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forteafy · 1 year ago

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A House, A Home | CL16 & CS55

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

Word Count: 10.1k

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

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

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

Charles Leclerc is a husband.

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

That so happened to be you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had come back to the house.

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

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

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

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

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

Charles Leclerc is an actor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles Leclerc is a neck kisser.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles Leclerc is a slow replier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

03:21: Charles Leclerc

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

Charles Leclerc is a traveller.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

03:45: Carlos Sainz

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

11:51: Carlos Sainz

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

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

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

12:25: You

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

12:28: Carlos Sainz

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

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

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

21:03: Carlos Sainz

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

Charles Leclerc is a stalker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

23:54: Charles Leclerc

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles Leclerc is a loud shouter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles Leclerc is an investigator.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10:09: Charles Leclerc

We need to talk.

Charles Leclerc is a phone call away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

23:05: Carlos Sainz

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

23:31: You

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

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

00:24: Charles Leclerc

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles Leclerc is your husband.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

01:46: Carlos Sainz

I’m in love with you.

3K notes · View notes

uchinagai · 15 days ago

Text

Your endless love - ningning

➢Synopsis: once, teenage sweethearts, y/n and ningning, now meet each other as full-grown adults, expect, one life had to take a different, much harder patch. will they reunite? Or did ningning only return for a different reason?

➢Pairing : CEO!ningning x artist!y/n

➢Genre: angst, fluff but maybe only past... slightly suggestive almost there but a man has to interrupt, I really wanna point out it's angst! but gets better ...?? maybe

➢warnings: heavy topics, such as - suicide, death, arranged marriage or self-hatred, miscommunications, blackmailing, suggestive/smut, mention of a corpse but not g0re, mention of murder/possible murderer, 18+.

➢wk: 5.1k+

➢note: well... kind of inspired by my childhood Turkish drama I forgot the name of but till this day remember the heartbreak my 10-year-old ass went thru. I think that's all I have to say, hope you guys will enjoy it. :3 I'm not the best writer, I do this only for MY pure entertainment. not proofread. will there be pt.2? maybeee...

You lost five years of your life to keep your younger brother free, to save him from going to jail after he accidentally took the life of a woman. Given the choice between covering up his crime and your own freedom, you chose him. You loved your brother dearly, but the cost was far greater than you ever imagined.

They married you off to a man you could hardly stand—a man who seemed obsessed with you, and not in a way that felt like love. Yet, he called himself your husband and flaunted you like a prize that made you disgusted each day that passed. Five years had passed with the weight of that ring around your finger that was more of a rope, tightening taking away air from you.

But now, staring at your brother's pale body lying on the hospital bed, you felt a hollowness eating at your insides. Is this what you meant to waste your five years to?

Your fingers trembled as they traced over the red scar on his neck, feeling your own throat tighten as though a rope was there, suffocating you, too.

He looked ghostly, eyes closed, lips an unnatural shade of blue. You gripped his limp hand, sobbing and begging him to get up. It was all for nothing; your life was ripped apart, sacrificed to save him, only for him to take his own life out of guilt. In his last words, he admitted as much. A note lay beside him, neat and careful, explaining everything. He couldn’t bear the weight of watching you wither under the demands of a loveless marriage, sacrificed to protect him. He couldn’t stand hearing you cry through closed doors as he walked by with food for you, feeling helpless to fix what he had caused. And he couldn’t stand to see your parents throw you away, to a man who saw you only as something to possess. And it mostly saddened him knowing you were only capable of loving a person you met on a bus.

You were just 19, running to a bus you were going to miss at any second. The door closed right into your face as you banged on the door, begging the driver to open it. He did, thankfully. You thanked him as you tried to catch your breath.

‘That was a hard run’ you thought.

You looked around for a seat, but there was none.

‘Great. Just my luck.’

You tried to take a breath as you clutched onto the pole next to you. You set your canvas to a safe place and look around the bus, trying to spot the next muse of your art.

There you lock eyes with a girl. A beautiful one, looking right at you, with slight interest written on her face.

‘Woah she’s pretty’ you thought.

The girl stared back at you, not breaking eye contact. Her blonde hair fell in sleek, straight as it could be, as sunlight hit her eyes from the window. The light color framed her features in a way that made her look effortlessly striking. Her eyes held an intense, yet steady gaze, focused onto you, like you’re the only one in this crowded bus.

Your eyes roamed around, taking in her appearance.

Her lips painted a rich, dark red, stood out beautifully against her fair skin. God, she was pale—not sickly pale, but pale to the point that it was beautiful and reflected light off of her body.

She wore a simple outfit, a denim cropped jacket, with a black tube top perfectly sitting around her body. Her jeans matched her denim jacket.

As you stared, you felt an unfamiliar turn to the left as you broke eye contact that felt like it lasted ages. You looked out the window and realized that the bus you got on was not the one you thought it was, so here you were—going off in the wrong direction.

All you could do was panic and turn to the driver, asking when the nearest stop was. He reassured you it was soon, but you were already late.

It did not take a while to get to the stop, as you rushed off the bus.

But fuck! The canvas!

You turn, seeing the bus already off.

‘What a horrible day to be alive’

You mentally cursed at yourself as you were about to break down till an unfamiliar voice, filled with a sweet tone to it, broke you out of your thoughts.

You open your eyes that you closed due to stress hitting your nerves to be met with the same beautiful face, looking at you with a smile.

“I think you forgot this,” says the stranger as she reaches out your canvas.

‘What a great day to be alive’ you changed your thoughts in a second.

“Oh my god! Thank you so much!!” you say as you grab it and hug the canvas.

The girl giggles at the sight as you sigh.

“I can’t explain how grateful I am”

“It's not a problem, really”

“It should be! You had to get off of your ride to bring this for me”

“Oh yeah…” she says as you both chuckle at her lack of thinking.

“Well, I wasn’t rushing anywhere, seems like you are tho, need help?”

‘Is she an angel sent from the heavens for me?’ you thought as you nodded at her request.

“I was trying to get to my house… but seems like I got on the wrong bus,” you say defeated.

“Where were you headed off to?”

“Cheong-dong..”

It felt like you were rubbing into her that you were from a wealthy family.

The blonde looked at you, slightly taken back but she covered it with a smile.

“And you were trying to take a bus… there?”

You nod.

“Well, I forgot my car keys…”

“Let’s get you there then”

She says as she grabs your wrist without thinking, dragging you along with her back where the bus made a turn.

“So what were you doing out here?”

“I was in my studio... Painting”

“Figured,” she says as she chuckles.

“Oh right, what’s your name… at least got to know what’s the name of a beauty that is about to kidnap me” you say as you both burst into laughing.

“Ningning, it's Ningning, and I'm not gonna kidnap you,” she says as she reassures you. “Yours?”

“y/n”

“Pretty name, just like your face.”

And that is pretty much how it all started. Was it too cheesy to say you both fell in love at first sight? Maybe. But god she had you whipped.

Every little thing she did made you feel butterflies all over. The way she looked at you, waited for you in front of your studio and surprised you with a bunch of balloons attached to your car. How she played music that she loved while doing her homework in your presence. It was a matter of time and you two were official.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from her. The way her blonde hair fell to her face, the way her nose would scrunch up when she couldn't get the answer right. It made you all fall for her, and she was just as much in love with you.

