#an old piece that i wasn't too proud of back then but have come to appreciate now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

violetrainbow412-blog · 10 months

Text

White lies [S. R]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 4.6k

summary: you meet Spencer thanks to a nice coincidence and you become recurring chess partners, but he leaves out a small detail

taglist: @navs-bhat @reidwritings @tricia-shifting14

Spencer had come back to that park after a long time and, honestly, it was as quiet as he remembered it. He liked to sit there to read, watch the birds, listen to the trees hitting each other; just enjoy a moment of life. Matthew, a teenager he used to play chess with, sometimes kept him company, but he knew from his mother that he had sprained his ankle and could barely get out of his room, so those evenings it was just him and a couple of old men in a remote section of his favorite hangout.

The book he had in hand could have finished in less than ten minutes if he had wanted to, but it was one he had a particular interest in and so he was taking notes in a notebook by his side, lengthening his reading time. And besides, he had proposed to take things a little more calmly since the recovery of his leg, now that he could walk by himself, and that seemed to him a quite useful exercise.

The man was dimly aware that someone was sitting at the table next to his, but curiosity was not enough to force him to look away from the pages. It wasn't until after a while that he heard the characteristic sound of the chess pieces moving in the box that formed the board that he paid attention and noticed that the one who was settling there was a woman.

He tried not to look at you too much so as not to make you uncomfortable, but the quick scan he gave you only led him to the conclusion that you might be a college student and that you were very pretty. You were carefully arranging the pieces and once you finished, you looked around the whole park as if you were looking for something or someone, and then you took a pack of chocolates from your backpack and put it to the side of the board, somewhat disappointed that you hadn't found who you expected.

"Are you waiting for Matthew?" Spencer dared to ask. You were startled and had to ask him to repeat the question, a little afraid that a stranger had made such a pointed remark "I've seen him a couple of times eating those sweets and since he likes chess, I thought you were expecting him"

"Oh, you know him" you exclaimed, a little calmer. You were surprised by how observant the man had been, for a couple of random pieces of information had led him to the correct conclusion "I was his babysitter for a while and I ran into his mother the other day and she said he comes here in the evenings so I thought I'd come to see him”

“Too bad, he has a sprained ankle,” he informed you, with a sad grin. “Maybe he'll be back in a week or two. I'm Spencer, by the way."

"Y/N" you introduced yourself, shaking the hand the man was offering you "So you guys are friends?"

"Sometimes I play with him"

"Huh yeah?"

"Yeah. He is very good"

“I taught him,” you said, quite proud of yourself, “I hated when he asked to watch TV, and I brought all kinds of board games over to his house, until finally chess captivated him. In those years he participated in school contests so I was excited to play with him "

“Did you win some?”

“I was undefeated” you exclaimed, even more proud of yourself and smiling wistfully “But after a few years I gave it up. Matthew continued, so I thought it would be nice to dust myself off a bit,” you smiled.

You took a moment to look at the man, who might be only a few years older than you, and like him you were somewhat captivated. His long, wavy, golden hair gleamed in the sun and he seemed to wear clothes that were, if not expensive, then at least quite elegant. You looked at the stack of books and the notes scattered on the table with great interest, because frankly the only men who met all those characteristics used to be your grandfather's age and, although their talks were interesting, you couldn't get to think of them with anything more than tenderness. This person was different, almost like a sage out of a book.

You didn't know where you found the words to invite him to play with you and you didn't know why he agreed. He seemed busy when you arrived, which made you think that he might even be a teacher, but he stopped his activities to pay attention to you and that made you feel special.

"You like them? You can take some if you want. They were for Matty, but I'll buy him some more,” you said kindly, referring to the candies between you, to which Spencer nodded with a smile. You used to play with strangers all the time in that park, so you didn't think it was weird, but never one as handsome as the guy in front of you. You probably wouldn't even have dared to talk to him if he hadn't talked to you “White or black?”

“Black,” Spencer replied. You thought that maybe he was just being chivalrous to you by letting you move first, but you were also overconfident in your abilities and thought that he might feel bad if you turned out to be better.

"I'm not very good, I have to admit" you blatantly lied.

"Relax, I'm not either" he also lied. But neither of you could notice it.

The way Spencer saw the situation, he had two options: the first, demonstrate his extraordinary intelligence by beating you with a couple of moves, or the second, which was to turn off his brain for a while to give yourself a chance and lengthen the game a bit. He knew that, if he took the first option, you would most likely just smile and flatter him like everyone else did, or you might even ask him how he had done that. But Spencer was sick of being treated like a genius, despite being one, and having that label branded in his mind every place he went. He loved to learn, teach and know as much as he could on all subjects and he wasn't one bit ashamed of the abilities his mother gave him at birth, but his short experience with women led him to deduce that he had a better chance of continuing to talk to you throughout the afternoon if he would just play a little silly and pretend not to know what he was doing. And he definitely wanted to be with you that day.

It had been a while, and at some point, you moved a bishop.

Check in 4 moves if Spencer moved the rook.

He moved a pawn, you took the pawn.

Bishop takes the pawn and check in 10 moves.

He moved the knight. You moved your queen

Rook takes queen then checkmate in 5 moves.

But Spencer ignored any of the logical options his brain was giving him. He was moving pieces wrong on purpose and moving another pair well just so he could enjoy your face of concentration and victorious smiles when you made a smart move that he could have foreseen from the start of the game. He analyzed your game, you attacked hard at first, you were impulsive, but at some point you changed your modus operandi to a more calculating and strategic one, your eyebrows gave you away when you were going to make an important play.

"Check" you muttered at some point. Spencer knew how to beat you, but, I repeat, he moved badly on purpose "And that's mate"

"Oh really?" he said, pretending to be puzzled.

"Yes, you left the way clear for my bishop" you explained, with a kind tone but also somewhat condescending. It didn't seem like you wanted to make fun of him, but rather you were looking for a way to make him see his mistake, without knowing that your companion knew exactly what he had done wrong.

"Oh, it's true"

"Either way it's fine, you played excellent" you exclaimed to comfort him, while you offered him a piece of candy and smiled broadly. Spencer looked at his phone, expecting to see a message from JJ saying there was a case to attend to, but he found nothing.

"A rematch?" he said, trying his luck, to which you answered yes quite happily.

Spencer won that game and it was inevitable for both of you to wish for another game just for the tiebreaker, with you crowning yourself the winner of the evening. Between movements you took the opportunity to look at him and you would lie when you said that your cheeks didn’t feel hot from being in the presence of such a peculiar specimen. Most of the men around you behaved like cavemen, so being with someone that civilized was most pleasant.

“I have to go home, it's getting dark already,” you said, quite sad, after that third game. The candy had already run out and Spencer's book had been forgotten to the side, but you still didn't want to walk away with just the memory of those hazel eyes “But if you're ever around again, we could play… if you want."

"I'd love to" he replied, sounding quite sincere.

Would it be too daring to ask for his number? What if it had just been a nice time that arose from a coincidence? You didn't want to spoil it, or scare him away, or anything like that.

You only said goodbye saying that you hoped to see him again and he said the same thing before the two of you went off on your own, fearing you would never see each other again.

After a few days you went back to the park hoping to meet him, but you were disappointed to see the empty spot. The process was repeated a couple of times and although you were carrying books to spend the afternoon, the chess board could never be missing from your bag, keeping the hope of finding him again. Time wasn't wasted after all, as you took the opportunity to continue your schoolwork outdoors, but it saddened you to think that you probably wouldn't see Spencer again, going so far as to regret not finding a way to contact him. But whoever perseveres, reaches, and you verified it when one afternoon you finally found him sitting at the same table as the first time.

“Spencer! What a joy to see you here” you greeted him casually, as if you hadn't been going to the park repeatedly just hoping to find him.

The man apologized to you saying that his work had kept him so busy that he hadn't even had time to stop by and when you asked what he did for a living you were met with an ambiguous answer that he held a position in a government office. Not a complete lie, but not the truth either.

That's how you kept finding him around to play with him, until at some point you barely paid attention to the board to give priority to the chat. Every time you saw each other you thought, without the slightest idea of the truth, that Spencer had been practicing to improve, because sometimes out of five games you only won two. But other days you might have a perfect streak that, while it made you feel happy, allowed you to comfort your friend a little.

You had started carrying different snacks to at some point find out which one was his favorite, which turned out to be the trail mix and, truth be told, it was something you expected, as if it fit perfectly with his personality. That's how you started carrying a pack of those whenever you could, alternating it with other kinds of more substantial snacks that Spencer loved.

So it was that, during the nearly two months that Matthew was unable to go to the park, you and Spencer kept each other company. You learned that he was an avid reader that, according to your first impression of him, he had taught a few classes, that he lived alone, loved classical music, was a big fan of science fiction and science in general, in short, he was a bit of a nerd. He was always telling you interesting facts that you couldn't even have imagined and you always listened very carefully.

One day you were concentrating on your next move when his voice interrupted you. It was a very beautiful afternoon and you had decided to put on light clothes that fluttered in the wind.

“I forgot to tell you. I brought you a book” was what he had said and from his brown leather briefcase he extracted a book with a faded cover that he handed over to you with great care.

“Sylvia Plath?” you exclaimed with total emotion. You had talked about the interest you had in starting to read it in one of the last meetings, because considering Spencer a connoisseur of literature, he would probably know which book to start with "Where did you get it?"

"It was from my mother, but she won't mind if you read it"

You carefully caressed the back with your fingertips with the biggest smile on your face, feeling flushed at the obvious show of attention you were receiving.

"Thank you so much"

"It's no big deal"

"I'll give it back to you soon"

"Take the time you need" he exclaimed sweetly. He was wearing a gray knit vest and a black dot-patterned formal shirt, along with a brown tie. His hair framed his face and looked so soft it made you want to reach out and just stroke it. You had been so stunned watching him, wondering if he was a real man or not, until he reminded you that it was your turn.

You moved your queen. Check in 7 moves.

"Spencer, can I confess something to you?"

He moved his bishop. He is saved from check.

"Huh, yeah"

“These last few weeks I have had a lot of fun. I really like being with you”

He looked at you for a second, as if he was waiting for a but that never came. There was no but you just liked being with him. Reid didn't usually find many people who would enjoy his company without a work commitment involved and that you had said something like that made him feel a warmth in his heart that he couldn't describe.

"I just wanted to tell you that, no... I hope I wasn't weird"

"I like being with you, too," he exclaimed immediately, hoping you didn't get the wrong idea. "It's probably the most normal and quiet thing that happens during my week."

“You've never told me what you do at work, is it paperwork and stuff? Bureaucratic processes?

“Something like that” he lied “Most of the time it's stressful and very tiring. That's why I like coming here, with you, because it helps me relax. I used to play with a very dear friend, but I took a break because… I didn't feel like going back to it. But I have to admit that you are a wonderful player."

"I hope so. Because I'm about to beat you” you smiled, moving another piece and putting the game in check again. Spencer always knew that he had to move to win, but again he made enough mistakes to get beaten by you. Once this happened, he took his king and handed it to you with a small smile, allowing your hands to touch.

It was already getting a bit dark and that was the signal for both of you to come home.

"You won 3 out of 4," he informed you, more cheerful than he was supposed to be. "Rematch tomorrow?"

“Of course”

One of you always asked that and in the same way the other always answered yes. Come to think of it, it was pretty funny that when you lost the next afternoon you won and vice versa, allowing the promise of a rematch to always hold.

"Do you live far from here?"

You knew, of course, that there was another question implicit in it. He not only wanted to know how far away your apartment was, but he wanted to know if he could walk you there. You'd never thought of the two of you hanging out outside of your afternoon game sessions, so you told him it was about a fifteen-minute walk away, and he naturally offered to walk you there.

"You're not a serial killer or anything like that, are you?" you joked, although a part of you said it to watch his reaction and detect (if possible) any sign of a lie.

“I'm not, but it's quite right that you doubt me,” he replied, as he packed his things into his briefcase, smiling slightly as if he hadn't been offended but rather admired by a good question “From any man, really, because the largest number of serial killers is concentrated in the United States and 95% of murderers worldwide are… well, men. Possibly this is due to the levels of testosterone and the social implications of masculinity that exist, this isn’t counting the traumas that they may have developed during their lives. Speaking specifically of men with psychopathy, most of them are able to manipulate their chosen victims to gain their trust before harming them. Many murderers have been described as charming, an example of this is Ted Bundy, who even when he was arrested many women attended the trials with banners and self-declared his fans. A few years ago there was even a killer here in Virginia who would date young women and then kill them, because it was easier for him not to resist, but luckily he only took the lives of 3 women before he was caught”

Spencer wasn't even aware of the changes in expressions on your face until he looked at you, completely serious and doe-eyed.

