#and sometimes the world bleeds together

[toyherb]

hm. maybe it's my meds but being high doesn't really hold up to the hype

[s0fter-sin]

i need ghoap frantically making out against a door finally taking the leap on their feelings. need ghost grinding against soap, expecting to find him just as hard as him, only to feel nothing

and in all his wisdom and experience, he concludes soap was tortured and never told him

he’s trying to think of a delicate way to say he understands, that he’s been through it and it doesn’t change anything about how he feels (and who the fuck touched him so he can hunt them down and rend them limb from limb)

meanwhile trans!soap’s just trying to find the best angle to grind his cunt on ghost’s thigh

just it never even entering ghost’s head bc he’s never known a trans person but he has met plenty of people who’ve been tortured - himself included - so of course that’s his logical leap

soap takes off his shirt and he sees his top surgery scars and ghost asks if he wants him to kill the one who did it and soap just hums like, “actually, man did pretty good, they healed real well,” and ghost’s just teary-eyes with awe at how well he’s coping, “looking on the bright side, that’s my johnny.”

imagine he thinks johnny was fully castrated but sees he’s determined to still have a sex life with him so he buys packers and straps to help him bc hell yeah healing and soap’s just like, “holy shit i’ve never had such a thoughtful partner before, such a sweet man, lt.”

[sa-bo]

Genuinely need a break from this arc real quick why does One Piece delve so deep into the ethics of war this arc, like holy shit I'm gonna fucking die

[helaintoloki]

May I request a five x reader where they are living domestically and just being happy and lovey dovey especially experiencing everything they did together while being in the apocalypse, the time commission, stoping the other apocalypses etc (five x Lila doesn’t exist five x Lila doesn’t exist five x Lilia doesn’t-)

a/n: this piece is basically a big fuck you to s4 so enjoy five being happy and domestic with reader and not his own brother’s wife. also five and reader are mentally older adults but physically in their twenties

warnings: language, fluff, mentions of pregnancy

summary: now that the timeline has been fixed and the world is no longer in danger, five can enjoy a peaceful life with you

The sunlight that bleeds through the curtains is almost blinding as Five begins to stir himself awake. Stretching out his limbs until he hears a satisfying pop, he lets out a sigh and moves to reach out for someone that isn’t there. Your spot in bed is still warm which means you haven’t been gone for long, but Five still rises with a sense of urgency when greeted with your absence. Call it muscle memory from dealing with multiple kidnapping ploys against you or an old habit that just won’t die off after having to remain vigilant when protecting you from the enemy, but the poor boy’s heart always skips a beat when you go missing.

He finds you in the kitchen brewing a fresh pot of coffee, your back to him as you hum along to the radio that plays on the counter and search for Five’s favorite cup in the cabinet. He has to pause and take a breath to remind himself that you’re not in danger, your life of protecting timelines and ending apocalypses is over, and the fresh start you’ve made for yourselves isn’t in any jeopardy. You’re real, you’re alive, and you’re his.

“Morning,” Five softly calls with a careful smile as he rests a hand on the small of your back and presses a tender kiss to your lips.

“Good morning,” you great cheerfully before handing him his cup of coffee. “I didn’t hear you get up. Did I wake you?”

“Not at all,” he assures you before taking a hearty gulp of the hot liquid. After years of being together you know how to make Five’s coffee just the way he likes it and could probably do so in your sleep if asked. Your thoughtfulness is just one of the many traits of yours that have him wrapped around your finger always.

“We need to go grocery shopping,” you note dutifully as you peek your head into the fridge in search of breakfast. Frowning, you announce, “We’re out of eggs, so I guess it’s frozen waffles for breakfast.”

“Why don’t we go out for breakfast today?” Five suggests with an innocent shrug.

“Really? But you hate breakfast places. They can never make your coffee right.”

“I also hate seeing you eat frozen waffles three days in a row,” he reminds you with a wry chuckle. Maneuvering you out of the way, Five closes the fridge shut and gives you a gentle nudge in the direction of your shared bedroom. “Go on, get dressed. You can wear that new dress you bought the other day.”

“You’re right!” You exclaim with an excited gasp and rush off to your room before Five can change his mind. Not that he would, of course. Five would do anything to see you happy after all the shit he’s put you through in your time together. Sometimes he still wonders why you ever agreed to marry him, perhaps a slip of sanity or lack of care for your own wellbeing, but he wasn’t one to complain. He liked living the quiet life with you, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

~~~

The night air is cool against your bare shoulders as you sit comfortably upon the porch swing and listen to the cicadas sing their evening song. The sun has long since set, but the string of lights that hang above you are enough to allow you to see the pages of your color by numbers book. Beside you, Five sits with a book in one hand while the other rests atop of your legs strewn across his lap. He enjoys sitting in the silence of your company as you remain glued together despite partaking in your own hobbies separately.

“We’ve been married for thirty years,” you state simply, breaking the silence but never once breaking your focus from your coloring book.

“Sure have,” is Five’s thoughtful reply. Setting his book aside, your husband gives your calf a gentle squeeze and turns to look at your concentrated features.

“Not including your siblings, it’s always been just us. Together in the apocalypse, partners under the Commission, husband and wife.”

“Is that a bad thing?” He asks, not quite sure what point you��re trying to make. Are you rethinking the marriage? Are you finally starting to have regrets about marrying him? He watches with bated breath as you set your materials to the side and finally meet his anxious gaze.

“I want to start a family of our own,” you finally confess, nervously fidgeting with your wedding ring as you await his response with hopeful eyes. “I don’t want it to be just us anymore.”

Sighing, Five leans his head back and shuts his eyes as he processes your request. He can’t say he’s surprised by your question; he’s noticed the way you eye babies in public, how you linger just a little too long to admire the window display of the infant clothing store at the mall, how you’ll hold the twins for hours in your arms and refuse to give them back until Diego has to physically pry them from your grasp. It’s only natural for you to feel this way, but that’s not the problem. The problem is Five isn’t exactly sure how he feels about becoming a father.

“I don’t know,” he admits carefully, taking great caution when choosing his next words so as to not upset you. “Having a kid, becoming parents… it changes everything.”

“I know we couldn’t before because there was the Commission and then the multiple apocalypses, and that’s why I never asked. But Five,” you urge gently, shifting to sit yourself up on your knees so you can reach over and take both of his hands in your own, “all of that is done with. We fixed the timeline, and all that end of the world nonsense is over with for good. No one is coming after us anymore or trying to kill me to get to you. We can properly grow old now and have a simple life together, wasn’t that always the goal?”

The boy is silent as he mulls over your speech. You’re completely right; saving the world and resetting the timeline to its proper place in order to ensure you and his siblings could have the lives you deserved was always the end goal. But after spending his entire existence trying to complete that task, he finds it hard to adjust to his new life of normalcy. Perhaps he’s not exactly scared of becoming a parent, but scared of what a baby would mean in the grand scheme of things. It would be proof that his work is truly over now, that he can turn his survival mode off after having it set to fight for so many years, and that’s a big adjustment for someone like him.

But when he looks at your hopeful gaze and sees the way you anxiously worry your lip between your teeth, he realizes that he’ll do anything to give you the happy life you deserve. He brings one of your hands to his lips and holds it tight as he murmurs his answer into the skin of your palm.

“If you think we’re ready, then I’m in.”

“You mean it?” You gasp while doing your best to withhold your excitement. Your eyes are wide and full of hope as Five lets out a soft chuckle before giving you a reassuring kiss.

“We survived the end of the world several times, how scary could raising a baby really be?”

He isn’t given an answer to his hypothetical question as you fling yourself into his arms and assault his face with multiple kisses along his skin. It’s safe to say his answer has eased your anxieties, and the boy can only laugh as you express your gratitude.

“I’m so happy you agree!” You exclaim giddily, your hands coming to rest upon his chest to ground yourself as you then suggest to Five’s surprise, “Let’s start trying tonight!”

“What?”

~~~

“That has to be the tiniest Hargreeves I’ve ever seen,” Klaus gushes adoringly as he takes in the details of the ultrasound photo in front of him. “Look at the little peanut, isn’t it precious?”

“I can’t believe Five is actually going to be a dad,” Allison notes in astonishment as the three of you turn your gaze to see him arguing with Diego over the proper way to baby proof your home while Ben eggs them on and ruins Luther’s efforts at trying to keep the peace. You’re only two months along, but Five is anxious to ensure that everything is perfect for your child’s arrival.

“You know, you might just be the first 65 year-old woman to give birth,” Klaus points out cheekily. “You should be in a world records book or something.”

“Very funny,” you retort sarcastically before taking back the ultrasound photo to hang up on the fridge. You falter for a moment when your eyes remain stuck to photo and your brain works on overdrive to commit the image to memory as best as you can.

“Everything okay?” Viktor asks after noticing the sudden change in demeanor.

“I just can’t believe this is real,” you murmur quietly, blinking back tears that threaten to spill. “After everything we’ve been through and everything we’ve lost, I guess a part of me worries that one day I’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream.”

“I know how that feels,” Allison assures you with a comforting squeeze to your shoulder. “But I promise you this isn’t a dream, and whatever you need we’ll be there.”

“Because you’re family now,” Viktor adds on with a confident nod. “And we look out for family no matter what.”

“Even though at one point in our lives we’ve all thought about killing each other,” Klaus notes humorously before giving you a tight squeeze.

“Everything okay over here?” Five asks, appearing at your side and placing a comforting hand on your back as you all turn your gazes towards the fridge and admire the newest addition to the family.

“Everything is perfect.”

[ikiprian]

Tim swears Phantom could’ve been a Titan. Maybe he should be, at this point. They have enough in common to justify it.

“Jeez,” Phantom groans. Abruptly, he drops the levitation and hits the roof without sound. He stretches out on his back like a cat, sore muscles straining in a way Red Robin deeply relates to. “Fighting the living sucks. At least with ghosts I can swing as hard as I need. Already dead means they get back up! But mortals? Way too squishy.”

Red Robin huffs in agreement. “Yeah,” he says. After a moment’s consideration, he lies down, too.“It’s a hundred times harder than people realize. Batman’s always going on about perfect control in training. About how to have it, you gotta be twice as skilled as the other guy. Even without your super-strength, I worry sometimes.”

“How do you do it?” Phantom asks. In a move only achievable to those without bones, or perhaps Dick Grayson, he twists himself over. Gloved hands cup his cheeks. His legs kick back and forth, like they’re gossiping at a slumber party. “I mean. You said you train, so obviously there’s the physical ‘how.’ But how do you keep your emotions nonlethal? How do you keep yourself in check, make sure you’re pulling back?”

“I mean,” says Red Robin. “Murder is illegal, so.”

Phantom sighs. “Yeah. Maybe it’s easier for you.”

… Hm. Maybe Red Robin should redo Phantom’s risk assessment.

Before he can raise too high an eyebrow (though even moving that muscle smarts, ow), Phantom elaborates.

“Ecto-based entities have trouble with their emotions,” he explains. “It’s easy to get lost in an Obsession, or a big feeling like grief. The rest of the world… it bleeds away. Helps to have another emotional anchor to keep it at bay. I use fear.”

“Fear?” Red Robin glanced over.

“Sometimes sheer stubbornness,” Phantom admits. “But a lot of it is fear.”

With a considering frown, he drops his head atop his arms. Exhaustion, regret, reluctance play out on his face. For someone the Bats know next to nothing about, Phantom’s body language is an open book.

“I saw, like, an alternate future version of myself once where I become evil and try to take over the world? So now I gotta be good to keep that from happening. The fear of that future keeps the pressure on me. Makes me focus up. Y’know?”

Tim sits up. “Seriously?”

Phantom nods. “Uh-huh. Kinda bizarre, I know—”

“What the hell,” says Tim. Three consecutive days together and a concussion must loosen his lips, because holy shit, no way. “Dude! Me too!”

“Huh? Seriously?” says Phantom.

“Yeah! I totally saw myself turn evil. Like, Batman but with guns. Guns Batman. I had to fight him and everything. He tried to kill my friends and erase my memory to make sure I couldn’t un-invent him by going back to change the past?”