You would always sketch her at different times while working or writing music. She was beautiful every single time. You mostly loved sketching her while sleeping, that’s when she looked most relaxed and calm, without a care in the world. You were always at her place because you didn’t know how your parents would react to… someone from the lower class.

But it did not matter.

You were in love.

You decided it was a good idea to tell your mom about it since she was always supportive of your decisions in life - painting? She got you a whole studio and the best paints in the world. Music? She installed speakers in the studio to enjoy it. So you told her, and at first, she easily accepted you and supported you.

Till she wasn’t.

You remember it like yesterday, calming your little brother from what he had just done. You couldn't believe it either? Your brother, hurting someone? But before you could even process that, you were pulled by your parents into a security room.

There he was, again. With that smug of his that made you feel uneasy with everything.

He pressed space. And there was your brother, with a gun, laughing and giggling, pointed at the girl. He thought the gun girl brought along for ‘roleplay’ was just a toy till he fired.

He pauses the footage.

“I delete this footage and do not turn it to the police… on one condition”

“Whatever you want!” your mom pleaded.

Then he looked at you and it all clicked. He wanted you. Then you looked at your parents.

Your mom was looking at you full of hope but your dad… He seemed just as against the idea as you were.

“We will have to talk this out first,” Your dad says as your mom looks at him unpleased with his decision.

But there was no point.

Your life was already decided

Now here you stand, watching as they lower the casket as you can only think about Ningning.

Your ‘husband’s’ hand was holding u firm against him. Like he was holding u for support but it suffocated you even more.

You couldn’t even cry, you felt numb. All of those years for what? For him to kill himself because he felt guilty? Bullshit.

As the time passed after the death, you felt yourself grow angrier than sad and the only person to be able to shut it down was Ningning. You kept looking back to old pictures, missing her, her touch, scent, everything.

At some point, you would stalk her socials, and try to keep up with her till she completely vanished from all social media. Her account was up but her last post was when she left back for her home country - china, and that was years ago.

Was she still in China? Did she come back? Does she still live in the same house?

It was another day, staking her dead account which was too much for you because most of the pictures that were posted, were taken by you, so you just went on a night walk by Han River, after another argument with Kai He always found a way to drain you, was it either verbally, physically, or mentally.’

You put on your earphones as you enjoyed the specific scent the water had. It was pretty chilly, so you dressed up warmly, a puffer jacket with a black scarf around your neck, wore simple black baggy jeans, and went on the walk. It calmed you down for sure and music playing in your ears that distracted you from unwanted thoughts.

But you stop in your tracks.

As the music was about to switch and earphones went silent for a few seconds, you heard it.

Honey-dripped voice giggling. All too familiar.

You couldn’t have mistaken that. It was basically recorded in your brain.

You shut your music off in an instant as you start looking around, searching for the familiar blonde hair… but it is nowhere to be seen.

Were you just imagining it?

But there was no way… right?

And then you heard it again, you were not going crazy.

You tried to follow the sound only to be met by a black-haired haired turned away from you. What was going on?

Till you saw it.

That beautiful side profile of hers, her nose scrunched up in laughing.

She went black… you thought as you just stood there, looking but not moving an inch. She was with a bunch of three other girls that you paid no mind to. It was just her, standing in front of you to reach but being so unreachable. Everyone was out of the picture like the world had stopped where it was her voice filling it up.

God knows how long you stayed there, watching, but it definitely caught the other three's attention as they nudged the black haired whispering something to her as she turned her head right at you.

It was like a spark went through you as her smiley gaze landed on you, but it quickly died down as her face dropped.

‘She hates me’ you thought due to her facial expression dropping as you felt tears forming. You wanted to run, hide, and never show yourself but it was like you were stuck in a quicksand, unable to move from your spot.

She stared back right at you till she turned her head towards her friends. Saying something that made them all look at you and then back to her.

You wanted to reach out, call her, touch her, explain yourself, but the lump stuck in your throat made it all impossible.

“Ningning!!” you choked out as she was about to start walking away, making her pause in her tracks making her turn to you, standing what felt like kilometers away. You were at a loss for words… she changed, in a good way, but everything about her was different. The way dressed, the way she did her makeup… the way she looked at you.

The last one hurt the most. Her expression was almost unreadable but it was full of hurt and hatred, and you understood her more than anything. You had no idea what to say to her. You haven’t even planned out how to talk to her, thinking she was still in China.

“Can we talk?” you say after a decade

“What is there to talk about?” she says, almost mocking you. Her honey voice was completely replaced with venom. It hurt but you couldn’t blame the girl either.

But she moved against her words because the next thing you knew, she was walking towards you.

‘What the hell is going on right now?’

“What are you gonna say? I’m sorry I ghosted you? Or are you gonna tell me you’re married, because I already know that, everyone in South Korea knew about y/n l/ns marriage BUT me.”

God, it hurts so bad, you couldn’t respond to her. You just stood there while Ningning looked at you like she hated your guts. It made you feel like you were trapped, with the door right in front of you, but it was locked away.

“Answer me y/n!” She yells, demanding an answer from you, knowing you physically couldn’t utter a word. You choke on your sob as you start crying. All you could do was cry.

As she stood there her scent was right in front of you, all you wanted was to grab her into a hug bury your head into her, and never let her go.

For Ningning it almost felt like an instinct to reach out and cup your face, wipe your tears away, and tell you everything was fine when it wasn’t fine, but she would do anything to stop you from crying in front of her. It ate her from inside as she saw your hand reach up to your face, covering your tears away.

The ring.

It should’ve been her who you were married to, not some guy Kai that she knew very well was from a very well-off family.

“I never meant it to get this bad,” you say between sobs as you fall to your knees in the middle of the bridge.

Ningning instantly went down with you as she held your head.

“What do you mean y/n, for god's sake speak to me at least once. Tell me you don’t actually love me so I can let you go”

That was your biggest fear as you looked up at her and clutched onto her wrist “No! No, that's not true!” You yell, desperate for her as she looks at you. Her eyes slowly welled up with tears as she bit her lower lip.

“You’re making everything harder than it should be y/n…”

“I had to Ningning, I couldn’t pick…-” you say as the lump in your throat chokes you from saying anything else.

“What you couldn’t pick”

“My own future…”

Ningnings heart hurt. She didn’t know what you meant at all but one thing was clear to her - everything was against your own wishes. That was enough for her to grab you into a long overdue hug as she held you tight against her.

You melt into her arms as you wrap your arms around her neck, clutching onto her shirt as you sobbed into her. You two stayed this way for a long time till you finally calmed down and steadily started breathing, enjoying her arms around you.

It made you feel complete.

Like you were missing a part of you, and now that it’s back, you would give anything to keep it with you.

She took you to her new place—one that, to your surprise, was just a street away from your own house so near that you almost thought she got it on purpose to stalk you. You could step into the driveway and you were able to see your own house clearly.

‘Seems like she built herself up’ you thought as you stood out in the driveway, staring at your prison perfectly on display while having a blanket wrapped around you.

The younger girl stepped out with two cups of hot chocolate. As she reached one to you.

You guys left her friends behind as she drove you to hers, even though she knew where you lived. She wanted you to be with her only.