"Should I be worried about the fact that you listed reasons why I shouldn't let you accompany me?"

“Oh no, no” he had probably scared you and it made him feel so sorry and silly “I just… like to read about it, I promise. In addition, I have a degree in psychology, sometimes we analyzed the profile of the murderers to understand their psyche. But if you don't want me to come with you, that's fine."

"I'll take the risk"

"I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry"

"You didn’t do it. It just wasn't such a convincing defense” you carefully reached out to grab his arm and encourage him to walk beside you, flashing him a sweet smile.

Spencer, still feeling guilty for having rambled on about psychopaths, walked by your side for a while, and until you started talking his mood improved. A lot of times your talks didn't have to do with anything scientific and focused more on pop culture stuff that Spencer was completely unaware of. But you never teased him, but little by little you started to explain to him the plot of different movies or celebrity gossip of the moment, which was very funny for him. Your vibrant personality had him completely fascinated.

"I'll see you tomorrow, right?" you said once you got to your building. They were nice condos that Spencer had seen before.

"If something unforeseen does not arise, yes"

"Thanks for joining me. And for not being a murderer too” you laughed, still in a joking mood, while he looked at the ground a little embarrassed.

"Your lack of confidence hurts me"

"Admit that it's your fault, Doctor Reid" taking advantage of the artificial height difference that standing a few steps higher than him gave you, you leaned over to hug him goodbye and he sighed deeply as he felt the softness of your body against his "I hope you're well. Rest"

"Bye," he breathed out softly, entranced by the sight of your kind eyes looking directly at him.

He went home wishing with all his might that the job in the unit would allow him to meet you, but unfortunately it didn't, and since the two of you still hadn't thought of exchanging numbers he didn't find a way to apologize to you. He went to the park for several days in a row, but he couldn't find you anywhere and he was afraid that you wouldn't want to see him again. Had he done something wrong? Had you really believed that he could be a criminal? He probably explained to you what FBI unit he worked for and all that weird stuff he was telling you would have started to make sense.

He had already given up hope just the day you were practically running to the park, your chessboard bouncing through your bag and your breathing heavy as a sign of your poor physical condition.

You expected him to be there even with your repeated absences and when you finally arrived you noticed that around your usual table was a small group of people. You didn't know what it could be so you decided to go look too and you were surprised to discover Matty, whom it was the first time you'd seen in months, playing with nothing more and nothing less than your game partner.

You knew Matty enjoyed playing fast chess, so a clock was sitting next to both of them, and Spencer seemed to be playing better than he ever had in his life. His eyes lasted a second to scan the positions of the pieces and another to move his own, without needing to make any effort to plan the right move.

Everyone around was impressed by the skill of the teenager and the man who, according to your deductions, had not played more than 15f minutes. After a couple more minutes Spencer smiled broadly and declared that the younger one was checkmated, drawing Matthew's complaint and collective applause for the feat.

"The boy is good, but not as good as him" an old man informed you, who apparently knew the development of these games very well.

Spencer enjoyed the cheers rather modestly for a moment, but when he caught sight of you watching him from the crowd he went completely pale.

"Hello," he hurried to greet you, getting up from his seat to approach you and causing the fan group to break up "You came."

"Yeah, I've been kind of busy with college," you sincerely apologized, letting him envelop you in a hug that took you by surprise.

"I'm glad to see you"

"But what was all that about, by the way?"

"What was what?"

"Y/N!" said Matty, rushing over to greet you. "Do you guys know each other?"

"Yeah, I would say that" you clearly noticed the young man's intention to ask the story of that, but as soon as he opened his mouth you said something else: "But will you allow me to talk to him for a second? It's adult talk," you joked, trying to tease your little friend, and then walked a few steps away, taking Spencer with you. "Do you want to explain to me how you became a chess master during my three-day absence?"

"I don't... I don't know what you're talking about"

"I saw that! You beat him so fast and Matt is very good. Have you been letting me win all this time?” you asked with a frown. You didn't sound annoyed with him, but rather surprised, and when he pursed his lips and looked at you with those sad little eyes, you knew you were right “You were lying to me! Why did you do that?”

"I didn’t want to make you feel bad"

“I'm an adult, I can handle failure” you argued. A lie, but he didn't have to know that.

“It's just that you… you looked so happy winning and I was happy to spend time with you and I figured if I played like that you'd start to get bored or think I'm a show-off. You didn't want to make a bad impression."

He had been cheating on you, yes, but now that he had explained his reasons, you thought they were really cute. Although you didn't like being treated with that kind of condescension, it would honestly have been foolish to bother you about something like that. They were just friendly games of chess, not a world championship.

"So all this time you were this clever?" you asked and he nodded sheepishly “And you still managed to lose?”

“It's easy once you get the hang of it. If you know all the possible outcomes then you also know where you shouldn't move your pieces."

"I must have looked so stupid all this time"

"No, it's not like that" he hastened to say, while one of his hands went up to your elbow and gently held it "I didn't behave like that because I think you're stupid. I think you're very smart, actually."

"So you were just pretending so we could see each other in the evenings?"

No one had ever done that for you and now you weren't even offended by it anymore, you were, how shall I put it? Touched, perhaps.

"I thought if we didn't play chess there would be no other excuse for it"

A giggle escaped your lips and although at first he thought you were mocking, the truth was the opposite.

“You don't need to do that for us to be together, I could come to the park and just talk to you. I already told you, I like being with you” you clarified.

You two were silent for a moment and although you were calm Spencer was fiddling with his hands, apparently uncomfortable.

"There's also something else I didn't tell you" you widened your eyes slightly, waiting for him to continue "Actually, I do work for the government, but I work for the FBI in the behavioral analysis unit, that's why sometimes I disappear for so many days or…"

"That's why you know so much murder data" you hastened to say. Suddenly everything clicked together, like pieces in a puzzle "You're not a murderer, you catch murderers!”

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't want to scare you."

"Oh, and it was more convenient to let me think you're a psycho," you said sarcastically and only received another amused and sorry look "Any other secrets you want to share with me, Agent Reid?"

“At the moment I only have that. But the afternoon is young, more things can come up with the passing of the hours”

You both laughed at the joke and Matthew's voice calling you snapped you out of your conversation. The teen demanded an explanation as to why his playmate and former babysitter seemed so trusting of each other, which Spencer probably hadn't explained to him yet.

"I just want to ask you one thing"

"And what is?"

“Play a real game with me. No cheating, no tricks"

"Rematch?" he said, as was already your tradition, and you smiled widely.

You walked back to the table taking his arm and after summarizing a few months of history to Matthew the two of you finally got to play. Spencer beat you in less than 5 minutes, but the satisfaction you felt finding out that he was so smart, as well as handsome, was completely worth your loss.

You only managed to beat him after half a year, because from that moment on Spencer was so distracted by your face that it was hard for him to concentrate on the plays. And when you became his girlfriend, all you had to do was steal a few kisses from him to ensure your victory, which, honestly, didn't bother him in the least.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía #david rossi #emily prentiss #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff

886 notes · View notes

harryxmarvel · 1 month

Text

Shatter my soul

Summary : Harry has been suffering from an addiction and y/n decides to take time for herself or based on this ask

Pairing: rockstarboyfried!Harry x reader!y/n

Warnings: Angst

A/n: this piece turned so much better than I hoped for.

My masterlist

When they decided to take time for themselves harry and y/n were in a rough spot with not only their 11 years long relationship but their entire life.

After being falsely accused and getting fired from her dream job, gave up any and all hope y/n had as she came home to her love only to find him passed out in the middle of the living room.

His cocaine addiction was getting out of hand so much that he almost died of overdose saved by y/n who decided to come home early for some reason.He swore to never touch that stuff again but there he was high off his mind as he mumbles incoherently lying on the floor a week later.

The next day after getting him sober y/n decided it was best for them to take a break to figure out themselves and their life as she can't stand by him hurting himself like that. Harry had his issues, stress eating him alive at every wake hour ,he decides it was better if he wasn't in his own mind. The cocaine he could easily get his hands on was just a massive perk for him.

It had been a month and half. Y/n got a job at a restaurant and works as a bartender at night. She moved back to her old appartment after their break up and had been doing well on her own. She missed harry a lot even though their good days were well past months she still loved him, still wanted to help him and show him that she was there for him no matter what. She just wished he was doing better too. After their first week of breakup harry had called her high as he mumbled how much he missed her and promised to be better she just hopes he kept his promise.

It was a month later when y/n was at her favourite arcade bar with her friends. The place was a little loud with drunk men drinking beers and shouting at the screens.

They were seated in a booth after a good round of beers and fun. She was mindlessly talking with her friend klara when the bartender calls her name.

Y/n walks to the bar and the bartender points to the payphone at the corner of the room.

They still got payphones

Y/n thinks to herself as she brings the phone to her ears. The first thing she hears is a sob which sends her into alert. "Hello?" She questions and the person on the other line replies "Baby, it's me.." he sobs out making y/n quiet as he continues "I'm getting sober. It's the hardest thing I've ever had to do but I'd do anything for you baby. Just want you back, want to love on you like you deserve" he says breathing hard as y/n finds her words.

"I'm so happy to hear that H. That's what I wanted for you." Y/n says a smile breaking on her face as she tries to calm him down but he doesn't he keeps crying which makes y/n a little scared because it would've been really hard for him to be doing this alone.

Y/n should've struck by him, isn't that what their relationship should have meant. She feels incredibly guilty for walking away when things got worse but she did it wishing for the best and maybe it kinda did work out in the end and now all she wanted was to be with him and show him how much she appreciates him doing this for her.

"I'm gonna be there okay? I'm so proud of you baby" y/n says ready to hang up the phone but harry breaths out before she could "No, no i....you can't....I want you to but" y/n cuts him off in worry "what's going on H?"

"I wrote you a letter"he says and the other end is quiet as he continues.

"I wrote it so I could get everything out. I think?" He sounded so unsure his voice raspier than usual. " It should be in your apartment" he adds and y/n says she would read it and come by his place before hanging up the phone.

She bids goodbye to her friends after explaining them about the situation and then waving her off with a concerned look on their face as y/n walks back to her apartment. She goes through all her mail and finds the one harry had sent. Her name and address on the envelope.

She opens it and it had two sheets folded inside it. She didn't know what to expect as she reads through it.

My love,

Today has been particularly hard without you by my side. My manager has been pressing me for the next album but how could I think about anything but you. It had been 8 weeks since I last heard your voice and I never knew how much it filled my life untill I couldn't hear it anymore and I think maybe that's what made me want to give up the drugs even if it feels like I'm drowning. I'd do it for you.

I still remember the tears in your eyes when you told me about you ex and how mad it made me. I wanted to bury him alive for hurting you like that. I never wanted to infect any kind of pain in you. I swore I never would when I saw the lack of trust in your eyes.

It killed me to see the smile on your face slowly fading away because of me. I wanted to hold you close and tell you I'd be back. We'll get all of the good times we had together back because that was what you deserved. But I couldn't save myself not for me but for you because you are everything i have left. The only person who stood by me through it all and maybe that's what made me realise I was nothing without when you left.

I was always honest with you even when I was out of my mind i tried to explain what I was feeling. I know you blamed yourself that you couldn't help me but this was my own battle and you were the warrior in the front ready to kill anyone even though you didn't have to. You were always there for me and I'm really sorry if I wasn't baby. Because

You deserve better than that.

You deserve someone who would be there for you.

You deserve someone who would stay true to their promises.

You deserve someone who would stay good for you.

You deserve better than me.

You deserve every happiness in this world.

She is at the end of the page her soul shattered with each word when a knock on the door pulls her out. She has a few tears falling down her cheeks. She wips them off before opening the door to find her close friend klara.

"Hey , what ar-" y/n is cut off as klara bursts "I need to tell you something"

"Oh okay, come on in" y/n opens the door wider to let her in but klara shakes her head as she continues "No, I just need to tell you this....i" she's breathless and y/n patiently waits for her to continue.

"I slept with harry" she says after a few deafening seconds which stretches to minutes after the words are out.

"It was stupid and I was drunk and it just happened. We were both out of our minds and we didn't know what was happening. I'm really sorry y/n. I didn't mean for it to happen. I'm sorry"

Y/n is still as she listens to her ramble. All of y/n's friends hated harry something about him not treating her right while he was the total opposite. She never knew why that was but to hear her bestfriend had slept with her boyfriend of years cut deep into her poor heart and the stabs just kept coming.