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Oh my god, me too!”

happy wips wednesday!

[evielmostdefinitely]

Imagine how distraught snow would be if his wife had a really rough time giving birth to their child where she’s coming in and out of conscience and there’s blood and he’s terrified she won’t make it like his mother leading to him hating the baby for a little bc of how badly his wife was recovering sorry for the angst! Ignore this if uncomfortable <3

forever winter |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: as requested, troubles with child birth leaves coriolanus very cold towards your son.

contains: angst. mentions of parental death, blood, complications during birth. darkish coriolanus. kinda fluffy-ish end?

Coriolanus knew the horrors of childbirth. He knew the dangers, the risks. He’d seen the blank stares of a new mother rocking her baby, eyes blank and distant like she’d been through war. He’d heard the solemn whispers in a dim room, quiet and hushed, darting eyes that looked everywhere but the casket- sometimes two. His own mother had been torn from his grasp at a young age because of it, and for a while, he was sure he’d never let his own wife experience it. 

Then he met you. 

You who lit his world up from the inside out, who he rose only each day to see- to love. You who cradled a baby at your engagement announcement, a friend’s newborn, held him so naturally and delicately that it ignited something inside Coriolanus. He wanted a dozen babies with you, he decided at that moment that he’d do anything to make it happen. 

You’d blossomed so naturally, swelled up overnight. Round belly and a glowing demeanor- it was addictive to Coriolanus. How he’d brag, boast proudly to anyone who’d hear it- his wife pregnant, he couldn’t be happier. 

All those fears, worries, were replaced with new ones. Horror stories about infants, toddlers. His own consuming thoughts about being a father. The idea of childbirth was nothing but a fading thought to him. That had been in the war, technology was better, he was in a better place. Your father had ensured his darling daughter would have the best of the best- you always did. The best doctors, the best birthing suite, the best nursery- the best. 

But money couldn’t buy your own body betraying itself at birth. It didn’t stop the bleeding, the paling of your skin as you fluttered in and out of consciousness. 

You’d grunted like an animal, tearing yourself into two for hours, cursing Coriolanus’ name, begging him to make it stop, crushing his hands with your legs up in the stirrups, pushing your baby out. 

Coriolanus was in awe of you, though he’d never get the chance to tell you. How you’d willed yourself to hurt yourself, inflict that selfless pain to bring life into the world. It was positively poetic. 

He’d been so overjoyed hearing your babies gargled cry, the nurses announcing its gender- his gender. His son. A boy. A beautiful boy, wailing and delicate and covered in matter that Coriolanus didn’t even care about when he held him close to his own chest. 

“What is it, Coryo?” You muttered, eyes drooping, chest heaving with aftershocks of pain from the birth. 

“A boy, my love.” Coryo’s eyes shone with tears, lips pressing together to conceal it. “It’s a boy. Our boy, my darling.” 

“A boy…” Your speech was slurred, head lolling back onto the pillow. 

Coriolanus noticed for the first time how still the room had become, his son’s wailing the only sound. The nurses and doctors, once chipper and gleeful, now bearing a sickly paleness to their face, eerily quiet. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Coriolanus snapped, eyes wide, frantic, bouncing around the room. “What’s happening?” 

“We-We can’t find-” The doctor’s voice shook, ducked between your legs in a pile of crimson. Coriolanus’ stomach turned violently. 

“She’s bleeding. We-We can’t find where the bleeding is.” The nurse whispered. 

“What?” Coriolanus snapped. “Bleeding? H-How can she- Find it!” The baby wailed over the sound of Coriolanus’ demanding barks. 

“President Snow, we-we’re trying our best-” 

“-Try harder.” Coriolanus sneered, clutching the baby closer to his chest. “If anything happens to my wife, I will single handedly ensure your bloodline ends with you. Each of you will know what it feels like to lose your family too if you lose her.” He spat, sending the nurses and doctors into a fearful frenzy. 

The newborn wailed, doctors shouted, and Coriolanus’ ears rang, his chest too tight, painfully tight. He couldn’t lose you, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t survive that loss. His eyes fell to the screeching baby beneath him, scrunched face and wailing gums. How was he to raise this baby without you? 

Anger boiled through his chest at the sight of his son- his fault. A cowering nurse, frozen in shaking fear in the corner, watched him carefully as he stormed towards her. “Take this.” Coriolanus sneered, shoving the baby in her arms. 

He hated the feeling, the helplessness that consumed him as he stood, wide eyed and shaking hands he clenched into fists. 

Somewhere, somehow, the doctor found the bleeding, stopping it with a triumphant cry. “Get the blood, get the blood!” He shouted, head hooked over his shoulder. “Infuse it now!” 

Coriolanus wasn’t sure he could remember how to breathe. Memories of the two of your: the moment you met, the first date, his shaking hands asking for yours in marriage, the way you beamed under your veil at the altar, the same glow that you had when you told him you were pregnant. It could all be gone so easily. Had his father felt this way? So helpless? 

Maybe that’s why he’d been so hardened and resentful, so he’d never feel attached- never allow himself to feel so helpless. 

Coriolanus decided he couldn’t blame him, sitting in this chair, watching as you rested. The doctor said there’d be a lot of that in the coming hours. That you’d gone through trauma and you needed time. He wanted to rip you from the bed, shake you until you awoke and told him you were ok. He needed to hear it, maddenned himself with the need for it. 

Instead, he sat. 

Coryo sent the baby out to the nursery. He knew your parents, Tigris, everyone waiting would be thrilled to see the baby boy. Coryo just couldn’t muster the feigned excitement now. The site of his own son made his stomach turn, fear soaked repulsion settled deep in the pitt of his own core. 

Somewhere in the night, you awoke. A rustling and a groan that had Coriolanus snapping out of his dazed sleep, head tucked to his shoulder, slumped in the chair beside your bed. 

“Don’t move.” Coryo commanded, eyes a kind of bright, frantic wide that had you stilling. 

Your throat burned, head dizzy with the medicine they’d pumped into your system. Coriolanus’ hands shook as he brought you the water, hand cupping your jaw gently to feed it to you. You blinked, bleary with confusion. “You’re alright, my love.” Coriolanus' heart swelled, suffocatingly in his own chest. You were alright. 

“Coryo,” You croaked, throat tight, rasping from before, you were sure. You remembered the birth, most of it anyways, the blurry memory of your baby in Coryo’s arms before your memory failed. “The-The baby… Is he alright? W-Where’s my baby?” 

“He’s with your parents, my love.” Coriolanus’ hand smoothes down your matted hair, sticky with dried sweat. “Nevermind him. How are you? Is anything wrong? Do you need anything? I-I’ll call for the nurse.” 

You shook your head, looking around the room. The sheets were clean, your gown clean, but you felt an achy soreness splitting you in half. “What happened?” 

Coriolanus felt the lump in his throat grow, strangling his words in his throat. “Y-You had some complications, darling.” He swallowed the burn of his own tears down in his throat. “You were bleeding but they stopped it.” 

You blinked, unmoving, soaking in the details of your injury. Coriolanus watched you with a studying glare, eyes scanning for any tiny, minor infliction that something was wrong. “Is-Is the baby ok?” You whispered, eyes shining with fear when you met his gaze. 

“The baby’s fine.” Coryo snapped, harsher than he meant to. It alarmed you, your eyes snapping to his carefully. He took a deep breath, holding your hand carefully into his own, thumb running over your knuckles. 

“He’s fine.” Coryo said, softer this time. “I need to know how you are. What do you need from me, my love? What can I do to make it better?” 

You squeezed his hand lightly, your strength weaker than normal. It made Coriolanus’ spine tingle with shooting chills of concern. “I want to see my baby.” You whispered, head leaning against Coryo’s shoulder. 

“No,” Coriolanus shook his head furiously. “No, you-you need to rest, and-and not be bothered by the baby-” 

“-Coryo,” Your eyes rounded, so pitifully pleading Coriolanus would have walked through fire for you if you asked him to. “Please? I just want to see our baby.” 

And how could he say no? He couldn’t, so instead, Coriolanus called the nurse in. Your parents, proud grandparents, holding the baby, tutting over you. Everyone flitting about the birthing room, Tigris even gleaming with joy at the birth of her nephew. All except Coriolanus, who watched in the corner of the room, a stoic look on his face. 

You looked positively radiant, glowing with joy as you held your son. As if that baby hadn’t nearly killed you, Coriolanus wanted to scream the reminder to you, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t dare upset you, risk upsetting you in front of your family. 

“Coriolanus,” Tigris’ soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts, brought him away from his own sinking, heavy feelings of disappointment. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, Tigris.” Coryo’s voice was tight, firm and forced, like the look of awkward contentment he tried to paint across his features. 

“You… You haven’t held your son.” Tigris hesitated, voice dropping softly so the others wouldn’t overhear. 

“I don’t wish to hold him right now.” Coriolanus sneered. 

“He is your son, Coriolanus.” Tigris hissed, her voice dropping to a low hush in the room, terrified you or the others might hear. 

“And he almost killed her.” Coryo’s eyes flashed to Tigris’ in horrified rage. “Nearly fated her as my sister did my mother, and if you think for one second I am to be happy at that, then you are-” 

“-Coryo,” Your voice croaked, still weak and tired. It made his heart lurch, attention on you in a second, already walking towards your bedside. 

“Yes, my love? What do you need?” Coriolanus muttered. Normally, he’d be embarrassed, showing such affection especially in front of your parents, but he hoped they’d pardon his vulnerability in the moment, given the circumstances. 

“Look at him,” Your eyes shone with love, pure adoration, as if you weren’t cradling the very thing that almost killed you. It made Coryo sick. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” 

Coriolanus looked down at the small newborn, wrapped in swaddles, eyes closed and lips twitching with the faintest whimper of a cry. He looked so much like you, so much like himself- the perfect blend of the two of you taking your lips but Coriolanus’ nose. 

His heart swelled with pride before he could help it, lips curling in a half smile. He’d grown weak, Coriolanus decided, softened by you and your love. He should be disgusted by the baby, despise him and reject him like an animal in the wild would. But he couldn’t bring himself to it. 

“A fine young boy.” Your father boasted, nodding proudly. “The two of you should be very proud.” 

“Yes,” Coryo swallowed around the lump in his throat. You leaned into his touch, shifting the baby so he could better see him. 

“Any idea on the name?” Your mother hummed, moving beside you. 

“I still think Cyrene would be fitting.” You’re beaming, beautiful and proud when you meet Coriolanus’ gaze. “What do you think, Coryo?” 

“Yes,” Coryo nodded. “I think that would be a fine name.” 

“Cyrene Snow,” You cooed, pressing your nose to the baby’s, pressing a gentle kiss there. Your eyes brimmed with tears when you met Coriolanus’ gaze. “Do you want to hold him, darling?” 

“Are you getting tired?” Coryo watched you carefully. “Do you feel alright?” 

“Yes,” You nodded. “I don’t want to hog the baby. Want you to have a chance too, darling.” 

“That’s alright.” Coryo shook his head politely, suddenly very aware of your parents and Tigris’ gaze on him. “You hold him, my love.” 

You frowned lightly. You knew something was off with Coryo, the tightness in his tone, lips falling in a flat line. You waited until later, when Cyrene lay in his bassinet, your family all gone for the night, just you and Coryo in the birthing suite. 

“Why will you not hold him?” You asked through the still darkness. Coriolanus' eyes snapped to yours fiercely, startled by your tone. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Our baby.” You groaned when you sat up, Coryo rushing to your side. 

“You need to be careful-” 

“-You won’t hold him, Coriolanus.” You gripped his arm, eyes shining in something new- something Coryo wasn’t certain of, but it made his stomach twist. “Why?” 

Coriolanus swallowed, the lump in his throat suffocating him. “The last time I held him,” Coryo’s voice was soft, rasping in the quiet room, barely above a whisper. “You nearly died.” 

The room was still, far too still for either of you to find comfort. A harsh, shocking truth for the both of you, sickening and cruel. Your near damned fated reality, Coriolanus’ worst fears, the peaceful baby resting in the bassinet besides the two of you. 