Only then you were gonna be able to tell her everything.

You grabbed the cup and held it with you.

“If you’re wondering, yes. I did buy the house to be close to you.”

You felt it coming. You knew it was her dream to live at least close to you, if not with you.

“It’s pretty”

“Yeah, it is.” She says as she slowly turns her head to you. “Care to tell me, properly?..”

“My brother is dead.” You said as you looked back at her. “He’s gone while I suffered for five years because of him.”

‘Suffered’ made Ningnings's ears perk up and feel uneasy.

“You know my… husband, kai. He threatened me that he would leak footage of my brother accidentally killing a woman. To stop him from doing so, I married him.”

“Y/n I’m so—“

“You didn’t know, nobody does, so don’t stress yourself” You smile at her as she sends you a weak smile back at you.

You take a sip from your drink as you turn your head back, now seeing movement in front of your house. It was Kai, slamming his car door and screaming at the staff.

“I couldn’t make sense why you would marry him when I saw him act like a spoiled male brat, but now it all makes sense,” she says as she giggles at his outburst as you crack a smile.

“He’s a boy, seriously. He might be leading his daddy’s company but it will go downhill with his outbursts in around 1-2 years.”

“Then another rival company down,” Ningning says as she turns back to her house and you instantly follow her in.

“CEO Ningning?” You question with a teasing smile as you lean against the kitchen island, next to her.

“Why? Does it turn you on?” She says as she leans on the counter, playing into your game.

“Maybe… you always looked… good working,” you say as you lean towards her now.

It was like something flipped in her as she grabbed your waist and trapped you between her and the counter.

“You’re playing with me, aren’t you”

You looked at her, like a prey trapped with a predator. God, you missed her, the way she touched you, or looked at you. You couldn’t even answer her as you wrapped your arms around her smashing your lips on her, which she responded to immediately.

Her hands went down to your waist, placing herself between your legs as your hands went to her hair, thuggin' at it which caused her to whine into your mouth.

You break the kiss as you look at her with hooded eyes, telling her everything just by looking at her. In an instant you switched positions as now, you were trapping her.

“Let me make up for all the times we missed..” you mumble against her lips as you lay wet kisses from her jaw down to her neck.

The girl was sensitive and you were kissing all of her right spots so all she could do was whine and clutch onto the counter behind her.

Ningning was very impatient with you because it seemed like you were taking an awfully long time with her, so what could a girl do?

She positioned herself on your thigh before so now all she could do was grind against it, searching for some friction, but to no avail. You held her hips down, not letting her chase her desired feeling.

“Getting slightly impatient now are we?” You tease her as she looks at you with her.

At that, you both froze at an incoming doorbell, from the entrance of the driveway, which was guarded with a getaway. It causes both of you to groan as she looks at the security camera installed:

It was your husband, looking as if he's composed and calm but you can read him like an open book: a hint of anger in his left eye, a slight dent in his cheek on his right, which means he is biting on that side, clenched jaw and car in the background messily parked by him. He was mad, for whatever reason.

But how did he know you were even here? And what was he even doing here, in front of Ningning's house?

What confused you even more was, why was Ningning seemingly all okay with it?!. It was like she was expecting him so she opened the gate for him as he walked up the driveway, taken aback by seeing you from the ceiling-tall window.

“Mr. Kai,” she says as she greets him offering her hand to shake, but there is no point in it, he is staring dead at you, not even glancing at Ningning waiting for a handshake. She takes her hand back and chuckles seeing the staring battle between the two. You were staring at him, without any emotion showing, scared that he might suspect something between the two of you.

“We are childhood friends, Mr. Kai, no hard feelings”

“Oh are you guys now?” he says as he turns his head, eyes still on you, but then he looks at Ningning and sends her the psychotic smile that made your skin crawl every time you saw it. You knew he was mad and in an attempt to calm him down, you took a step towards him grabbed his upper arm, and looked at him. The touch was gentle, and that did not go unnoticed by Ningning. Now she was the one clenching her jaw as she looked away.

“Kai don’t cause a scene, she's my friend, we were catching up,” you whisper as he looks down at you. He glares at you but looks up masking it perfectly.

“And here I was, wondering where my wife went,” he says and giggles which Ningning can only manage to send him a fake smile.

‘My wife’ coming from his mouth made Ningning livid. She should be the one saying it. She should be the one you wake up next to but here she was, in front of him.

“We have to go back,” you say as you turn to Ningning “ We are having lunch, right?” you say to him as he nods and grabs your wrist.

“We will talk another time, Ning Yi Zhuo” It was probably your first time hearing her actual name from someone other than her or her parents. But the question was… why would Kai and Ningning even speak about and how did they know each other?

It didn’t take two weeks for you to figure out why would they speak - they’re basically rivals in their job.

Both your husband and Ningning were law firm CEOs and the rivalry between the companies was pretty much known to mankind. So here they were, standing, a drink between their finger at a dinner party, hosted by someone you did not care slightly about.

But what you DID care about, was that the invited person had a chance to bring a plus one. You, as Kai’s wife, were his plus one. But who was Ningning’s plus one? She would never go alone to these kinds of parties, so you hawked around the big room full of people, trying to spot someone you had no idea about.

Till your eyes landed on a familiar one from the day on the bridge with Ningning. The girl had pink hair - very unusual for this kind of dinner, so she stuck out like a sore thumb. You trailed her movements before she approached Ningning, making you clench your jaw.

The way she leaned in, whispered into her ear, backed away, looked at ningning, everything, made your blood boil, why the hell were they so close? But then again, you shouldn’t be the jealous one, you were the reason for the breakup, after all.

You looked away, not wanting to anger yourself with the scenery unfolding right in front of you, that you had no control of. It made you feel uneasy and uncomfortable.

And to top it all, Kai walked over. ‘Great’ you thought, as you mentally got ready to brush off his arm around your shoulder, a move you mastered he loved. But before you could do that, he leaned down to your ear, whispering:

‘Ning yi zhuo is approaching, act like a loving wife, for once, goddamit’

All this caught you off guard, and you looked straight ahead, seeing he wasn’t lying. Ningning was slowly making her way over you two, arms hooked with a pink-haired stranger, as you decided to use this moment.

Be lovely-dovey with your ‘perfect husband’.

So you put your arm up to your shoulder, Kai expecting you to brush him off, even after he asked but instead, you held his hand, as you looked up to him with a reassuring smile, that completely caught him off guard and softened up with his touch around you.

As that happened right in front of Ningning, she wanted to break a glass on his head that he was holding. But what confused her more was, why were you smiling back at him? Didn’t you hate him? Did you just lie to her?

She approaches you two as she reaches out her hand to shake Kai as she looks at him, trying to maintain her composure, that you saw right thru of. ‘It was working as you turned your head towards the couple in front of you two. You send them a small smile as a greeting and watch the two of them shake hands.

“Mr. Kai, so nice to see you,” she says with a smile, you noticed how the left side of her cheek slightly shivered which was obvious she was not having any of the things that were unfolding in front of her.

“Same goes for you, Yizhuo,” he says as he smiles, which you knew was genuine, probably due to you letting him hold your hand. He shifts his gaze onto the pink-haired girl. “Who is this girl? First time seeing someone with hair like… that. Here” he paused, wanting to point out it was not normal to have hair color as bright to a place as honorable and noble as this dinner.

