awake, you slowly reached for your gun-belt that was neatly rested on your bedside table, grabbing your loaded pistol and cocking it. You used the pistol to slightly lift up the curtain to your window— it was raining, and it was night.

No one good could be paying you a visit at this hour.

You crept over to the door, the knocks only increasing in volume. You slowly turned the handle, your gun tightly in your grip— finger ghosting over the trigger. Adrenaline and anxiety coursed through your veins, you didn’t even feel sick anymore.

The door creaked open, and you pointed the pistol at whoever was out there before you revealed your form.

“Jesus, lady.” Billy’s soft laugh hit your ears, making you lower the gun instantly, placing it on the table by the door. “Stayin’ ready, huh?”

A heavy sigh of relief left your lips as you silently walked into his arms, your head resting on his shoulder as your headache began to form again. His arms wrapped around you quickly, the tip of his hat hitting your head when he leaned down to leave a kiss on your hair.

“You alright, honey?” He whispered, still holding you. “Been wonderin’ where you were. Supposed to meet me at the stables earlier.”

You sighed, completely forgetting your plans with the man. “I’m sorry, Billy,” Your hoarse voice whispered. “I’m sick, I been asleep all day.”

His eyebrows knitted together in concern immediately, as he pushed you off his shoulder to cradle your face in his hands gently. “How bad is it?”

“Just feel like shit,” You chuckled, sending a smile to his face. “I’m okay, Billy.”

His eyes clouded with worry. “C’mon, let’s get you in— away from this storm before it gets you sicker.” He ushered you in. “You seen a doctor yet?” He asked.

“Nah, I didn’t think it would get worse, plus it’s not like I got the money to pay one. Tried to sleep it off, I felt too bad yesterday to get out of bed at all.” You responded as you went to lay down. He tucked your gun back into its holster, before he went to refill your water.

He came back a moment later, a glass of water and a wet rag in hand.

“Thank you,” You whispered as you took a sip, as he placed the wet rag on the back of your neck.

He hummed back to you, laying down next you once you put the water aside, bringing you into his arms.

“You gotta tell me when you’re sick, darlin’.” He whispered to you in the moon lit room. “Can’t loose you to somethin’ like that. Happened to me too many times.”

“I’m sorry, Billy.. I— I don’t mean to worry you.” You said, looking up at him.

“You don’t gotta apologize, baby, just tell me next time so I can come take care of you, y’know?” He smiled, a lovey smile on his lips as he bent down to leave a kiss on your nose. “What can of man would I be if I left my lady to lay sick alone?” He pinched your side slightly, a giggle escaping your lips.

“I reckon you’d be a regular ole’ cowboy.” You joked.

“Well, luckily for you, I happen to be an outlaw.” He chuckled as he leaned down to kiss you— but your finger pressed into his lips stopped him. He looked at you, offended.

“I don’t want to get you sick,” You told him, your smile now more teasing.

“I don’t give a damn about some cold, baby.” He pushed your hand out the way, pressing his lips against yours in an instant, the man kissing you passionately— as if you possessed the air he so very needed. He pulled back, his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip. “Haven’t seen you in days, missed the feelin’ of your lips.” He muttered against your lips before connecting them again, his words sending shivers down your spine, your arms wrapping around his neck.

You felt comfort in the fact that you’d always have your outlaw to be there to make you feel better, no matter what.

#anon asks #tbosas #coriolanus snow #billy bonney x fem reader #billy antrim x reader #billy bonney #billy the kid #billy bonney x reader #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid gifs #billy antrim #william h bonney x reader #william h bonney #coriolanus x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Tiny ideas 2

----

1. Danny, in his new and very human black and white vigilante outfit runs past Penguin who had gotten soaked when a car full of hooligans wearing clown masks ran threw a puddle and splashed him.

Danny, not knowing who this was, tapped him on the shoulder as he ran past, running his intangibility through the man and letting the water fall off him, leaving him nice and dry again.

Penguin makes note to pay both back in very different ways.

----

2. Phantom, having been exorcisized from Amity Park and essentially banished and unable to return, roams around the multiverse looking for something to do.

Upon coming across the creepiest doll hes ever seen in a trash bin, he decides to mess with some local bat themed vigilantes and possesses the doll.

His first victim is Red Robin. Danny in all his creepy doll glory toddles out from behind a chimney as his target is running across the rooftop in his direction. Birdy stopped dead (heh) and stared at the doll.

Danny picked good. The doll was porcelain and cracked, missing one of its glass eyes and moss growing out of the empty socket and around various parts of its body. Its dress was once a lovely blue or green velvet but was now patchy and worn.

He turned the dolls head around at an unnatural angle to fix its gaze on the vigilante, its frozen polite smile adding to its eerieness, and in a moment of impulse said, "I'll see you soon." In the most creepiest little girl voice he could manage, using his ghost powers to make the words seem to drift upon the air towards the hero.

And just like that, doll Danny was gone.

RR almost frantically contacted oracle, "Did you see that?!"

"RR your signal cut out for a few minutes, backup should arrive soon. What happened?"

-----

3. Jason has been getting followed around by this wierd kid who is prime Brucie adoption bait. Kid kept jumping out of nowhere without anyone being able to sense him to ask him the weirdest questions (Damian was so startled that he nearly stabbed the kid on reflex. Not that he'd ever admit it).

The questions where things like, "Do you like books? What are your favorites? Can you cook? Do you like red heads? Do you like dogs? How opposed are you to having supervillian in-laws? What if they give you free experimental weaponry? ....how about some laser cannons and a jet?

Jason ends up getting kidnapped by this kid and dumped in from of this pretty girl as the kid tells her, "I went out and got you a boyfriend who won't try to murder you. Don't screw this up!" Before the kid ran out of the room.

Jazz was mortified.

Jason is still on the floor where he was deposited earlier, "So..." he begins, "I heard you like Jane Austin?"

-----

4. Phantom faked his death in front of the people of Amity Park, just to see how they would react to his passing and kind of in hopes of something changing. He couldn't keep sacrificing everything for these people, after all.

He did not like how the people reacted. Danny had to move away cause if he heard one more person say it was a good thing "that monster" died hes going to hurt someone.

Gotham seemed lovely this time of year and its one place that neither his parents or Vlad would visit. Vlad because if he tried anything at all the worlds greatest detective would ruin him and his parents because they once tried to hunt Batman and Robin only for Batman to terrify them to the point of never returning after they hurt his bird.

Danny got hired at Wayne Tech after submitting a wide range of devices but couldn't do much thanks to still being a minor. Thankfully Mr. Wayne was very generous and kept him housed and fed while he finished his online schooling and graduated early.

(Heavy angst for Danny.)

---

5. Danny hadn't seen Cujo in a while, which wasn't too unusual, but it have been a long time since hed seen his puppy and he was overdue a visit.

Danny pulled out his dog whistle, one normally used for emergencies and that Cujo would never ever ignore.

Only...Cujo didn't come. Now Danny goes on a journey to track down his missing dog. Following clues and trails across different realities, dimensions and universes to find his lost dog.

He did not expect to meet a bird themed vigilante along the way, not for them to insist he help him on his quest. Robin seemed very wary of the Infinite Realms the first time he entered them and had tons of questions. But bird boy was great company and Cujo would love him so Danny could deal.

#dp x dc #danny phantom #fanfiction prompts #prompts #danny fenton #batman #tim drake #red robin #yum #body horror #tw: body horror #dolls

[bougiebutchbinch]

Before I back away from this subject entirely, I just wanna know.

People who staunchly defend the finale from any and all criticism -

Do you really think disabled fans are being 'ridiculous' for feeling hurt that one of the only canonically disabled central characters (Ed's fanon 'knee brace' does not count lol) and the most severely disabled character and the only character whose arc revolved around accepting and loving his disabled body and prosthetic was killed off? And that he said he wanted to die? And that his prosthetic was used as a grave marker rather than buried with him? Do you think we are 'harrassing' the showrunners by wanting to know just how many disabled people were consulted about Izzy's arc, and whether physically disabled people and amputees were in the writing room when these choices were made?

Do you really think queer fans are being 'dramatic' and 'misunderstanding bury your gays' because they're upset that a character who had a 'coming out' arc (complete with a beautiful drag performance) was immediately killed after finding queer joy, in a show that claimed to be a 'kind' queer romantic comedy? Or for pointing out that every polyamorous character wound up in a monogamous relationship?

Do you really think suicide survivors are being 'too emotional' for feeling let down by a character who attempts suicide and survives, then goes through a beautiful healing arc, only to state that he still wants to die? In a comedy?

Do you really think abuse & domestic violence survivors are 'overreacting' by being disgusted that Izzy, who was violently, repeatedly physically mutilated by his captain, a man who is explicitly shown to have power over him, spent his last words reassuring that same man that he brought this abuse on himself by :checks notes: being jealous of Ed's shiny new boyfriend and briefly causing them to break up last season? Or that the crew apparently 'love Ed' now, despite them being shown to be traumatised by his actions in Ep 1-3?

Do you really think writers and authors are 'misunderstanding a three act structure' or 'defending their blorbo' for pointing out that, if this is the Dark Night Of The Soul, it shouldn't be painted with a weird happy veneer that glosses over Ed's abuse of the crew and Stede's sudden 180 to wanting to retire? Or for being fine with Izzy's death as a concept, but wanting it to have more dramatic impact and to feel meaningful?

To be clear: this is not directed at people who enjoyed the finale. You are fine. Enjoy whatever you like! However, please don't act like your favourite show is above criticism - especially from marginalised groups. That's just shitty, and against the entire ethos that OFMD (allegedly lol) promotes.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd meta #ofmd critical #izzy hands #the izcourse #ed teach #blackbeard #stede bonnet

[dramaticallycryingblood]

Things I don’t get about the marauders fandom as someone who’s been obsessed with them for literal years

1. How we let so many characters be only children?? like I get that people don’t necessarily want to make OCs but HOW did it get to this? James, Marlene, Peter, Remus, Mary, Barty, Dorcas, Alice, Frank and so many others! Idk maybe it’s just where I’m from but look me in the eyes and tell me you know that many people who don’t have siblings ALSO the ratio is so off and barely any of them have only child energy. It’s just not right.

2. How sooo many of you aren’t multi shippers. Like what do you MEAN you can only see James with Regulus and Regulus with James?? What about bartylus? what about sunrose? what about draksun/sunkiller? what about moonwater? what about jily? what about prongstail? WHAT do you read?? Aren’t you bored??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN you only have ONE ship for each character???? As a multi shipper, I can be convinced of any ship with anything ranging from a real good fic or a pretty edit to an enthusiastic rant from a random person on TikTok and it just makes things interesting. Maybe my adhd brain just needs more ships to focus on or maybe some of you just lack flexibility ( or imagination), but we need to fix this cause there aren’t enough fics with the ships I like 😭😭

3. THE SHIP NAMES. I can’t be the only one who thinks some of these suck right? Like why are we saying jegulus when starchaser and sunseeker are RIGHT THERE?? Same with jily and flowerpot, and bartylus and starkiller. ALSO some names make me wonder if some of you just haven’t grasped the concept of ship names or if I just got it all wrong cause marylily and jegulily are just annoying, why are we keeping the L in Lily? The point is to merge the names together not stick them one beside the other, I just say marily and jeguily because it rolls off the tongue so much more easily

4. The Peter erasure. I just don’t get it, it’s so easy to include him in things, you don’t have to make him a main character, but just mention him every once in awhile. Sometimes I’m reading an important scene in a fic and everyone is mentioned EXCEPT for Peter! It’s so easy, just make him roll his eyes at his friends being idiots or something. And it’s not like you’ll get his personality wrong, ALL THESE CHARACTERS PERSONALITIES WERE MADE UP BY FANS but I understand that some people lack imagination so here’s some things about Peter I like to imagine: he’s a HUGE gossip, like my man sees and hears everything and he takes notes!! He likes to randomly turn into a rat and take a nap in one of the other marauders’ pocket, he does it so much that they had to tell the girls that they had a pet rat cause they were asking too many questions. He’s really perceptive and his friends are all oblivious so it leads to funny scenarios like:

Remus & Sirius after YEARS of pining: we’re dating

Peter: I thought you guys had been together since third year?

Sirius: I’ve literally introduced you to people I was dating?!

Peter, shrugging: look mate I don’t question you lot anymore, you do whatever you want, I don’t care what you’re into, I just don’t wanna know about it

He also pulls people, like he’s really nice and will gossip to anyone who’s in his vicinity so he’s friends with basically everyone and he’s funny and pretty and he’s got charisma so he just charms everyone and when I say everyone, I mean everyone, even the slytherins have a soft spot for him (that’s how he gets accepted among the death eaters during the war actually). In pranks he’s the lookout so he often has to distract the teachers so he asks them random things and spits out half-made up facts about anything so he’s besties with most of the teachers which means he doesn’t get many detentions.