Pressed into the side of your hospital bed, Coriolanus held you carefully, a stilled reminder that you were still there, that you hadn’t left him. The icy wall he’d built high for his son melted with every soft coo and whisper you gave him, a reminder that you were still with him and would be. 

When Coryo finally held Cyrene again, when he’d stirred awake and you were asleep, he turned to the window overlooking Panem’s Capitol, eyes shining with tears- of regret, joy, pain? Even Coryo wasn’t sure, but he rocked his son to sleep carefully, promising him that one day, he’d have what Coryo had. That he wouldn’t leave him the way his father had, that he’d keep him safe, teach him how to keep you safe.

[stiingrayyyy]

Dating Headcanons F.H

What it’s Like to Date Five Hargreeves

Pairings — Five Hargreeves x Reader (pronouns not specified)

Summary — My headcanons for if you were Five’s lover.

Warnings — opinions, no plot, it’s all over the place, last one is semi-NSFW.

A/N — i try to avoid nsfw with five because yk.. in the show, he’s physically thirteen but this one was too funny not to add. let’s all just pretend there was a happy ending okay 😭😭. i wrote this before season four came out so let’s pretend it ended happily.

— if you want another version where it’s just headcanons of you and five in the apocalypse i’m down for that.

— I see headcanons where Five is straight up mean, manipulative, and where he’s just using you.

— To me, that’s not Five being in love with you. Have you seen how he treats Delores? HE’S SO SWEET TO HER.

— So if you’re his lover, he will give you princess treatment like no other, holy shit.

—He’ll prepare breakfast so it’s ready to be eaten when you wake up.

— He thinks breakfast in bed is a recipe for disaster so he never does that.

— If you take a while to wake up he’ll wake you up.

— “My love, breakfast is ready.” He’ll whisper into your ear before pressing a kiss onto your temple, then one on your forehead, then your nose… then finally a chaste kiss on your lips.

— He’ll tuck you in bed at night and make sure you’re all snug before leaving. If you can’t sleep he’ll read to you.

— With him around, you genuinely never have to open a door. In addition to paying for every meal, he always walks on the outside of the sidewalk. He also pulls the chair out for you when you sit and showers you with praise.

— Sometimes the praise is simple whispers in your ear because he isn’t much into PDA.

— There was never an official wedding, he stole two matching rings and gave one to you.

— He’d like to have an official wedding.

— If he has to worry about the apocalypse he’ll probably neglect you only because he thinks the fate of the world is in his hands.

— He loves going on simple dates, whether it’s at Griddy’s Doughnuts, a simple stroll in the park, or a little painting place.

— He’s fancy but he doesn’t see the point in expensive restaurants. He likes the little things.

— He loves to make and paint pottery with you, it’s his favourite thing to do.

— When he can’t sleep he’ll come over to your place and sit on the roof with you.

— If you fall asleep he’ll Blink into your room and tuck you in, and he’ll even leave a note for you to read when you wake up.

— It usually goes along the lines of..

“You fell asleep, don’t worry I made sure you got back in your room and I picked up all your stuffies from the floor and put them on the bed with you.”

— He struggles with insomnia.

— He’ll write you love letters even though it’s more convenient to send a text. He loves you and he’s willing to put effort in love notes.

— His primary love languages are quality time and acts of service.

— He doesn’t show much affection in public.

— He doesn’t mind holding your hand though.

— Five won’t be afraid to hold your hand, wrap an arm around your shoulders or waist while he’s with his siblings.

— Kisses and hugs are private though.

— Despite being private, he doesn’t hide the fact he’s dating you.

— If anyone tries anything on you, Five will glare daggers. If that’s not enough, he’ll threaten them, and if they keep pushing he’ll make them bleed (but not too severe 🥰)

— He’s hella protective.

— You make midnight munchies together.

— He’ll refuse to dance with you in the kitchen at 2am but he’ll reluctantly say yes and end up actually enjoying it.

— Same goes for dancing in the rain. He pretends to hate it but he loves it and you know he does.

— You always make pasta or noodles for midnight munchies.

— One time you made cookies and accidentally woke up Klaus who ate the cookie dough before you got to put it in the oven.

— When you guys had sex for the first time Klaus congratulated you and Five with a cake that said ‘virgin’ in the middle of a 🚫 and woke you up the next day with confetti.

— sorry, i know i said i’d have a part three to my ben hargreeves fic but i wrote it and didn’t edit it.. and it didn’t seem entertaining enough to post, i’m sorry.

— if you want headcanons with the apocalypse involved, let me know <3

[solarmorrigan]

“Hey.”

Eddie looks up from the inventory sheet he’s bent over (the new shipment of records isn’t going to record itself – Christ, that was awful, Henderson is contagious) to see his coworker Kyle poking his head into the back room.

“Someone left something for you at the counter.”

“Who?” Eddie asks, brows furrowed.

Most everyone in town seems to have let the murder accusations drop (embarrassed enough by their own fanatical reactions that they’d much rather forget the whole thing), but a few people still treat him like a felon walking free; it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.

“Uh, real normie-looking guy. Gives you a ride sometimes.”

Eddie blinks. “Steve?”

“Yeah, sure.” Kyle shrugs. “Says you left it in his car.”

Whatever Eddie is expecting to see when he follows Kyle back out to the front counter of the music shop, a brown bag lunch isn’t it. He most certainly hadn’t left that in Steve’s car this morning.

Steve hadn’t even given him a ride that morning.

But it’s got his name on it, sure enough, in Steve’s weirdly neat handwriting. The asshole even drew a little heart next to it.

Eddie can already feel a smile pulling across his face as he snatches up the bag. Maybe he hadn’t forgotten his lunch in Steve’s car, but he certainly hadn’t brought one in with him. He’d been planning to hit up the McDonald’s down the street if he got desperate, but whatever Steve’s brought him is bound to be better.

“Your girlfriend pack that for you?” Kyle asks.

Eddie lets out a little huff of a laugh, for a minute not quite sure how to answer.

Gender assumptions aside, Eddie doesn’t know what to call this thing with Steve – this thing where they’d started screwing and then they’d started falling asleep together without screwing and then they’d started spending all their free time together and now Steve does things like pack Eddie lunch and bring it to him at work.

“Sorta,” he finally settles on.

“Dude, if she’s making you lunch and writing little hearts next to your name, she’s more than ‘sorta’ your girlfriend,” Kyle says.

“Yeah… Maybe,” Eddie allows, because – well, because maybe.

“Pretty nice of your friend to drive it over, though,” Kyle says. “Pretty sure at least half of my friends would’ve just eaten it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says again, warm and a little smug, “Steve’s a good dude.”

He digs into the lunch sack and finds an apple sitting on top (of course), a baggie of Keebler fudge cookies (score), and a Tupperware container filled with–

“Oh, fuck yes!” Eddie hugs the precious little tub full of macaroni and cheese to his chest like he’s doing his best Gollum impression. There is nothing in the world better than Steve’s mac and cheese.

It’s still warm.

“I’m taking my break!” Eddie declares, skittering off to the back room before Kyle can argue.

He sits himself down in the employee break area (a crappy folding table, two mismatched chairs, and a microwave so old he’s probably getting radiation poisoning just by sitting next to it) and digs in to the cheesy goodness that is Steve’s cooking.

He’ll eat the apple after, he reasons.

(No he won’t.)

As he eats, his eyes drift back to the crumpled brown bag, to the little heart drawn in bleeding black sharpie, and he thinks.

-

Steve’s house smells like chicken and herbs when Eddie lets himself in early in the evening, and oh, Steve must be in a good mood today.

Eddie feels spoiled.

He finds Steve in the kitchen, wrist-deep in sudsy water as he sways back and forth absently to the tune of the rock station coming from the radio on the windowsill. The room is warm, and something delicious-smelling in a covered pan is simmering on the stove, and the space behind Steve is invitingly empty, just waiting for Eddie to sidle up into it.

Eddie feels so, so spoiled.

Steve doesn’t startle when Eddie slides in behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, but Eddie isn’t really surprised anymore; it seems like Steve can always tell when someone is there.

He does glance over his shoulder, though, just long enough for Eddie to see the smile on his face before he turns back to the dishes. “Hi.”

Eddie’s pretty sure the smile on his own face is softer and infinitely more besotted. “Hi.”

“Good day at work?” Steve asks.

Eddie hums, pressing a kiss to the top of Steve’s shoulder. “You brought me lunch.”

“I’m glad Kyle actually gave it to you,” Steve says. “Wasn’t sure someone else wouldn’t eat it.”

“I got it,” Eddie says, as if there was any doubt with the way he’s still smiling in between trailing little kisses up Steve’s neck.

Steve shuts the water off and dries his hands on the towel hanging off the cupboard door before turning in Eddie’s arms to give him a proper kiss. “It was good?”

Eddie hums again. “You brought me lunch.”

“We’ve established that, yeah,” Steve laughs, allowing Eddie another kiss as he grins.

“You made me lunch,” Eddie says, pecking another kiss to Steve’s lips, still smiling like an idiot. “And you drove it up to the store for me.”

Steve shrugs, a little coy. “It’s my day off. I had time to kill.”

“Kyle says that makes you more than sorta my girlfriend,” Eddie replies, as if that will make any sense at all to Steve.

Whether it makes sense or not, it does make him laugh, and Eddie peppers kisses all over his face while he does.

“So it was good?” Steve asks again, when he’s caught his breath.

“You made me lunch and then you drove it over to me,” Eddie stresses. “It could’ve tasted like ass, and it still would’ve been the best thing ever.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but is more than obliging to the deep kiss Eddie pulls him into after that.

“But just so we’re clear,” Steve says when they break apart, “it didn’t taste like ass, right?”

“Oh my god, no,” Eddie finally relents. “It was literally the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I’m going to marry you so you can make that mac and cheese for me every day.”

“Every day, huh?” There’s a funny little smile climbing back over Steve’s face. “You sure you won’t get sick of it?”

“Nah,” Eddie replies confidently. “Never.”

They’re both smiling a little too much now to really kiss, but they make a good go of it anyway.

[Prompt: Smiling between kisses]

[lemonwrap]

Ghost seems like a delayed grief kind of guy.

He copes with Soap’s death a little too well. He’s sad, sort of, but more hollow than anything, and he’s calm when they go through Soap’s things. He keeps Soap’s journal and dog tags and tucks them in a box that he won’t think about but keeps safe nonetheless.

Ghost goes back to work. He goes on ops, albeit less talkative without someone to prompt him with jokes and banter, but he gets things done like he’s supposed to. Price tries to talk to him, but the bastard’s so caught up in trying to be the strong leader that the conversation goes nowhere. Gaz keeps it together, but Ghost can tell that he still struggles sometimes when there’s one less person at exfil.

Months go by, and Ghost is fine, really, he is.

And then one day Ghost is smoking in that secret spot where he and Soap used to, and it hits him all at once—the kind of grief that swallows you whole, the kind that tears you apart and bleeds you dry to feed itself, the kind that’s bigger than you’ll ever be. It hits him that Soap is gone, confined to the pages of a journal, the sparse pictures Ghost has of him, and the memories that will die alongside Ghost.

The world is so big and Ghost is so small, and he is alone again.

[gguk-n]

Hello there! Love your work on the Max Verstappen x reader fiction. If it isn't too much, can I request an angst based on the song " All I wanted was a coffee" by Samantha Ebert? You can decide the ending but, a gut wrenching angst with kelly is appreciated. Thank you!

I hope you like this, I tried to use the song in the way that I saw fit. The reader has many insecurities and bit of mommy issues. Mention of cuts and bleeding.

I wish you loved me

{Reader’s POV}

Max and I started dating soon after he got out of a really long relationship with his ex. With Max being a Formula One driver; the details of his past were general knowledge, did I wish I didn’t know? Yes. Because in the pictures of Max and Kelly, you could see his eyes sparkled and he would smile so bright sometimes and I felt like I never got to know that Max. But every relationship is different; I couldn’t compare it, could I?

Max was loving, I mean every boyfriend is. He would sometimes forget important stuff but he was a busy man with an even busier job.