“This is Aeri, my friend,” She says, annoyance visible in her tone. “I think we should go somewhere private, No?” she suggests as you notice the change of posture and stiffness of your husband around you.

Was he always like this?

You didn’t know, you never let him close enough to feel his emotions thru touch.

He slid off hand from your shoulder as he grabbed both of them and turned you towards him, gently as he layed kiss on your forehead, whispering ‘don’t go too far’ as you nodded and smiled up to him.

What were you even doing?

You watched to walk away, as you let out a breath you did not know were holding in as you turned to the aeri girl, sending her a smile as you excuse yourself but you stop when you hear someone call out your name.

You turned realizing it’s Aeri.

“y/n!”

“Yes?” you say as you smile at her, to be polite.

“Be careful.”

“What?”

“I said, be careful”

“Okay? Thank you?” you say confused as you turn on your heel and walk away, replying her words over and over. You walked mindlessly as you arrived to womens restroom and by the corner you hear muffled sounds, what seemed like two persons talking, but they sounded angry at one another. You didn’t wanna be involved but it was right near the bathroom so you walked over, clearly hearing the conversation.

The low whisper-yelling made it obvious to you, who was one of them.

Ningning.

But who was she arguing with???

“Yizhuo stay out of my fucking business!” another whisper yell, but louder.

Kai.

What the hell is going on?

“Your little precious ‘wife’ needs to know the asshole and murder you are, kai.”

Murderer.

It rang in your head, the same feeling of air slowly being taken from you came back, just like when you heard about your brothers passing, but before you process all of that you hear him bite back.

“And you need to stop messing with her head. You only came back to get revenge on me, leave her alone, we both know you don’t care about her, Yizhuo!”

Things just kept getting worse.

She only came back for… revenge? That’s what you only were to her?? A plaything for her to get revenge on your, alleged murderer husband??

What was going on, you had no idea but need to get away was huge so you ran.

You ran out, crying, causing everyone to look at your running figure, confused and taken aback.

You ran till you own legs couldn’t support you.

You fell on the street sidewalk, staring at your own hands, hands that held his in your own.

hands that touched Ningning.

‘She was just using me’ is all you could think and repeat over and over.

Till your own mind shuts off on you.

finished.

god, this has been in my drafts for a while, heh..

#aespa #ningning x fem reader #ningning x reader #kpop gg #kpop wlw smau #kpop fanfic #kpop x reader #wlw #kpop fluff #kpop angst #ningning angst #ningning #aespa smau #aespa x reader #aespa x fem reader #aespa x you #ningning x you #ning yizhuo

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mother-honour · 9 months ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because of him, he kept reminding himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The same road leads to your shared house.

The same road you drove on before-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"…Simon?"

Simon froze.

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

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

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

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

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saberlight1 · 11 months ago

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nurturing — billy the kid

pairing: billy bonney x fem!reader

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

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

masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 2 years ago

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Tiny ideas 2

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

And just like that, doll Danny was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

Jazz was mortified.

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

-----

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

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

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

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

(Heavy angst for Danny.)

---

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

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

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

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

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

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syoish-aot · 5 months ago

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"I Found You" - EREN/READER - REVERSE ISEKAI (part 4)

reverse isekai, time travel, memory loss

post canon (in a weird roundabout way)

reader/eren

word count: 1411

** note: I edited and moved around some stuff in part 2 and part 3 (that's just how it is when I'm posting rough drafts) so it might be worth going back to reread those parts. The important changes are: they're actually at the soft open of Niccolo's restaurant, Mikasa isn't there yet (because she's flying in from out of town), and I took out the Sasha/Mikasa engagement because I have another idea that works better for later. **

<- PART 3 | PART 5 ->

*****

“The fuck do you mean ‘awake’?” Eren asked after Armin and Jean had immediately pulled him into the bathroom, since it was the only place they’d have some semblance of privacy.

“Eren it’s- um…” Armin stuttered as he began to fiddle with his hands before he turned to Jean. “Y-You should-”

“Already did it.” Jean quickly said as he slid his phone into his back pocket.

Eren scowled. “Did wha-”

Suddenly the door burst open. “I JUST GOT JEAN’S TEXT IS EREN REALLY-” Connie cut himself off as he stood in the doorway- eyes wide, face flushed, staring right at Eren. “...holy shit…” He mumbled.

Eren continued to scowl, still extremely confused.

“Move! Move! Move!!” Sasha pushed past him, causing Connie to stumble out of the way and fully into the bathroom. “I knew it would happen soon! I fucking knew it!! I have a sense for these sorts of things you know. It was the same thing when Jean woke up. I had been craving baked potatoes for weeks and then-”

“Sasha, calm down.” Armin cut her off. “We don’t want to overwhelm him, alright?”

“Overwhelm me with what!?” Eren exclaimed. “Seriously what the hell is-”

“What’s the last thing you remember, Eren?” Armin asked as he placed his hands on Eren’s shoulders and forced the other man to look at him.

Eren’s stomach sank as the memories flooded his vision. Smoke. The stomping of footsteps. Streaming from the people below him. A blade drawn lightning quick.

Falling.

And then nothing.

“I-...” Eren’s head fell as his hands trembled at his sides. “I remember- I remember everything.” His voice hitched. “Everything I did. Everything I forced all of you to do because of it- all those people I killed and-”

“Eren.”

Suddenly Armin’s arms were wrapped around him, pulling him tightly into a hug just like the hug he’d given him the last time they’d seen each other but also-

…also nothing like that at all.

“It’s alright now.” Armin told him softly. “None of that matters anymore.”

Eren scoffed. “How can it not matter?”

“Because none of that happened here.” Armin told him. “We don’t-... we don’t really get it either but for some reason after we all lived our lives back then, we came here.”

“But…” Eren practically whispered. “...where is here?”

“Here is where everyone is alive. Where we’re all together and we don’t have to worry about death or fighting or titans or anything like that. Here we can just-...” Armin pulled away from his friend and smiled at him, eyes glistening with tears. He looked so relieved as he finished his words: “... here is where everyone can live, Eren.”

“Everyone?” Eren asked.

“Yeah.” Armin told him. “Everyone.”

Eren’s eyes moved from Armin to Jean, Sasha, and Connie. Outside of the room there were more people too, more people he knew from his past life that had somehow ended up here. Everyone in the restaurant was someone he’d crossed at some point in his past; someone who, apparently, had memories of that past but understood it was different from where they were now.

Everyone except for one of them.

Except the person Eren didn’t know from his past, and for some reason had only met in the future.

He’d watched you get ready that morning. Smiling and joking around as you filled him in on the most random gossip of the friend group. A group of people that you were apparently a part of. The way you talked about everyone indicated that you knew them well, maybe even as well as he did.

Eren’s eyebrows tightened together in frustration as he thought of you. He had to know: “Then who’s-”

The bathroom door suddenly burst open.

“There you guys are!” You exclaimed. “Not to ruin your secret bathroom meeting or anything, but Niccolo wants to make a toast.”

Everyone’s eyes were locked on you, each one of them resembling a deer in headlights. You can’t help laughing at their expressions. “What?” You asked.

Armin took a quick breath.