5. The Black brothers, more specifically the way the speak to each other in most fics, like they call each other “brother” so often and as someone who has a brother I’ve never called him that. Is it an anglophone thing? Like do people who speak English at home all do that or are fic writers only children?? (That would explain my first point actually) Or is it more a rich people thin?? Cause I know it’s not a francophone thing that’s for sure (also special mention to people who don’t know anything about French writing Sirius and Regulus as French speakers, I can tell you don’t know what you’re writing about but I eat it up everytime anyway)

6. This is actually just about ao3 but I WANNA BE ABLE TO LEAVE MORE KUDOS!!! I just loooooove fics but I can’t leave kudos at every single chapter and I’m bad at writing comments so I can’t show the author how much I love their work, I hate itttt 😭

7. Why there aren’t more fics about the Black family, and not just Sirius and Regulus, but Andromeda, Bellatrix and Narcissa as well like that would be so interesting and maybe like a deep dive into the Black family ideals and all that (if you have fic recs I’m all ears!!)

8. How jegulily is a pretty popular ship (which I LOVE) yet SO FEW people ship Regulus and Lily outside of it! They are a power couple and I love them and they don’t need James to work!!!

9. Why there isn’t more background Minnie x Poppy cause they are my mothers and I wanna see them moooooreeee

If you read all of this I love you 🥰 have an amazing day/night

#marauders #marauders era #opinion #maybe this was a bit aggressive lol #the black brothers #the black family #peter pettigrew #headcanon #wolfstar #jegulus #jegulily #bartylus #marylily #sunrose #sunkiller #sirius black #regulus black #james potter #marlene mckinnon #remus lupin #mary macdonald #alice longbottom #frank longbottom #barty crouch jr #dorcas meadowes #lily evans #prongstail #moonwater #minerva mcgonagall #poppy pomfrey

[xxchumanixx]

Matchmaker

The Mandalorian x reader

Summary: Greef Karga takes it upon himself to help two fools find their way together.

Warnings/Tags: hurt, fluff, comfort, mentions of character death, a little angst (but only if you squint), spoilers for season 3

Word count: 2.652

Authors note: Hello my loves! Just finished season three of The Mandalorian, and I can't help but write something for my beloved Din! Seriously, I love him so much.

Also, I somehow wrote this not in past tense, but present tense. Don't know how that happened, but I'm okay with it.

Enjoy!

"What's up with you?" Greef Karga speaks up, head tilted as he tries to analyze your face. Spurred by his words you sit straighter in the chair opposite his, hoping to mask what's on your mind from the clever man.

But he knows you, he knows the tell tale signs when somethings up with you, when somethings bothering you.

His eyebrows rise, and you sigh in defeat.

Of course you can't hide your feelings from him. Over the time you've known him now, he somehow became a father figure for you.

"Do you think he'll settle down, now that he has a home here on Nevarro?" you ask, even though you already know the answer. The likelihood of him settling down, is even smaller than him returning your feelings for him.

You love him, even if you've never seen his face before.

Greef snorts in amusement, sending you a smirk that says the same thing. Never would Din Djarin settle down - at least not in the near future.

"Why are you asking?" Greef questions, brows furrowed. "Are you hoping he'll stay with you?"

Eyes widening, you stare at the magistrate, who dares to chuckle at your reaction. "What?" he quips, smirking. "Do you think I haven't noticed the way you're looking at him?"

You're mouth opens to protest, but you can't manage to utter a single word. He's right, and he knows it too.

"Do you love him?" he wants to know more serious, leaning forward on the table between you. You choke on your breath, chuckling to cover up the uneasy feeling that's suddenly cursing through you.

You still though, sighing, before your head falls into your hands, elbows propped on the table. Wiping over your face you look at Greef, who patiently waits for your answer.

"I do." you reply, feeling the goosebumps creep up your bare arms. He nods, suspicions confirmed. "You haven't seen his face, yet." he points out, cocking a brow.

"Don't need to." you respond, shaking your head. "He could be a Gungan for all you know." he remarks, though grinning as you send him a pointed look.

"He once told me about the mandalorian marriage, how he would be able to remove his helmet in front of his wife." you explain, looking down on the table as your cheeks flush.

"Hit you pretty hard, huh?" he asks with a smile, but before you can answer someone speaks up from behind you, causing you to flinch in your seat.

"What hit whom?" Din wants to know, and you refuse to turn around, stiffening, as your cheeks go even more red.

Greef clears his throat, chuckling. "Oh, nothing, mando." he replies. "Just talkin' 'bout old times."

You are thankful for the older man's explanation, sending him a grateful look. He nods almost unnoticeable, before you stand up.

"I'm gonna go look for something to do." you tell them, briefly looking at Din, before your gaze averts again. Grogu stands behind him, cooing up at you.

"Oh, could you take him with you?" Greef asks, pointing at Grogu. "I want to discuss something with Din, that's not for the child's ears."

Din nods in approval, as you look at him questioningly.

Smiling down at the child you scoop him into your arms, before you leave the room.

Din looks after you and the child, even after the door has already closed behind you again. Greef clears his throat, averting his attention back to him.

"You want to discuss something with me?" Din wants to know, taking a seat where you had been sitting only moments ago.

He'd be lying if he said he wants a job - it had only been a few days since you landed on Nevarro again and settled into the cabin Greef had prepared for you three.

After the fight on Mandalore he is glad to have a break from the constant fighting and traveling.

He could tell you are too, finally being able to catch more than just an hour or two of sleep. The child is happier as well, being able to play with the local kids.

Greef folds his hands on the table, looking at Din with a sigh. Unbeknownst to the magistrate, he rises a brow under his helmet, looking at him expectantly.

"Do you plan on staying?" Greef asks, looking straight at where he believes Din's eyes must be. Din tilts his head, not sure what his friend is getting at.

"Maybe, why?" he gives back warily, brows furrowing. Greef only nods, leaning back in his chair. "And what about her?" he questions further, eyes still fixed on the warrior in front of him. Din licks his lip, feeling his heart rate pick up at the mention of you.

He'd love for you to stay with him, but he'd never make a move on it. You were too precious to him, for him ruining you.

"What do you mean?" he wants to know, leather creaking quietly, as his hands flex in a nervous manner. Greef huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "You know exactly what I mean, Din."

Din sighs, looking away. He in fact knows what the older man is hinting at, yet he tries to play dumb.

"I don't know what you mean."

Greef rolls his eyes, frustration seeping through, as he silently curses at the mandalorian. "Do you love her?" he asks him the same question he had asked you earlier.

Din's eyes widen under his helmet, as he believes he must have misheard him. "I have to go." he mutters, pushing himself out of the chair. "Do you love her?" Greef repeats louder, and Din stiffens, back turned towards him.

"'Cause if you do, you should tell her."

Din can't help but huff at his words, turning back around to him. "And why should I do that?" he demands to know, taking a step closer. "So she takes the first ship to another planet?"

"Because she loves you!" Greef responds angrily, standing from his chair. "Because she loves you and she asked me the same question earlier - Asked if you would stay, or if you'd leave her behind."

Din is taken aback by his words, body freezing.

His heart goes rigid in his chest, hands sweating, but he stays still. "She doesn't know me." he mutters, shaking his head. "She doesn't know your face." Greef responds. "There's a difference."

Din swallows, wiping his hands on his thighs, even though he wears gloves.

"She told me about the mandalorian marriage." Greef explains, licking his lip. "Said that you'd be able to take the helmet off in front of your wife."

Din winces, shaking his head again.

"She wouldn't want me." he insists, looking down. "Are you sure about that?" Greef responds, causing Din's heart to jump dangerously at the prospect. "She said she doesn't need to see your face to love you."

Din breathes in shakily, biting his lip, before his gaze meets his friends. Greef nods encouragingly, silently telling him to finally make a move on his feelings.

You are important to him, and he can tell that you are struggling with your feelings for Din. Pushing you two in the right direction is the least he could do for you.

Meanwhile, you are sitting with the child in between a group of kids. They had spotted you, asking if Grogu could play with them, and invited you to sit with them.

Din neares the group, already having spotted you due to the height difference - not because you seem to radiate under the sun, glowing like a goddess to him.

Of course not.

He stops behind you, taking a moment to watch the child jump on the numbers the kids had scribbled on the ground with chalk.

It looks like something out of a book, he notices. The peaceful and calm atmosphere seems strange to him.

Clearing his throat, he gets your attention, motioning for you to follow him with a tilt of his helmet. Asking the kids to look after Grogu, you stand up, following him.

He walks a few feet away, only stopping when no one's in earshot anymore.

"I'm thinking about staying." he begins, after a short silence. You nod, brows furrowing slightly. "How come?" you ask. He takes a moment longer to answer, gaze wandering behind you to the kids still playing with Grogu, before he looks back at you.

"Mandalore is still in reconstruction, and we will have to stay somewhere in the meantime." he explains, your heart picking up its pace at his choice of words. "We?" you ask, hope flaming up in your chest.

Would he stay with you, or let you stay with him, now that Mandalore is going to be rebuilt?

You had been spending time with the mandalorian for almost the whole while he was traveling with Grogu now, but never really had a place to stay at.

Except for Nevarro now.

"Grogu and I." he responds, and your heart cracks as he extinguishes the flame, before it had really become one.

Your face falls and you do your best not to let him notice, as you force yourself to smile, nodding with tears pricking in your eyes.

"Sure." you mumble, biting your lip, as you look down.

"And you if you want to."

You're heart stops at his words, gaze snapping back to his.

He swallows, heart racing in his chest. He's nervous, hands sweating in his gloves, as he tries to study your reaction.

"Really?" you want to know, fearing he'd take it back. But he nods, taking a step closer. "I talked to Greef." he admits, tilting his head.

You huff, now knowing why he came up with the topic in the first place.

"Of course, you have." you mumble, looking away from him. How much did Greef tell him? You should have known something was up, when he asked you to take the child with you.

He makes a sound like he wants to say something, but it gets stuck in his throat. "I like you." he then presses out, fists clenching at his sides.

He hates to talk about his feelings, never really having been good at it.

Your heart jumps, breath hitching in your throat as you look back at him. "I like you and I want you to stay with us." he adds, voice shaky even through the modulator.

You're not sure what exactly he means, goosebumps covering your arms at the prospect. "What do you mean you like me?" you ask, swallowing at the nerves bubbling up.

He sighs, helmet tilting downwards. "I mean that-" he sighs again in frustration, arms moving at his sides, as he seems to fight with himself, before he looks back up at you. "I mean that I have feelings for you, Y/N."

Your heart stutters in your chest, before it doubles its speed. Blinking rapidly, you try to process his words.

"I-I have feelings for you, too." you stutter, taking a step towards him. He inhales shakily, relief flooding him.

No matter what Greef had told him about your feelings for him, he still could have been wrong.

The relief momentarily blocks out the fear he's feeling, but it returns just as fast as it was gone.

"But I'm scared, cyar'ika." he voices, not giving you a chance to respond further, heart fluttering at the endearment. You had only heard it once before, and you were sure it meant something special.

"I don't want to bring you in harms way even further, because you'd be my weak spot."

You blush, still shocked at his confession.

"But the child is a weak spot, too." you remind him quietly, tilting your head as your brows furrow slightly.

"I don't want to end up like Paz." he whispers, voice cracking. "And another weak spot would only add to that possibility. When something happens to me you'd be left on your own. When something happens to you or the child-" he shakes his head, swallowing.

"I wouldn't know what to do."

You take another step closer, hand finding its way onto his arm, trying to comfort him. "Din, that won't happen." you assure him, trying to catch his gaze through the helmet.

"Paz had a son." he arguments, shaking his head at you. "His son lost his father." "He was a foundling." you retort, still feeling bad for the boy. "He'll learn to live without him, he still has a family: the other mandalorians."

Paz was a good man, he had sacrificed himself for his people, leaving behind his son.

"And what's with my wife, Grogu, kids of my own?" he questions. He's agitated, body trembling at the thought of disappointing you.

Your eyes widen at his words.

His wife, kids of his own.

He seems to notice what he said, a gasp leaving his lips, as his eyes widen as well. "I-I mean-" he stutters, panic creeping into his voice, but you smile at him.

"Din, you don't have to keep doing the dirty work for the rest of your life." you give back softly, silently hating that you can't see his eyes.

He snorts, taking a step back, so your hand falls from his arm. "And credits come flowing, sure."

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. "We will find something that's less dangerous. Aside from that I'm sure Mandalore will have a place for us, a job. We'd manage."

"You're saying that like it would all be so easy for us." he gives back, shaking his head as well. You nod, licking your lip. "I know it's not always going to be easy, but I'm sure we'll manage." you repeat, closing the distance again.

He falls silent at that, only staring at you.