But it hurt when I saw Max with P or Kelly for that matter. His eyes would light up; I just felt like crap every time he met them, but Max never noticed. At the end of the day, Max was always around P while she was growing up, it was a given she missed him, right?

It got worse when Kelly started coming to races and meeting Max. The worst was yet to come; the other girlfriends started to side eye me whenever me and Max would interacted as if Max was Kelly’s boyfriend.

I was in the bathroom when I heard them; they were talking about how Max and Kelly looked cute together, they were the model family, that Max deserved better. Kelly even talked about all the gifts he got her and P recently. I just sat there in the cubical for a very long time.

I waited, I was dumb I know but no one’s loved me before and the fact that Max was willing to love me even for a moment felt like relief. I didn't want to let him go, I could not when there was a chance he would come back.

I waited like always, Max was always away having dinner with P since she missed him. She missed him a lot ever since we started dating. I never said anything since Max was like her father figure but it hurt.

One of those nights, I was sat drinking whiskey, it was in Max’s alcohol cabinet. The bottle was almost over. The snacks dried up soon after the third glass. I was sat on the floor, glass in hand when Max walked in. “World’s best dad everyone” I sang. “How much did you drink?” He laughed. He laughed at me. “You know my mother was right” I said, trying to get up. “She wasn’t really the best mom, now was she” Max commented. “Yeah but she was right about a lot of things and she was right about how difficult to love I was” I laughed. Max looked at me with sadness in his eyes, “don’t pity me Max.... How could Kelly steal you from me?” I cried. Max said nothing. “No no sorry sorry, how can something be stolen from me when it was never mine to begin with.” I laughed bitterly taking the last swig from my glass. “The alcohol’s gone Max, just like your feelings for me or did you ever have them to begin with?” I slurred.

“Y/N I” Max began. “No Max, you’re not at fault. It’s my fault for coming between 2 lovers. You should’ve told me that you loved her, I would’ve never dated you” I cried for the first time tonight in front of Max. As I steadied myself, the whiskey bottle fell and broke, and I tried to pick up the pieces but ended up cutting myself. “Hehe look Max I’m bleeding” I giggled holding up my hand. “Y/N let’s clean that up” Max said trying to hold my hand. “NO, Kelly won’t like it. I’m not a home wrecker...or maybe I am” I laughed bitterly. “Let me help you” Max pleaded. “You look at me with so much concern for the first time since we started dating” I pointed out. Max’s eyes bore into mine. I tried to walk away but ended up stepping on the glass. “Look I’m bleeding from my foot now too. At least now people can see that I’m hurting since I’ll have bandages all over me. My heart ache gets missed every time, you know. Maybe now, they might see my hurt, for once” I said with fresh tears forming.

“Mothers are always right. I’m unlovable, always been. If only I was pretty, if only I was a model, if only I was thinner, if only I was….Kelly Piquet, then you would’ve loved me. But I’m me, I’m plain old difficult to love, Y/N that’s why I’m unlovable” I chuckled. “Let’s go to the hospital” he pleaded again. “No, I’ll take care of myself. Don’t worry about me anymore. I’ll be out of your hair before you know it. Then you can have your happy ever after with Kelly” I laughed bitterly. “Did you ever love me?” I asked. Max was quiet. “I was just a rebound wasn’t I. Tell me you really loved me even for a second” I begged. “I’m sorry.” He said.

I grabbed my phone with my other hand while bleeding on to the floor; “don’t worry. I’ll clean your place before I leave” I said looking at the trail of blood I was leaving and dialled my phone calling the only person I knew in Monaco, the only person who didn’t hate me or talk badly about me, Lewis. “Lewis, Hi....I need to go to the hospital. I’m bleeding” I giggled. “Are you drunk? How did you hurt your self? Where are you?” He asked concerned. “Yes, yes, home no wait, Max’s home” I answered. I heard him sigh. “Where Max?” He asked. “He’s here” I said looking up at Max. “Ask him to take you now?” Lewis suggested. “NO, we broke up, and ex-boyfriend’s don’t take their ex-girlfriend’s to the doctor” I explained. “What?” He asked shocked. “Please Lewis, it hurts. Can you come soon?” I asked. “I’ll be there soon” Lewis said and cut the call. I sat there and looked at Max, “The whiskey tasted sweet as always and you sobered me up so fast” I sighed looking at the mess I had made.

Lewis came to take me to the hospital; he did not speak to Max. I guess even he knew what was going on. I didn’t see Max again after that either.

[imaginesheaven]

Medic!reader x TF 141 - friendship headcanons

Warnings: none really; mention of injuries

Captain Price requests especially you for the team since he got a glimpse at your file and got impressed instantly by your skills.

That’s is actually not really  surprising because you are quite the legend under the medics and soldiers. No one knows how you keep so many of your team members alive but you do with a quite high rate. This skill of yours turns you into the most wanted medic probably in the whole British Army.

The team isn’t quite sure how to deal with a medic in their lines. They never had one long enough to get used to them. So, at the beginning everything is a bit awkward for all of you.

Within the first mission you show them that you aren’t only a medic but also a fighter who will give everything to see another day. You even saved Soap’s ass in a quite sassy demeanor.

“Ha, Sarge. You owe me one.” – You wink at him grinning away while the men just share a quite confused but impressed glance.

With that you earned your spot at the Task Force 141 and the respect of their members for the rest of your life.

You love taking care of the boys, but you would never tell them directly. Your preferred love language for them is sassiness in every single situation you can think of.

“How is Soap?”, Price asks as you patch the soldier up, “He will survive … unfortunately. Which is quite the surprise with so much stupidity in him.” – “Hey! I can hear you, Doc.” – “Great, at least you are not deaf so I don’t have to repeat myself…”

Gaz and Ghost keep snickering in the back before you turn around and throw them death glares, “You two are not better than him.”

Captain Price loves that you have to deal with this shit too now in your own way.

Since you are patching them up quite frequently, they are treating you like the Holy Grail itself. You are probably the best protected member of the British Army the world has ever seen.

One of them is always by your side at the battlefield, “We got your back, Doc. Don’t worry~”

You are never worried about your own safety and health. These men would literally jump in front of a bullet for you to keep you alive.

“STOP PUTTING YOURSELF IN DANGER FOR ME! THIS IS EVEN MORE WORK FOR ME!”

Of course, you love them in a platonic way to pieces that they want to keep you safe no matter the cost.

Once on a mission you get knocked out by one of the rookies by accident, “We need a medic!” The poor boy had no idea what he gotten himself into. The team looks at you unconscious on the ground, “THAT IS OUR MEDIC! YOU BRAINLESS PIECE OF …”

Ghost and Price have to hold back Soap and Gaz before the punch the living hell out of the rookie. The poor boy is scarred and traumatized for his life.

Back on the home base they come to you with the tiniest injuries because you are their favorite medic ever.

“What is it, Gaz?” – “Got a paper cut. It hurts.” – “You got … a papercut. Do you want your band-aid with ponies or spider-man?” … “Ponies…”

You already have your first-aid kit ready when Gaz, Soap and sometimes Ghost do stupid shit together.

“Hey, Doc. What’cha doing?”, Price takes the seat next to you. Without a word you hold up the kit and point at the boys, “Working.” Not a second later you already hear the pained cries from one of them. “I have no idea how long you all could survive that long without me…”

Getting the call sign “Doc” from the team even if you had a different one before. Not very creative, but it is short and everyone got used to it way too fast. So, Doc it is.

They would never admit it out loud, but the thought men are scared to lose you as much as you are to lose one of them.

During another mission the enemy got you good with a bullet to your shoulder. There was no way you could take care of it yourself. Since the evac would be in the morning you had a whole night to bleed to death. There was no other way around to save your life.

You gave them a good description and a to-do list how they open the wound to get out the bullet and to patch up afterwards. The hard men watched you with pure fear in their eyes as you get everything ready for them to be the doctors this time.

“You can do this, boys”, you encourage them smiling, but all of you know exactly that your time is running out. They would lose you.

Ghost takes things into his own hands and will be the one getting the bullet out. The Captain stays by his side to assist as best as he could. Gaz and Soap are way too nervous to do anything except for holding onto each other.

“How about you two take care of the watch?”, Price gives them an order to get their nervous energy out of his reach. Of course, they would watch from afar instead of keeping their eyes on the windows.

The pain of opening the wound to get the bullet out of your shoulder gets the best of you. Nothing comes over your lips as you slump forward unconscious. Nothing has panicked these men ever before like your blacked out form not able to guide them through every little step.

At least you couldn’t hear the wave of curse words washing over you. Of course, they still manage to patch you up quite nicely and take care of you. You are wrapped up in jackets to make you comfortable as they watch you through the night.

“Shit, I have never done something scarier than this…”, Ghost couldn’t believe you are doing this so often never getting tired of it. You already earned all of their respect beforehand, but once again they are reminded how amazing you are.

“Doc didn’t even scream just passed out silently”, Gaz can’t imagine how painful that must have been. Secretly he wished to be tough like you one day.

“… Why are you all staring at me? You are so creepy”, it isn’t the best way to wake up with four men staring at you intensely like they did. Still you are very grateful that they saved your ass.  

Back home you pay for the first round of drinks since you are alive and get to see another day with your team.

[thatfrailsoul]

– Parts of me that I seek in you

tarot pick a pile reading ( → 1, 2, 3 )

When we strive to connect, to know someone... There are many different reasons for which our heart calls more for one person than the other. The appearance, the ways, their mind or heart, their actions or deepest goals and desires... No matter what it is, there is always that something that makes them shine in the darkness that surrounds us. And, very often, that something is the same as the one that we lost, can't find in ourselves... So we desperately look for it in others. With such perseverance and obsessive need that, sometimes, we allow it to lead us to those that perhaps, at the end, we would've preferred to not meet.

So what is it? What you miss in yourself but so desperately need? Where or when did you lose it? And where and how can you finally find that missing piece?

Slow down for a moment. Breathe. Listen to your heart, to its rhythm. Allow it to speak to you. And choose the image that seems so familiar, so similar to what you feel. Remembering that, whatever the message might be, you are free to listen to it or to let go. Without the need to make it fit. Because your true answer will always find you, the moment you will be really ready and will have the need.

_

– Pile One,

the star, the ten of cups and the fool.

Your poor and innocent soul... Your tired heart, your consumed mind... The only thing you ever wanted, the one that you wanted back then, was simply to leave it all behind. All that pain, all that fear. All the reasons why you couldn't ever be enough or right for someone, for anyone, that for once you just desired to don't hear... You found the last bits of your strength, patience and courage, all that remained in your shattered heart. And you used them to try to heal. All those numerous wounds, so many that it just feels like a whole and single, draining, torturing, one.

But what did it give you, in exchange of this incredible resilience to try to heal? Only a little relief, a little distraction... That hid that hole that was becoming bigger and bigger, with each time that you worked on - or to be exact forced - the healing of your soul.

And this is the thing. This is what ruined it all, what made it so difficult and challenging. What influenced so many others areas of your life... One little but so important detail about who you are, the way you are. And how much you got used in this life to beat yourself up, blaming for every single disgrace that you experienced... How often you repeated it, demonstrated it to yourself with every step that was supposed to help you heal. You never were gentle, patient, understanding. You never gave yourself credit for how many right things and choices you made. Or how many others mistakes never were really yours, but of somebody else. You did none of this. But only focused on rushing, on becoming better, on healing faster, growing, so you could be sooner worthy and ready to show what a good person you are to this world. You were angry, frustrated, ashamed. You despised yourself for needing healing and learning in the first place. You regretted every single additional day that you needed to get it together. Only noticing how many flows you still have, how many wounds are still bleeding, how many triggers you still can't endure.

Your desire, your intention, was so good... So innocent, genuine and truly right. But so quickly and scarily naturally it became just another cage and punishment that you gave yourself. Changing the whole purpose, the whole meaning, of a journey that is so pure. That was never supposed to be so rushed, give you so quickly those results that now you are so angry to don't see manifesting in your world... And that you decided, unconsciously or perhaps not, to look for in others. The ones that seem so beautiful, so healthy and whole. The ones that seem to go through life so gracefully, no matter the obstacles or challenges on their path. The ones that seem to be able to influence you so positively, if only you stay close to them, showing you the right ways and directions. Supporting you, helping you in doing it correctly, like you seem incapable of doing on your own.