Jean swallowed a lump in his throat.

Sasha coughed.

Eren tried to avoid your eyes, feeling unsettled by the idea of meeting your gaze. The way everyone else was acting indicated that you didn’t know anything about this. About them. About how, apparently, all of them had wound up here in some sort of second chance at life.

They couldn’t raise suspicion.

So Connie bravely broke the silence: “It’s um- It’s Jean,” he stuttered. “He’s-... he’s constipated!”

Yeah.

Yeah that wasn’t suspicious at all.

***

“So… um, I guess that’s all I have to say.” Nicolo concluded his toast with an awkward laugh. “Thank you all for your support, even when that support-” he turned to Sasha, who was tucked under his arm and smiling up at her fiance as he addressed the room, ��-sometimes means eating all of my imported truffles.”

“I told you that was an accident!” Sasha defended, playfully smacking him on the chest.

Niccolo laughed and kissed her forehead before everyone raised their glasses in a toast.

You grinned as your arm fell and you took a sip of your champagne. Your nose scrunched at the bitter taste. Wine had never been your thing.

You turned to Eren, who was standing next to you staring into his own glass.

“Don’t tell me you’re already considering cutting yourself off.” You teased. “Last night you were raving about how you were going to drink Jean under the table again.”

“Yeah..” Eren mumbled. “I um… yeah.”

Your smile fell as you watched him. He looked so trapped in thought. Thoughts he would normally share with you, but right now you knew there was no way he’d do that. You’d spent all morning trying to get into his head and having him push you out.

Eren was right next to you.

But… he’d never felt so far away.

“I don’t know what happened.” Eren told you, when you were nineteen and he disappeared for an entire night.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

Eren shrugged as he poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the kitchen counter. “I wanted to go for a walk, so I did and then- I dunno. Must have hit my head or something because I woke up back in bed.”

“Eren, you’re acting really casually about this. Maybe we should call your dad…”

You watched Eren’s body tense, just like it always did at the mention of Grisha Jaeger.

Eren stared into his glass of water, getting lost in his own reflection. For a moment you didn’t recognize him. For a moment he was a stranger.

You didn’t know what else to say, so you said nothing.

Thankfully, after that he bounced back. After that he was Eren. Just Eren.

Until right now, almost six years later, he wasn’t “Just Eren” at all.

He was someone else. The same “someone” that had gotten lost in the woods all those years ago.

Your hand slowly moved from your side and your fingers brushed softly against his. Eren jumped, as if your touch was something intimidating as opposed to comforting.

You began to pull away from him, worried that you’d make things even worse if you continued to push.

But, just as your fingers parted from his, his hand quickly reached out to take yours.

“Don’t.” He told you softly, still staring into his untouched glass of champagne. “I-...”

Eren’s heart clenched as your hand curled against his, returning his hold and sending a wave of warmth up his entire arm. He still didn’t know who you were but he knew this. He knew you hand in his and the way it made his heart soar.

“It’s okay, Eren.” You said softly as you gave his hand a soft squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For some reason, those words made everything seem okay.

***

Mikasa pulled herself into the taxi with a short sigh. Her flight hadn’t been long, but flying had always made her uncomfortable. Thankfully it was over, and soon she’d be celebrating with her friends.

A small smile tugged at her lips at the thought of seeing everyone again. She stared out the window, watching the city pass by in a blur.

Her phone buzzed and she looked down to see a group chat notification.

Expecting it to be Sasha, likely asking how much longer she was going to take to get there, her eyes widened when she read two simple words:

#eren x reader #eren yaeger x reader #eren jeager x reader #aot x reader #reverse isekai: i found you #my writing

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dramaticallycryingblood · 8 months ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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xxchumanixx · 7 months ago

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Matchmaker

The Mandalorian x reader

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

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

Word count: 2.652

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

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

Enjoy!

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

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

His eyebrows rise, and you sigh in defeat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't know what you mean."

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

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

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

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

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

Din is taken aback by his words, body freezing.

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

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

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

Din winces, shaking his head again.

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

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

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

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

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

Of course not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except for Nevarro now.

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

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

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

"And you if you want to."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blush, still shocked at his confession.

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

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

"I wouldn't know what to do."

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widen at his words.

His wife, kids of his own.

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

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

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

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

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

He falls silent at that, only staring at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

cyar'ika: sweetheart

#the mandalorian #the mandaloria/reader #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x u #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #star wars #may the fourth be with you #pedro pascal

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lostberet · 3 months ago

Text

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ MOB DAYCARE CHAP. I | min yoongi (m)

𐙚 synopsis: After almost meeting Satan himself, Agust D is forced to take a hiatus from his underwork mob work. However, during his hiatus, he is stumbled upon a 4 year old. And so far, being a guardian is harder than being a mob leader.

༘⋆ genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , humor, romance , violence, suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au , parenthood au .

༘⋆ disclaimer: Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Child Abuse, eventual smut, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

༘⋆ a/note: omg.. I am back with this chapter, and I am so excited to write this series━ I'll go work on Heartburn now... :( likes and reposts are appreciated <3 also name ideas for the kid?

TEASER | NEXT

The rule of this world is━ “The strong is King.” Those who follow this rule, fight each other in order to obtain a title.

A few years ago, a man single-handedly fought through the ice, breaking and reaching its highest point. Those who feared him gave him a title━ Agust D, the Panther King.

Yoongi sighed, his eyes staring into the white void of his living-room ceiling. He was once who they called Agust D. He would have still been Agust D if it weren’t for that fateful night.

Agust gasped for air, his teeth sucking back his lower lip into a tight bite. His left eye clenched shut as blood dripped down his face. He was bloody, although he wished to say the blood wasn’t his, he would be lying. His dark hair fell to his shoulders, some of it sticking to his face by the sweat and blood. With a trembling form, he made his way into the apartment, dropping his weapon on the floor. Each step he took left a small trial of blood behind him. He was tired, so tired.

Yoongi blinked, erasing the memory from his vision as he clenched his jaw. Why the past..? He thought to himself before sitting on the couch and looking at the carpet where a 4-year-old boy lay. He remembered bringing the kid into his home, he weighed almost nothing.

Frowning at the unusual behavior of the kid, Yoongi eyed him as it slept. “Something isn’t right..” he whispered, his tongue pressing gently on his bottom lip. He snapped his fingers, an idea coming to his brain. He grabbed the nearby blanket lying on the sofa, before clumsily laying it on the kid. “Perfect.”

The bathroom mirror was foggy, and the humidity made Yoongi sweat slightly as he dried the kid's hair. The toddler had overgrown hair that almost made him look wild. Yoongi had taken mental notes on the kid's poor hygiene, adding to his theory of the child kidnapping. Not having any child-sized clothing, the gangster had given one of his own shirts for the toddler to wear. A black shirt with the words "MINE" graphed vertically. As the older man dried the head of the kid, the child would mutter out random vocals. Frowning at the confusion vocal, Yoongi removed the towel from the kid's head, causing the kid to loop at him with a bright smile.

“You.. brat━!” Yoongi flinched as he bit back a cuss, lifting his arm up, his eyes noticing the multiple bites on his arm, “was your birth year the year of the dog?!” Yoongi exclaimed, his body trembling in desperation. Another thing Yoongi had noticed was the kid's inability to show proper manners. No matter how hard Yoongi glared at the kid, the kid only looked up at him, giving him a grin and a giggle.