"It happened a few months ago and I couldn't stop myself from going back. I didn't mean for it to happen y/n you have to believe me" klara begs her eyes welled up with tears.

Y/n couldn't stop herself from thinking how much of a fool she was for thinking all those nail marks on his shoulder, love bites on his jaw and chest were from her when she knew it wasn't. The woman's perfumes he used to smell like made her realise it wasn't just Klara. And one thought kept haunting her mind as she stands on her doorway.

Had she really been that delusional ?

A/n: I think I just broke my own heart 😭. Who wants a part 2?

Read part 2 here

Check out my masterlist if you are interested

Support me by checking out my small business

131 notes · View notes

groguspicklejar · 1 year

Note

can I have a crumb of protective!Din?🥺🤲

Warnings: Protective!Din, a touch of soft!Din, Beetle being cute as always, men being men smh, society being a bitch🙄

You know I can never say no to Protective!Din🥺❤️💐

Boundary

The townsfolk are kind. Many of them reminded you of the villagers of Sorgan.

Well, most of them anyway.

There was this one old man.

Drunker than a Cantonian patron on Life Day.

Always with a bottle of alcohol in his hands, even though no one knows where the heck he gets the credits because he's unemployed.

Always chasing skirts that pass by.

You know the type.

He's that one uncle with a questionable reputation and probably a couple of failed marriages.

Most of the townsfolk ignored him because he doesn't cause much harm

other than being the occasional annoyance, of course.

It wasn't anything you didn't see from Greed Karga's cantina and you've grown used to it.

Mando, however, was having none of that.

"Beautiful woman like you alone in a place like this?" you tried not to cringe too much at his horrid breath as he leaned against the wall, probably to make sure he doesn't fall over from losing his balance.

He glanced between you and the babbling baby in your arms.

It was quite unfortunate that he lived on the same floor as you, but up until now, you were sure that you weren't going to cross paths with him.

You never liked the way men looked at you.

From a very young age, you've been cursed with your mother's beauty, destined to be nothing but a thing to be gawked at by men who wanted another ornament in their possession.

You could never complain about it.

Being pretty means you're luckier than most people because you get all the pretty things from people.

People who always seem to want something in return.

People who don't care if they tear you to pieces and leave nothing for the universe.

You've been told that you should be grateful for all the attention you get from all these men, especially the rich ones.

As if garnering their attention was something to be proud of.

It wasn't.

It never is.

"I'm not alone, sir." you try being as polite as possible as you made an attempt at side-stepping him.

He only got in your way. "Sir? Oh, sugar, you're too sweet. How about I walk you and your weird baby to your room–"

You didn't even hear him coming.

The Mandalorian was behind you before either one of you could comprehend, stepping between you and the old man before he could try and lean forward.

"How about no?" said the Mandalorian.

You held Beetle to your chest

"Mandalorian…" the man chuckled nervously. "Look, I didn't want any trouble–"

"Then get lost." Mando sharply interjected, cold and unmoving.

A strong barrier between you and unwanted attention.

You've always known that the Mandalorian was respectful and more often than not, didn't push the boundaries that you had and you didn't even have to tell him.

You just didn't expect him to want everyone else to follow that logic.

"Alright, alright—" the man raised his hands in surrender while taking a few steps back, stumbling in the process. "No need to be mean, Mando."

He almost fell down again if it weren't for the fact that he was in such a hurry to get as far away from the Mandalorian as possible.

"Are you both okay?" The concern in his tone made your insides warm.

His visor tipped down to examine both you and the child, who happily giggled and lifted his arms.

"We're fine, Mando. No need to worry." you reassure him, smiling.

The Mandalorian took Beetle from your hands and rubbed his little green ear.

Your heart melted a little at the slight, especially when the baby cooed and leaned in for more ear scratches.

"Let's go." he says. "I don't want to be responsible for what happens if I see him again."

You try not to shudder as you walk past him while heat rushes to your face.

You don't think you'll ever get used to having your own personal bodyguard.

You will have to get used to the fact that he's always going to threaten anyone who pushes your boundaries…

or kill them…

Masterlist

Taglist:

@groguspawbeans @graciexmarvel @thirddeadlysin @15letthegamesbegin15 @deceiverofgodss @blub-senpai @ayothatsano @astrolockley @minky77 @rennalouise @sofsofsposts @jreads @dindarasuum @dindjarinsmut @storyarcscribe @fatima-marisa @princesscy4rika @andshewentsplat @hello-th3r3 @janebby @unofficialavenger90 @come-hell-or-eldren-fire @littlemisspascal @princessofclovers @jaguarthecat @zanzann @sandinthemachine @darkenwolfie @gram-cracker24 @taro-666 @sgt-morgan @lexloon @djarinsstuff @tragerlover @uncoveredsun @emiemiemiii @lordhavemurthy @frogtits1 @midsommar-nights @yeeteth-the-raven @jellybeanstacey0519

@defibrillator7 @mildlyhopeless @tanzthompson @meandorla

518 notes · View notes

agere-fics · 25 days

Text

Doctor Papa

dni: k!nk, anti-agere, agepl4y, or ddlg-esque blogs 🍄 this blog is a safe space for age regressors and age dreamers 🍄

pairing: caregiver!papa!bruce banner x regressor!little!reader

characters: uncle thor, bruce banner, reader, mentions of: steve, bucky, sam, and tony stark.

summary: you have to get MRIs done but you're nervous. thank goodness, papa knows how to cheer you up.

word count: 1,751

content warnings: MRIs, hospital gown, reader is written like they're a child's height, no mention of a particular chronic illness, please tell me if i'm missing anything

author's note: tadaa!! all done! this is the most i've written for a one shot! very proud of myself. also, this is inspired by me having to get MRIs done recently ajfhs

♡

Sometimes stuff we've done lots of times can still seem scary; which is annoying because who wants to feel anxious about the same exact thing over and over again?

You have to get these scans done by tomorrow. With every heart of your being, you wished that wasn't true but your previous scans were too old.

UGH!

Luckily, your papa had a trick up his sleeve.

He told you to stay here, in this gigantic, empty, white walled room. It was utterly boring, there were no paintings or statues or anything. Not even toys! Well, okay, you had your Mr. Rainy Day Bear but still! At least there were floor to ceiling windows- OH, and a skylight, too. Those are always nice.

While you waited for Bruce to come back, you watched what went on outside. There was Tony using his latest invention to attempt to lift Uncle Thor’s hammer. Tony still had no idea that it couldn't possibly work! How silly of him.

Bucky, Sam, and Steve stood in a far apart triangle. They were tossing around the Captain America shield like a Frisbee, guffawing, and yelling things that were joyously incomprehensible. It looked like lots of fun! Definitely more fun than MRIs. Maybe, they would let you join in later.

The double doors of the empty room swung open and papa’s humongous green form entered.

“Okayyy, love bug, I've grabbed all the cardboard pieces from recycling that weren't gross.” He grimaced thinking about the black, moldy gunk that spoiled some previously useful parts. He shrunk back down to Bruce Banner size after dumping the cardboard into a large pile. “We should have enough for our little art project.”

“Art project?” You looked at him expectantly. Your eyes were actually lit up with stars of joy this time, instead of meteor shower anxiety.

The idea was to make a cardboard MRI machine. Having an art project to focus on would comfort and reassure you about the process you would go through tomorrow. If he could make it fun, your anxiety wouldn't be so bad.

“I’ve seen the machine before, papa, I can make the bestest one yet!” You hopped on your toes, giddy with tight, flapping fists.

“I grabbed your sticker books and some paint, too-”

“OH YAY, THANK YOU PAPA, THIS IS SO EXCITING!!”

Mission accomplished. Anxiety gone, replaced with magical cure Art Project™. Bruce smirked to himself.

You laid down on a tall, square cardboard piece. Bruce traced your form with a sharpie as you giggled. Once you had the correct length, you both began cutting a rectangular piece and put that piece on a metal cart with wheels.

Then, you cut out half circle pieces and hot glued them all together until it made one large 4D sphere with a hole in the middle like a donut.

At one point, the glue burned you but Papa Bruce fixed it right up and stopped the booboo pain with a cure-all kiss.

Your cardboard MRI machine may look done to outsiders but it wasn't even close. It was missing the most important part of all: the stickers! There were heart stickers, stickers with dolphins, rainbow stickers, puppy stickers, stickers that had Mr. Hulk and Papa on them, too! There were even stickers of Stevey, Bucky, Iron Man, and Uncle Thor! Papa said for your birthday he'd make stickers with you on them, too.

You also painted squiggles, polka dots, lines, circles, triangles, kitty cats, and zig zags. All of them in your most favoritest color.

“There!” You stood proudly, hands on your hips. “Now, it's very, very pretty, papa.”

Papa gave you a minute and then asked, “Are you ready to practice?”

You blinked and sighed. Defeat warping your mood. “Yeah...”

Papa spun away, put a doctor's coat on, and then turned back, holding a clipboard. “Alright, are you the caregiver for Mr. Rainy Day Bear?”

“Yeah, papa.” You lightened up a little bit.

“Papa? No, I'm Doctor Doctor. Who's papa?”

“You're papaaa!” You pointed at him.

“Okay, okay I'm Doctor Papa.” He repeated, “Are you the caregiver of Mr. Rainy Day Bear?”

You tilted your chin up and did a faux British accent. “Why, yes, sir. He's feeling very, very bad and needs a scan.”

“Ah, yes, I see that on his chart, Caregiver.” He flipped through the scribbled pages on the clipboard. “Let's have. Mr. Bear lay down on the table with his head on the pillow.” Bruce gestured with his hand.

You laid your stuffie down on the pretend bed, placing Mr. Bear’s head gently on the pillow. You patted his hand for good measure.

Doctor Papa put ear plugs into the bear's ears and placed cushy pink headphones on him. The headphones had cat ears on them. Papa raised his voice a little, “Mr. Rainy Day Bear, what kind of music do you like to listen to?”

“Doctor Papa, Mr. Bear is nonverbal.” you said matter of factly. You raised your pointer finger to the sky. “I’ll answer for him. He likes The Wiggles, Papa- I mean Doctor Papa.”

“Alrighty then, The Wiggles album coming right up.” Bruce pulled out his phone, scrolling until he found the right music. “Wiggles rave?”

You nodded, then kissed the tippity top of Rainy Day’s head. “You'll be okay, Mr. Bear.”

Bruce began to push the cardboard bed into the donut sphere. You took a big, big deep breath in.

“BRRRR BEEEP AGHHHH RRRRR DNNNN-”

That breath was immediately released back into the atmosphere. “PAPAAA!” You clutched your chest, laughing so hard your legs felt weak.

Doctor Papa continued, “DRRRRR EEEEEE EHHHHHH MRRRRRR!”

You were rolling on the floor, tears leaving your eyes. How silly of your papa!

“BRRRRRrrrrrr….” Papa rolled the cardboard bed out of the donut. “How are you feeling Mr. Bear?”

“Papa, he can't hear you!”

Bruce laughed. “Oh, yeah, right.” He removed the headphones and then the earplugs. “How is the fantastic Mr. Bear?”

You lifted Mr. Bear’s paws and had him sign to Bruce, ‘I am okay.’

“Perfect! Let's take a look at your scans here…” Papa turned around and scribbled quickly on the paper. When he faced you again, he showed you the scan. It was a poorly constructed scribble of Mr. Rainy Day Bear with a big, biiiiiiiig, heart right in the middle. “I knew it, Lots-Of-Love-itis.”

You unburied the British accent. “Quite good, sir. Well done, Mr. Bear.” You placed a hulk sticker on his paw and hugged him tightly.

Papa kneeled down and asked, “Do you want to practice with you this time?”

You gave it a thought, looking this way and that. “Hmmm, will you make the funny noises again?”

“BEEEEP BRRR-”

“Not right now, Papa!” You shouted with a smile.

“Oh, during the practice?” He waited for you to finish rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Okay…” You breathed in, out, in, and out slowly. “Let's practice, Doctor Papa.”

♡

“Big day, lille venn.” Uncle Thor said as he helped tie the back of your hospital gown. He double knotted the strings behind your neck and then the ones by your hip. “There you are. All set.”

You frowned at that, looking at Thor with big, watery eyes. “Not all set.”

“It'll be okay.” His hands (placed on your shoulders) turned you to face him. “Remember your breathing?”