But, no matter how much we adore to think the opposite, we indeed are the only ones responsible for our journey. For our battles, our victories or our loss. No matter how supportive, how close others are, they still can't really help us. Not when we don't allow even our own self to do the needed work. You can't fight through it, not this journey. You can't do it with the only motivation and push being your own meanness, judgment and resentement for the things that you dared to do or not. You can't be there, behind your own back, looking closely at every your step and action, ready to attack if you don't do it right.

But you can allow yourself to take more time. To be slower. To make more mistakes. To feel once again that pain, if it's the one that still overwhelms your heart. You can remember. You can reflect. Learn something from it. Or maybe not. Because it is normal, it is right, to take time to heal, to go through it with all the needed ups and downs.

And you can still do it. You can continue this journey changing your pace and rhythm, or simply starting from scratch. You can and need to do it. Because no-one else can help and guide you, as you can do to your own self. By being gentle and understanding with your heart and mind, that indeed do their best to allow you to feel and experience this life.

P.s. If you would like to receive a more personal message and guidance about your situation - find out all about it here!♡

– Pile Two,

the magician, the fool and the page of swords

You have something so beautiful, so unique, within yourself. Such passion that, if not explored and shared, can consume you inevitably. Consume that power that you sometimes forget to have. So you always took care of it. You always nourished it. In the moments when it felt as natural as breathing, and even in those where it was too similar to a torture, that need to create and do something but without any idea on why, how to start or from where. And even if, thanks to you and your deepest love, this passion and calling did survive... It is starting to fade now. Submerged with all the questions and doubts about whether or not it is worth it, if you are good enough to do it at all, if it is really that important... All because for quite sometime you were the only admirer and supporter of your work.

You are wavering, your steps and actions as you create become more and more unstable, as every inspiration or idea seems not enough to be worthy of the success, even just appreciation that you want. But this something... Is so yours, so made perfectly just for you and to express your soul... That you can't really just leave it. You can't just stop doing it, even if it is becoming hard to be satisfied as you used to, because you so naturally always gravitate back to creating and allowing your mind and heart to speak up through every step of your work. So you keep going, with a non consistent rhythm, many set backs, infinite doubts... Doing it, because you feel this need and desire so much. But not really enjoying it anymore. Because in the eyes of others it never seems good enough, and therefore it doesn't feel enough for your own self. For the one that, in the first place, you were supposedly creating it for.

It is so natural and normal to have the desire to share, to welcome others in your universe in a sense, to show them who you are or how you see this world... But what starts so innocently and genuinely, a way to connect to others and don't feel so different or not understood, an alternative type of motivation and fuel for your creativity even... is so often soon to become exactly what kills it, overwhelming your every idea with the judgment of others, and their way of seeing the world.

It just shifted your perspective, about yourself and your work. It made you feel little, insignificant, too simple or too much, confronted to what others seem to consider deserving and worthy of their attention and love. It made you feel useless, because when your creation was ignored, you felt like what was really being rejected was your soul that spoke through your work.

And time after time, day after day, this calling became so faint, almost non existent. Not because it is really going away... But because you are just the one that tries so desperately to ignore it and to not hear it. Convinced that following it would be useless, without anyone appreciating and admiring what you do. Convinced that doing it for your own self and enjoyment is not really worth it, because it doesn't give you any income, any fame, any support and appreciation from others. Convinced that it is only and simply a waste of time.

But is it? Is it really completely useless if you are the only one to whom you dedicate the creations of your soul? Or does it give you a chance to feel and experience this world in your own way, processing those emotions and thoughts, reinventing them? Does it give you back the ability to breathe and feel at ease, once you allow everything that overwhelms you flow out through your work? Does it fill your time with excitement and enjoyment? Does it give you a safe place, that allows you to rest and hide from everything else? Does it make you feel proud of who you are and what you did, what you were able to create with your own mind and hands? Because even if it does only one of these things... Than it is worth it. Because this is what gives you the energy and fuel to live this life, to appreciate it, to go through it. Having something that always protects and expresses your soul.

You can't do only what assures you the interest or appreciation of others. You can't do it for so long as you are planning or trying to do. You can't do it without constantly feeling on autopilot, thrown from one work to another, trying to satisfy every one of them in hopes that in return they will support your work. It is not true to you. It is not what you want or need. It is not even something that you can do, the things that they want. It is only a play, of which you are trying to learn all the phrases and rhythm, but that you can keep up with only for so long.

This life is not unfair, wrong, useless, a constant and neverending annoying and painful cycle. But it is this way for you, who doesn't have anymore that tiny but vital component - the language of your soul. You are suppressing it, you are limiting it and judging. For what? For whom? For what reason? This is not something that needs to be enough or good for others. It is not something that needs to give you incredible success, wealth or recognition. It can, but before any of that it needs only to be something that you enjoy. Truly and simply.

You don't need to find new ideas, ways, hobbies, interests, sports, studies, paths to explore - you just need to comeback to what you already know that you love. And welcome it in your Iife, starting doing it again and more. Just for your own fun and enjoyment, that will overflow from your heart to every other aspect of your life. Connecting everything, and making it free from the torture of unsatisfaction and frustration that you endure.

P.s. If you would like to receive a more personal message and guidance about your situation - find out all about it here!♡

– Pile Three,

the devil, the justice and the star

Sometimes we cross paths with those that perhaps we weren't meant to be with, we weren't meant to create and have the same story as the one we desired and pictured so well. It happens. It hurts. Then, eventually, it goes away. But when it happens again and again, one person after another... One betrayal, lie or misunderstanding after the other... How can one not notice the one element that connects them all - themselves? How can one not think, even in the slightest, that perhaps it is not working out because of who and how they are?

So one dives into it, tries to remember every single moment, analyse their own ways, with the desperate need to find that wrong something and change it, making everything in themselves right again. With the need to demonstrate that it is something that can be changed and that it won't be this way forever. That they can and will be better, more worthy, more right, and for this reason chosen by someone. And perhaps they do find it, that something, they work on it day and night, fight their own demons and who they are, and come out of it brand new. They put themselves out there, open up to people and try genuinely to connect... And then it happens all over again. The same pain, confusion, uncertainty, doubts, betrayal or a broken heart. But they did the work right? They changed, or did they not? And there it goes the fear of not being worthy no matter what, of being destined to loneliness and hurt, or perhaps of not doing enough. And some collapse, they hide, and try with all their forces to make themselves enough, to not need anyone else in their life. While others... Others don't say it out loud. Don't think about it. Hide it deep down. And try to make things work no matter what it means to accept and endure, just to not have yet another person leaving them behind.

And you... You are doing it right now. With them, or with others in your life. Subtly, unconsciously, you force yourself to stay. No matter the words you hear, the actions you see, the promises that you know are already broken and mean nothing to the person by your side. You stay. Because walking away might mean that there never will be someone else, that you will be the only one you will have.

It is difficult and painful to think about being somehow different and wrong, never enough. It is even more difficult to try to work on it and change yourself. It is difficult to face not only the pain but also the loneliness. To feel that fear of living this way forever creeping on you with each day. So staying, trying to be more understanding, patient, docile, considerate, delicate, silent and comfortable for others... Seems indeed less difficult and scary, because in return they too will stay. Even when it is clear that you are torturing and consuming yourself. Even when you so clearly and surely know that the way you are treated is not okay at all. All for that acceptance, that tiny affection, even if not genuine. All for those things that you think you will never be able to find in yourself, and might not find once the people that are now in your life will not be here anymore. A void that, perhaps, won't ever be filled with another person, with another connection or love.

But by convincing yourself to adapt to others and what they look for or don't love... You did exactly that one thing that will not allow people who are genuinely interested in you to come closer. Not when that place in your life is already occupied by another someone. Not when you show so ardently and persistently that the way you are treated is what you want.

A right person - the one that is interested in you exactly the way you are, not less not more - even when so close to you to see you... Will never be able to do something, to help you, to take you out of this play pretend and torture... Because no one can do what should start from you, what you should be ready to finally to do: to protect yourself, t be treated right, to be loved and appreciated for the way you are.

It is safe, please believe me. It is safe for you to be who you are. It is safe for you to don't accept scraps of love and attention from others. It is safe if you walk away from those who can't find that one thing they want in you, who is already perfectly fine and enough. It is safe for you to don't force it. It is safe for you to let them all go. Because the space they will leave behind them is not something so negative as you convince yourself to be. It is not a sign of loss. It is only more space for your own self to grow, to bloom, to be who you are. To shine so proudly and brightly and to be seen by those who will notice and love you. And not the ways you can adapt to someone elses need, desire or mood.

P.s. If you would like to receive a more personal message and guidance about your situation - find out all about it here!♡

_

[utterlyotterlyx]

White Flag

Cassian x Rhys!Sister Reader

Summary - There had never been a moment where you and Cassian had seen eye to eye, despite his attempts to make peace and make a friend of you, it wasn't something that you wanted.

Warnings - angst, swearing, teasing, back and forth banter, mentions of blood

The Day Court had become your home from the moment you had decided that you couldn't bear to be around Cassian any longer. Luckily, Helion was a good friend of yours even if he wasn't overly fond of your brother and his inner circle. and granted you sanctuary before you had even finished asking him the question.

A part of you didn't even know how it had all started, that outlandish flare of dramatic hatred that passed between you whenever you were too close. Maybe he was threatened by your athletic prowess and strength, maybe you despised how often a new female ended up in his bed

Things had come to an abrupt head when you had punched him square in the nose for making a comment about your mood, asking if your cycle was drawing near. Blood gushed from his nostrils and he stuttered back a few steps, cradling the now broken bone and groaning as blood dripped onto the floor.

"Why is he bleeding?" Rhys had enquired after entering the room, sensing the stench of blood through the closed door of his office.

Cassian stood by the sink, bloody rag clasped around the injured affect, "Because he's an idiot," you replied with astounding calmness, feet propped up on the arm of the chair and your fingers flipping idly through the pages of your book.

"I didn't know that idiocy caused people to just start spontaneously bleeding from the nose."

You had hummed, a smirk pulling at your lips when you noticed Cassian's hazel gaze ripping through you, "I think it's a new phenomenon."

Rhys had usually kept out of your spats, like the rest of the inner circle, they knew your sass was not something to play with, it was unfortunate how Cassian skipped over that fact.

Then there were the countless family dinners that were interrupted, and sometimes ruined, by your joint fire.

"You know, Cassian," his ears pricked upward but his eyes narrowed, he'd like to believe that maybe for once you'd say something nice to him, to stop this feud between you, "Remember that one time I said that you were cool?" He nodded, falling victim to another one of your games as the room held a collective breath, Rhys already pinching the bridge of his nose, "I lied."

Cassian growled, slamming his fork down on the table and standing from his seat, the chair skidding along the wood with his brute force, "I can't help imagining how much more awesome the world would be if your dad had just pulled out."

You were smirking, that shit-eating smirk you always wore when you managed to get him to bite, "Please, save your breath, Cassian," you cooed obnoxiously, popping a honey soaked carrot into your mouth, "You'll probably need it to blow up your next date."

Azriel had choked on his wine and you spared him a sidelong glance, convincing yourself that if Cassian's red face turned one shade darker then he'd surely erupt in flames.

Then there were the missions that Rhys had assigned you and Cassian to, he thought forcing you two to work together would put an end to the nonsense that was your tiff. Azriel was the unlucky one who had to accompany you both so that you didn't wind up killing one another.

An ash arrow hurtled past your face, grazing the tip of your pointed ear, you had dodged its full puncture successfully and heaved out a sigh as you took cover behind a nearby tree, "Oh my gosh, did you see that?! I almost just died!"

Cassian had sauntered past you, sword coated in the blood of your enemies, strands of brown hair falling from his bun, and dirt dusting the side of his face, he grinned at you, "Tragic that you didn't."