As they both sat in the living room, the child freshly showered and not smelling like trash, traced his fingers on the black leather of the couch, “Since you can’t speak for nish━” Yoongi grunted as he sat next to the kid, scooping some cereal into the spoon, “I bet you don’t know how to use utensils. Come here,” The toddler tilted his head as he opened his mouth, allowing Yoongi to feed him the cereal, “You don’t look like you were raised at all..” Yoongi voiced his thoughts, the child looking at the bowl as Yoongi continued feeding him.

If it was a kidnapping.. And I send this kid away.. What if he doesn’t have a family? Will he then be an orphan? Yoongi physically yelped at the thought, “Not my problem!” His voice came out louder than expected, causing the kid to look up at him. Agust D had no time for anyone, let alone a fucking child. Deep in his own thoughts, the kid wasted no time poorly grabbing the spoon, scooping cereal ( the scoop facing down and getting little to nothing), and bringing it to Yoongi’s mouth, “ah.. Ah?”

Is this kid trying to feed me? Yoongi raised an eyebrow, damn kid doesn't even know how to hold a spoon.. let alone be able to survive on its own━ not like i care. The gangster scuffed, wiping some of the milk from the kid's chin, earning a bright smile that only caused Yoongi’s heart to clench, this child was stabbing his consciousness.

Yoongi threw his head back against the headboard of the bed, his body tingling, "oh.. fuck.." He choked out, his hands caressing the back, hands gripping onto the waist. His hips automatically thrust upwards earning a moan, "sir.." the voice whimpered.

The gangster narrowed his eyes, frowning his brows at the nickname, "I told you not to call me that, especially when we're having sex." He warned, yet his hips didn't lose their pace. He held onto their jaw, making them lock eyes with him, "you know my name,.. say it.." a hint of desperation in his voice as the other only pushed their lips and let out another whimper.

Yoongi leaned in, tilting their head to the side by their jaw, kissing their collarbones, sending a shiver down the spine, "c'mon, baby.. you know my name..' his voice was sweet, but his thrusts were becoming much more rougher, causing the other to grunt out, "or do you want me to fuck you until you remember it?" Yoongi asked, brushing his lips against their neck.

"Fuck.. yoongi,.." they gasped out, their hips buckling causing Yoongi to chuckle, "There you go.. always so good for me.." The mafia leader only pulled their face towards him, slamming his lips onto the other as he roughly kissed them. The kiss muffled both their moans and pants, not wanting to stop the kiss. They sucked and bit each other's lips, addicted to each other's lips.

Yoongi pulled the body close to his chest, feeling the other snuggle onto their skin, warmth hugging his heart. "You cannot leave me, understand?" Yoongi warned, making the other chuckle, "you wund me, sir." Yoongi's eye twitched. Noticing this, the other's hands cupped his face, placing a kiss on his scared eye, "you know that won't ever happen."

Yoongi's eyes opened and with a gasp, he rose from the couch. The clock had struck 3 am, and from what Yoongi could gather, it didn’t take long for the kid to fall asleep. Just a nightmare.

The man groaned, rubbing his face with both hands as he licked his dry lips. His gaze landed on the kid sleeping at the other end of the couch.

That's when your phone rang. You looked away from the never-ending document on your laptop, frowning at the unknown number on the screen you bit the inside of your cheek. After a few rings, you picked your phone up, “Hello?”

There was silence on the other line, before that raspy voice said your name, you felt your body freeze, your heart pumping faster, “I made it clear that I want nothing to do with you.” There was silence on the other line once more before you heard a faint 'clank', “It’s important, plus, I already made arrangements with Namjoon, you’re coming whether you like it or not.”

You could have disobeyed, you could have not shown up in the morning, really, but you were in no mood to deal with Namjoon and his scolding. His never-ending rants of how, even as your boss, he also needs favors. Yoongi was like a brother to him, the one that was able to make everyone's dream a reality and in return, they did whatever they could for him. Bunch of ass kissers you would tell yourself. Yet you found yourself dropping the bags onto Yoongi’s wooden floor, all the color being drained from your face.

You tried to speak, confused and flabbergasted by the sight upon you. But what can you say after meeting the man you had decided to leave 3 years ago? The one guy you verbally told was a quote-on-quote dickhead that only cared about himself and then you quit on the spot, only to work under Namjoon, the guy he was closest with? You only eyed his back, noticing the way he cut the kid’s hair.

“Y━you have a kid?!” Your ears might have started to bleed, a ringing remaining as you angrily turned to look at the owner of the pain, “Taehyung━ you son of a━ My ear!” You hissed as you reached over to grab a chunk of his hair.

Yoongi turned to look at the small group who had entered his home, ignoring the small hairpulling between you and Taehyung. Yoongi only shook his head as he explained the situation to the others.

“So.. that’s not your kid?” Jimin asked, his hand lazily signaling the child, “nonsense,” Yoongi muttered, picking up his cup of coffee SeokJin had placed in front of him on the kitchen table, his eyes glancing over at you, rubbing your head while glaring at Taehyung, “Jungkook and Hoseok are looking into where he’s from.”

“Yeah, Agust wouldn’t have a child this fast.” You stated, Yoongi’s ears twitched, all your attention on the kid who has sleepily rubbed his eyes and walked over to Yoongi, “What will you do with him for the time being?”

“Sexist..” you said under your breath, making SeokJin abandon his cooking and turn to you in a snap, “untrue, Yoongi just needs help for the time being━” Now it was you snapping towards SeokJin, “raising a damn child!”

The older one pushed his lips together, “sexist.” Taehyung stated once more, a small smirk on his lips as he winked at you, causing you to flip him off as you carried the child, feeding him some overnight oats.

As SeokJin, Taehyung, and you stayed in the kitchen, bickering at each other, Yoongi was outside on the balcony of his living room. Holding a pocket knife, his fingers tracing over his initials, NamJoon and Jimin behind him, “Hyung, about the kid..” Jimin started, nervously elbowing NamJoon, “It’s just.. If they have eyes on the kid like last time..”

Yoongi bit the inside of his cheek, stabbing the knife into the wooden balcony railing. Jimin flinched, NamJoon placed his hand on Jimin’s shoulder signaling to head back inside, “We’ll take care of everything, hyung.”

Drops of blood stained the cement floor, there was tension in the air, and all Agust could do was kneel before his rival, “You finally show up,” The rival chuckled, one of his hands gripping the hair of a child, eyes blindfolded by a black fold. The kid looked beaten, scared, “If you want me to let him go.. Let’s make a deal.”

The rival threw a blade towards Agust, causing the man’s brows to frown. He was desperate. Agust felt his body tremble, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he picked the blade up, raising it slowly towards his stomach area. Slowly, ever so slowly, pressing the blade into his skin.

Yoongi’s body jerked, causing him to wake from his dream, “shit..” he whispered, his hand flying to his stomach, rubbing it as the dream reminded him of the incident. He licked his dry lips, before sitting up on the bed.

He entered the kitchen, his eyes staring at the cup of water━ besides him, his phone with your contact ready━on the floor, the 4 year old bounced and played between his legs. Yoongi bit his lower lip before he grabbed the kid and sat him on the counter, grabbing his phone and calling you before shoving the electronic onto the kid’s hands.