He can't seem to grasp why you were willing to spend your life with him - a mandalorian, someone who's made more enemies than he can possibly count.

"And now let's get back to the point where you told me you have feelings for me." you rasp out, taking your hand in his.

His hand tightens around yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles as he exhales shakily.

"Do you know how long I hoped for you to say those words?" you chuckle, smiling up at him. He huffs, shaking his head with a chuckle of his own.

"I was sure you wouldn't want me." he breathes out, licking his lip. You huff, smile widening. "You have no clue, Din." you tell him. "And even if I don't know what you look like yet, I'm sure I will love it as well. It's not only your face, Din. It's you - everything about you, the way you care for the ones you love and how you do everything to protect them. It's you I love, not only the face I have yet to see. And if I have to marry you to see your face, I can't wait."

He's stunned at your words, mouth agape even though you can't see it.

He's never heard such beautiful words directed at him before. Hearing them come out of your mouth, only makes them more beautiful.

"Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum." he mutters, his voice soft. You tilt your head at him, not sure what he said. "It's mando'a." he says, and you swear you hear him smile under his helmet. "It means I love you."

You inhale sharply, eyes widening, and he wonders if he took it too far. "It sounds so beautiful." you reply, smiling broadly at him. He sighs in relief, smile returning.

"Ni kartayl gar darasum." you try to repeat it and he laughs, lightly shoving you at the way you mispronounce the words.

"We'll practice that." he assures you chuckling, wrapping his arm around you, to lead you back to the kids.

"For now let's focus on marrying so you can finally see my face."

cyar'ika: sweetheart

#the mandalorian #the mandaloria/reader #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x u #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you

[auroravictorium]

you're on your own, kid (k.b.)

I looked around in a blood-soaked gown, and I saw something they can't take away.

Summary: set before the midnights series takes place, reader has been a member of the dregs for only a year and has developed a crush on kaz in that time. one night after her shift, her loyalty to the dregs is accidentally put to the test, and things begin to change between kaz and reader.

Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (pining by reader) Word Count: ~2.9k Warnings: violence [blood, fighting, stab wounds], death of unimportant character, drinking by jesper and reader, no insight into kaz's feelings in this one bc he's getting his own prequel piece <3, very light proofreading Genre: pretty fluffy until the fight scene

Author's Note: sorry about the delay on posting this, everyone! i've been sick, but i'm feeling better and ready to write again :)) thank you for the requests i've gotten so far - i'm SO EXCITED to write them!! enjoy!

grishaverse masterlist / kaz pov for this piece (coming soon!)

The humid summer air pressed down on you as you rushed the few blocks from the Slat to the Crow Club. The heat made you tired, and you took what you thought would be a short midday nap in your room. The nap ended up lasting longer than expected, and now you were twenty minutes late to your shift at the Crow Club. Cursing under your breath, you adjusted the collar of your dress against your sticky neck as you darted down the uneven sidewalk in your rush to make up for being late.

"Move," you muttered under your breath, shoving past a meandering patron and swiping his pocket watch as you passed. You dashed into the Club and passed Jesper at the door as the man realized he'd been pickpocketed. He roared something unintelligible behind you, and you only smirked as you pushed your way to the bar to relieve the poor Dreg who was still there. 

She shot you a glare and left, and you only shrugged back before getting to work. Whatever. She'd been late more times than you could count.  

You were able to pour two drinks before a cane thumped against the floor behind you. Wincing, you turned to see your boss looking at you impassively. "You're late," Kaz said. He surveyed you up and down, and you tried not to blush under his gaze.

"I overslept." There was no use lying or coming up with a better excuse. Lying to Kaz was a death wish, and you liked your position in the Dregs enough to not want to lose it. After a full year with them, you'd finally established yourself with the group and made friends with Nina and Jesper. You'd even gotten to know Inej somewhat, and you longed to know her better and learn from her. 

Kaz considered that for a moment. "Don't let it happen again." He walked off to probably scare someone else, and you exhaled heavily and returned to making drinks. When he was around, you could hardly breathe and found yourself struggling to look at him directly. Those blue eyes made you want to blush, and the butterflies in your stomach churned violently. It was no secret that people found Kaz attractive, but you'd rather jump into the harbor in the middle of winter than have your feelings exposed. Your cohorts in the Dregs would never let you live in peace.

Regardless, nothing could happen. Kaz was the boss. You were still working to establish yourself in the Dregs; you were surprised he even noticed your tardiness. That's how much of a nobody you figured you were, even though he recruited you himself after word spread of someone causing trouble for the rich.

Boots thumped against the floorboards as Jesper, fresh off the door, shoved his way over and plopped himself on a stool before you. "He let you off easy," Jesper said. You set a clean shot glass on the counter and rifled for his favorite liquor. "Must be in a good mood."

You shot him a look, pausing your shuffling. "Kaz is never in a good mood."

"He never tolerates lateness, either," Jesper pointed out. He jerked his chin toward the shot glass and batted his eyelashes. "Please?"

Shaking your head, you found the liquor and poured Jesper a shot. He bowed his head to you as if you were a Saint, then downed the drink in one smooth gulp. "You're insufferable," you told him.

"You love me." He set his glass down and swiveled to survey the crowded Club around you. "Caught three men trying to get in with fake coin." Jesper clicked his tongue. "Explains why Boss is here."

You didn't respond and pretended to examine the room. But your eyes lingered on a well-tailored figure roaming the less-populated parts of the Crow Club. The crow's head of his cane shimmered in the dim lighting, allowing you to keep track of his movements as he strolled this way and that, seemingly without a care in the world. His hair was slicked back today, the sides a bit shorter than the last time you'd seen him; he must have cut his hair. It suits him, you thought. It complemented his angular face, and with his hair out of the way, you could see his eyes.

His eyes were as blue as the sky on a rare day when the clouds parted over Ketterdam. They were your favorite thing about him, aside from the image of his smile you'd conjured in your mind. You'd never seen it and likely never would, but you indulged in your imagination. As long as word of your tiny crush on Kaz didn't get out, you would allow yourself to wonder whether he had dimples.

Jesper glanced at you and then followed your gaze to where Kaz was subtly looking over a man's shoulder at his cards. He leaned over the bar and whispered in your ear, "You're staring."

You jerked, nearly bumping his glass, then swatted him on the shoulder. "No, I'm not." Your cheeks burned, and you turned your back so that Jesper couldn't see your face. Damn it, Y/N. Couldn't wait to stare until Jesper left?

"You totally were." Jesper reached and ruffled your hair, and you smacked his hands away with a fierce scowl. "Does Y/N have a crush?" he asked in a sing-song voice. He abandoned his stool and rounded the counter to bump his shoulder with yours. He helped himself, pouring another shot and waggling his eyebrows at you.

"I will break your nose," you hissed. Your face and neck were hot, and you glanced over at Kaz to make sure he hadn't noticed the two of you. Nobody else seemed to notice either, but you needed Jesper to shut up before that changed. "Stop talking, Jesper."

"Oooh, you do," Jesper sang. Drink in one hand, he wrapped his other arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side. "Y/N has a crush on-"

You grabbed Jesper's arm and ducked under it before giving it a sharp twist. Not hard enough to harm him, but with enough force that he shut his damned mouth. He winced and set down his drink to rub his shoulder. "Don't," you warned him. "I don't want anyone to know." You frowned and poured another drink as a regular walked through the door and straight toward the bar.

Jesper softened at the look on your face and lost his teasing mood. "What's the worst that can happen?" He nudged you gentler this time.

"I get laughed out of the Dregs and end up back on the streets," you answered, already sliding the regular's drink to him by the time he produced kruge and set it on the counter. He added a few coins for a tip, and you flashed him a false smile of thanks before turning back to Jesper. "It's not going to happen, Jesper," you whispered. "I've accepted that. It's just a stupid thing, and it'll go away."

"You don't know that," Jesper insisted, ever the optimist. You shook your head, and he rushed to continue. "You can always test it, see if there's a spark there."

"How am I supposed to do that, exactly? Tell him, 'Oh, hey, by the way, I wanted to ask whether there's a spark between us,'" you said mockingly. You grabbed a torn-up rag and started to viciously scrub at an impossible stain on the counter. You didn't even know why you were starting to get upset with Jesper; it wasn't as if he was being hurtful. He was offering genuine suggestions for navigating your feelings, but you were frustrated by it. Maybe it was the fact that it would never happen. Kaz didn't show interest in anyone but himself and his money. End of story.

"Well, don't say that," Jesper muttered. "A recipe for disaster. Why don't you start by saying hi and see how that goes?"

You faced Jesper and put on your best Kaz glare. After a few beats of silence, you broke and gave him your own scowl. "That's how he would respond, Jesper." 

You forced yourself to take a few deep breaths. You were just embarrassed that Jesper had seen right through you. That's all this was, and Jesper didn't deserve the brunt of it. You'd scream into your stupid, flimsy pillow at the Slat later. "I appreciate the advice, Jesper, but I don't want to talk about this anymore. Now, if you're going to stand behind the bar like an obstacle," you began, throwing the dirty rag at him. He batted it out of the air with a disgusted look, and you smirked in satisfaction. "Either leave or help clean."

"I'd rather not, thanks," Jesper said. He picked the rag up from the ground and held it away from him as if it were poisonous. After throwing it in a bin, he turned to you with that classic, charming Jesper smile. "I'll be at the Slat."

"Please, don't say anything," you pleaded. You caught his arm as he turned to leave. "Please, Jesper."

He stopped and looked down at you. Seeing the desperation on your face, he nodded slowly. "I won't, sweetheart." He ruffled your hair one more time to see your grimace and the look in your eyes that promised violence, then he was off and swaggering out of the Club. 

You sighed in relief and leaned against the counter, fixing the hair that Jesper had disturbed. Seeing the shot on the counter he'd left behind, you considered before grabbing it and knocking it back. The alcohol burned on its way down, tasting bitter and vaguely treelike, and you wanted to gag. But you needed the confidence because the whole exchange with Jesper made you wish you were anywhere else. At least alcohol didn't tease you about your stupid crush. It just helped you through it.

Miraculously, the rest of your shift passed with no further encounters with Kaz or anyone else who could tease you. You made it back to the Slat, your coin pouch weighed down with tips, and you took the steps two at a time up to the attic to deliver your tips for the day. They'd make their way back to you eventually, but Kaz liked to catalog them to get a sense of how his Dregs were doing bringing in revenue.

A true businessman, except infinitely more terrifying.

You slipped into his office, grateful that you'd seen him still patrolling the Club when you left. Unless he could be in two places at once, you were safe. Depositing your pouch on his desk with a short note, you turned to leave.

A thump sounded from the room connecting to Kaz's office. Metal scraping on metal came next, making your ears ring. The hairs on the back of your neck rose, and you immediately slipped your favorite dagger from its sheathe at your waist. The weight was comforting in your hand as you crept toward the door and leaned against the wall next to it, listening.

Silence. A heavy, unnatural silence. And then slow, creeping footsteps moved right toward the door.

Goosebumps rose along your skin despite the hot summer air. This was not a Dreg. Nobody entered Kaz's bedroom unless they had a death wish, and there was only one way to get in. There was someone in there who definitely shouldn't be.

The footsteps to the door, and you threw your weight at it as you opened it. Someone grunted behind the door and stumbled back, and you rounded it to find a man twice your size dressed in all black, except for the gleaming mop of golden hair on his head.

Not a Dreg.

Your days on the streets returned to you, and you made the first move while he was dazed. You shoved him back toward a small, teetering bookshelf in the corner. He collapsed into it. The wood turned to dust, and thick books rained down on his head and hit the floor with loud thumps. His back hit the wall behind the shelf as it damn near disintegrated underneath him. He recovered quickly, pulling his own weapon from a sheath at his thigh and advancing on you.

You exchanged blows. The man was strong and put most of his weight behind each swing, and the blade narrowly missed your face when he slashed a wide arc in an attempt to disarm you. You ducked as he used his free hand to try to punch you, and you shoved his arms away as you came back up, bringing your knee to his gut. He groaned but was unaffected enough that he could plunge his dagger toward your chest. Unable to dodge completely after putting too much weight into the blow to his stomach, you settled for turning to bear the impact.

The blade pierced your shoulder, and you clenched your teeth to muffle your cry of agony. White-hot pain ran through you, and it took every piece of training you had to resist the urge to drop your weapon and cup the seeping wound. Your knuckled turned white as you gripped your knife tighter and went straight for his throat, taking advantage of his moment of satisfaction.

The man gurgled as your blade made contact with his skin, and blood sprayed onto your hands, face, and clothes. He released his dagger and crumbled to the floor with a loud thud, cupping his throat and staring up at the ceiling with wide, agonized eyes.

You knelt over him and shoved his shirt sleeve up. The limpness of your left arm made the task difficult, but you managed by gritting your teeth to muffle your heavy breathing. Something was severed. No time to think about that. Focus. Who the hell was this man who was clearly sent to kill Kaz?