Azriel audibly groaned, sick of both of you, it had been three full days of trudging around the outskirts of the winter court, he was freezing, Cassian was making his head pound with his constant complaining, and you were certainly catching a cold.

The Shadowsinger had finally had enough when he had heard you and Cassian arguing at the edge of the clearing, the latter had gone to bathe, to wipe away the blood and dirt from his skin, only to turn around and find that his clothes had been plucked from the bank.

"I didn't do it," you told him through laughs as Azriel approached, Cassian was stood in the water up to his impeccable v line, fists clenched and seething through his teeth as his body shivered from the cold.

"Then why are you laughing?!"

You were leaned against the trunk of a tree, clad in your warm clothing that Rhys had insisted you wear, badass or not, you were still his little sister, "Because whoever did it is a freaking genius."

Rhys had had enough of it. Of all of it.

An ultimatum had been delivered to you both, after being pulled into Rhys' office by the scruffs of your necks by Azriel, you had been told that one of you had to move out of the House of Wind permanently. Though, Rhys' plans of keeping you apart had completely backfired when you had stood up and told him that you were leaving the Night Court altogether, the words shaking the room enough that even Cassian felt guilty that your feud had become so severe that you actually wanted to leave your home court.

"And go where?" Rhys had rose, that power pulsating around him like a heartbeat, a drowning effect that made you all feel dizzy as his eyes darkened and jaw clenched.

"The Day Court," you stated like it was already decided, "Helion has offered me a place within his court and I accepted. I leave tonight."

"Over my dead body!" Rhys rumbled, it was deadly enough for even Azriel's shadows to cower behind him whilst Cassian looked at you bewildered.

Ticking your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you quipped, "Well, go lay down and die then because I'm not going to be told what to do, especially not by you."

"You are my sister. You are a Princess of the Night Court."

"And I am allowed to make my own decisions regarding my life and future," you looked to Cassian and frowned, your eyes dipped with an emotion he'd never seen in you, "And, right now, my life is not here."

That was how you found yourself within Helion's court, doused in white and gold, with tanned skin from the bright never-ending sun, with your toes dipped in sand and the ocean breeze drifting through your hair.

It had been a year since you had left Velaris, and gods, you missed the City of Starlight so much. The Day Court was wonderful, beautiful in its own incredible way, but it wasn't Velaris, your home.

Helion had found you walking along the sandy shores when you should have been readying yourself for the ball starting in a few hours. Rhys and the entirety of your former family were visiting to celebrate the announcement of Feyre's pregnancy, stopping in every court bar Autumn and Spring to spread the joy, to signal a new age for Prythian after all of the torment they had been subjected to.

"I would have thought you'd be ready by now," Helion noted, watching your cream coloured dress float in the breeze, you held your shoes between your fingers and gazed outward to the ocean.

You hummed, "Part of me isn't looking forward to it," you admitted.

The time you had spent in the Day Court had made you softer, had given you a new perspective. There was much more to love in life than arguing and feuding, and you had spent a little over two weeks trying to figure out why you and Cassian could never seem to get along.

Helion draped an arm over your shoulder, his golden crown shimmering in the sunlight that was usually focused on you, focused on making your skin glitter and smile, "It's been a year since you left, I'm sure they're all looking forward to seeing you."

"Or telling me how much easier their lives have been without me," you laughed sadly, slumping into his side softly as he turned to lead you back up to the palace.

"You're a changed woman now, Y/N. I think that more than anything they'll just be happy to see you thriving."

Fuck.

You were so late. So late that it would be noted as disrespectful no matter how much longer you took. Helion was right, you should have been readying yourself much earlier rather than trailing your toes in the sand.

Helion had gone to great lengths to secure you the most spectacular dress anyone had ever seen. A rich gold garment that snaked tightly around your breasts and curved perfectly over your thighs and ass, no sleeves attached to it, but he had gifted you a set of matching arm cuffs and one for your thigh which was exposed by a high slit, as well as ear cuffs which gave a subtle nod to the Day Courts abilities to hone their gifts of invention.

You were practically running down the halls whilst putting your heels on and clasping your necklace around your neck, taking a sharp left which you knew would lead you to a more secluded entrance where you hoped you could slip in unnoticed.

Sliding through the small opening in the wall, you ducked your way along the length of the room, popping up and smoothing your dress out before reaching for the nearest passing tray of flutes, downing half of the liquid to make it seem like you had been there for longer than you had.

"Very smooth, Y/N," A familiar voice purred with amusement laced in his voice, you turned to find Azriel stood behind you, he looked surprised as he took you in, acknowledging the tanned hue and glow that had possessed your skin, your violet eyes seemed a shade or two lighter than Rhys'.

"Az," you breathed, placing your flute down on the table beside you and throwing yourself into his open arms, you both laughed, and he inhaled your scent, salted summer oceans and velvety rose petals.

Pulling back, you smiled up at him brightly, showing all of your teeth. It was like Day had thrown up on you, though, Azriel couldn't deny that gold most certainly agreed with you. Another force jolted into your side and you lifted your arm to find Mor bundled into your ribs, squeezing you tightly and refusing to let go to the point you had to physically unwind her from you.

"I've missed you so much," her bottom lip wobbled as tears gathered in her eyes, you reached for her, wiping the stray droplets with your thumb.

"You know I'm only like ten minutes away from you, right?"

"Not the point, Y/N," a deep voice drawled, it made you shiver, and before you could even properly move to find the owner, you were already gathered up in his arms, "Hello, little sister."

"Hi, Rhys," your eyes found Feyre stood a few feet away from you, a hand cradling her swelling bump, you moved to her, looking down at that bump, "Congratulations, I'm so happy for you."

Rhys couldn't deny that you seemed different, that you had changed since the night you had left Velaris after your argument, after the ultimatum he had wrongfully forced on you. Feyre had told him that you would be fine, that you deserved to see what life could be outside of Velaris, that you would one day come home to them a different woman than the one who had left.

They all watched as Feyre guided your hands to her stomach and you felt your nephew wriggling around and kicking, "Hey, stop kicking your mama," you had bent down to whisper, "She's been through enough," and the little thing within her halted, settling into a comfortable position and Feyre sighed with relief.

Straightening your posture, you took your flute and took another sip, feeling overwhelmed by all you had missed, "I'll be back in a minute," you told them, Rhys moved to follow after you but Feyre stopped him, she knew how much it must have been for you, she was always the understanding one.

Your usual haven was empty when you had reached it, a white stone balcony at the end of a secluded hallway that looked out onto the lapping waves colliding with the mountain upon which the Day Court Palace lay.

A single tear flowed down your face and you heaved in a breath, trying to control yourself by clutching onto the stone railing. Your hair whipped around your face, and the fire lanterns flickered in the breeze.

"I know that we aren't friends, but if you need me to punch somebody out, you know I can and will," the voice you used to grimace at called to you from a metre or so away.

Spinning on your heels, you saw Cassian before you, illuminated by the moonlight so that you could see his unbound hair and muscular chest that peeked out from his undone shirt, "Thanks, but I'm good," you sniffled softly, grabbing your flute and finishing off the sparkling liquid inside of it before placing it back onto the stone ledge.

Cassian frowned at you, his eyes roamed over your face and figure, smiling in approval at your bright eyes and tan skin, and the masterfully tailored dress and accessories you adorned. There was something soft about you.

"It's good to see you, Cassian. You look happy," the admission tugged sadly at that ball of bliss inside of you, the ball that had been enriched and glowed like starlight.

He approached you, stepping out into the night and understanding why you had blindly led yourself there, he had followed you, noticing how you weren't paying much attention to where you were going and simply allowing your feet to carry you there.

"I could be better," he expressed, taking another step closer to you and finding nothing untoward in your expression, no anger, no distaste, nothing but warmth, "It's weird seeing you not being mad with me."

A gentle laugh pushed through you, it crinkled at the corner of your eyes, "If it means anything, I don't think I was ever really mad at you."

"Yeah?" Cassian coaxed, wanting more of an answer from you.

The lanterns scattered light over the side of your body, the small speck of glitter in your jasmine body oil shimmering softly, "I think I was jealous of you if anything," you had turned away from him and propped your elbows up on the stone platform, staring up at the stars longingly, "You're a true Illyrian and I'm not, not since I lost them," your shoulders rolled, and Cassian saw the faint crescent moon scars ripple at the movement, "I think I saw you as reckless, you were making so many stupid moves that could end up with you being hurt or losing your own wings," you flinched at the thought, "I'm sorry."

"I get it," he told you, mirroring your stance and looking upward at the sky which held nothing on Velaris, "I think I'd be the same if I were in your shoes."

Cassian on some level had always known that you harboured some resentment toward them, for their privilege of not having to worry about having their wings clipped. It had broken them all when it had happened to you, that was the moment you'd turned cold toward him, causing more arguments than anything else.

"This court has changed me, I'm not that person anymore. I hope you know that."

Cassian grabbed your wrist as you moved to walk away, pulling you flush to his chest and tensing as his rough fingers ghosted over your cheek, "I never thought you were that person. I tried to fix it, you know, fix whatever I had done wrong. I was the one who made sure you always had enough strawberries in the house and made Feyre swear to take credit for it. I was the one who made sure your bathroom cabinet was always stocked full of bath oils and healing creams, not Mor. That gift three solstices ago you loved so much, the blanket made from the dresses of Selene and your mother, that was me too, not Az."

"But why? We hate each other?"

"I never hated you, the truth couldn't be more opposite," you could feel his heart beating through the silk of his shirt, through the satin on your dress, he grazed his fingers around the cuffs on your ears, "I love you actually, a lot, and I stupidly thought that if all the words I could get from you were teasing jabs then it would be enough, just to hear your voice."

"You love me?"

Cassian grinned, lowering himself and stopping only millimetres away from your lips, sparks of fire sparking between them, "Always have, Princess," when you didn't move away, he closed that gap between you and allowed the world to explode into a kaleidoscope of colour around your forms, you fisted into his shirts, pulling him closer, and his hands found the small of your back, leaning into you.

Panting, you pulled away, opening your eyes to find his hazel spheres pressing into you, his nose touching your own. You laughed, a laugh that send shivers of joy down his spine, "I can't believe we were in love all this time. I swore I would never become this trope."

Cassian chuckled, a rich a deep thing that made you yearn for him, he kissed you again, with more hunger than you had ever felt, "Who doesn't love a good cliché, my formiddable mate?"

Authors Note

I'm happy now x

[fangirl-dot-com]

Together or Nothing

Pairing: Vettel-Reader x Carlos Sainz Jr.  Genre: Angst/Comfort Summary: Growing up with Carlos, you knew he’d be a special driver. If he asked you to follow him to the end of the world, you’d do it. But when his life in Formula 1 is in jeopardy, how far are you willing to go? 

uhhhhhhh - I was inspired and I made an imagine after the complete clown show that was last tuesday. This is an apology imagine because this week is stacked and there might not be a TDITD update in the near future. So I'm feeding you all now. Never thought that my first imagine would be fore Carlos but here we are.

You had heard the rumors. But that’s what they were supposed to be. Just rumors. 

Your dad had warned you that something big was going to be announced, but you never thought it would be this. 

Well, some rumors can turn out to be true. Your mind was swirling with thoughts as you looked at your screen. Photoshopped pictures of Lewis in red was all that you saw. Conformations, hot-takes, and edits began to follow. People praised the prancing horse for securing the 7-time world champion. Podcast hosts immediately took to talking about how Lewis would be the best teammate for Charles. Everyone seemed honed in on the two drivers. 

Yet, all you could think about was Carlos.

Carlos who had given his all to the Rosso Corsa team. 

Carlos who was the only non-Red Bull winner in 2023. 

Carlos who bled the Ferrari red, even sometimes more than their Il Predestinato.  

Carlos who was slowly becoming forgotten in a matter of minutes. 

Your heart ached for your friend as you read his short and blunt statement on his Instagram story. You could almost feel the sadness through the minimal words. 

Your fingers flew to your messages as you messaged Charles. The Monegasque had known for a while, but had tried to get the Spaniard another contract. He knew that Carlos was one of the better drivers on the grid and disagreed with Ferrari’s decision. 