“Mhm.”

“Let's do it together.” He raised his left hand as you did the same. “Climb Yggdrasil, breathe in.”

You traced up your pointer finger.

“Let's sit at the very top, hold your breath.”

You paused at the tip of your finger.

“Slide down the Yggdrasil branches, breathe out.”

You traced down your pointer finger.

Uncle Thor had you repeat that four more times, until the tears dried and the anxiety flowed further away.

“Very good, great job. Let's go see Papa.” He held your hand as he walked you towards the scary room. Worse than the boring room from yesterday.

You turned the corner and there was Papa at the computer. “Hey there! The computer’s prepped and waiting for you, little one.”

You looked at Papa, then Uncle Thor, and then Papa again. “Okay… I'm ready.”

Papa led you to the metal bed. It was rectangular and thin. A sheet was laid out on it so you wouldn't get super cold. There was a thick pillow on the end that had your favorite kitty cat pillowcase on it, which made the corners of your lips turn upwards.

Papa pressed an arrow down bottom next to the donut sphere that brought the bed down to your level. He held your hand as you hopped on and then helped position you onto the center. He guided you through a big, deep breath so that your body was as comfortable on the table as can be instead of tense.

Next came pink headphones with cutesy kitty ears on them and plain boring ear plugs so that your hearing wasn't hurt from the loud noises. Papa already set up your favorite kind of music so when the headphones were placed on you, it was already playing. Bruce furrowed his brow in question, moving his thumb up and down. You replied with a thumbs up. You were ready.

Bruce handed you a panic button to hold just in case and laid a blanket over you to keep you warm. Papa kissed the top of your head and left the room.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in and out.

BBRRRRRRR

‘It's okay. I'm okay.’

BEEEEEEPPP

‘Woohoo, I'm doing awesome!’

REEEEHHHHHH

‘This is boring, it's got to have been a bajillion minutes by now.’

After ten years (minutes), the machine stopped and Papa walked back into the room. He gave you a high five and bunches of praises that you only heard some of because of all the ear protectors. But you could tell by his facial expressions that he was so very proud of you.

He pressed the arrow down button again and the bed began moving to an easier height. You removed the headphones and earplugs yourself, you felt like such a big kid (in the best way)!

You stretched this way and that while making funny noises which made you abrupt into hearty giggles.

Bruce held your hand as you jumped down. Next thing you knew, he was hugging you tightly, picking you up, and spinning you around and around!

“I'm so very, very proud of you, bumble bee!”

You kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Papa!”

♡

45 notes · View notes

watermelonsugacry · 1 year

Note

Quick question do the fans know about bandmembers relationship with her father? Like I know she probably keeps it very private but they must’ve found some stuff out. Also have people asked her often like interviewers or anyone really about where her father was since he was never brought up? Seems invasive but I’m sure there would be some interviewers who would cross the line. Anyways love you!!😘😘

She keeps that side of her past VERY private but the fans are like the FBI so of course they find out bits and pieces.

Like they know that her father wasn't present in her life and how she doesn't want him to be in her life anymore. They know he lives a rich life now and has a separate family--the fans were quick to investigate and find out that his new wife and daughters went to one of her shows for her most recent tour. And that YN was kind enough to take a picture with them backstage and sign a little something for them.

The fans know that Penny isn't her biological mother but they don't see or treat her any differently than if she was. The fans LOVE Penny and love how much she loves YN.

There was one time in an interview when they asked about YN's family pretty early on in her career. It was in a group interview before heading off on their first world tour. It was an innocent question that got her worked up:

"And you, YN? How about your parents? Are they coming to the first show as well?" The woman asked in a perky tone before extending the padded microphone in YN's direction.

"Um, well me stepmum is gonna come along," She says from her spot squished in between the boys. "Penny loves the boys and gets real excited whenever she sees them so that should be pretty embarrassing," Seventeen-year-old YN lets out a playfully pained laugh at knowing how Penny gets when she's around the rest of her bandmates. Her stepmum loves to pinch their cheeks like they're in primary school. Hopefully her response was enough to redirect the question.

"And your dad?" The interview lady presses on. "I'm sure he would like to see his little girl making her dream come true."

The term "his little girl" makes her want to cringe. She never considered herself as such. She's still working on her media training, on taming her smart mouth from snapping back, so she tries her best to mask her uncomfortableness with a smile but it comes out strained.

"I'm sure he would."

The boys sensed her uneasiness as soon as the question left the interviewer's mouth. Thankfully, after a stern look from one of their management representatives from behind the camera, the woman quickly moves on to another question.

It became a subject that their management team prohibited any interviewer to ask which she was grateful for. Yet, the subject of her father probably would have come up in her first H*ward S*ern interview or something because we all know he's hella invasive.

"So your father," The horrid interviewer begins behind his microphone and unnecessary sunglasses. "He was a drunk wasn't he?"

It wasn't a question but more of an assured assumption to try to embarrass her. But anyone who knows YN knows that she doesn't take shit--especially when it comes to this host.

"Takes one to know one, huh?" YN counters with a faux furrow of her brows and an innocent tilt of her head.

Fans love to edit the video with close-ups of each of her band members' reactions that sit behind her:

Her guitarist tucks his lips in as he tries to suppress his smile. Her drummer turns his head away and brings his smirk to the ground. The man on keys can't help the snort that comes out of her mouth, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth. And her bassist just has his tattoo-covered arms folded across his chest, nodding his head with a proud smirk resting comfortably on his lips.

"I love this girl," Howard shakes his head with a laugh. "So I'll take that as a yes. So with that, I assume he was a bit abusive too? I mean, every pop star has to have some type of trauma to be able to be as successful and talented as you."

"Oh, Howard," YN shakes her head in return, a genuine laugh tumbling past her lips. A gorgeous smile graces her face that can make any person weak in the knees. "Your logic is truly one of a kind. Um, I mean, he wasn't the best father out there. But I honestly wouldn't be where I am today if it wasn't for me mum. She was both parents combined and she's just the most amazing woman in the world."

"And Penelope wouldn't happen to be single and interested in, I don't know," The older man waves his hand in front of him, a sickening smirk on display. "A handsome, successful interview host?"

"Yeah, sure." YN nods sincerely at the suggestion. "Know any?"

321 notes · View notes

mittysins · 1 year

Text

Newt at Home

Includes: Trans mpreg, graphic labor and orgasmic birth

I'm so glad I was able to get this finished! First Mayternity, in the bag. Of course I needed to use Newt for this. I'm so proud that I've actually managed to complete a seasonal art piece. I hope you guys enjoy it!!

[FIND THE UNCENSORED ART ON TWITTER]

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

Okay, I'm not going to lie and say I'm not kind of freaked out. I'm standing in the kitchen wearing a loose shirt and a pair of sweatpants, quickly scribbling down the time in my notebook.

10:56 PM. I've been in labor for 10 hours, at least. I couldn't really tell at first, thinking the twinge in my lower abdomen was just Braxton Hicks. I ate my lunch and had a nap without a second thought.

Eventually I realized the pain wasn't going away, in fact it was introducing a new pressure in my hips that I was frankly not a fan of. Okay. So that’s how it is.

I started by emailing my professor. Just a vague mention of a family emergency, and that I was going to need an extension on an upcoming essay.

Continuing on, I sent a quick “baby’s on her way!” to the group chat where my friends were dicking around as they usually did. I laughed at their excited responses as I tapped my pen on the paper. Newest contraction started 43 seconds ago. I was doing just fine.

Then to get down to business. I blessed my past self for having half a mind to have everything ready a month beforehand. Everything I needed was in the bottom drawer of the baby’s dresser. A few old towels, a package of training pads, and settled neatly on top was a pair of sterile clamps and scissors within blue plastic packaging. I felt my heart skip a beat when I opened the drawer to set everything up. This was actually happening.

It was a waiting game from then on. Which is how I ended up here. My contractions are now 4 minutes apart and it's really starting to set in. My chest burns in a weird way, most likely a result of binding for years. I accepted the lung damage a long time ago, and it seems to be making itself well known as my breathing grows increasingly ragged. I can't quite keep my legs together anymore with that ever-present weight on my pelvis. It feels like something is about to give at any second. I assume it’s my water, honestly I figured it would have broken by now. I let out a long sigh as the contraction ends and set down the pen. I sway my hips as I flip through the notebook on the counter in front of me. Written on the first page is the date my pregnancy test was positive as well as a few phone numbers. I can still see a few splotches of faded numbers where my tears had mixed with the ink of my favorite pen. The next few pages were symptoms, weight, my medications including my testosterone gel. Everything medical. I was so scared all those months ago, it almost makes me anxious to look back on those pages. I prefer to look at the middle of the notebook, where I noted when I had gone a week without morning sickness, my first weird craving, the bizarre and vivid dreams I was having. My favorite was the page dedicated to name suggestions. All my friends took turns scribbling down names they liked, laughing and teasing each other as we crossed some out and circled others. It isn't too long before I flip to my current page and glance at my phone.

11:00 on the dot.

I bite my lip and continue my swaying with a firm grip on the counter. It hurts now. That's not to say it didn't hurt before, but now it's getting intense. Each clawing contraction feels like a band being tightened around my entire lower abdomen. It's enough to keep me tensed up with my head bowed for its entirety, until finally, finally, there's that give.

I let out a soft groan as my water breaks. It's not a huge gush like in the movies, more of like a gentle pop followed by a steady stream of fluid that lasts a few seconds. I take a moment to assess my situation. Pants need to come off, obviously, but after that? I couldn't quite decide. I weigh my options as I wattle back to my room and remove my sweatpants, tossing them into a laundry pile I'd designated to this whole ordeal. I could lay in bed with a pillow between my knees and just… wait. I quickly toss that option when I realize how little I've sat still since I even realized I was in labor. A shower sounds nice, the wetness between my legs is less than pleasant and the water on my back would be helpful. I could set up a spot on the couch, just throw down some waterproof pads and a towel or two and labor there, maybe get some last minute work done.

I tense up. Oh, now this is different. I subconsciously bend my knees a little as the contraction reaches its peak. The release of pressure when my water broke was heavenly, but the respite didn't last long. Instead the pressure returned, now bringing with it an intense fullness resting just at the base of my pelvis. I grimace as I feel more fluid trickle between my thighs. Shower it is.

I watch the clock switch to 11:04 as the contraction lets up.

It's a short walk across the hall to get to my bathroom. I realize how sensitive my nipples are when I peel off my shirt. I flush at the sound I make when the fabric drags, sending a jolt down my spine. I'm getting worked up and my heart rate quickens for a moment. I turn the faucet tab and slowly drag myself into the tub, letting the warm water run down my back and legs. For a few moments it feels like routine again. Just me and my baby. No college, no work, no bills, no angry parents. Just me, lowering myself to my knees in the shower, my baby burrowing dangerously low in my pelvis with the next contraction.

It's hard to keep track of time from then on. I'm sort of just zoning out a lot, concentrating closely with each new wave of pain and letting my mind wander in the steeply decreasing downtime. Eventually I’m talking aloud to her, telling her how loved she already is, that she can come on out when she’s ready, that I'm so excited to finally meet her. That I'm ready. My mindless blabbering stops when I feel a very sudden shift.

Before I realize it I'm openly groaning into the air with the gripping contraction. It all just got very real, and I can feel myself becoming frantic. The increase in pressure was maddening, and no amount of shifting and rolling my hips would relieve it. My last contraction was at most a minute ago. I don't have long at all. I decide to push, just the tiniest bit, at the end of the contraction. It's just a little shove, I don't even hold my breath. Just enough to try it out and get a feel for the sensation. If she’s coming, she's coming. If she’s not, what happens? I wait a little longer and try again?

Another timid nudge.

Yeah, she’s definitely coming.

As soon as the contraction lets up I turn off the shower and heave myself out to towel off. I almost want to jump out of my skin I'm so excited. A quick collection of my shirt, phone and towel and I’m waddling back into my room, haphazardly tossing them on my bed. I decide to wait until after the next contraction to climb up onto my bed and really get this show on the road. When I get a look at myself in the full length mirror near my dresser I have a chance to catch my breath. My taught belly has noticeably dropped, basically screaming to the world what was about to happen. I'm flushed and sweaty and my wet hair is still sticking to my forehead. I’m all out of sorts, but I couldn't care one bit what I look like right now. Baby couldn't care less either. That telltale tightening grips me again, and when it begs for me to push along with it, I deepen my stance into a half-squat and bare down.