A tattoo stared up at you, dark as night against his skin. It looked as you expected: a cat curled on top of a crown, with the Dime Lions' motto beneath it. You recoiled in disgust and shoved his arm away from you. Standing, you stepped on the Dime Lion's hand and felt the bones snap. Twisted satisfaction ran through you. He deserves much worse.

He didn't respond to the pain. Blood pooled on the floor, puddling beneath him and seeping into the old wood. He was gone, well and truly, and his eyes were glassy and blank. They were turned toward the ceiling as if the Saints could help him now. If you weren't trembling with anger, pain, and adrenaline, you would have closed his eyes, although he didn't deserve the gesture.

Footsteps thundered behind you, and you whirled, ready for more would-be assassins to arrive. Instead, Jesper, Inej, Kaz, and a few miscellaneous Dregs piled into the room, their weapons drawn and aimed. 

Jesper's mouth dropped when he processed what stood before him, and he holstered his guns. "Saints," he breathed. His eyes flicked between you and the man behind you, disbelief shining in them.

Your dagger thudded to the ground as the adrenaline suddenly left your body. The blood was gushing from your shoulder faster, soaking the back of your dress and spreading toward the front. The Dime Lion struck deep, and your head began to spin. The air suddenly felt too cool, and you shivered, crossing your good arm across your chest.

What the hell just happened?

"Get Nina," Kaz ordered, turning to pierce the Dregs behind him with a glare. "Now."

The Dregs went, scrambling out the door and back down the stairs.

Kaz limped over toward the dead man lying behind you. You didn't notice his eyes lingering on you or how they dropped to your shoulder. There were dust motes in the air. Or maybe sawdust from the destroyed bookshelf. Maybe you were imagining it. "Grab her," Kaz said with an unexpected softness. 

You were definitely imagining things now. Kaz didn't talk like that.

Jesper and Inej surged forward, supporting your weight and leading you to a seat in Kaz's office. The wound was nonlethal, but the blood loss certainly could be, and the two wasted little time in ripping the left shoulder of your dress off you and starting to apply pressure to the wound.

Through the open door, you saw Kaz investigating the dead man. You hardly felt the fingers probing at your wound as Kaz bent his head and looked over the scene.

"You did a good job," Inej whispered, bringing you back to yourself. She squeezed your uninjured arm to get your attention, and you turned your eyes to hers. She offered you a small, warm smile that reached her eyes. The tension in your good shoulder eased. She just had that effect. "You did what needed to be done."

Two sets of footsteps approached one from Kaz's bedroom and one from the hallway. Nina entered the office in a mess of skirts and unbound hair. Without hesitating, she knelt next to you and started to work.

You didn't focus on her, nor on Inej and Jesper starting to murmur around you about what happened, how they could have missed this, how they should respond.

Kaz leaned his shoulder against the doorway, putting his weight on his good leg, and he examined you. You met his blue gaze despite the butterflies going haywire in your stomach. Earlier, you'd been too shy to look at him, but now, having killed someone trying to kill him, you met his look head-on. 

Everyone else disappeared. It was just you and Kaz.

Almost imperceptibly, he nodded. Well done.

TAGLIST: @tonberry-yoda, @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r, @futurecorps3

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x fem!reader #kaz brekker x you #six of crows #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix #reader insert #the grishaverse #the crows #six of crows duology #jesper fahey #nina zenik #inej ghafa #grishaverse fanfic #matthias helvar #wylan van eck #soc kaz #soc fanfic #soc jesper #soc nina #soc inej #soc matthias #my writing #midnights but make it kaz brekker #midnights

[oceanlipgloss]

27.1.2024

—nsfw + chapter 5 spoilers (+ a dash of dark humour)

*Spongebob narrator voice* ah, Bikini Bottom Leviathan's H-scene. One I've been looking forward to, excitedly so. And since this chapter had a fair slice of tragedy, it was sealed with an H-scene as a treat. That's not going to heal the angsty feelings, but into it I shall dive. Look, it rhymes lots of aquatic vocabulary

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ´ˎ˗

intro: the scene's intro screen shows that Leviathan still has his shirt on. And you know what? WHAT A TURN-ON, THAT'S WHAT

update I: Hades Studios present 'The Sick Chicken' no but I like him SO MUCH. His attitude is a breath of fresh air pun intended but the reasons that played a role in forming it are so sad

update II: MWAHAHAHA GO HARDER ON HER

update III: *clapping like a madwoman* BRAVO, BRAVO! That's really hot of him, you know. Everything about this is sending me to heaven except for the fact that someone like me obviously can't so much as set a toe on the grounds of Paradise because it doesn't exist but I mean, COME. ON. The way he let his hand move from her neck to her chin? 'Glowering at you as though he would burn the mark off with his gaze alone'? HOLY FUCKKKK <3

update IV: GOD NO THIS IS TOO HOT GOD WOOHOOOOOO

update V: man oh man he's so MMMM

update VI: RAAAAAA

update VII: he speaks to me on a spiritual level trying not to inject angst into this by bringing up what caused him to feel this way So, Leviathan. You, me, parking lot, 'who hates people more' contest, 5PM. I'm not hanging anyone tho maybe actually, scratch that. We're hanging horrible people together like we're Harley Quinn and the Joker, baby

update VIII: pfff 'how fair of you' His reaction, though? So confident. So fucking sexy. Yours truly is already a dead girl, but at the moment she's dying, dying, dying beyond death And wdym 'he smirked, but even then he was so beautiful yada yada' like dude, he's more beautiful BECAUSE he's smirking, BECAUSE of his arrogant spite

update IX: I'm really glad she considered his feelings and didn't immediately agree to have sex with him. Truth be told, this came as quite the pleasant surprise, because while she does have moments in which she's considerate, I don't view this particular MC as someone who's truly capable of being sensitive to others that much. Sure, she didn't directly agree to sleep with Belial when he offered because she thought he was still unwell, but here I honestly still expected her to just jump right in and not think twice about Leviathan's feelings, so I was very happy when she said this instead; she didn't focus on the fact that he dislikes her, but rather on not risking hurting him should he not want to do this with her. He's definitely attracted to you though, MC. He's just not on good terms with the concept of expressing his feelings relatable as fuck I know how this may have sounded harsh or mean of me—and it's not meant to be offend anyone—but the truth is that this MC wasn't created with 'gentle and sweet' in mind; the way her brain is hardwired to tirelessly daydream about sexual things has lead her to be insensitive at times (with painfully questionable intelligence to top it off, sorry) as seen in certain instances.

update X: kinda cute. Juuuust a little bit. ...that straightforwardness is edible

update XI: he's brutally honest and his gestures are subtle, and that makes them so sensual. In other words, THIS TICKLES MY FANCY

update XII: he says something like this with an expression like that. YEEEES he looks so sweetly smug too godddd Also: lol @ 'you MAY turn me on' = [access permitted]

update XIII: my point exactly

update XIV: his attitude is so good. SO good. He's domineering and deliberately giving her a hard time lol sufferrrr, MC on a sadder note, he also won't talk about himself because it's really hard for him to give his trust after what happened to him...

update XV: I can stand behind that. I LIKE it. Vibe with it, agree with it. I REALLY DOOO

update XVI: he...really just asked her to hit and choke him, didn't he? [MASOCHISTIC TARGET LOCATED] sometimes physical pain feels nice, Leviathan, I getchu, but being hit and strangled isn't a brand of pain I would, um, choose for myself. Whatever makes u hard happy tho, ig. Rock on, king

update XVII: the jealousyyyyy <3

update XVIII: 'Leviathan thought he was going crazy' You know who's also going to go crazy reading this? ME. My God, this many screenshots and the railing hasn't started yet

update XIX: to be honest, I'm not fond of choking, slapping, spanking, and the like, so I'm most likely not going to like what's coming next much lol but let's move on, shall we now?

update XX: damn, he's provoking her so hard to make her beat the fuck out of him, and lo and behold, he's getting what he wants. She might as well just tear his soul out at this rate or send him to his maker but where the hell is God? jk jk this chapter made it clear that Leviathan can take a shit ton of hits trauma and stay alive good god it's the blackness of my soul my dark humour speaking forgive me omfg it's not me I swear I s—I SAID WHAT I SAID This part is kinda funny so far, what with how MC has gone batshit insane on him. That being said, it's really nice how she cares about Minhyeok so much that it's the foundation of her rage and the reason Satan's wrath burns in her, urging her to harm Leviathan in a frenzy after he said ruthless things about Minhyeok. Meanwhile, Leviathan is so busy trying to get turned on that he's neither jealous nor envious of that lmao

update XXI: this is going to sound weird coming from me when I'm somewhat of a sadist who likes dark themes, loves horror and gore, and enjoys seeing torture in certain scenarios do I sound like the freak I am yet? and when I just made such a fucked up joke with good intentions too, but...MC hurting Leviathan over and over like this summons a feeling of discomfort and remorse in my heart even if I completely put away my dislike for consensual violence in sexual acts. Leviathan's past and the possible psychological implications behind his fondness of undergoing physical harm make this part somewhat painful to read, because perhaps his arousal from being hurt has something to do with what he went through as a child (i.e. it may be a coping mechanism of a sort). When I think of it that way, coupled with the horrific aspects of his childhood—the pain being inflicted on him messes with my emotions. Then again, this could just be his personal preference and not have deeper meanings. Either way, the game holds true to its themes and maintains excellent dark perspectives, and as I always say, I'll never dislike that. In fact, PB better keep these founding concepts intact.

update XXII: oh god DON'T STOMP HIS PP NOT THE PP STAY AWAY FROM PP HE NEEDS IT YOU NEED IT

update XXIII: no but EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS MOSTLY THE DRIPPING HORNS (AS ALWAYS) AND HIM UNBUCKLING HIS OWN PANTS (AS SHE WATCHES TOO LORD MY KINK'S DEVOURING THIS) AND THE PRE AND— GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA Why is his horns' liquid not white like the others, though?

update XXIV: THAT EXPRESSION THE CONTRAST WITH HIS NORMAL SELF MC, GIRLLLLLL BITE THAT TONGUE

update XXV: "HOW DARE YOU FEEL PLEASED?!"—MC to Leviathan of Hades, 2024 She's going to choke him to death rip him apart piece after piece, limb by limb, shred upon shred Ronové would back her up nicely oh god it's the dark humour again excuse me But it's so damn sexy how he's the one controlling her, yet she's the one wrecking him

update XXVI: YOOOO I'M GONNA DIE THIS IS SO GOOD THIS IS SO—

update XXVII: PP goes 'fwop'

update XXVIII: he is SUCH a mess YESSSS u should get even messier, Leviathan, you MUST

update XXIX: he insists on making eye contact no matter what. FUCK YES. And the teasing? FUCK YEAHHHHH

update XXX: I LOVE I SAID I LOVE—

update XXXI: so, so hot YAAAAAA

update XXXII: her wrapping her arms around his neck and then both of them just being so dazed out of their minds that the no-more-strangling move is not bothersome anymore...*sigh* pls feed me moreeeeee

update XXXIII: bro 'frantically licked' sent me. MC, slurping on Leviathan's horn like her life depends on it: boy am I thirsty The horns are a blessing, they're everything. And he's so messed up by the lick lick what she's doing that he can't even form a sentence (likely an insult to hide how fucked out of his mind that made him feel)

update XXXIV: THIS JUST FED ME MORE FR FR MY STOMACH HURTSSS HE'S DESPERATE and dang, I didn't know even hearts could reach climax. You learn something new everyday lol nah, I get what they mean So fucking hot how they kept kissing until they couldn't breathe my kind of thing a VERY pleasing display of Leviathan's kink, yes

update XXXV: squelch...squelch...squish squish, slurp slurp, anyone? Guess this writing style wasn't reserved for Tartaros's boys after all :( Bimet and I are fake-crying in the distance

update XXXVI: does he mean the tormenting or the fucking? Because if he's referring to sex, I offer Minhyeok my condolences. MC's never going to fuck you senseless or at all, hon. Sorry, but u should've known better, BFF boy :( I know no mercy

update XXXVII: Leviathan feeling happy because of her reply and him replying with "good. It should stay like that"? So possessiveeee <3 no more images fit Kinda melting over how his envy didn't flare up and anger him like it did in the beginning 'cause the brutality sex softened him for the moment

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ´ˎ˗

+notes: I was violently wishing for a Leviathan's-clothes-are-still-on-during-sex CG, so when the CG came up and there was no MC on top of him, I was disappointed for a short minute short because then I looked at his face and his godly position spread legs and how he's on the ground like that...mmm lol

It's a change of pace, new. For WHB, at least—since it isn't like previous CGs—but it's heart-throbbing in its own way; seeing cold, pretty Leviathan on the floor like that, meek with his red cheeks...slurp a delicacy.