You knew that Charles had so much respect for Lewis. Hell, everyone did. You don’t just equal Michael Schumacher’s championships every day. No one has even come close to it. Yes, Max was well on his way, but nothing was ever certain in the world of Formula 1. 

Charles even complained about how he might not be number 2 driver in a team that didn’t believe in “driver priority.” Years of experience and 7 World Champions would definitely give someone the upper hand. 

Swiping out of the messages with Chares, you brought up Carlos’s contact. 

Your finger hovered over the message icon and then switched to call, then back to messages before you swiped out of his contact completely. 

You fingers went to a different contact. You knew it was a hard decision, and it would take a lot of convincing, but you were determined. 

Strict words were flown between you and your father. Having ties with a specific car manufacturer got you places, but this was in the wind. No one had asked for something this big – except you. 

After the begging and borderline crying, you ended the call. Exhaustion was creeping up on you, but you had more things to do. 

Once again, you clicked on Charles’s profile and pressed the call button. 

“Hello y/n,” Charles’s voice echoed through the speaker. 

You sighed. “How is he?” 

Charles mirrored your initial sound. “He won’t pick up. I’ve tried texting, but he’s leaving me on read.” 

You nibbled on your lips. “Have you called Lando?” 

“He’s on his way here. He was in Woking for the suit fitting and debut.” 

You let out a sigh of relief. 

“Can you send me his flight info if you have it? When he gets in, I’ll pick you up, then him. We can all three go see…”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

An annoyed sound left your lips as you raised your voice. “Charles, be for real. If we’re honest, he bleeds red more than you do. He needs us. Needs his friends.” 

There was silence for a bit, until Charles spoke up. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Sending you the information now.” 

With a couple more thank-you’s and apologies, you hung up. 

Lando was supposed to land later that evening and everything was in place. 

A couple of hours later, Lando was in the back seat of your car with Charles in the passenger. The three of you sat in silence as you drove to Carlos’s place in Monaco. Lando was the first to speak up. 

“So what’s the plan. I know you Y/n and if you haven’t made a call yet somewhere then you’re have no plan and this is just pointless.” 

You rolled your eyes as Charles stared at you, waiting for some good news. 

“I made a call to dad. He says he’ll get the ball rolling. We’ll know by tomorrow if they go ahead with it.” 

Charles leaned in and adjusted himself in the seat. “And who is they?” 

You hushed him. “A girl never spoils her secrets.” 

Not long after, your car finally made it to his place. The lights were on, which was a good sign. 

Carlos was home. 

You swallowed thickly as you made your way up the stairs. Your hand lifted and knocked on the door. Charles and Lando were right behind you. 

It took a couple of minutes for Carlos to open the door, but he eventually did. The sight was almost unbearable. 

His normally kept hair was sticking up in different places. His cheeks were red, along with his nose. 

He had been crying no doubt. 

He looked tired as he slouched at the door, but straightened up when his eyes landed on you. They held a certain softness as he gazed at your face. But the softness hardened at the sight of the other two drivers. He opened his mouth to talk, but you raised a hand. 

“They’re here for you Carlos. Please listen,” you pleaded, hand now resting on his chest. He looked down and then nodded, moving to let them in. 

The three of you followed him in. You were half expecting things to be thrown everywhere and broken. Yet, the house seemed to be in perfect shape. He led you to the living room and sat on a chair. 

You, Lando, and Charles all squeezed onto the couch in front. 

A comment about school children and their principal wanted to leave your lips, but you held it back. 

The Spaniard sat in silence as he waited for someone to talk first. 

Charles inhaled sharply. His voice cracked the first time he tried to say something, but he persisted. 

“I didn’t want it to be like this.”

When Charles finally looked up, Carlos could see the tears in the Monegasque’s eyes.

“I tried,” he swallowed, “I tried to get them to keep you on. Even tried to have them do an open ended contract like mine.” 

Carlos spoke up. “Yet, you have said that you’d want Lewis as a teammate.” 

Charles looked down again, almost ashamed. 

“I half-handedly said that, and you know it. If you were asked you probably wouldn’t have said my name either.”  

Carlos looked down at his hands. Charles was right. 

He got up from the couch and crouched in front of Carlos, so they could be on eye level. Charles put his hand on Carlos’s shoulder. 

“Together or nothing, right?” 

Carlos nodded silently as he brought the brunet into a hug. The two men shed some tears as they hugged. 

You knew how hard it was going to be on the Spaniard. 

He often said that his one downfall was to love and love too quickly. 

Lando was truly his first favorite teammate with Charles coming at a close second. He got too attached in a sport that was famous for their driver swaps. 

Moving from McLaren to Ferrari had almost crushed his and Lando’s friendship. It took them months to be able to hang out without sadness hovering over their heads. 

Now, Carlos was determined to not let that happen to him and Charles. Lando also wouldn’t let it happen, and neither were you. 

The three of you stayed for a little longer, with you being invited to stay the night. Your hand was pushing against Lando’s face as he made kissy noises as he walked out the door. Your keys had been given to Charles with the promise that he’d keep your car safe. 

That night, you held Carlos as he cried and cried. And when you thought he was done, he’d cry some more. You ended up not telling him about your plan, simply because you didn’t want to get his hopes up. 

Yes, in the morning, you were being shaken awake by the Spaniard. His phone was shoved right in your face. 

“Is this real?” he questioned, voice cracking with emotion. 

There on his phone was the official announcement. 

“PORSCHE OUTBIDS AUDI FOR THE 2026 SPOT IN FORMULA 1” 

“EX-DRIVER SEBASTIAN VETTEL TO BE PORSCHE’S TEAM PRINCIPAL IN 2026” 

“Y/N VETTEL TO BE RACE ENGINEER FOR NUMBER ONE DRIVER IN 2026” 

“PORSCHE SECURED NUMBER ONE SEAT AND CONTRACT FOR SAINZ JR 2026” 

The large headlines were giving you a headache, so you simply smiled and closed your eyes. 

“Surprise,” you said, sing-singly and sleepy. 

Carlos just looked at you and you could feel his eyes on your figure. You peaked out at him before sighing, tugging the comforter down as you sat up. 

“If you don’t want it…” 

“I want it.” 

You shivered at the bluntness in his voice. 

He looked from you, down to his phone, then back to you. “You did this?” 

You nodded shyly as you leaned in closer. 

“I know you and Charles have your own ‘together or nothing,’ but I’d follow you to the ends of the earth if it were possible Carlos.” 

You waited for him to say something. Yet, he never did. He did something better though. 

He kissed you. 

“Together or nothing, mi Corazón.” 

carlossainz55 has posted

carlossainz55 to my heart, I cannot thank you enough. you've given me the second chance that I didn't know I had. Together or nothing. Te quiero

liked by charles_leclerc, porschef1, y/n.vettel, and 104,204 others

smooth_operator I'M NOT CRYING YOURE CRYING

vamoscarlos the way I could see y/n convincing her dad to get Porsche to outbid Audi

carlos55 like he could have had a chance with Audi, but y/n wanted to make sure he had an actual seat. can Carlos fight?

charlos4ever I refuse to change my username - did you see them in the joint interview??

charles16 I know right? they looked like the old Carlos and Charles - y/n or seb must have done something carlando betting that they put them both in timeout or the get along shirt

charles_leclerc let's do our very best this season. and always remember that I'll only be a garage down :)

carlossainz55 cabron, did you think that I was leaving leaving?? landonorris he was crying when he called me after you posted y/n.vettel and that was after he called my dad too charles_leclerc IN EVERY UNIVERSE FROM THIS AUTHOR I GET BULLIED FOR CRYING author is it true tho??? charles_leclerc yes.

porschef1 we know it's a season away but we can't wait for for what 2025 brings!

sebastianvettel you better keep my daughter happy or you'll loose a second seat in two seasons

carlossainz55 yes sir

carlos_vettel the way he looks at her in the first picture...when's the wedding??

y/n_sainz all I'm thinking is who is going to take what last name (please hyphenate)

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @agent-curt-mega @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen-ln4 @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @cashtons-wife @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12 @ilove-tswizzle @justme2042 @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @stopeatread @cha-hot @sadg3 @iloveyou3000morgan @s4turnsl0ver @alessioayla @torchbearerkyle @leptitlu @awekbachira @shreks-sugar-daddy @v1naco @stan-josie @mellowarcadefun @badassturtle13 @beskardroids @callisposts @poppyalice2001 @juniper-july19 @lizzypiastri

[sabersandsnipers]

Daddy Halsin

When you share your desire with Halsin to start a family, the delight in his eyes shines through like nothing you've seen before. Halsin has amazing paternal instincts, and you know he's been wanting a child for sometime now. He certainly takes the phrase "daddy Halsin" seriously.

His animalistic side is quick to kick in. He shares that the bear within him wishes to breed you, to fill you with his children and claim you as his own. So during the countless times you try to conceive a child, he's almost feral with need.

You can tell by the glow that sparks in his eyes as he pounds into you that he's trying to keep the bear at bay. It's hard for him when engaging in more primal activities. But he manages to let out just enough of the animal to keep things interesting, to make you feel as if you're filled to the brim with Halsin.

You carefully track your cycle, counting down the days until you're supposed to start bleeding. You wouldn't be surprised if you managed to conceive already. Halsin is rather determined to have you carry his child.

So when you miss your first bleeding, hope sparks in you. You share this with Halsin, and the smile that grows on his face could put the sun itself to shame.

You keep a close eye on your body for any changes that would confirm the presence of a child growing in you. When another cycle comes and goes with no blood, you begin to notice subtle changes in your body.

Halsin is the first to notice the swell of your belly. You lie together after a night of rather vigorous activity. Halsin has his head on your chest, tracing patterns all over every inch of your bare skin. His hand stops over your belly.

He can feel the tautness there. The firmness ensuring that a new life has started to grow. He presses a light kiss to your abdomen. A warmth flows through him as he pictures the life you'll soon be sharing together. He pictures the little bundle that will soon be in his arms, and he feels the bear within him pushing at his conscious a bit, needing to protect his offspring.

He practically worships you during your pregnancy. The beauty that you radiate has him feeling that he should pray to you. He ensures that you’re treated like the goddess you are.

He helps you wash up after long days, sitting in a tub or standing in a river with you, holding you in his arms. His skilled fingers massage your scalp and back, earning moans from you. He prides himself in knowing how to make your body sing for him.

When labor finally starts, Halsin is filled with a mix of both excitement and fear. Excitement over the fact that your child will soon be here, and fear that he won't be able to protect you two from the dangers of this world.

Your laboring process is no easy feat, but Halsin holds your hand and whispers encouragement. Even as you scream every obscenity you can think of at the midwife, Halsin remains a steady presence at your side.

He admires the strength you show as you begin the birthing process. The screams you make sound like those you cry out at the battle field when you slaughter your enemies. But this is your battle field right now.

When your child finally emerges, the world slows for him. A beautiful girl is shortly placed in his arms after she’s placed skin to skin with you. The sight of Halsin holding that tiny little creature in his massive arms causes all of your pain to fade for just a moment.

“Thank you for bringing her into his world,” Halsin says to you, never taking his eyes off his daughter.

But when he holds her in his arms, the overwhelming thought of fatherhood flitting in his mind finally calms. She's a mirror image of you, gorgeous in every way. Down to the color of her eyes, to the shape of her face, she holds every bit of your beauty.

He rarely lets her leave his arms. Which you don't mind, considering how exhausted you are after laboring for nearly a day. But he still proudly shows her off to the rest of the camp.

Most coo at her adorable features, and even Astarion looks at her with interest.

"Does the little beast have a name?" Astarion asks him. He allows her little fist to close around one of his fingers.

"Willow," Halsin replies. The smile on his face seems to be stuck there.

He waits on you and Willow nonstop, ensuring both of you are comfortable at all times. And that night, he holds you both close to him. Willow lies in one of his arms and you lean against his chest.

The warmth of contentment fills him. Although neither of you have said it yet, you're both already looking forward to the process of starting it all over again.