It almost feels… good? It's a very odd sensation but it feels like such a release to finally get to work with the pressure instead of against it. Two firm pushes in front of the mirror and I decided my bed was there if I needed it. Instead, I swipe a training pad from the package and lay it down on the floor in front of the mirror before stepping onto it. And I wait. At this point I'm so eager to push it’s hard to focus on anything else. I slowly lower myself down to be half kneeling, one foot propped up to let my hips open. I suck in a deep breath, and just like that I'm stuck in a contraction and pushing so hard I see my face go red. Exhale, inhale, push like hell. So it goes.

It only takes a few good pushes to feel something hard and very noticeably large lodged in my birth canal. Between pushes one of my hands dips down and curiously prods at my lips. I don't know what I was expecting to feel, she’s definitely not there yet, but nevertheless I’m a lot more sensitive than usual. I feel perpetually slick now considering I've been leaking little by little for the last hour and a half. But that's not just it. The past twelve hours have been the most in-tune I've ever felt with my body, like we’re finally working towards the same goal of giving birth to my daughter safely and calmly. The excitement and the love mixed with the fullness of her head moving downward almost became ecstasy. One accidental brush to my sensitive clit and I'm shivering. The sudden rush of pleasure triggers a contraction and I weakly push through it. Once the contraction ends my fingers slip into my birth canal. I was disappointed for a moment when I didn't feel anything.

Until I did. About two and a half knuckles deep, there was the hard, slimy ball I had been working down for the past twelve hours.

Oh my fucking god, that’s my baby.

I was awestruck. Just allowing the pads of my middle and ring fingers to press against her head was enough to have me grinning like an idiot.

Returning my hand to its place on my knee, I bore down again with the upcoming contraction. This time a low groan escapes my throat and I find myself leaning forward just the slightest bit. Looking in the mirror, I become fixated on the bulge forming behind my lips. I'm leaking fluid considerably now, and I'm grunting out little pushes when I swear I see a dark sliver start to part my folds. I only saw it for a split second. My hand dips between my legs once more and I press a finger into my lips. Sure enough, just out of sight rests my baby’s head. The quick progress I made surprises me, and I let out a breathy laugh as I trace my fingers back up to my dick. The warm tingling in my belly when I rub a few experimental circles into the swollen nub quickly melts my grunts into soft moans. My breath quickens. I was expecting this to be horribly painful, yet here I am moaning with the next contraction. All I can focus on in the mirror is the sight of my lips parting for my baby’s head. I moan through the stretch of my perineum, letting my pleasure bring me higher as I watch my lips pull out into a teardrop shape.

My rubbing has found a steady pace, and my hips buck a bit. I'm close, I can tell, and I feel the head continue to push my lips open. That burn is starting to set in. Another firm push.

I almost yelp when the head stretches me to a full crown, but I find myself so awestruck by the sight that I fail to make any noise at all. My rubbing continues as there the head stays. The burn is searing. Until finally, the release of my orgasm carries me blissfully as the head surges forward with a gush.

I kneel there for a moment, legs shaking and eyes fluttering, as I process what just happened. The aftershocks distract me through the next contraction, giving me time to gather myself. I can see it in the mirror, my baby’s head hanging out of me as it's supported in my hands. A sob rips from my throat as my fingers wander, feeling her tiny ears and nose.

“Oooh-kaaaaay.” I breathe, shaking off the numb tingly feeling that accompanied my orgasm. My fingers fumble around the baby’s neck, quickly untangling the umbilical cord and pulling over her head.

After lifting myself up to standing, the short few steps that should have been my journey to my bed became a quest. I knew I had no chance of closing my legs at this point, so it's a slow shuffle making my way over with shaky legs and a hand between them to support my baby. Climbing up onto the mattress isn't much easier, but I eventually manage to sit up against my pillows, legs butterflied out. From there I wait.

“Come on, kiddo.” I encourage. “I’m ready, you can come out now.” I wiggle my hips and give a tiny push, trying to get her to turn.

Once she does, I'm all in. My hands find purchase behind my knees and I pull back, red in the face as I push as hard as I can for the shoulders. The way I'm sitting, I don’t even need the mirror to see. I watch as my swollen lips spread around the first shoulder, then the other with a small spurt of fluid, and then-

I barely have time to catch her as with the last push, the rest of the baby spills out with a gush.

“Oh my god-” I sputter out as I lift the infant to my chest. As soon as she touches my skin, she begins wailing. It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. I check her over with wide, misty eyes.

“You are just absolutely perfect, aren't you?”

I giggle at her squirming attempt to get comfortable. So that’s what’s been keeping me up at night.

The ache sets in quickly, and I make quick (quick enough) work of delivering the afterbirth, cutting the cord and making sure we were both cleaned up and warm. Once I'm in a pair of sweatpants and back with her on my bed, I lay her back down on my bare chest, opting for a light blanket to wear cape-style and cover us both. I'm absolutely awestruck.

“Alright, we’ve given your aunts and uncles enough emotional prep time, don't you think?” I say decidedly to the already-sleeping infant as I unlock my phone, quickly finding the “video call” button in the group chat.

I'm grinning like an idiot as three of my friends join the call at lightspeed, the other two following quickly behind.

“Guys, someone wants to meet you!”

#tmpreg #mpreg #trans pregnancy #birth #birth kink #labor #m draws #pregnancy #nbpreg #birth fic #mayternity

178 notes · View notes

animentality · 9 days

Text

you guys think Gortash ever pitied the Dark Urge because he knows what it's like to be enslaved by/ beholden to a higher power, whom you cannot fight or resist, because they own a part of you, and could easily destroy you, should you forget your purpose?

conversely, do you wonder if he was proud of the dark urge when they came back without their memories, and freed themselves, without the help of anyone else, fighting Orin alone, and defying Bhaal, and surviving?

and also. do you ever contemplate the notion of the dark urge pitying Gortash right back, because they know something he'll never know: how to move on, and grow outside of what they made you?

they look at this stranger and have no recollection of him, but they still have this quiet, unknowable part of themselves that feels sorry for him.

I think about these things.

I think that Gortash knew their dream, and empathized, because he wanted the same thing, freedom from the tyranny of others, but he wasn't able to see why the dark urge could attain that dream, but he never could.

he mistook their freedom as a result of their power, their savagery, because he doesn't know the dark urge anymore, and he keeps insisting that they're the same dark urge he's always known... but they aren't.

the dark urge was allowed to come back because they weren't trapped in the past. they weren't just freed from external forces, but their own chains, locked around their heart and soul.

they lost their memories and their old self, and became something new. someone who would continue to exist, even after the pieces of Bhaal were torn out.

Gortash could've done that too...mutilated himself in the name of metamorphosis... but the tragedy is in the fact that he never would've.

So he congratulates the dark urge for achieving their dream, and something without a name sighs within them, because he doesn't get it, and he never will.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #enver gortash #dark urge #durgetash

53 notes · View notes

moneymasnn · 2 years

Text

Home Is Where The Heart Is | Charles Leclerc

Notes: This made me sad, poor little Charlie... once again here is another Charles fic, I hope you guys love it just as much as I do xox

Blurb: One where you take a job offer causing some distance between you and Charles, but Charles realises he can't handle the distance as well as he thought he could.

Warnings: Some minor swearing, reader breaking Charles heart sorryyy

Lando didn't mean any harm in the message that he had sent you. He thought maybe you were ready to laugh about how your ex clearly wasn't over you. You couldn't laugh, you weren't over him either. You were equally a mess too.

1 message- lando norris

She even looks like you lmao

One attached picture

It was a photo of him and a girl, holding hands as they walked into the paddock. She looked up at him like he was the world, just like how you looked at him. However his attention was elsewhere, his attention will always be elsewhere.

Your heart hurt at how quick he moved on, sure she did look like you, feature wize. She had your hair, your smile, your eye colour, she definitely looked like you.

But that wasn't a comfort to anyone but charles.

She definitely didn't have all of your other qualities. You wondered in the short time you had been broken up and they had been together if she knew him as well as you ever did.

If she knew how he liked his tea first thing in the morning or where his favourite stop in Monaco was. The songs he liked to sing in the car, where he liked to be touched and kissed.

You knew it was wrong to snoop into his new relationship, but the photo of them holding hands outside of your restaurant was enough for you to know he misses you.

You wondered if he got deja vu as she sat on your favourite table, sitting on your side of the booth as she told him a fact about the piece of art that hung on the wall next to them. A fact Charles already knew since you had told him years ago.

You wondered if he would sing in the car with her to a playlist you made for him.

You wondered if he ever replicated your dates, or told her he loved her the same way he told you. Would he accidentally call her your name? Would he think about you when she asked him to do the things you would do together?

Did he play her the same songs on his piano while she sat on his lap and listened?

You knew he missed you, and you hated that he was too stubborn to admit it.

You felt guilt for the morning you walked away from. The way you handed him that beautiful ring back that he had so carefully spent time choosing so he knew you would love it.

How he was so sure you were it for him. He was settled, but you upped and left.

You walked away and he had to be selfless enough to let you be happy without him if that's what you wanted.

Being offered your dream job in London was everything you had wanted in life, everything you had worked towards.

Your heart shattered when you realised he was willing to sacrifice his own happiness over yours. Eventhough he wanted you in Monaco with him.

“But mon amour, London is so far away?” his hands were all over the place, he didn't want to shout, but he didnt want you to be even further than what you already were.

“This is my dream, Charles, this is what thirteen year old me dreamed of.” you couldn't stress enough how much you wanted this.

Charles felt defeated, you were going, and he was going to have to deal with it.

“It's a double standard charles, you're always far from home, and i support that, i support you! Why can't you just be happy for me?” Tears brimmed in your eyes as you tried to let him see where you were coming from.

“I am happy for you y/n, im so fucking proud of you but-” charles sighed as he prepared homslef to be selfish, “we hardly see each other as is is?” Charles questioned you. He leaned on your living room sofa, his elbows perched on his knees as he rubbed his temples.

“And why is that?” You spitted at him.

You fell down on the sofa next to him as you fell into a deep silence of thought.

“I don't want to break up.” Charles' voice cracked as he spoke up.

“Oh baby.” you leaned over and rested your chin on his shoulder after pressing a quick kiss to behind his ear.

“We're not breaking up, we already know we can handle the distance, what's a little more?”

The distance worked for a while, but after Ferrari started to fail Charles more and more he realised he could only handle so much. He hated not having you to come home too after a long weekend.

It was like your ghost lingered around the apartment you used to share.

Sometimes he would get home late at night and he would open all of your draws and see them empty, and it reminded him of how you weren't really here anymore.

He would call you and be left to a voicemail, something he had grown used to talking to.

“Mon cheri, hi. I know its late, its three am actually.” Charles chuckled as he pulled his phone away from his ear to check the time in monaco. “You're probably sleeping, but I thought I'd tell you I just got home from japan. It was weird not having you at the race, I'm sad you couldn't come, especially since it's one of your favourites.” Charles rubbed his face with his free hand, he knew how pathetic he sounded right now. “It's getting hard mon amour.” he took in a deep breath, “everythings going to shit and I don't know how to fix it. I don't know why i called to be honest, i knew you'd be sleeping but it was worth a try. I just wanted to hear your voice. You always know what to say mon cheri. I just miss you-”

Charles was cut off when the voicemail right tone beeped, letting him know his timing was up on his message. He sighed when he realised he had so much more he wanted to say to you, but you weren't here to listen.

He couldn't sleep that night, he didn't want to sleep in another empty bed. He hadn't seen you in person for around three weeks now, and he hadn't been able to have a real conversation with you since then either. Nothing more than quick phone calls or late night face times where one would be falling asleep due to the time difference.

He then decided to pack a bag and fly to london, he missed you, and he needed to be with you.

Charles booked a flight that would take off within the next two hours. He quickly packed a bag and blew off any plas he had made for the rest of that week because he decided he wanted his monday to sunday to be consumed by you.

He picked up the ring box that had been in his pants drawer since long before you left and he realised he was going to do it.

It was seven am on a cold english morning, you were running around your apartment in a towel with wet hair looking for your hairbrush. You hadn't even had a chance to listen to Charles voicemail yet. You found it tucked between your sofa when your doorbell rang.

Subconsciously you grabbed your hairbrush, pulling it through the knotted strands as you ran to your door. You assumed that Sophia, your next door neighbour, had needed to borrow something.

You were shocked when you saw what was supposedly the love of your love, here, in london.

But not only was Charles within your presence for the first time in weeks, he was on one knee holding the most gorgeous ring in a small red velvet box.