Ahem, anyways. The CG took me down memory lane somewhat, back to my first otome-playing-days from about 10+ years ago. Whenever the 'Happy Ending' CG was of the male lead alone, I always disliked that because I WANTED TO SEE *THE COUPLE* DOING THINGS, DAMMIT (even though the wildest things players saw characters do in CGs back in those days were mostly kisses lol until they got more daring, that is).

So yeah, while I did feel sort of disappointed when I first saw this CG, while I do prefer CGs like those of previous H-scenes, and while I still wish I could've seen Leviathan and MC in action, at the same time this CG is *chef's kiss* for obvious reasons and also due to how I feel like it suits Leviathan very well in a way. He's built walls about his heart and boundaries around himself, so it's as though the game won't let players see him like they did the men before him (in the main story), if that makes sense. I'm also hoping his shirt stayed on during sex

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ´ˎ˗

edit: I just inspected opened the CG in the album for a, um, better view and...MC is grabbing Leviathan's PP? Yeeeeeeaaaaaaaah that's so YESSSS RAAAAAA

#what in “hell” is bad #what in hell is bad #whb #whb leviathan #what in hell is bad diaries

[naturalbornsnickerdoodle]

sick of you | bang chan (fluff)

Pairing: sick!Chan x reader

Word count: 2.1k words

Rating: SFW / PG-13

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Some curse words here and there, suggestive conversations. Not proofread

Summary: Chan gets sick during preparations of a new comeback and reader takes care of him. 

Author’s note: Imagine it’s a scene from a sitcom or romcom. I made this longer than intended, my apologies. But I hope it entertains you <3 I’m open to feedback, please let me know if there are grammar mistakes or mispelled words. Thanks for reading, enjoy!

It was a normal afternoon, you were typing away at your computer, sipping at your iced tea while listening to the city’s sounds, a light breeze coming through the open windows.

Happy with your written progress, you stretched your arms above you when your phone started buzzing. It was a text from Felix.

🐥: Y/N, Chris is on his way home, whatever he says don’t let him talk you into thinking he’s okay, ‘cause he’s not.

Y/N: oh no, what happened?

🐥: not sure, but he looked really tired and was cranky af. It took all of us plus the managers to make him leave.

Y/N: Jesus...this man and his hyper independence is gonna be the death of me. Anyways, I’ll check up on him, Lix. Thanks for the heads up ❤️

🐥: No problem, good luck!

You put your phone down as you heard the apartment’s front door open. Soon enough, your boyfriend entered the living room where you were currently working. Your heart sank at the sight of Chan. The man looked pale and exhausted at first glance, but then his face lit up as he saw you and tried to greet you with a sweet smile.

“Hey baby” you smiled back at him, typing a little on your computer saving your document, as he put his bag down and entered the kitchen

“Hi babe, I’ll be back in a sec, want some water first” he called back

You stood from your working station stretching out some more before making your way to the kitchen.

“Hi” you say as you came close to him puckering your lips a little to properly greet him, but he was busy chugging down on his water bottle, holding up a single finger, signaling for you to wait.

“What, no kiss? Man, chivalry is dead after all”

Chris side eyed you as he took his last gulps of water. He chuckled at your comment when he was done with his water.

“Sorry, babe. Was pretty thirsty, it’s really hot out” he said while discarding the empty plastic bottle in the recycling bin

“Is it? thought the weather was kinda nice today”

He chuckled a little “yeah well you’ve always been more sensitive to cold, can’t tell how hot it’s out there”

“Fair point. So what’s with the hoodie?”

He stopped on his tracks at your question. “Pardon?”

“Hoodie’s are for chilly days, yeah? You said it yourself, I’m sensitive to cold, and I’m not even wearing one. So, hoodie?”

“Oh well uh I wore it during practice and didn’t feel like taking it off, that’s all”

You let out a soft “a-ha”, your tongue pushing your inner cheek, arms crossed as you looked at him warily.

“Whatever, you must be hungry, want something to eat?”

“Oh, no thanks, I’m good. I’ll wait til dinner time”

You stared back at him not saying a word for a few seconds blinking a few times

“That’s it, I’m not having it”

You marched into the living room to retrieve your phone, pretending to call someone. Chan followed immediately

“hey hey where are you going? Babe, what are you doing?” He asked as he saw you tapping away at your phone screen.

“Contacting JYP to file a complaint. They broke my boyfriend”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous”

“I mean it’s either that or they somehow managed to clone their idols and sent me the wrong one”

“this is crazy”

“oh is it? Help me out here: you came home in the middle of the afternoon, with no appetite, sweating profusely, white as a ghost AND didn’t even come close to say hello to me properly. Does that sound like the Christopher we know?”

“Yes???” he said increasing the pitch of his voice 

You narrowed your eyes at his poor attempt of justifying this nonesense.

“Bullshit. I’m calling the boys”

“Okay okay okay you’re right. I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well, alright?”

“I knew it!”

“But I mean, it’s not that bad”

“If it’s not that bad, why didn’t you kiss me then?”

“Oh come on, what if was a lil sick, I didn’t want you to get sick either”

“sure...”

“I swear I’m good! Honestly I would’ve stayed practicing for longer but the guys wouldn’t let me. So they asked me to come home”

You chuckled at the last part

“What’s so funny?”

“They kicked you out, Christopher. Ha-ha”

He let out a long sigh, clearly not amused at your comments as he usually would be, but still planting his famous thin lined smile on his face (the one that looks like this :] )

“Okay, enough with the sitcom jokes. Come here, you said you were feverish?”

“I think so, I didn’t feel this warm back in the practice room”

You came closer to him and placed your palm on his forehead, eyebrows knitting together as you felt how warm he actually was.

“Yeah, you must’ve gotten warmer on your way here. Did you get one of the company cars to drive you?”

“No, I walked here”

“You walked all the way here from the JYP building?!”

“It’s a 20 minute walk, it’s not that far, Y/N”

“for a person that’s burning hot, it is”

“Aww stop babe, you’re making me blush” he lightly pushes your shoulder

“Funny. And that blush is from your fever, you dummy. You should be more careful next time, Chan.”

“I thought the walk would make me feel better, okay? you know, with the weather being nice and all.”

“Well, we need to break that fever ASAP, come on”

You took his hand on yours and led him to your shared bedroom. You instructed him to remove his clothes and put on some comfy ones.

While he was at it, you grabbed the first aid kit which had a thermometer and your stash of over-the-counter meds. You took the little device out along with the Tylenol bottle.

“Put this under your armpit while I bring some more things, yeah?”

He just nodded and took the little device from your hands, doing as he was told.

You were done getting some ice water and washcloths plus a new water bottle from the kitchen when you heard Chan call from your bedroom.

“Babeeee”

“Yeah?”

“The um the the, the thingy says 38.8ºC” struggling to get the device’s name right

“Okay I’ll be there in a sec” you replied, and you weren’t wrong, his fever was in fact high.

You found him cross-legged on the bed, still looking pale and kinda drowsy. Your heart sank once again after seeing your boyfriend stay so still and weak. You knew your heart would do that a lot today, at least until his fever broke.

“Sit back for me, honey” you asked him while removing the covers

“Say please?” he said arching his eyebrow at you

You let out a short yet exhasperated sigh at his teasing, then tried to smile at him so he would comply to your requests

“I’m joking, babe” he chuckled and then sat back against the headboard.

You got to work quickly, handing him the medicine first, following with the open water bottle. After he took the pill, you asked him to lay down so you could put the ice cold compress on his forehead. He, being the drama llama that he was when sick, yelped the moment the washcloth barely grazed his face.

Laughing at him you said “Babyyy I can’t get it on you if you keep squirming! I promise the cold will vanish after a while. Pleaseeee”

He held his breath right before you put it on him, still yelping and closing his eyes but not moving this time.

“Thank you, now try to rest for a little, I’ll make you something to eat. Chicken soup sound good?”

Without moving an inch, Chan tried to look up at you through the compress that was blocking his view, and only managed to do a thumbs up and say “sounds great”

You planted a kiss on his cheek before leaving, asking him to let you know if he needed anything.

After a little while, you entered your bedroom holding a tray with a big biwl of soup and some mini breads, that way the medicine wouldn’t make your boyfriend’s stomach upset.

You set the tray down on your night table, then slowly sat down on the edge of your bed, gently placing your hand on his abdomen.

“Chan? Babe?”

He abruptly woke up from his slumber, supporting himself on his elbows with the compress hanging over one of his eyes.

“What? Yeah? I’m up, what’s- I’m up”

You chuckled at how confused he looked.

“You fell asleep for a little bit, it’s okay” You told him, now both of your hands on his body, trying to get him to relax.

“I got you some soup, but I’m gonna need you to sit up, okay? please?”

He mumbled in agreement and quickly rested his back against the headboard once more.

“I was resting my eyes for a minute” he said removing the now warm compress from his face

“Seems like the meds kicked in pretty hard, huh? Careful, it’s hot” you said as you placed the tray in front of him, above his legs. Then took the compress from his hand and placed it in the bowl full of ice water.

“They better, got lots to do before the next comeback”

You hummed in disapproval “well, if you rest properly I’m sure you’ll be ready”

“By properly you mean only tonight, yeah?”

“You’re on thin ice, Bang”

“Oh come on, I told you it’s not that bad. I’m sure it’s just like a mild cold or something” he said taking a spoonful of soup, then yelping at how hot it was.

“Told you it was hot”

“Thought you meant I waz hot” tongue hanging out of his mouth from the burn

You laughed throwing your head back “Oh lord, take it as karma for not wanting to rest for a couple more days”

He took a sip of his water then grabbed the spoon once more to take another spoonful of his chicken soup.

“Blow it” you reminded him, and regretted saying it as soon as the words left your mouth, closing your eyes.

“Babe, I’d love to but I’m sick you know?”

“I MEANT BLOW ON YOUR SOUP YOU LITTLE SHIT”

His laugh filled the room, body shaking with amusement as your hands covered your face in a mix of frustration and laughter.

Once his laughter died down, you looked at him fondly, watching him carefully eat his soup.

You talked a bit more about this and that. Then you took his plate and tray away from him so he could rest properly now.

Back in your bedroom, you put on your pajamas and got a clean t-shirt on the bedside table, hoping chan’s fever would break in the middle of the night. You let him know where it was so he could change into it later.

You laid on your side of the bed, propped on one of your arms, you checked Chan’s cold compress and took it from him, putting it in the bowl. While you waited for it to get cold, you pressed your cheek to you boyfriend’s, who was taken aback by your action and tried to move away, afraid of getting you sick with whatever he had.

“Relax, I’m just checking how warm you are”

“Oh here I was thinking you just wanted to take advantage of an ill person” voice a little hoarser than before

“Me? Nah. I mean, I guess I could but you’re too tired to do anything”

He chuckled “I’m not too tired. I just don’t wanna get you sick, babe”

“Oh, but I am sick”

He looked at you puzzled, eyebrows knitting together and guilt spreading quickly across his face

“What?”

“yeah, sick of your shit” you burst into silent laughter at your silly dad joke, grabbing your own belly with one arm and hitting chan’s arm with the other

“should’ve seen it coming” slowly joining you with his own giggles

Once the laughter died down, you reached for the cold compress in the bowl.

“Okay, I’m putting a new washcloth on, babe”

Chan grimaced in anticipation and said okay. You counted to 3 then set the compress on his forehead. And yes, he did yelp again.

You couldn’t help but giggle, he looked cute with his rosey cheeks and a white little towel on his face. You planted a few kisses on his cheek before laying on his chest. Chan took the arm that was resting under your head and started caressing your arm, pulling you closer to him.

“Hey. Thank you for today, I appreciate it.” he squeezed your arm as he said it

“It’s alright, babe. I like taking care of you”

“You’re lying”

“I am”

You both chuckled at the last joke of the night. You said your I love you’s before closing your eyes and drifting into dreamland.

Chan was an awful, stubborn, terrible patient even, but he was yours and you’d take care of him for as long as you could.

Hope you liked it!

#Bang Chan #Chan #Christopher #Christopher Bang Chan #Chris Banhg #Stray kids #SKZ #Channie #Bang Chan x Reader #Chan x Reader #Chris Bang #fluff #Bang chan fluff #sick bang chan #kpop #K-pop #Bang chan fic #Felix

[roseastralis]

✦ — YOUR BLOODIED BLADE II A TRIP TO MEMORY LANE.

blade x gn!reader

✦ summary ; you were willing to do anything he asked, you were used to it. so when he asked you to meet him in stargazer navalia, you obliged. when you arrived, what awaited you there was not blade, but a group of cloud knights sent to arrest you on a crime you did not at all dare commit—soon realizing that blade pinned his crime on you.