[gladiatorcunt]

summary: priest!leto x afab!reader x priest!paul (title from scorpio by pour vous)

cw: blasphemy if i’m being so real, spit roasting, reader is lowkey losing it but they’ll be okay, dubcon, pwp-ish (there’s set up but it’s not that long imo), mention of paul being into predator/prey, daddy kink coded without the actual daddy kink, horror elements, unreliable narrator vibes, mention of them being willing to non con reader if things didn’t go their way, no incest between leto & paul 💀, reader’s their sad loser turned attic spouse, mention of eventual impreg, implied soft dom!leto & mean dom!paul, religious practice inaccuracies, possibly predictable plot twists, implied painful anal but reader’s too out of it to feel it, implied natural aphrodisiac in their spit, reader bleeds

wc: 2.5k

block & move on if uncomfortable,

do not translate/repost/give my works to ai

please consider commissioning me or leaving me a tip !!

You’ve been feeling… lost. The trees keep secrets from you and the clouds mix together like egg whites. You wish you knew what kind of pill you need to be on, you wish you knew what was wrong with you. You’re paranoid and seeing blank eyes watching you through the brick and mortar of your apartment. Your skin burns hotter than hell and sometimes you think that there are claws grabbing at your ankles when you sleep.

Church hasn’t been something you’ve bothered to attend since you were a kid, but you yearn for it now.

You pull your tattered coat around yourself as you step into the ancient building. The Church of Caladan is the oldest church in the country, if not the world. You hope you don’t look silly when you take caution with how hard your feet hit the stone. ‘You break it, you buy it’ must apply to old churches too.

Your unease rolls off you in waves, and a couple nearby priests seem to sense it in the same way that horses can sense fear. For a second you imagine bursting into flames, but there are hands groping your flesh through the great hellfire.

They’re about even in height, though one is clearly older. The gray hair weaved into his temples suits him more than it shows his age. The younger man has the same dark and wavy hair, but his gaze is a touch more haggard and rife with burden.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn't have burst in here…. I'm just looking around.” You rush to explain so they would go away, internally cringing at yourself.

“No, we want newcomers to feel comfortable enough to ask questions. I’m Leto,” He says and shakes your hand. “And this is my son, Paul. He’s recently started working here at the church with me.”

Paul steps up to shake your head as well, his mouth doesn’t move but you swear that the corners twitch. The stained glass windows cast a multicolored hue on his eyes and you find yourself lost in the swirling pools of light. Then black holes swallow the brightness in the irises, cosmic cannibalism.

You blink in alarm and awkwardly take a step back from the two priests. Father and son share a look between them that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing them.

Leto clears his throat and pointedly grabs your hands in both of his, encapsulating them in his warmth.

“You’ll have to forgive him, Paul’s never dealt with a lamb as darling as you before. He’s never dealt with one at all actually, you two can go through this together.”

Paul smiles but it fits all wrong, with teeth that should be fangs and with a tongue that appears forked. You blink again and all is well, the man before you fits his human skin like a glove. Maybe you should give them the benefit of the doubt, you’re convinced you’re going crazy anyway and Priests would never be capable of hurting someone. Ghosts aren’t real and Demons are just a crazed mother’s bedtime story.

“Um, okay. Thank you for accepting me.” That’s all you want, deep down, and they know that. “I felt moved to be here, I can’t explain it.”

Leto nods and Paul rubs your shoulder in sympathy. They would hiss that they know full well what called you here, but you might bleat and scurry away. You make a sad picture, abandoned and half insane, but that’s what they are for. To soothe and to serve you, to purify you from the inside out.

“Then all the more reason to stay and sit for a moment, don’t you think?” Paul finally speaks, the boyish tone surprising you.

“Paul’s right, let’s get this jacket off you, poor lamb. You must be freezing to death.” Leto coos, shushing your protests and carefully pulling the cheap thing off of you.

They take you on a little tour of sorts, pointing out the architectural details of the building itself as well as passionately delving into its history. Centuries of worship and service to the community, strangely never having sustained any kind of property damage. The priests speak of the church as if they were wandering through the halls all this time, and they chuckle when they tease you about how relieved they were that you didn’t suffer from a nosebleed. They’re quite common apparently.

“I think that should do it, i’d hate to think that we’ve been talking your ear off, dear.” Leto says, rubbing the inside of your wrist and directing you towards the large piano on the stage at the front of the church.

He must notice the sudden spark in your eyes at the sight, because his crow’s feet wrinkles deepen as he pulls the black piano bench out. Leto’s palm spreads out wide and he gives the leather seat a firm pat, signaling for you to sit down. Butterflies swirl in your stomach with anxiety but you feel too shy to refuse the clearly eager offer. You take a seat in front of an onyx grand piano far grander than you’re used to seeing in a church.

Leto soon occupies the space next to you. The bench is small enough that your thigh is pressing against his, warmth bleeds through your clothes and the indication of muscle really makes you wish you were alone in your room with a rose toy. You place your fingers on the pristinely polished keys and clumsily play some hodgepodge of a melody that you remember from your childhood. A mix of tchaikovsky and children's church songs.

You jump and play the wrong note when you feel thick fingers slide up your thigh. Your cheeks burn with heat but you focus on the music. Leto sighs with sugary sweet satisfaction but doesn’t move his fingers any further. He also doesn’t try to play, it’s almost like he only wants to bask in the domesticity of watching you perform. You think you hear him whisper “That’s it, who knew such a talented lamb would be gracing our doorstep?”

You get a flash of riding him on the piano, gasping into his hair chest when it breaks under the weight of your passion. Thin fingers come from behind to caress your ass as it moves, much colder than the cock you’re bouncing on. Then it fades away, and you’re back to making a fool of yourself with your little song.

Paul watches from the pulpit, eyes drinking in the way your curves expand and move as you squirm. His grip tightens on the bright wood but you’re none the wiser. You almost forget that he’s even there, something which he realizes because he strolls to stand behind you and his father. The music stops once you feel his breath on your neck and he bends down to tenderly pull your hair off of your shoulder, getting himself acquainted with the texture as he rubs his fingertips down the strands.

A distant voice calls out for Leto and he stands, smiling apologetically and thanking you for the performance. You feel adrift as you watch him walk away, reminding yourself that a man like him has other things to do than coddle you.

Paul slides a hand down your back and guides you down to the pew right up front, with a view of center stage, sitting right beside you with a wink. Once Leto returns, you spot the silver tray of communion wafers in his hands. The tray is set on the pulpit by his side.

The older man's eyes darken as he puts one in his mouth, and your brain shuts down when he snatches your face in his rough palms and kisses you sense no less. The wafer cracks as his tongue passes it into your mouth, the salty crumbs oddly making you crave something even saltier. There’s a sticky sweet sensation traveling through your body as you exchange saliva with him, your brain feels so foggy.

You break away, curling your hands into the collar of Leto’s uniform.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Your voice is small and not completely filled with disgust, you’re honestly too desperate for some form of human contact to make good decisions.

“We’re helping you, honey.” Leto purrs into the seam of your mouth, shaking his head in apparent fondness.

You’re too cute for your own good, at least they don’t have to worry about covering their tracks. Any incubus or succubus would be glad to get a hold of someone as lonely as you, but they wouldn’t love you like you deserve. You haven’t been watched by anyone as long as you’ve been watched by them. He hopes that Paul doesn’t shove his foot in his mouth and let it slip that he wished you gave them the opportunity to take you by force. His son carries a torch for a bit of predator and prey action, he likes playing with his food too much. You’re different from the scrambling mice that get torn to bits, though, you’re forever.

Plus, if you don’t get it now, he has no problems with explaining everything when you’re too weak to get up and try to run away.

Paul buries his face in your neck, spilling the vial of wine he had in his pocket down your shirt. It soaks the tank top underneath and though you try with all your might to wriggle away, the desire to resist gets brushed away under a heavy fog.

It’s nice to be touched, to be wanted after a lifetime of feeling the exact opposite. Perhaps this is why the lord guided you to his grandest home, so you could take his prophets into your body.

The black vanishes from Paul’s eyes and you sink against his chest, making out with his father as your eyes roll back into your head.

No words are uttered verbally as Paul shuffles to the side and pulls you to lie back on the pew’s cushion. Leto deprives you of his tongue and gives you a chance to breathe, which both men do with you in sync, resting their foreheads against you.

The nectar on your tongue tastes divine, little lamb, a voice whispers in your mind.

Let us give you purpose so you no longer need to roam, another begs.

You’re crying from the relief of having your mouth filled, Paul tilts your head up by your chin as he slowly slides his cock into your mouth. The ridges and bumps of what feels like piercings sends a jolt of arousal through you.

“Fuck-” He hisses and rubs your neck, watching you adjust to the stretch. “So warm-”

Leto tuts and clamps his hands around your hips, you’re already too fucked out to register sharp black claws taking care of your clothes. Leaving you bare. A shiver passes through your body as he drags his huge hand down to your pussy, being mindful not to accidentally scratch you. He intends for there to be no blood, this time, not a lot.

You gag on Paul’s length when Leto slams your hips against his pelvis, grinding not one but two large cocks against your cunt. If you were looking at his face, you’d see pitch black eyes and intimidating fangs, but all you can focus on is the hazy candle light and what must be someone playing an organ.

You catch a view of one of the stained class windows, a pair of angels cradling a lamb. It’s the only damaged part of the church, with cracks running along the angel’s wings. You’d think it’s a sneeze away from shattering entirely. Your view of it is blurred by Paul’s quick thrusts, gagging on it again. Drools drip onto the red carpet.

Leto grabs one of Paul’s curled horns and yanks his head to the side, scolding at him to be nicer to you. You’ve clearly never taken three cocks inside you, the one you’re servicing is proving to be overwhelming enough. Again, Paul’s new to this experience as well, just in a different way than you are. In a sense, it’s like he was born yesterday. The older man relays this to you through your choked moans and tears, assuring you that he’s taught Paul how to clean up his messes and be grateful. Something like this will be no different.

“Hush, beloved. I would have gladly speared your mouth but you would be dead before I could cum inside it.”

You see God in the sky when Leto slaps the tapered tip of one of his dicks against your slick entrance, God sees you when he gets the tight walls of ass to wrap around the other. Unbeknownst to you, it’s funny how so many things are, your blood pools around his balls. You’re in pain sure but you’ve never felt as much pleasure as you have in this instance. Both “Priests” smell your blood and well, only your body can tell the rest of the story. Later you’ll wake up to find that the building around you has ruby walls and it seems to be breathing. The shooting pain in your left hand is the result of two iron rings being chiseled into the bone of your ring finger.

The four leathery wings protruding from your back, with spikes poking out from the joints, are waiting to be discovered. As are the nubs sprouting out of your hair.

For now beads of sweat highlight your bouncing tits, Paul gropes one and Leto runs the edge of his claw along the side of the other. They’re hissing words that string together and disappear in the blink of an eye, voices slurred and sticky. Their babbling stops and starts again as you reflexively swallow around Paul’s cock when he skull fucks you without warning. They laugh too, but you can at least pretend that Leto’s tone is kinder.

“Alright, alright. That’s enough teasing.”

“But father-“

“I said no. And don’t think for a second that you’re getting anything else but their mouth.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“You lack self control, it wouldn’t be suitable for conception to occur like this. As delectable as their quivering cunt is, demons shouldn’t abstain from courting.”

“You’re saying that as you’re balls deep inside of them.”

“Don’t start with me, Paul.”

All while you’re making gurgling sounds in between the younger priest’s thighs. You hear growls that sound like a mountain lion’s emitting from both men, and the heavy thumps of something flapping in the air gets you holes clenching around Leto. Both men feverishly scratch up and down your limp body, but you’re so enraptured by the chorus of angels happening outside. You have no sense of time, it’s minutes or it’s hours before their cum spills inside of you. There’s too much to possibly keep it all inside, a good amount of it leaks from your cunt and your throat. Leto feels like Christ incarnate when you squirt all over him and yourself with the dumbest expression on your face. Multicolored pieces of glass fall down around you with the loud chime of an invisible bell.