He was proposing? He was proposing when he hadn't even spoken to you properly within the last few months. When he hadn't been able to make love to you in weeks, you were both so distant right now but here he was, on one knee at your door.

“Mon amour, i miss you. I've missed you so much it's made me realise that I need you like I need air. I've missed you so much these past few months and all I want is to be with you. You're the woman of my dreams y/n y/l/n. So would you please do me the honour of becoming my wife?” He shot you a nervous smile, his dimples on show, you would have cried of how adorable he looked if you didn't feel a pang in your chest instead.

His smile slowly faded when he saw your wide eyes staring down at his hands. Shit.

After that it was screaming and crying in your apartment, the thought of being late for work long forgotten.

“You can't just show up here charles and propose because you miss me?”

“I dont understand y/n, we've been together for five years, i thought this would be what you wanted?” He pleaded with you.

“This is what I would've wanted, eventually.” you said, holding up the ring that was placed in your hands.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Charles spat.

“It feels like you're just trying to coerce me into coming back to monaco.” You mumbled.

Charles fell silent, he was sure that's what he wasn't trying to do. But he would be lying if he thought that maybe it would make you realise his love for you and make you come home.

“I just miss you at home.”Charles whispered, tears brimming in his own eyes.

“Monaco isn't my home at the moment charles.”

“You said- you said this would affect us. A little bit more distance you said y/n! You said we would handle it but here we are, the house is empty, your wardrobe is empty, your draws are empty. You haven't been home in months, not even a visit. People are asking if you've left me, y/n. I feel like you just disappeared, like you got up and ran away and left me behind.”

You knew he was right, of course he was right. You became so consumed in your new job that you truthly had forgotten how much Charles probably needed you.

“Charlie, im sorry-”

“No you're not sorry, you're happy, and you feel guilty that you're so happy so far away from me. I can see it on your face, y/n. You've moved on and you didn't even tell me.” Charles scoffed. He stood up and grabbed the bag he had packed thinking this trip would turn out so much better for the both of you.

“I'm going back home y/n. I think- I think you know what you want. It's clear it isn't me so i'm going to go. I'll save you the guilt of breaking up with me, I'll do it for you.”

“Charles, please no, that's not what I intended for I swear.” you cried out as he stood by your apartment door.

“You might not have intended for this, but what else did you expect?”

He grabbed his bag and reached for your front door .

“Charles.”

His hand scraped the door knob as he started to pull it open, ready to walk away for what he thought would be you asking him to stay.

Instead he was greeted with your open palm, the delicate engagement ring placed in it as you held it out from him to take. From then on Charles knew it was over.

You were the reason you broke up, but here you were reading all of monacos gossip mags and searching for stupid tik tok videos of charles being spotted with his new girlfriend. Four months later and you were so unhappy in England you just wanted to go home. You decided enough was enough.

To Lando norris

Set up your spare room. I'm coming home.

Lando was your bestfriend and the reason that you and Charles had even met in the first place. You decided you were going to live with him for a while until you managed to sort out your own apartment in Monaco, but Lando was happy to have your company again. Considering before you moved out to live with Charles you were already roommates with lando.

When Charles caught wind of you moving back to Monaco it was from Carlos, who had told him he recently bumped into you when Lando was helping you move into your new apartment, Carlos's apartment complex. The building right next to where you and Charles used to live.

From the time you left for London to the time you had been broken up to the time it took Charles to buck up the courage to knock on your door you hadn't been together for about a year.

He knocked on the door, his hands shaking as he made an attempt to straighten out his shirt, a bunch of colourful flowers in his hands. They were a range of blue, white and purple, all the colours he knew you loved.

His breath hitched when you opened the door, he didn't miss the way your face dropped but he did see the glisten in your eye as you registered it was him.

He looked well.

“Charles.” you whispered.

He loved the way his name rolled off your tongue in your accent.

“Come in, please.”

You moved over so he could enter your apartment. He soaked up the decor, he loved how you decorated the place, his heart fluttered when he already noticed the bunch of purple flowers you had in the centre of the living room. He smiled as he realised the colour was still your favourite.

“I got you these, a house warming gift.” He flushed a deep shade of pink as he passed you the flowers, his fingertips grasing yours as you took the bunch of flowers from him.

“Thank you.”

There was a silence that loomed, not an awkward one, it was comfortable, it almost lingered with a sense of nostalgia.

“I don't mean to pry, y/n. But why did you come back?”

You turned to him with a smile evident on your face as you handed him a mug of tea, just how you knew he liked it.

“I missed home, I guess.” you shrugged, still smiling.

He couldn't stop the smile that spread from cheek to cheek as he listened to you refer to Monaco as your home again.

“I realised how much I was leaving behind. That there was so much more to stay for.”

Charles smiled again as he took a sip of his coffee, listening to you talk.

“Charlie, I just need you to know I'm sorry for what I did to you.”

Charles placed his mug on the counter top, ready to protest but you had already beat him to it.

“It was mean and it was selfish of me, I felt trapped and I ran.”

“I'm sorry you felt that way.” Charles shrugged as it was amost the calmest thing he could do.

“You dyed your hair.'' Charles pointed out as he took a step away from the counter he was leaning on to twist some of your hair between his fingertips.

You looked up at the man you so dearly loved. He was so close you could feel the warmth of his breath, you could smell his toothpaste and his aftershave and you relished in the smell you didnt realise you had missed so much.

“Charles.” it was barely an audible whisper, but it was all too much at once.

Charles dropped the stand of hair, letting it fall back down along your shoulder and down your chest. He stood back and admitted how different you looked, you looked almost older, mature. You looked well.

“Are you seeing anyone?” the words rolled off his tongue before he could even process how invasive he must have been. However your reply came just as quick.

“No.”

With that Charles took in a deep breath, for him there was a light of opportunity to have you back and he wasn't going to let it pass.

“You?” you thought you were being nonchalant with your reply, you thought you already knew the answer, you had seen the articles.

“I am not.” Charles smiled, sure he had seen a few women. He wasn't going to hide that from you, that he had tried to see other women within the last six months, and he was more embarrassed that you had probably seen they were the carbon copy of you.

You nodded at his answer, putting your head down.

“Charles, I still need time.” you whispered.

“I'm not asking you for anything mon cherri.” Charles stepped forward again, his hand grabbing your elbow as he stroked your arm.

“It was nice to see you y/n, you look well.” Charles nodded at you before he walked to let himself out.

It was evident that you missed him and it was clear to you the feelings were still there. You listened as the door shut behind you.

Once again he was shutting doors on you. You couldn't help but scoff at the parallel. However this time you decided to take charge of the story.

You opened your front door, your head snapped left and right to see what way Charles had taken off, you smiled when you saw him standing in the hallway with a smile on his face.

Relief rushed though Charles as he realised you didn't let him walk away this time, you took back what you wanted and what was rightfully yours.

Like some type of romantic movie chiche you ran down the hallway and wrapped your arms around the shoulders of the man you loved and will always love. As one hand gently wrapped around the nape of his neck you pulled his lips onto yours.

His lips were still stoft like they had been all the other times you had held them on your own. You relished in the feeling of Charles hands trailing up your back, pulling you in as close to him as he possibly could.

He wasn't letting you go this time, and you were here to stay.

#charles leclerc fic #Charles leclerc #Charles leclerc imagine #Charles leclerc x reader #f1 #f1 drivers #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x you #ferarri

908 notes · View notes

reallifetangent · 13 days

Text

Realization 2.0 (Cat King x Edwin Payne)

I really tried writing something, this is one of the two attempts. English is not my main language, and I also have to translate Ir(me) → Spanish → English → Making Sense in English. I didn't actually finish this one, so, have this draft. Sorry if it disappoints.

-------

Based on the idea of How did Cat King react when he got back the bracelet. Technically is a One Sided Catwin, happens in the events of the series.

-------

A loud noise surrounded in flames showed in front of his bed. Cat King (or Thomas) had been resting, after a whole night of chasing that stiff ghost, revealing the plan of that witch. Also deleting from his mind the rejection he suffered. It hurt more than anything he had ever experienced. Edwin put him in his place, he'd give him that. The thing between them was just the bracelet. Other than that, Edwin had no reasons to be around him.

Back to the noise, he looked from his upside down near the border of the bed at the piece. Wanted to believe his eyes were lying. Wanted to think it was just a joke. It was impossible. Got up and turned to take a better look, still at distance, and the closest cat got the message, leaving via one of the windows of that old warehouse. Thomas got up, fixed his fluffy coat and picked up the metallic piece with a cat shape. "You clever ghost", tried to lie to himself. Wanted to believe it was another part of their game. Edwin would come in, proud and stiffed, claiming that he found another way to get rid of the attachment. Thomas hurt Edwin's pride and autonomy when he paid back the little spell the ghost boy put on one of his cats. Last night, Edwin hurt Thomas back, reminding him he was nothing, and no matter what, he would never change his mind about him. Now he could give the knockout and show himself, maybe to prove once again he was one step ahead, or that he would always find a way, like any other of his cases. And that was what Thomas found so attractive and magnetic about him. Those egocentric moments where Payne found and put himself above everyone because of course he would be right. He was always right.

He saw and sensed the marks or forcing the bracelet, all failed, the lock never gave up. Some tracks of useless spells that didn't help him either. No gadget or trinket from Magic Mick would be at his level. He really tried everything to get away from it, didn't he? Thomas wanted to believe, again, that it was just an attack against losing his autonomy and escaping the... Night Nurse? and Death from coming after him and his violent pal. Not Edwin wanting to get rid of Cat King. Maybe in another circumstances, maybe without the binding spell, he could've gotten closer and with better results, like that crow, Monty. But he liked playing chase. He was a cat, after all. "I'm such a believer", he mocked himself, trying to think that he could've gotten the ghost if he wasn't as playful and that detective weren't fun to test against his old ways. He liked scratching to get his attention. He liked seeing his reaction at his scenarios, the panics Edwin had which left his spectral shape speechless, taking the truth out of his lips. The confusion when he revealed Monty's little secret, as he never lied and would never lie to him. For being a trickster, he was an open book for Edwin, even if he was new at facing his emotions. He liked making Edwin facing his emotions. "And now could be a nice chance to do that. The whole A detective does whatever to finish a case", he screamed in the room, still in the mind scenario. He wanted to see Payne's witty face. The "I'm not playing your games even though I liked this little game between us." Deep down, they both enjoyed it, too many times he makes pride of comebacks against that psychic friend of theirs, or praising himself in silence when he was right about a case. Would he even try to deny he went to their lighthouse meeting just to see if he had at least a 'tic' of advantage on the Counting Cats Game?

Because he didn't count all the cats, that was for sure. He had to hear the results himself, and let him free. But no signs of him.

"Sir, there are no tracks of that ghost twink in Port Townsend." He turned at the army of cats in front of him. Good, they took the liberty to check everywhere.

"His little friends are out of town as well. Without any goodbye." Huffed in a laugh. "I'm hurt."

"No, my Lord. Only him." The cats stepped back, as Thomas turned facing the wall. "The cricket bat ghost and the bratty teen were talking about going to hell to take him back." His slit eyes were scrounging the neon crown sign. Impossible. How come they got caught? How come Edwin was now away for God knows how long?

At least him away in London meant he could travel to see him again. Hell was more difficult. Even if Edwin made it out, it's fucking hell. He was gone. Unreachable. Not even wasting his 7 remaining lives could guarantee he would get to see the ghost in hell to bring see him back.

#cat king x edwin #catwin #thomas the cat king #dead boy detectives cat king #cat king #the cat king #dead boy detectives edwin #dead boy detective agency #dead boy detectives #edwin payne #dbd cat king #dbd headcanons #dbdetectives one shot #one shot #fanfic #reallifetangent #rlt #reallifetangent writes

31 notes · View notes

fandomwe1rd0 · 1 month

Text

This fucking episodeeeeeee. I cry at it, it's not even supposed to be a sad episode, just seeing Morty so upset...it breaks my heart into a thousand pieces. Rick just can't let Morty have a life outside of him, the fact that he literally made a whole ass plan, and destroyed so many planets just so Morty will stay with him forever and never get a life outside of him is already fucking sick, I don't fucking care if he has abandonment issues due to what happened with Diane, nothing will ever make this ok.

He manipulated Morty into giving up his dreams, and as if that wasn't bad enough, he's shown to not even feel any guilt about it, he actually seems to be fucking proud of it, smirking and winking to the camera as if he did some cool badass thing. Yeah, manipulating your grandson into giving up on his dream because you're a pathetic old man who's afraid of losing your only real close friend. Soooo cool of you. We all think you're sooo awesome.