✦ info ; backstory of blade and reader from your bloodied blade part one, gn!reader

✦ warnings ; toxic relationship, sensitive topics, mentions of murder and death

✦ author's note ; part 2!! focusing on the backstory this chap so that u know the history. i'm well aware ren is not blade's real name, it's his chinese name. but let's pretend it is for now... also planning to make part 3 tbh

✦ masterlist | part one | part two

It was a restless night, you could not sleep at all, not after what happened in the Stargazer Navalia earlier. Your injuries caused by Blade took a toll on you, making it difficult for you to lay in any position that you almost considered sleeping while standing instead. The recent events that occurred just a few hours back played throughout your mind constantly—and you were annoyed that all you could think about was Blade. Fatigue hits you soon enough, shutting your eyes instantly as you try to get some rest. 

— ✦

“Meet me in the navalia later.” Blade said nonchalantly, hugging you from behind as you sheath your sword. “The usual spot?” You inquire, smiling as you kiss his chin. “Of course.”

“Don't tell me we're going to spar again. Give it up Rèn, I don't want to hurt you again. Sometimes, I think to myself that you're losing on purpose just so I could personally treat your wounds.” You state, sighing as you fix his messy hair from covering his sight.

“No, it's important.” He grabs your hand and interlocks his fingers with yours, as worry hits your face. “Whatever you say, Rèn. I’ll meet you there.”

— ✦

Strange, it was awfully silent when you arrived. Not a single sound could be heard, aside from the harsh winds of the late night. He told you specifically to meet you here, was he running late? Just then, you heard footsteps approaching. It didn't sound like it was coming from one direction—no. It was from multiple people, and it was only a matter of time when you were surrounded by multiple cloud knights with their spears pointed to you.

“If you do not want to make this difficult for you, then stand down and drop your weapon. You're coming with us.” A cloud knight shouted, raising his spear to point at you.

What? Under arrest? Thoughts clouded your mind and you found yourself being apprehended by one of the cloud knights, and you couldn't do anything about it, nothing. 

— ✦

There you were, sitting across from him—hands chained and head down low. Rèn, whose new identity is now Blade—had the face to visit you in this rotting prison and had the audacity to ask how you were doing. You hated how his eyes showed no emotion, how his face had no remorse. If only you could break free from the chains restraining you, then he would have been dead by now.

“(Name) Just listen to me.” Rèn—no, not Rèn. Blade said, sitting across from you and eyeing your frail figure. “Listen? Oh my dear Blade, the nerve you have to order me to listen to a single word you’re going to let out from that mouth of yours.” He raised his eyebrows, surprised at your sudden attitude. This was going nowhere.

“It’s sweet of you to visit me here in this place that you put me in. I have suffered long enough because of you. It's hard to believe that the man I fell in love with would betray me of all things. Aeons, maybe all of this was fake in the first place.” You spat, rage evident on your face. Thank goodness that both of you were given privacy, and that no one could interrupt you, and no one could hear the venom reeking off your tongue.

“I trusted you, I loved you, and I dedicated my whole life to you—but I never meant it like this. You’re cruel, you’re evil, you’re a monster who only cares about their own gains and won’t hesitate to throw someone into the dust for their own satisfaction.”

“I can help you escape—I’ll do anything (Name). Just tell me what to do and I will do it all for you.” 

“I don’t need your help, and I don’t need your pity. What’s done is done.” 

“(Name). I’m giving you a chance to be with me again—”

“Be with you? Hah, you’ve lost your mind Blade. Answer me this. Have you ever wondered who took the lives of the Lan family? The family, who was always so kind—so humble. Who, in their final moments, smiled up at the person who just reaped their souls—to take care of themselves? Tell me Blade, because I know that it certainly was not me.”

Blade’s face lit up in horror. “How did you—”

“Tell me, who was it?”

“...(Name), please—”

“Who paid for your sins. Who had to rot in jail, just for you to live free as a bird with no guilt carried on your back? I’ve had enough, Blade. Years and years of endless torture is what I had to endure—and yet you, the person responsible for all of this, had the nerve to pin the Lan family murders on someone else. Not just someone else actually—their own lover, the one who loved him endlessly. Yet you took them for granted, and now you are right here, sitting face to face with the one person you betrayed.”

— ✦

You woke up from your nightmare, beads of sweat covering your entire forehead as you continuously gasped for air. You were horrified—as you did not expect for your memories to come flooding back to you. This was the first time you ever dreamt about the incident, despite it being on your mind everyday. You didn’t think it would have such an impact on you, but after your encounter with Blade—you knew that you wanted to seek him out again.

The night was cold, and you were shivering more than usual until you realized that your window was wide open. You sigh, standing up from your bed. As soon as you close the window, something catches your sight. You slowly open the window again, only to find a bouquet of red spider lilies wrapped with dark blue paper and tied with a red knot.

Of course he did. Flowers, it was always on rare occasions that Blade would hand you a bunch of nicely wrapped flowers—usually consisting of roses or chrysanthemums. But that was long ago, and you did not expect this at all. What weirded you the most though, was the fact that he sent spider lilies. Of all flowers he could choose from, he had to choose the ones that were hardest to find. 

You gulped, face flooded with worry. Not only did he send spider lilies, of all things—you remembered that spider lilies symbolize final goodbyes, or even worse—death. That was what he told you before, once when you asked him if he liked flowers. Examining the bouquet, you saw a small note card shoved deep into the stems of the flowers. Your eyes widened slightly as you read it out loud.

“I will always protect you.”

reblogs are deeply appreciated !!

✦ those who asked for part two / to be tagged for part two :)) @rennieeeees | @jnyuan | @enviouspeanut

#🥀rose.writing♡︎ #☕️rose.honkai:starrail︎︎︎︎︎ #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail angst #blade #blade x reader #blade angst #blade fluff

[ukranianacearo]

"Mother", a strong word

Part 2 Part 3

F!reader

Word count: almost 4k

Mention of Innocent zero's real name.

Tw: Mentions of starvation, enslavement (like what Russian empire did to Ukrainians back in 18-19th centuries), mentions of blood, mentions of abuse, mentions of birth, harrasing, and attempts at SA and I think that's all. Please, do inform me if you see more.

Pairing: romantically there's none, but reader has to marry Innocent zero.

Genre(?): angst.

Tags: @aiscreamcake (I thought you would be interested)

Author's note: This has been rotting in my brain for over a week and @fellow-anime-weeb927 post only strengthened this lol. Sorry for any mistakes, I didn't recheck it before posting and English isn't my first language. More under cut.

---------------------------------------

Escaping the empire would be dangerous and risky. But even death would be better than what you had to endure. Your nation has been occupied and enslaved by another nation for centuries already, poisoning your people's minds, destroying your culture and language and killing those who were against the system. You weren't a person. At least wasn't considered one. Your lord, the one who owned your family, was a cruel man. Not only towards you and your family, but even to his own kids and his ill wife. When times got tough even for him, you were only 5. His wife's condition worsened, she got bedridden; there even was talks about her possible death. It was the first time he tried forcing himself on you. Fortunately for you, you escaped. Times got worse with the arrival of international market. Selling got worse and so did your family's condition. Your lord paid less and less, to the point where your family starved for days, sometimes even weeks. The first to die was your youngest brother; he was only 3 years old when he died of starvation, you were 6. Two months later, your mother died. The same cause, the same ground buried her. There has started to run rumors about the lord marrying you, since his wife will die soon and he had kids to take care of. Your father had no say in it, after all, you and your family are nothing more, but his property.

You were 7, your oldest brother died at the age of 17. He too, died of starvation. After a few months, your last brother died, at the age of 16. You and your father were devastated, but you only could bury your brother next to your other two brother and your mother. One of the days, you heard your lord talking with his friends about some ships taking people to another land, to another country. But, it was really risky, you could die from any cause there; not that it mattered to you, you could never even imagine having the money to buy tickets for you and your father. So you just continued working. A year passed, then another and now you're 9. One of the evenings, your father didn't come back and you started worrying. You had nowhere to go and seek him, but the lord's house. When you arrived at the door of the house, it was open and you could see your father and the lord talking about something. While trying to focus on what they were saying, you leaned slightly against the door, making sure it didn't move nor made any sound. It was muffled, but you could understand that they were discussing your marriage with the lord. Your father tried to reason that you were just too young for the lord, you only 9, after all. But the lord didn't care.

That day, you lost your father and killed your lord. That day was also the second time your lord trying to force himself on you.

You buried your father next to the graves of your family members the best you could. It was the middle of the night and lord's kids were sleeping in their respective homes, since most of them were old enough to have it. Not caring about lord's dead corpse laying on the floor of his house, you took the money there was; you didn't know how much a ticket to the other country would cost, but even if you had more than needed, it was better to have more than less.

...

The travel wasn't pleasant at all, but you finally was here. Most people at the port called it The Magic Empire. You didn't know if it was because there was actually magic and people could use it without being punished or if it was because people's dreams and wishes would be satisfied. Noticing that many people had some lines on their faces, you didn't want to stick out so you decided to use your necklace. Clenching it in your hand you increased the zone affected by it. Feeling their magic power being stored in the necklace, you changed the course and way of the magic in the necklace to create an illusion of a mark similar to the people around you. As you put the hood of medieval cloak on your head, you start going in the city; the cloak covering your figure completely, hiding the broken clothes you wore; a pair of pants and a T-shirt.

...

In the past 5 months you lived in the Magic Realm, as people from here called it. You were fortunate enough to know the language that people speak here, since you learned it from a dictionary someone threw out while you were still living in your home country. But, life was still challenging, of course. Although, 'challenging' would be an underrating. This realm worked such as higher your magic power - higher your status. So, you had to lie, to live a lie; you didn't have your own magic, you only could use or manipulate magic that you 'stole' with the necklaces. If you stole it by defeating a person, that person's magic was copied by one of the necklaces, and if you 'stole' it by just increasing the area that was under the necklaces' cancellation of magic, you could use a person's magic for as long as they were in the area + a certain amount of time after they were out. In these past month you have worked as anything you could: cleaning people's shoes, selling newspaper, running errands for people, etc... You did your best and most of the errands were done perfectly, and your employers were satisfied with your work, paying you a bonus every now and then. You tried to save as much as possible while still eating something at least once a day. Your plan was to go to a middle magic school, but to do so you would need to deceive many people and even the government, so that they could think that you had actually alive parents, at least. For that, you would need to defeat someone who possessed a mind controlling power and you only had three years to do so: that's when middle school start.

...

It was easier than you thought. That boy really thought he could use you as a punching bag, but ironically, he was the one laying on the cold and dusty ground. Now, you're one step closer to succeeding.

...

This mind controlling magic was actually something. You carefully created a well written story for your play, the realm your stage and everyone the audience. The school you wanted to go accepted you, just like you planned. And thus, the played started.

...

No one has suspected a thing. Which feels kind of weird. But you decide to continue the show, there's nothing else to do.

...

The middle school was good, it had bedrooms for every pair of students, a kitchen and many more things. Just a perfect entrance of a grand show.

...

Few years past by, and it's time to decide the academy where you'll go. There were three options, the ones that will appreciate the show. Easton Magic Academy, Walkis Magic Academy and Saint Ars Holy Magic Academy; in Saint Ars, rules are most important thing and rule breakers are punished harshly. Definitely not for you: you would be considered a criminal at this point. Walkis focused only on strength which is also not the best, tho this academy produced the most divine visionaries at this point. So, you're left with Easton Magic academy.

...

The entrance exam was pretty easy. After that you were assigned to the Orca dorm. Not bad. You can work with this.

...

Eyes. No matter where you went, they followed you, like the hunting past. Were you in class, in the kitchen, training or even in the deep past, you remember eyes following you like a predator. When you were in middle magic academy, you didn't have time to ponder about it at all. Nor when you were doing errands for someone to earn extra money. Sometimes, when you tried to look at the one who was the person with such intense curiosity, you only saw white hair of a passerby, who you guessed was your classmate. Trying to follow that person was impossible, it's like they disappeared the moment you approached the place where magic lingered the most. It haunted you. You had a guess who it was, but with no evidence, you could do nothing, but try to be careful around that person. Cyril Marcus. He was the only one who had those long white locks. And his magic... Rather he used basic spells or his personal time magic or even if he didn't use any at all, you could always sense that difference between his magic and the magic of other people. When a person's potential is great in terms of magic, you can sense their magic differently. But this scared you very much. Even if you knew that your necklaces worked on him as well, you were scared. Better treat a gun as a loaded gun and not as a non loaded one. He seemed much eager to fight against you in the tournament for divine visionaries' candidates.

...