The phone rang a few times before you picked up, your voice grumpy and sleepy, “yes?” Yoongi looked at the kid and pointed at the phone, suddenly forgetting the child’s inability to speak. Confused━ the kid tilted his head, “m. ah.. ma..ma?” mostly dedicated towards Yoongi, the child called out. It caused you to sit up from your bed and run to get your shoes, “kid?”

You barged into the mountain mansion, not bothering to knock as you slammed the door shut and ran to the living room, “Kid?!” You scanned for the kid, not finding him anywhere before your legs automatically ran to the bedrooms.

Upon opening door by door, having each bedroom memorized (not by your own good), you arrived at Yoongi’s. Your hand reached over to the doorknob, it wasn’t like it was your first time you’ve stepped inside.

Upon entering, you notice Yoongi and the kid sleeping. The child lay on top of the gangster, as the gangster himself had his arms wrapped around the child, almost using him as a teddy bear. You gulped, stepping out the room and slowly closing the door, “Y/n?”

You froze, “yes, sir?” a grunt, “don’t call me that.” You scuff, “..kid butt-dialed me.. I’ll head home now.” The bed creaked and footsteps soon followed, the bedroom door opening━ revealing Yoongi, a sleepy look on his face with the sleeping child in his arms, “Stay the night. It's late.”

You only stared at him, unsure of what to do, so you frowned and shook your head, “No. I can’t do that anymore.”

Yoongi only pressed his cheek on top of the kid's head, sleepy eyes staring down at you. if only he didn't look as innocent, “not for me━ for the kid.”

It left a bitter taste in your mouth. The fact you laid next to Yoongi as he slept, the child curling up on him and Yoongi letting him. Or the fact that you once craved that feeling, one that you couldn’t have━ a feeling of warmth, he knew that. And so, you swallowed back the bitterness and closed your eyes. Tomorrow is a new day.

Tag-list building..: @sol3chu

#bts fanfic #bts fic #x reader #bts army #bts #bts x reader #kpop #min yoongi x reader #bts yoongi #min yoongi fic #yoongi smut #bts x you

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child-of-helios · 6 months ago

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hello. I've a rather stupid question. I've only read the books once, as a kid, and I don't understand why people hate calpyso x leo. whys it so bad? why does everyone seems to hate it on here?

xxx,

eurydice

First of all, this is my first ever ask, I've made it mother :D Secondly, I'd gladly explain! Though please note that it really has been a good while since I've read the books too, so my memory is kinda foggy :] Warnings for: Slight mentions (but not too much) of rape, pedophilia and mental illness (oh boy this is a tough one)

So, I have made a post abt this before, but it was written in a fit of rage so not my proudest moment (but my most popular post, oops). Anyways, I feel that the hate towards Calypso x Leo is because of a few reasons. 1. It simply didn't get enough development to feel worth it imo. Similar to Jason x Piper, I felt like there wasn't enough there to warrant a canon ship. There is also the fact that personally, I thought that their dynamic was more of a familial or that of siblings, which made me uncomfortable. I would've much rather have them be friends. 2. The uncomfortable age gap. It feels very weird because while yes, Calypso was depicted as a teenager, she is thousands upon thousands of years old. The fact that she fell in love with a literal child is incredibly weird. It was weird enough with Percy, but at least they didn't end up dating. With Leo though, she did end up dating him and the age gap feels very odd. Its even weirder knowing she had a relationship with Odysseus, who by that point was a pretty old dude so she was probably very mature and an adult (though she doesn't act like it). 3. Calypso is kinda a rapist. In the Odyssey myth, she forces Odysseus (a married man) to sleep with her. I'm sorry, but I can't support any relationship involving a rapist unless its rapist x prison cell. It makes me uncomfortable because she could very well take advantage of Leo, a mentally ill teenager with self-esteem issues. 4. Her toxic treatment of Leo. Calypso was very pissed when Leo arrived on her island, rightfully so after what she had gone through, but even then her treatment of his was outright cruel, especially compared to that of Percy and Odysseus. She made him sleep outside, exposing him to the elements after he got flung through the air and ended up on her island, which must've caused some damage. Then after they started dating, I still felt uncomfortable reading about the two, because their dynamic just didn't work, and I don't recall her apologizing to him for her treatment of him. 5. Leo's arc was thrown away. I think the worst of all, is how this impacted Leo's character. He should've had an arc where he learnt to love himself, but because of Calypso he didn't. I think the moral was supposed to be: 'even if you're mentally ill or have problems, you still deserve love!' but it came over more as: 'ignore your issues and get all your love from someone else.' Isn't it more important for kids to learn about self-love? And as an extra: what could've been. I think that Leo shouldn't have gone back for Calypso, that that ship shouldn't have happened. I prefer him going back to Echo and them learning about self-love together as buddies (and maybe evolving into more than that). Echo was stuck in an abusive relationship with the Narcissist, so I think it would a good arc for them both. I also think that if you really wanted a romance, Jason x Leo would've been much better. We know that Rick can write good gay romances, we know that Piper turns out to be a lesbian, so why not make Jason and Leo gay? I think it would add much more to the tragedy of Jason's death, but that's for another post (and this one is getting too long already oops). In conclusion, I think Caleo is bad for many reasons, but especially because it didn't have enough time to develop and the dynamic was simply too creepy for me to get invested in. Sorry for the super long post- Have a lovely day :D

#pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #leo valdez #heroes of olympus #hoo #percy jackson #anti calypso #anti caleo #calypso #rick riordan #jason grace #leo x jason #odysseus #the odyssey

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bougiebutchbinch · 1 year ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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ukranianacearo · 8 months ago

Text

"Mother", a strong word

Part 2 Part 3

F!reader

Word count: almost 4k

Mention of Innocent zero's real name.

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

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

Genre(?): angst.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

...

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

...

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

...

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

...

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

...

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

...

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

...

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

...

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

...

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

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

...

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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naturalbornsnickerdoodle · 2 years ago

Text

sick of you | bang chan (fluff)

Pairing: sick!Chan x reader

Word count: 2.1k words

Rating: SFW / PG-13

Genre: Fluff

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N: oh no, what happened?

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

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

🐥: No problem, good luck!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s it, I’m not having it”

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

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

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

“What? Don’t be ridiculous”

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

“this is crazy”

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

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

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

“Bullshit. I’m calling the boys”

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

“I knew it!”

“But I mean, it’s not that bad”

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

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

“sure...”

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

You chuckled at the last part

“What’s so funny?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I walked here”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Babeeee”

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chan? Babe?”

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

“What? Yeah? I’m up, what’s- I’m up”

You chuckled at how confused he looked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“By properly you mean only tonight, yeah?”

“You’re on thin ice, Bang”

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

“Told you it was hot”

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

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

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

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

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

“I MEANT BLOW ON YOUR SOUP YOU LITTLE SHIT”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, but I am sick”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re lying”

“I am”

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

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

Hope you liked it!