He never shows any guilt towards any bad thing he does to Morty, he does bad things to Summer, but he is shown to feel guilt in season 7 episode 3 "Air Force Wong" where he lashes out at Summer then after she leaves he looks to the floor and says "Sorry..." He's manipulative to Beth for the first few seasons, and even he's shown to feel bad for it at the end of this fucking season where he says "Holy shit I'm a terrible father." He's even shown to feel bad for how he treated Jerry, I can't remember the exact episode but when he was using him so the pleasure is pain guys can make fun of him, and you can see him looking down in guilt multiple times. Really the only time I can think of where he actually feels guilty for how he treats Morty is in "Rickmurai Jack" Where Morty asks "Did you really leave the crows for me....or did you come back because they dumped you?" and Rick just looks down and can't bring himself to answer. But other than that, he never feels guilt for how he treats Morty, he'll consistently emotionally abuse Morty, punched him in Rickstar Ricklatica, slapped him multiple times, once when he was having a panic attack, caused so much damage to Morty's psyche in Vat of Acid, and manipulated him into giving up his dreams in this episode, all with no guilt. I know he genuinely loves Morty, and I really can't blame Morty for not believing that seeing how he treated Morty in season 4 alone, he does eventually get better and treats Morty actually like an equal in season 7, but Jesus fucking Christ, I love Rick I really do, but he was a monster in season 4.

I just really wish we got to see the effects of Rick's abuse on Morty, but it's always just swept under the rug so Rick, the abuser, can heal. It's not fair. Rick deserves to heal, but Morty deserves to heal too, and doesn't deserve to get his trauma ignored so his abuser is more sympathetic. Justice for Morty.

#rick sanchez #rick and morty #morty smith #rick c137 #rick #and #morty #Justice for Morty #justice for my boy

25 notes · View notes

warrior-cats-rewritten · 2 months

Note

firestar and leafpools father daughter relationship isnt talked about nearly enough on that note

I think about it so often! They make so many remarks about legacy but refuse to hold onto the FAMILY that a legacy should entail! Bad writers! Smack smack!

Leafpool and Firestar - Familial Relationship

In WCR, they have a much more fleshed out relationship.

First thing Fire notices about his newly born daughter when he and Sandstorm (and Smudge and Scourge) get back to Thunderclan is that she looks a hell of a lot like his sister, Princess! Firestar almost came up with a name in inspiration of her, but decided to stick with Leafstar, as while he could not inform his cats of Skyclan, he could at least hope that some of Leafstar's nobility and grace would invoke into his daughter.

Well, he got the noble part right, at first. Little Leafkit was clumsy and a bit uncoordinated. She would rather learn about herbs than practicing pouncing and bounding through the forest like Squirrelkit could.

Firestar has learned from his past attitude and encouraged his daughter to follow her heart. Though... Please talk to me or your mom or aunty Cinderpelt before you taste-test plants you find. Please.

Leafkit grew into Leafpaw, and finally developed that grace! Firestar was so proud of her, to the point of embarrassing her by accident. Yowling across camp "BE SAFE! BE GOOD! I LOVE YOU LEAFPAW!" When she would go for Medicine Cat meetings. She got over it quickly when she heard Cinderpelt speak about her own father, Cricketfang, and how she missed him.

"I LOVE YOU TOO DAD!"

Things begin to get... Difficult, once the destruction of White Hart Woods begins. In WCR, Leafpaw is the cat who gets the message to go on the Road Trip, and Squirrelpaw, ever at her side, joins too. (Along with Shrewpaw) The 2 sisters leave together under the cover of night alongside Crowpaw and Cranberrypaw of Windclan, Tawnypelt and Smokepaw of Shadowclan, and Feathertail and Stormfur of Riverclan.

It is, hands down, one of the worst times in Firestar's life. The forest is being destroyed and BOTH his kids are missing. All he can think is that the Clans are going to go through what Old Skyclan went through, and his daughters are missing.

When they came back, he was terrified and filled with sorrow. The destruction was in full-swing, and his children had come back speaking about a lake, leaving, going through a mountain... He believed them, but it was so strange, following his daughters into territory unknown... They were so grown-up.

While Squirrelpaw was reckless and a troublemaker, Leafpaw was a the good one, the quieter one, the one you didn't need to worry too much about. He didn't entirely like how Brambleclaw acted towards his daughter, but he never suspected that Leafpaw and Crowpaw's funny little friendship was anything more than that.

When she left again, with Crowfeather, he was... Sad. But not upset with her. The kind of sad you feel when you know your child has grown up enough to not need you the way they used to. It seemed like such a short while ago Leafkit was calling put for her daddy to sleep in the nursery with them tonight because the gentle rain outside was too scary...

But also sad because she'd never told him. He would have accepted it in a heartbeat, moreso than Brambleclaw and Squirrelflight.

He was overjoyed when she came back, but confused when Crowfeather was not with her. During Leafpool's Wish, he tries to give her some comfort. It's okay, honey, sometimes things don't work out.

She's so distracted with her pregnancy that she just nods along. She feels like she doesn't want to burden her father with anything more, what with Thunderclan still recovering from The Boar Attack, including Cinderpelt's death.

She never told him the truth about The Three. But Firestar wasn't stupid. The shape of Jaykit's ears and the stripes on his pelt, Lionkit's eye colour, and Hollykit's voice... He knew they were hers, and putting the 2 puzzle pieces together for their father was not hard. He's come a long way as an orange cat.

Like Shrewfeather though, he assumed it was out of a kindness. Maybe Squirrelflight couldn't have kits of her own, and sweet Leafpool had acted as a surrogate with Crowfeather to provide kits for them. He felt that he shouldn't pry.

Leafpool felt so guilty at not telling her mother and father about things, especially with how close they were to The Three. When the secret came out, she quietly walked into Firestar and Sandstorm's den afterwards and cried to them. They understood and weren't mad in the slightest.

When the secret came out, Firestar was hesitant to punish Leafpool, she'd been through enough... He didn't want to punish his own daughter but when whispers of blood clotting were beginning to start, he had to do something. He wasn't going Onestar's route, when Onestar denamed him into Crowpaw.

He still demotes her, but it's more a formality. She broke a vow about her Starclan connection but let's not prevent cats from getting medical treatment if they need it, okay? He has her go through some Hunter training with her aunt, Lightflower (Princess) but talks in Thunderclan have begun regarding an alternate permanent position for cats that aren't Medicine cats but cannot hunt. In the mean time, she takes up odd jobs all around Thunderclan and hangs around her parents.

Firestar dies protecting Leafpool and Squirrelflight, whom Tigerstar calls "abominations" and attacks during The Great Battle. Firestar dies, but the sisters escape, botb in shock and grief, only getting worse when Tjgerstar drags Firestar's seemingly lifeless body out into a clearing to show off. Leafpool will never forget her father's flaming, holy spirit rising out of his own limp body when Tigerstar least expects it, destroying him, before finally taking his rightful place in Starclan.

And the trial? Ooh, that'll be a doozy. I am going to leave this bit vague, but let's just say there's a reason Firestar still has his title of "Leader of Lionclan".

Moon Flight had better watch herself.

#warrior cats #warrior cats rewrite #warriors #wcr #asks #relationship page #leafpool #firestar #fireheart #leafpaw #sandstorm #firesand #squirrelpaw #squirrelflight

23 notes · View notes

wordsformizu · 2 months

Text

Your Father's Daughter

Mizu x Reader story

Word count: 1.5k

Chapter 7

Sweat dripped down the sides of your faces, gathering on the floor in small puddles. Nothing could be heard from outside the room at this time but heavy breathing; your light pants compared to his deeper ones. The flame of rage still burning deep within the both of you, but your body too weak to act on it any further. He had tired you out, and was now waiting to see if you would attack again or lay like a beaten dog. It infuriated you from within, but the light wasn't hot enough to spark your veins into action again.

The fight had lasted about an hour, with him having more of the advantage. You still made him work, and was able to use your binds to your advantage. He was good. You could give him that. You had expected him to underestimate you and your ability, but he never did. Every swing and blow, whether it made contact or not, was expected. It became a conversation between limbs and fists where no move was left without a response. Now the only conversing to be had were your muscles as they screamed in sore agony to no one in particular.

The samurai’s eyes never left yours, and you were sure to grace him with the same watchful stare. Now that you both had time to see each other, you had done a number on him, and were proud of that fact but it wasn't enough. His once neat bun was now tousled, strands pasted to the sides of his face with sweat. The demon Blood was red, you noted, as it trickled down his nostril and over his mouth, some of it leaving dried patches that began to flake. His face was beginning to swole, specifically near the eyes where you had headbutted and dug your heel into a couple of times. Demons could bleed. They can be hurt. It didn't matter to you because it wasn't enough to see him damaged. You wanted him dead.

He lifted his arms slowly, which made your muscles tense in reaction. Whatever he was going to do next, you wanted to catch and throw back at him. He took his arm and wiped the blood from his nose and mouth, and spit the remaining to the floor.

You couldn't see what damage he had inflicted on you, but you could feel it and were sure if you had the chance to examine yourself, there would be several bruises. There were more important things at matter like escaping. He had distracted you, you realized again. Worn you out with this imbalanced fight. Now you had little to no energy to use for running.

But the demon was watching you. Heavily. Intensely. His eyes dilated with focus like an animal in the hunt. He was barbaric, you couldn't help but think. Looking for another chance to throw you into the mat. If he wanted a real fight, he should untie your bondages. You’d show him what a cornered animal could truly do.

“I know who you work for.” Finally. Words that broke through the barrier of tense silence between you two. “Worked” for? It felt so disrespectful leaving his lips. Sure, you could consider it “working” but when stated like that it sounded like a mere occupation. Like a farmer who rolls in dirt for months to sell their crops and feed their family, or an old maid who scrubs the floorboards for a roof over their head. Those don’t require any dedication. No thought. No strive. No countless hours of training, and perfecting your gifts and skills. It’s just a job. They do it because they must, you do this because you believe. What you did was more than just some job. You were part of a lifelong goal. An important piece on your fathers chess board. A part of the tower he was building to reach the heavens. A star in his great sky. You didn't just “work” for your father. You were making his dreams come true. Your dreams come true. The further he went, the further he would take you. Away. Together. What would a demon know about overcoming one's past?

“I know what you are.” You narrowed your eyes. “I know what you want.”

His body did not shift in discomfort or denial, as he didn't seem surprised with your exposure of his plans. He knew his goal, and now he knew you did too. Whatever he decided to do with you now, you were ready to defend yourself.

He stood straight, towering over you more than before. He now radiated a cocky aura, as if you were no trouble for him. It pushed you to speak more than you usually would, some urge of wanting to bring down, humble him, verbally coming over you.

“Your plans will fail.”

“They will?” His focus now shifted to his sleeves, adjusting his attire in front of you. As if you were an inconvenience.

“You don’t know the man you wish to cross.”

“I don’t?”

“He’s far above you. You’ll never find him-”

“I found you.”

You couldn't tell if it was the room temperature increasing, or the rush of blood to your face but you were beginning to grow hot. This conversation was climbing into your skin and clawing from the inside, and you couldn't do anything to shut him up. Hands and feet bound, and he stood far enough from you so that if you lunged at him he would have enough time to pin you like before. Not that he needed it, the samurai's reaction time was as quick as yours. You hated to admit it, but maybe even faster.

“ You speak about a man you don’t know.” you spat venomously in his direction

“I don’t seek to know him. I only seek his location..” The Onryo responded plainly, which brought your blood to a boil. Speaking about his intention of killing the man who raised you as if he was a plain mindless housewife ticking off the items on a list of tasks to do throughout the day.

“Then consider yourself lost. You’ll never find him through me.”

“You believe so?” The samurai responded.

“I know so.”

The blue eyed beast then chuckled, a quiet and short one, but long and loud enough for you to hear that he was toying around with you which you did not appreciate.

“You defend a man who would throw you into a fire pit for warmth.”

“I defend my father.” You returned quickly, the words angry and loud. ‘Father’ didn’t sound as strong coming from your mouth as your voice cracked, betraying your bruised ego and vulnerability. In that very moment, your weakness was seen unwillingly. Tears rose and streamed down your cheeks like a river breaking through a dam, and you had no mobility to stop them. They stung your eyes un-naturally, and fell to the floor you were forced to sit on.