Your fight against him just ended. You won. After all, he was nothing without his magic. But, in your opinion, he was more testing you than fighting you. Right now, it was break time before continuing with the tournament. As you sat on one of the couches in the room, you clenched the necklace in your hand. The other three core necklaces were still deep inside your skin, in the same spot, even after all these years. The square body of the necklaces had some difficult artistic style. You still couldn't figure out which one exactly, but it resembled the baroque style very much. The black hook that was on one of the edges of every body wasn't as delicate as it seemed, just like the black chain that went through it, embracing your neck loosely.

-"You seemed so brave out there, but look at you now." - You snapped your head towards him, the look of shock on your face making him chuckle. His mocking tone didn't help, as it made you more uncomfortable. But you were used to the feeling, so you didn't let it show just like always. - "Don't look at me like that, it makes me think that you didn't expect me." - Deciding to play safe you calmed down your expression to a neutral one and let go of the necklace.

- "What do you want?" - There was no need for chit chat, especially between you two. You two weren't on bad terms exactly, but you weren't friends either. Still, your suspicion about him being the person who stalks you was present on your mind.

- "You're so straightforward, as always."

- "It's better to save the time and energy used to talk about nothing." - As you crossed you arms across your chest while Cyril smiled in that typical sly smile, although to you, it looked more like a smirk.

- "This...show that you play in front of everyone is quite the spectacle. I must admit, it took me a while to see the truth."

- "What are you talking about?" - In this type of situations it's better to play dumb. You couldn't afford for the show to end just yet. It would be a fiasco. Anyway, how did he figure it out? Has he been stalking you for so long just because of that? You made sure he couldn't see your thoughts on your face.

- "Don't play dumb. We both know what I'm talking about. At first I thought you were just a 'Disgraceful Mage', just to find out later that you are magicless. I must admit, your cover is good enough to make me think about you and your magic for quite the years. This fight in particular has confirmed my suspicion. Your necklace isn't just an accessory, am I right?" - His words froze you as he pointed at your necklace. The situation got to the point where you couldn't just deny your way out.

- "It would have been better if you continued thinking that I was a 'Disgraceful Mage'..." - You mumbled, making Cyril look at you with a curious smirk. - "What do you want from me? You wouldn't be here just to talk with me, would you?" - You tried to stay calm, but it was the first time someone saw past your costume. Instead of the character in the play, he saw the actor. You already realized why he was going in circles while fighting. He was out of the zone affected by the necklace, so he still could see magic power. Truly, that potential you saw in him would be enough to end your show.

- "Don't worry that much, I wouldn't want for the show to end just yet. After all, you could call me the most loyal fan of your spectacle. Who else would sit and watch it, while seeing your true form and not the character's?" - It was as is he read your thoughts with magic, although it was impossible, your necklace still worked around you. - "I don't mind your magicless nature, but what about others?" - He slowly walked closer and sat on the couch in front of you - "I'm sure you know they wouldn't accept you if they knew, otherwise you wouldn't be putting this good of a performance. How convenient that I have just the offer for you, wouldn't you say so? You see, I plan on becoming the perfect human, but for that I need to find more knowledge and strong allies."

- "What do I have to do with all of that?" - The palms of your hands have started sweating, but you still somehow managed to act calm enough. Hearing your words, Cyril smirked slyly and put his leg on the other.

- "We both know that magic users tend to rely very much on magic - myself included - and you're someone who shifts their situation a lot with just a lift of your hand. Or even without it. As years went on, you taught yourself to manipulate that necklace very well. When the time will come, I want you to join my association and plan. Of course, I, on my end, will make sure the government won't get you." - It was tempting, but the actor can't just disappear from the stage, it wouldn't be fair. You clenched your left wrist with your hand as you looked at him a bit troubled, trying to stay calm. Seeing your hesitation, Cyril chucked. - "Don't worry. I will give you time to think about it. But when I'll come for an answer, I hope you'll have it." - He said as he got up, walking towards the door in his usual slow and elegant way. You wanted to answer, say at least something. But it felt as if the words got stuck in your throat, sinking in your stomach, leaving you alone with your thoughts haunting you, trying to come up with something, anything. - "So long, dear actress." - He left the room as the voice of a commentator announced the break time over. You were left alone, looking at the floor while your thoughts got to you. How could you afford such a mistake? Your performance was supposed to be perfect, without even the slightest flaw. Clenching the necklace you tried not to let emotions get the best of you. Even if there was a break between the acts, the actor shouldn't forgot that they're an actor. People are supposed to only see the character that they portrait, not the person behind it. One person in the audience saw the actor as they are, but that shouldn't matter. Especially when the person continues to watch the show peacefully.

...

- "Tell me, Cell war," - You started while watching your 'son' in the tank, or better say, in an incubator. Cell war, who was a creation of Innocent zero, turned to look at you patiently, waiting for you to continue. In the past years, Cyril Innocent zero really weird choice of name got to know that for achieving his goal to become "The Perfect Human", he needed six hearts of blood related family. That's how you got to this scene of the show. The audience changed, but the actor and that one specific person stayed the same people, probably. He mixed his DNA with your to create a life. You promised yourself that no matter what, your 'sons' won't live as bad or even worse than you; you would not allowe it as long as you breathe. - "How do you feel about his plan?"

- "If it's something 'father' wants, then it should be done."

...

- "You shouldn't be up this late." - You said in a scolding voice while standing behind the four young boys that stood outside your bedroom door.

- "Mother!" - They four said in unison, as they turned around to look at you. Fanim and Delisaster immediately went to hug you by your legs, since they didn't reach any higher yet, while Doom and Epidem stood by your sides taking your hands in theirs. They all seemed very exited and happy to see you again.

- "We wanted to see you the day you came back from this mission, so we stayed up." - Doom explained in a shy manner. You patted their heads as you hummed, giving a sign of acknowledgement.

- "That's very sweet of you, boys. But you shouldn't lose sleep just because of me. Sleep is fundamental for your health." - You answered in a caring voice, you truly couldn't be angry at them for long. Hearing your words, they looked between each other and then all looked at you.

- "But, mother is also very important for our health." - Delisaster started.

- "You train and play with us." - Doom continued.

- "You don't get angry at us for the slightest mistake and explain everything that we ask you to." - then Fanim continued.

- "And you give us all kinds of sweets." - Epidem finished. You were shocked. All of them were still so young, but understood so much. It wasn't uncommon in your experience, many kids you knew from the streets when you were younger had to grow up too soon - yourself included. But these four boys didn't live that life. Your best guess was that they were so aware of everything because of Innocent zero, their father. You smiled softly at them as you hugged them all.

- "What would I do without you guys, hm?" - They basked in your attention. - "But you gotta go to sleep now, it's already late." - Hearing that they whined in unison, but obeyed and you guided them to their rooms.

...

- "Did you see mother?" - Delisaster asked Doom, as the later was sharpening his sword. The former couldn't find you for a while now and he really wanted to show you one his new tricks with his pole arms.

- "Did you not know yet? She fell into a coma." - Doom tried to act as calm as possible, but in reality he was devastated. The fact that you just fainted out of nowhere wasn't positive at all, especially for the sons. There was no logical explanation for this and no one could figure it out. The ones who were probably affected the least were Domina and Mash, who were still too young to understand it. The room fell into silence's embrace as Delisaster tried to process the devastating information he just learned.

...

- "Domina, you should be useful. That's what mother and I would want. You understand, right?" - His sly tone of voice echoed in the small dark room that could barely be called a bedroom. He stood in front of Domina, looking at the small boy from his height. - "We must do it so that mother can wake up. Do you want her to wake up? Domina."

- "Yes, father." - The small boy looked pitiful. His pink-ish hair was cut just above his shoulders with bangs covering his eyebrows. He was just around 5 years old, yet he seemed as if he didn't eat enough. Domina's was determined to do anything to help his mother regain consciousness and make his father proud. What he didn't understand was that, he shouldn't be the one to fight for it.

...

- "I see you still don't understand, Mash Burndead. If you continue to fight against it, mother won't wake up." - Doom said as he blocked one of Mash's punches.

- "I don't know that mother much, but I'm sure that destroying the world won't help wake her up." - Mash answered in a usual monotone voice as he punched Doom in the abdomen.

...

- "Who is she?" - asked a tall man with white hair and a big sword at his hip.

- "She was retrieved from the castle. Supposedly Innocent zero mixted his DNA with hers to create the six sons. Her name is [Y/N] [L/N]. She studied in Easton Magic Academy back in the days alongside me and Innocent zero. Was reported missing by some acquaintances after graduation. Later on was discovered that she lied to the government, a lot." - Another tall and old man with grey hair answered.

- "So she's also Mash's biological mother... I wonder why she joined Innocent zero in his plan." - The tall man with the sword murmured.

- "I'm sure Innocent zero had some cards in his sleeves to play to manipulate her. She wouldn't go for such length just because of someone else's desires. Especially Innocent zero's, she couldn't care less about the man."

- "Maybe she was in love with him." - The tall man with the sword suggested turning his head slightly to look at the old man. Right after the man finished his sentence, the old one started laughing; when he finished laughing he sighed and started talking.

- "That's impossible, Kaldo. Not even love potions could make her feel something so deep. She herself said that she was unable to feel such love since birth; her brain lacked in that part. I guess she had a secret that the world shouldn't know and Innocent zero knew it."

- "Like what?" - the curiosity got the better out of the man with the sword.

- "Hmm, I don't know. We should ask her after she wakes up. For now, call Mash; I wanna talk with him." - The man with the sword bowed and walked out of the door, while the old man continued looking at the woman in the nurse bed. - "Mother, such a strong word, huh..."

----------------------------------------------------------

And that's it :D I hope you enjoyed this fanfic. If you want to be added into the tag list, please comment.

#mashle x reader #mashle: magic and muscles #mashle #x reader #anime #anime x reader #kaldo gehenna #mashle kaldo #innocent zero #innocent zero x reader #mash #finn ames #rayne ames #lance crown #lemon irvine #dot barrett

[some-beans]

omg omg omg I think requests are open right? I hope they are cause I saw the lapis lazuli fic and I've always wanted to request from you <3

Could I ask for a Fem!Zuko!Reader (ATLA)? In twst, with the second years (mainly Azul, Jamil, Kalim, Ruggie and Riddle)

The rest is up to you 👉🏼👈🏼 feel free to ignore if requests are closed tho

dghsfvghsdf yes yes they are open atm, tho they come out very slow 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️ life tingz and i'm just gonna do the second years, kk??

✎...pairing: twst second years x fem!zuko!reader ✎...themes: hints to past trauma, shenanigans ✎...notes: reader is awkward, reader is fem with she/her in mind ✎...enjoy !!

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐔𝐋

𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄

surprisingly, or not, you two often butted heads

having been both brought up in strict households, your different views on how to lead often collided

tho, somewhere down the line just after his overblot, riddle realised how relatively similar your childhood was to his

i mean, sure his mother was stuck up bitch about the rules, but at least she didn't disown him and had you chase after someone to gain the right to be the next in thrown

plus, you had a psycho sister too

and after the whole blot stuff, you quickly noticed how awkward you were when it came to socialising like a normal people

cuz yk

someone talk smack = fireball

𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐖

𝐑𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐄

he was, tbh, both intimidated and sceptic of you

cuz 1. you're a fairly strong and intense woman, and 2. you kept mentioning that you needed to restore your honour or something like that to be able to be next in line

hmm. . . why do sound like the opposite version of his housewarden??

sevens! you have a scar on the same eye too!

however

he did like that your awkwardness was endearing and what you call fire-bending ー which, is not magic, apparently ー was fucking dope

he definitely has used you as a shield when he pissed off the wrong people

they certainly backed off once they saw your glare

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄

𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐋

similar to ruggie, azul was intimidated by you

i mean, when you two first met, he walked in on flaming [ literally ] some other merfolk that wouldn't take a hint that you weren't interested

ya girl almost rolled their asses into deluxe sushi

and azul wasn't about to turn into takoyaki

he does try to lock you in a contract and fails lol

you stared into his eyes for too long and he crumbled

jade and floyd did laugh at his misery btw

𝐉𝐀𝐃𝐄

rook better watch out for his title cuz jade's out here stalking

he is fascinated by you

such a complex character

and you always seem to know when he's watching you

eventually learns that not only can you fire-bend, but lightning-bend too??

great seven! you are so interesting!

no wonder why azul tried to make a contract with you

𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐃

the definition of fuck around and find out

he fucked around and found out, that's for sure

this left was with a burn mark after he tried to squeeze you from behind

bro had sparkles in his eyes

🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

he definitely likes to see you fire-bend bc his little arsonist side definitely gets a kick out of it

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐀

𝐊𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐌

why does he remind you of a certain avatar??

his cheery disposition threw you in a loop and may have made you turn back to more. . . harsh ways of socialising

this was heightened once you learned about his background

your quick-to-anger and fire abilities were terrifying, to say the least

poor jamil is gonna have a heart attack

you may almost flamed kalim once. . . or twice

but after jamil's overblot a.k.a. life-changing experience with kalim, you two became unlikely friends

he really does remind you of that air bender

𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋

🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

mans about to grey by 20 at this point

he saw how you were around kalim and had his guard up

but then had the blue screen of death pop up once he witnessed you casually talking to him

???

you confuse him greatly

tho he secretly appreciates when you help him cook by controlling the flames

also enjoys tea time when he surprisingly gets the chance to sit down and chat

𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐀

𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑

you two vibed tbh

his simple and calm nature put you at ease the majority of the time

this can sometimes be accompanied by talking over tea

the first this had happened, it almost brought tears to your eyes, which caused silver to panic

you had told him that this setting reminded you of your uncle

silver was so lost but accepted nonetheless

he definitely asked for you to try and teach him fire-bending in order to use to protect malleus

which found admirable

however

it didn't work, but you still taught him techniques that can be applied to hand-to-hand combat if needed

#💌 some-beans requests !! #twst x reader #twst headcanons #twst wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #fem!zuko!reader #riddle rosehearts #ruggie bucchi #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #floyd leech #kalim al asim #jamil viper #twst silver #twst second years

[smutinlove]

You were my light

Carl Grimes x Reader

Warnings: A little angsty, mentions of death, slight torture (not really), mentions of blood, slight small description of blood, carl grimes being a jackass (sorry baes), a little violence, gun mentions, use of knife (chill y'all), mentions of character death, ugh sad sad sad, depressing shit ig, kidnapping (it's.... hot... if carl does it), sadness (????) 🤨

☽ Author's note☾ I'm writing this for fun cause I'm bored. Oh, my God! How shocking! I know. Right?? Tell me how it is. PLEASE. Anyway. Show some love by reblogging and liking it. <3 This is made by me just like all my other fics are. DO NOT STEAL, COPY, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK.

Thank you to everyone who reads this!

[I think I might even make this into a small little series.]

Part 2 is here

Part 3 is here

Part 4 is here

Part 5 is here

≿━━༺❀༻━━≾

Summary - The daughter of the now dead Negan Smith is walking in the woods. She thought she was alone. But she wasn't.

❝ There's things I wanna say to you But I'll just let you live Like if you hold me without hurting me You'll be the first who ever did ❞

≿━━༺❀༻━━≾

Lucille Smith used to say, "You can find light in the darkest places." It wasn't a lie, it was a bit complicated for you, Y/N Smith, to understand. "Mom, what does that even mean?" You asked.

"Oh, sweetheart, why don't you go upstairs and find that book you like? We could read it together." Lucille, your mother, suggested.

"Okay," You gave a sweet smile before rushing upstairs.

There was a box full of books. After almost an hour of searching, you finally found it.

You ran downstairs, "Mom, I found it—"

≿━━༺❀༻━━≾

You walked through the woods, in desperate need of some fresh air. After Rick killed Negan, your father, you were so tired of everything. Hell, you almost thought of 'offing yourself.'

Negan, no matter how cruel he could be, he was still your father, you still cried almost every time you thought about him. It had been six years since your father died. Shit...

You were alone like always. It was peaceful but it could be sad sometimes.

As you were walking through the woods, you heard a twig snap.

You took out your gun and pointed it in every possible direction. It was a walker. Instead of shooting, you unsheathed your knife and jammed it into the skull of a walker. You took the knife out, and a bit of Walker blood got on your white t-shirt, but, hey, who would care anyway?

"Nice, what are you? A fucking dumbass? Wandering by yourself? All happy and shit." A voice said from behind you. "What?" You raised your gun and turned around. "Who the hell—"

≿━━༺❀༻━━≾

And now you found yourself with a bag over your head. You couldn't breathe, it felt like the world had ended. Maybe, you were in hell. You killed so many innocent people. Maybe, it was them who took you away. Maybe they were gonna torture you and then slowly kill you.

The bag over your head was taken off. Your hands were tied behind your back. A familiar-looking boy was standing in front of you.

The boy was wearing a cowboy hat, which was the first thing you noticed when you first saw him in the lineup.

He had one eye, which you already knew. But it was unknown to you how he lost it. "You're pretty. What's your name?" He asked.

But you remained silent. This boy was familiar. He...

He was Rick Grimes' son. Carl Grimes.

Carl smiled. "Not a talker, 'ey?" He chuckled. "That's fine until I beat it outta you." He laughed.

To him, you looked familiar. But he couldn't figure out who you were exactly.

Carl laughed, "God, you are so cute, ain't ya?" He placed a hand on your cheek. "Look at me, sweetheart. Oh, you are a pretty little thing, aren't ya?"

You looked away. You didn't know this man well. Why? Why would he talk to you like you were his lover or whatever?

"Talk." He demanded. You wouldn't budge.

He slapped you, "Talk, now." He demanded.

Carl turned around, "Daryl will be rougher. And right now, I'm just being nice. Very nice. Now, what's your name, sweetheart?" He asked once again.

"Y/N," you reluctantly answered. Then, it hit him. He figured out who you were and now had an angry expression on his face. Why did your dad have to kill so many people, especially those two men?

"Cute. Why were you out there?" He asked. "Stop," you muttered. "Why should I stop, hm? Scared, sweetie?" He taunted. You looked up at him and tilted your head, "No. But you should be. 'Cause after I get free, I will kill you, you motherless son of a bitch!" He chuckled and grabbed you by your shirt. "Oh, sweet. A girl is threatening me." His laugh sent shivers down your spine. It was as if he didn't even care about your threats or how annoying and uncooperative you had been. It was as if he was used to this. "You know what?" "What?" "I'll be back, and you better start talking. Otherwise, you'll never see the sun ever again. But," of course, there was a 'but.' "Maybe, you'll join your daddy in hell, Y/N Smith." He smirked and left. It felt horrible. God, it was one of the most hurtful things he had said. And now, you promised yourself that you would kill Carl Grimes. No matter what, you will kill him.

...

Part 2?

#carl grimes #chandler riggs #carl grimes one shot #carl grimes smut #carl grimes x you #the walking dead #twd #smut #carl #carl twd #grimes #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x you smut #carl grimes x oc #carl grimes x reader smut #carl grimes fluff #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes fanart #writing #fic #twd fanfic #we are the walking dead #smith #tw death #hot #men #carl grimes x fem!reader #carl grimes angst #carl grimes imagines

[controversial-blorbo-bracket]

Controversial Character Tournament Round 2: Kokichi Ouma from Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony vs Peter Pan from Once Upon A Time

(remember that these characters are fictional and your fellow tumblr users are real. i will block you if you harass others in the notes, please consider sending your unhinged harassment to my inbox instead)

Propaganda under the cut, may contain spoilers:

Kokichi Ouma:

LOVE: - "hes a bitch and that makes a lot of people hate him and a lot of other people love him. no one can decide on his motives and i think thats kind of the point. i like him personally but hes a raging asshole <3" - "Not a single DR fan I've ever met is neutral about Kokichi, he's perfect for this poll. I think he's a clever character with consistent internal logic, and his interactions with the other characters are as compelling as they are hilarious. He looks like a dog squeaky toy, and he plots like Artemis Fowl. He's one of my favorite characters in the series and I love him dearly." - "NOBODY CARES ABOUT THIS BOY'S PSYCHOLOGY AT ALL. HE SACRIFICED HIMSELF AND HIS IMAGE AND MADE EVERYONE HATE HIM AND CONSIDER HIM A MONSTER ON THE SLIGHT CHANCE HE COULD USE HIS LIFE TO HELP EVERYONE ELSE ESCAPE AND SURVIVE AND NOBODY CARES. THEY SHOW HIS BREAKDOWN AND NOBODY BELIEVES HIM. I'M SO TIRED" - "not only is he a danganronpa character (inherently controversial) he is also the antagonist and constantly lying because That's His Whole Deal. people either love him or hate his guts. he's a little piece of shit. i would submit komaeda but i feel like views on him are more positive, generally. sorry i have bad taste in video games" - "he's a horrible little guy trying his best in not very good ways what more could you want" - "I don't know, people say he's badly written because they don't pay attention to his arc beyond the cartoonish facade he very obviously forces, and they don't like him because he caused someone's death which like..fair (he did feel super bad about it though so its fine.) Some people also don't enjoy his wonderful personality and think he's a mean piece of shit, which he is, but it's fine. They're just sensitive." - "I know people don't like him because he's like. a shittier version of Komaeda. But that's what's so GOOD about him. He's a shitty asshole of a person, playing pretend at being a villain because he's desperate!!! I think that's really fun. He's dooming himself and I want him to be okay after everything ends, but he dies so he can't even have that much :(" - "so i saw you got submissions for him. but not enough i need to submit him myself he is my favorite character from anything ever. he is the silly man he is so funny one time (actually, two times if you count one optional interaction) he asked a robot if he had a dick and it's absolutely iconic i love him"

HATE: - "(dangan spoilers ahead if that matters) look ok i didn’t originally feel too strongly about kokichi. i think his character is interestingly written (can’t say well-written bc danganronpa but yaknow) and he adds a lot of charm to v3. i understand why he’s popular- he’s one of the few characters in v3 to have both a personality and plot relevance. but oh my GODDDDD he is not a good person!!!! and i am so SICK of seeing him woobified into ‘ooh little baby he did his best he wasn’t doing anything wrong’ JUST BECAUSE you find out he was trying to end the killing game after he dies doesn’t mean he wasn’t incredibly fucked up throughout the game!!! like he was incredibly manipulative, a bully, encouraged infighting, Literally Orchestrated A Murder And Protected Himself From Danger By Getting The Big Stupid Sweetheart To Do It which caused TWO unnecessary deaths and- oh yeah- tricked everyone into believing he was the mastermind and the world had ended to make them so depressed that they just wouldn’t do anything anymore bc can’t kill someone if you’re rotting away in your room!!! AUGH like he’s a good character but it’s BECAUSE he sucks that he’s interesting. maybe this is just the komaeda fan in me but sometimes!!! the character is cooler when you understand that they’re a bad person. at least komaeda gets an actual redemption arc. kokichi’s just an asshole that the game tries to make you sympathetic for at the very end but he spends the entire game being an asshole so why the hell would i like him??? and then i go in a fandom tag and it’s constant unending ‘kokichi did nothing wrong’ the whole point of his character is that he does EVERYTHING wrong. i truly feel like the dr team was trying to replicate komaeda’s popularity but it was messy and poorly handled bc he’s not even a bad person in an interesting way like komaeda he’s just got trust issues that lead him to be stupid and An Asshole. then again people eat it up so what do i know lmao. i love to hate that little shit i wanna punt him into the goddamn stratosphere. score a field goal with that asshat. this is all lighthearted btw i love to die on small hills" - "WHY DO PEOPLE LIKE HIM OH MY GOOOOOOD HES SUCH A FLAT CHARACTER HES A SODA I LEFT OUT FOR 3 DAYS kokichi oma is easily the WORST written danganronpa character. it has been a while since i was into danganronpa so the details are a bit fuzzy but my rage has NOT subsided. following the success of Easily One Of The At Least Top Three Best Written Danganronpa Characters known as nagito komaeda, kokichi had some shoes to fill. he instead showed up in clown shoes. kokichis whole premise is that you dont know if hes lying or not, him being a huge clown and causing shit for like a good third of the cast. kokichi was a simple character. hes a bitch, he sturs shit up, he eat hot chip and lie, it was FINE. not GREAT, but FINE. and then he died. suddenly— kokichi was from modest beginnings. he was actually a genius who was actually doing all of this to save everyone. he was a martyr. they TRIED to follow up on the success of nagito komaeda, and failed miserably. the guy literally has nazi imagery he didnt need to be complex he just needed to be an asshole and force the plot. for assholes that force the plot with actual good depth, may i interest you in byakuya togami? for guys who lie all the time with actual good depth, may i interest you in sou hiyori the beanie man himself from your turn to die [similar genre]? seriously. you guys could do SO much better. just... get better taste oh my GOD JUST BECAUSE HES A TWINK DOESNT MEAN HES WELL WRITTEN" - "Omg I hate this guy,,, people either baby him & make him a uwu soft boy or a funky clown dude, & both those types of people forget all the things he has done??? even if he "redeemed" himself in the end (which i don't think he did--) that still doesn't negate all of the things he did before??? actions speak louder than words but he could never rely on that bc all the does is lie anyway-- i have some strong opinions about him."

Peter Pan:

LOVE: - "My propaganda is that like. Half of the OUaT fandom is OBSESSED with this guy and the other half write fanfiction about their self-inserts beating the shit out of him. The tumblr sphere might be a bit too biased in favor of love and I doubt he'll make it far but from what I've seen people either adore this guy or want him dead in the streets"

#poll #round 2 #11 submissions #1 submission #danganronpa #once upon a time #peter pan #kokichi ouma #drv3 kokichi #danganronpa kokichi #drv3 ouma #ouat #ouat peter pan