The man before you made no move or effort to comfort you, but you could see something had changed. Slightly softened behind the blue ice you were used to glaring into. Usually you take the softness strangers offer you, sharpen it, and return it back into their heart as a dagger. Not here. Clear thinking was beyond you as you spoke again.

“The man I defend,” you repeat yourself, attempting to sound stronger than you had before “is my father. I would defend him until my dying breath. I would defend him beyond his.”

Still standing in place, he watched you. It felt like he had seen a part of you and you regretted that. You are not weak. You are not vulnerable, but kneeling and bound before him glaring into his eyes with your tear stricken face made you feel otherwise. ‘Control yourself’ you urged.

“And may his dying breath be soon.” The samurai finally spoke. Cold words offering no warmth of comfort.

You were thankful that he left you there, you didn't need his pity or compassion. The moment the sliding door shut and you heard his footsteps soften from distance, a frustrated cry broke free from your vocal cords. This wasn't like you, this felt so strange and new. It must have been the thought of your father, you thought to yourself. Missions never take you this long. You’ve never been captured this long before. You’ve been truly out-bested. You get in, do your job, and run back into the arms of the man who raised you. Back into the presence of greatness, to be his shadow and at his beck and call. Now you’re here on this cold floor, doing something you swore you’d never do again. Cry. It felt odd, it made you angry. You could feel the tears running down your face hot and heavy and you let out a frustrated grunt. Also very unlike you, but it felt good. You pulled and tugged on your ropes, flayed your body, your hair sticking to your face with angry sweat. Your frustrated heaving tears turned into angry screams and after a while, quiet numbness. Only the shadows in the room accompanied you, and they too were silent.

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu #mizu x reader #writing #bes mizu #blue eye samurai fanart #bes x reader #fanfiction #mizu x fem!reader #yourfathersdaughter #your fathers daughter #mizu fanfic

35 notes · View notes

elisysd · 1 year

Text

Lover of mine – 5 Seconds of Summer

Masterlist - Previously - Next Chapter

When I take a look at my life and all of my crimes You're the only thing that I think I got right

Astonished. That was how Charles felt.

As light as a feather. That was the feeling of her lips on his.

A mirage. That was what Lyanna was.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered against his lips before leaving as quick as she came, leaving Charles there, still trying to process what just happened.

He knew better now than to run after her. He could tell that she did not plan to kiss him, that somehow it just happened. That right now, she might be scared and panicking. Every fiber in his body wanted to go after her, to take her in his arms and to kiss her again. But he also knew that she needed her own space. She needed to put her feelings in order and he was probably the last person she wanted help from.

Still, he could not get rid of the feeling of having his heart ripped in two. A half for him and the other for her. Tonight, she had left with a piece of his heart, one he did not want back.

He slept really bad, tossing, and turning, reliving the kiss, and blaming himself for not reacting quicker. As a driver, it was something he usually was proud of. How fast he could react. He could have had hold her; she would have been trapped in his arms. And he would not have let her go. When his alarm went off, he grumbled. He still had to pack and he had to leave soon.

It was around ten in the morning that Joris came to his place to pick him up to go to the airport. Seeing his friend’s pale and tired face, he worried.

“Tough night?”

“Horrible.” Charles confirmed.

“Pre-race jitters, or something else?”

“Lyanna kissed me. And she left. I didn’t have the opportunity to properly say goodbye.”

“Oh, wow. Well, I certainly did not expect that. I would have bet you would have been the one to make the first move.”

“Thought so too. She beat me to it. But then she said sorry and she panicked. I asked her to come to Zandvoort. I will wait and see now.”

“Don’t you want to make a quick stop at her place?”

“Do we have time?”

Joris checked his watch.

“Well,I’d say we have 15 minutes top. If you take longer, we might have to go past the speed limits.”

That's all it took for Charles to head for the stairs, which would be quicker than waiting for the lift. He climbed the stairs one by one before arriving at Lyanna's door and banging on the wooden panel. No answer. Which didn't surprise him. He continued for another 5 minutes before the next door opened, revealing an old lady and her Chihuahua.

“The young lady left early this morning at around 4am. I know because I could hear her crying and dragging her suitcase. It made a loud noise in the corridor and woke up my little Floppy. What a naughty girl. If you see her again, tell her that next time I'm going to report her to the security guard.”

She was gone. For good. Without a backward glance. What could he have done to make her run away like that? Was he such a bad kisser? Charles asked himself a thousand and one questions. He wasn't surprised that she had run away, even if it disappointed him a little, he sincerely thought that they were past this. He knew she still had some inner demons to fight but he thought that he would be by her side to help her get through them.

So many incoherences he could not process. She kissed him and yet she was the one who ran away. If she kissed him, that would mean that she had some kind of feelings for him. He could understand that it could be frightening for her, considering what she went through during her previous relationship. But what he could not fathom was that she preferred to leave rather than talk to him. They were both adults, and first and foremost, they were friends. If the kiss was just a spur of the moment, because she was feeling emotional and it didn’t mean anything for her, fine he could put it past him. If she had some romantic feelings for him, it was also fine. Charles knew that he was feeling something more than just friendship, not being entirely sure that it was love. But his point was, they could explore their connection together. See where it could lead. Together. He was ready for that and more importantly he wanted to.

He could have texted her to say all that, he almost did. But it was a conversation that needed to be made in person.

His thoughts occupied him throughout the journey. He was surprisingly quiet, only responding when spoken to. And even then, it was in relatively short sentences. His bad mood was evident in the days leading up to the race to the point that Fred, Ferrari’s team principal, took him aside to is driver’s room before heading for the first free practice on Friday.

‘You’ve been in a bad mood all the week, kiddo. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He replied sharply.

“I just want to make sure you have your head in the game, Charles.”

“Don’t worry about me and just make sure that this fucking car is actually drivable.” He snapped.

Fred didn’t say anything, only looked at him. He had a way of being with Charles that made him feel like a little boy. In many ways, they were similar. The same taste for winning, for hard work, for respecting teams, for honesty. He was one of the people Charles trusted most. Fred could read him like an open book, in his silences and in his eyes.

“I invited someone and I think she won’t come. That’s it.”

“So it’s a girl. She must have hurt you a lot for you to be acting like that.”

“The thing is… I’m not mad or even hurt. I think. I understand her, I know her reasons but at the same time I can’t help but be disappointed. I just want to see her; I want to know that she is okay but I don’t know where she is.”

“Well, if she makes you feel like that, she must be pretty special.”

“I care a lot about her, yes.” He confessed.

“Then I’m sure you will both find your ways back to each other. But for now, I need you to be fully focused Charles, okay?”

“You know that I will.”

The free practices went on relatively well. Not bad but not good either, something that Charles was unfortunately used to, and soon enough it was time for qualifying. Charles knew that this was his strong point, so he approached Saturday with a certain relaxed attitude. Even if his eyes lingered a little longer than usual in the crowd. On his way around the paddock, he spotted Pierre in the middle of a warm-up session with his physio. He approached her to wish her luck. As his best friend knew him all too well, he immediately noticed the Ferrari driver's deceptively relaxed attitude.

“She is not here. And Kika has not heard about her since our last dinner in Monaco.”

Charles swallowed. He had suspected it, but a wave of disappointment washed over him.

“If I have news, you’ll be the first one to know, okay?” added the Alpine driver.

“Thanks Pierre.”

With his head full of questions, Charles climbed into his single seater. In this environment, he always managed to detach himself from the rest of the world and enter his own bubble. Today was no exception, even if it was more difficult than usual. And so the qualifying session began. Charles took his time before starting his flying lap and he quickly sensed that something wasn't quite right. It didn't take him long to realise that there was an engine problem, forcing him to stop dead in the middle of the road. By the time he had extricated himself from the car, the smell of burning had caught in his throat.

The red flag brought Q1 to a premature end, placing Charles at the back of the grid for Sunday's start.

A few hours away from Zandvoort, in a childhood bedroom, Lyanna watched the qualification session and her heart ached for Charles. She arrived in her mom’ s home the day after that fateful dinner at Charles’ place, her eyes puffy and red. No questions were asked by her mom who simply took her daughter in her arms and tried to console her the best she could.

But seeing her little girl watching a car race when she never demonstrated any interest for the sport, she couldn’t help but get curious. Especially when Lyanna made a weird face when the commentator announced that Charles was out.

“Isn’t it the famous boy you were always trying to avoid talking about when I started questioning you about him when dating rumours came out?” she asked sitting on her daughter’s bed.

Lyanna nodded.

“Is he the one I should blame for making you come here, all the way from Monaco a week before you said you would come here?”

“It’s me. Who messed up, mom.”

And here she was again, the tears accumulating behind her eyelids.

“Oh my sweet girl…”

He mother took her in her arms, gently rocking her while Lyanna let the tears stream down her face.

“Whatever you did, I’m sure you can fix it.”

“I kissed him mom. And then I ran away. Like a coward, something I promised myself I wouldn’t be anymore. He taught me to be brave and how do I thank him?”

“Do you love this boy?”

“I… I don’t know. I like him, I care for him but what do I know about love?”

“If you care, then it’s enough. You don’t have to put words on what you feel if you are not ready.”

“I’m sure he hates me.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“I’m too scared of being rejected. I sure would reject myself if I was him.”

Her mom sighed. She was used to see her daughter so unconfident.

“You will never know, if you keep on avoiding him. And if he is smart enough, he will listen to you.”

“He is so great mom. He is funny, he is kind, he is brave, he cares about people. He helped me when I never asked him to, just because it was something that seemed normal to him. He is down to earth, he is loyal. He loves his family and is friends. He is perfect. Well not really, because sometimes he can be stubborn and he has a hard time knowing what limits are. And he doesn’t know how to cook, which is not a bad thing but I would not trust him in a kitchen by himself. And he can be cocky. But… he makes me feel good. And happy. And I really miss him.” She let out in one breath.

“Well, he seems like a great man. A great man for a great woman.”

“I don’t feel great right now…”

“You too are funny and kind and brave. You are the most hard-working woman I’ve met Lyanna. All the hardships you went through, all the battles you fought, made you who you are. You are strong, stronger than you think. You are bright. And I’m so, so proud of the woman you become and keep on becoming. And I’m not saying that just because you are my daughter. You are loveable, my Lya. And if this boy can make you feel like the happiest woman in the world, hang on to him. At least, talk to him. If it works out, then it could be the most beautiful thing in your life. If it doesn’t, then I’ll be there to fix the broken pieces of your heart, sweetheart.”

Lyanna could simply nod while hearing her mother’s words. She knew what she had to do.

On Charles’ end, the Sunday race was as awful than the qualification session. A DNF was just what he needed to end this awful week. Coming back in the garage, he did what he could to avoid photographers. He was annoyed and the first words he spoke as he entered the Ferrari garage were for the mechanics and engineers.

“Is it too much to ask to have one weekend, just one, of happiness or at least one without mechanical or strategic problems?”

But despite his poor weekend, he was pleased to see Pierre finish 5th just behind Russell's Mercedes.

At Alpine, the mood was a little happier than at Ferrari. Pierre and Esteban were celebrating their top 10 finishes, Kika taking videos as a souvenir, when the brunette saw a notification flash across her screen. Lyanna had just contacted her.

“I messed up. Again but big time, this time. I would understand if you didn’t want to help me but I just want to make things right. Is there a way for Pierre to get me VIP access for Monza next week? And please, not a word to Charles, I want to surprise him.”

Kika smiled and headed to Pierre to get him away from the team for a while.

“Lyanna texted me. She wants to surprise Charles at Monza.”

Pierre sighed.

“Is she sure? He is going to get a lot of attention.”

“She seemed determined.”

“Well then I guess, we will have a prestigious guest in Alpine’s garage next week.”

Kika quickly responded to the actress saying that Pierre would take care of everything. Even if Sunday was an awful day for Lyanna, she really hated to see Charles giving his all and not succeeding, she slept that day with a little smile on her face.

Monza, be ready. Here she comes.

=======

author's note: Did you really thought that I would leave this chapter drama free? 👀 How many of you want to smack Lyanna after breaking (once again) Charles' heart? How do you think Monza will go? Will Charles forgive her? Will he ignore her? Will he be mad? And how do you think Lyanna will act? I can't wait to have your reaction! Don't forget to leave a comment, or if you want to chat more of this story you, my DMs are open! Take care.

taglist @zendayabelova @purplephantomwolf @ru-kru @dakotali @blueflorals @aundercover @ruleroftheuniverse

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #fiction #writing #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x female reader #cl16 #cl16 x reader

114 notes · View notes