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

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averagewriter-inthedark · 5 months ago

Text

Back in Time P.1 ⏳| Agent K/MIB Imagine

An AU of MiB—takes place during MIB3

Part 2 | my masterlists

Characters & Pairings: Agent K x MiB agent!reader (romantic)

Content warnings: fluff, profanity, angst, mentions of death, violence, age gape (read the note below), cannon divergence, suggestive themes, shitty realities women & queer had to go through in the 60s, friends/strangers-to-lovers | female!reader (she/her) | wc 9.3k

Premise: The universe was full of secrets. Y/I learned that in 1997 when she signed her name on the dotted line, swearing her life to MiB with the promise to protect all life: humans and visitors alike. But her world flips upside down in 2012, when the secrets her longtime partner K come knocking at their door. Leading Agent Y/I to go on a wild goose chase to 1969 and employ a young K to stop a madman from killing him...but he doesn't know that just yet.

Note: disclaimer I do not own MiB or the characters mentioned, This is fanfic for fun and while most of the scenes are from the MiB movies I did change most of the dialogue for Y/I. ALSO here is the whole age-gap thing: K was born in 1940, reader born in 1964--24 yr age gap (I know I said I’d never do large age gaps more than 10+ years but this is one exception.) In 1997 K is 57, reader is 33. In 2002 K is 62, reader is 38. In 2012 K is 72, reader is 48. In 1969 K is 29, reader is 48, young reader is 5. Your Initial = Y/I, Y/h/c = your hair color, y/e/c = your eye color. In the movie Boris killed on July 15th, 1969, changed this to July 11th 1969.

Y/I = Your First Initial. Y/h/c = Your Hair Color

————————

2012

The last thing Y/I expected when she woke up that morning and headed into HQ was she’d be the only one to remember her grumpy, always serious, and sometimes melodramatic partner, Agent K. The man who showed her there was more than what meets the eyes in the stars of the night sky. A shooting star? More like the source of a new arrival. As humans were not the only ones to call Earth their home.

Aliens walked among them.

Y/I remembered it like it was yesterday. One minute she’s chasing a culprit in New York as Detective Y/n L/n of the NYPD, the next she’s being fitted in a black suit, identity wiped across all government systems, donning only her initial, Y/I. From there her life turned a complete 180.

Over the course of their 15-year partnership there was never a dull moment. Well 10 years actually when you count the fact the first five years of Y/I career was without K. They’d safely captured the galaxy and disposed of the bug in 1997, her first job after K recruited her. Then he goes saying he wants to retire and orders Y/I to nueralize him. The next five years Y/I went through partners like clockwork. Unable to connect to one like K and neuralzing them left and right.

It just wasn’t the right fit. Which confused the woman greatly because they had literally been partners for a week. Surely anyone else could fit the role. But for some reason Y/I butted heads with everyone Zed set her up with.

Then in 2002 all leads at finding the Light of Zartha points back to K, causing Y/I to recruit him back to MIB and remind him of the life he once had. Of course the task was better said than done. K was as stubborn and cynical even without his MIB persona, believing to have been in a coma for 35 years.

Y/I wanted to strangle him the second he got his memory back. Furious to discover the bastard had neuralized himself so he’d forget where he put the Light of Zartha. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Of course K had a plan. He always did. Which was annoying for the young agent since he hardly ran his ideas past her before going through with them. Honestly Y/I believed K was betting on luck half the time.

But who was she to complain when it always worked in their favor.

The most downright awkward moment between the two happened during their high speed chase trying to get Serleena off their trail. K, forgetting he’d been away from MIB for five years and that the cars were newly modeled, pressed the red button causing them to go into hypersonic mode. And Laura, who Y/I had been casually seeing over the course of the investigation and had grown rather affectionate of the beautiful woman, got to witness it all from the backseat.

“Okay here we go automatic pilot,” K fiddled with the controller resembling one that belonged to a playstation before pressing a button, prompting a decoy to pop out in front of K. Unfortunately, a decoy was all it was. Not taking control of the ship at all causing K to lean over with annoyance plastered on his face. “It is not automatic pilot.”

“He doesn’t operate at hyperspeed,” Y/n’s gave an ‘I told you so,’ face.

“I could really use a steering wheel!”

“Tough luck we don’t have a steering wheel! This is what we got,” her hand gestured to control, reaching over to press the button removing the decoy. K threw his hands up in defeat. Y/I huffed, “didn’t your mother ever get you a GameBoy?”

“What is a GameBoy?!”

Sweet Jesus she couldn’t believe it. What’s a GameBoy? Did this man live under a rock? She was going to have to change that. Bringing her finger up in a stern point, Y/I ordered the man, “You know what, move.” K’s jaw dropped in a ‘O’. “Move!”

And before either had the time to process, Y/I lifted herself off the seat, swung her leg over and straddled K. His eyes practically bulged out of his head, hands going to her hips. The action made her jolt forward, yelping as her thighs pressed against his and feeling something brush against her groin. They both froze, eyes locking as Y/I heard K gulp.

Oh. Fire ignited in the agent. Migrating all the way to her face she prayed didn’t show. K was packing.

Instantly she leaned against the door, pushing the man to get the hint and he quickly ushered himself over the middle console. Face red like a tomato. When they both got situated the car was completely silent. K adjusting his tie while Y/I took hold of the joystick and cleared her throat.

“Alright then.”

Luckily, for her sanity, everything worked out. Serleena indisposed, New York saved once again from a homicidal maniac, and Y/I got her partner back. Only downside was having to say goodbye to Laura, who’d been revealed to be the long lost princess and, quite literally, the Light of Zartha. K was kind enough to give Y/I and Laura a moment to say goodbye. And when a lone tear fell from Y/I’s eyes watching the spaceship ascend to the skies, K was there with a tissue and comforting hand.

They never talked about that moment in the car. And frankly Y/I wanted to erase the memory of her mounting K while at Hyperspeed from her mind. Even half tempted to neuralize herself. But as much as it mortified her, Y/I felt a bit giddy. A bit of her ego boosted at making K speechless….and a bit more.

Her mind quickly shot that down. Remembering this man was her partner--who she went to extreme lengths for to get back--her superior once K got settled back at MIB, and the tiny fact he was a whole generation older than her. Literally. When she did the math it was almost 25 years between them.

Now Y/I had nothing against older men. She loved a silver fox as much as any other, and honestly preferred them to guys younger than her. At the bars she drew them in like wildfire. Never having to pay for her drinks. Then when she was 25 still a detective Y/I had a two year relationship with a man 12 years her senior.

But this was K. They’d really only known each other for maybe a week during that whole bug debacle before the shit with Serleena. It would be highly unprofessional.

Though she can’t lie. The man looked good in his 60s.

Ten years later the two were MIB’s best duo when it came to handling extraterrestrial business and keeping the world safe from unwanted visitors. Y/I with her charm and K with his quick wit, they were unstoppable.

“Don’t worry, K, you can sit this one out,” she’d tease, adjusting the cuffs of her suit with a confident smile. “I got this.”

He’d match her grin, “sure you do, slick.” Then he’d start walking and get right to work leaving her behind.

“Are you ever going to let me drive?”

“Maybe next year.”

“You said that last year, K.”

“I did?” his feigned confusion with a shrug, “Hmm don’t recall.” Like always, he was met with her groan, hearing her head fall back against the seat in defeat.

“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent driver, K.”

He chuckled under his breath, casting a brief glance, “Don’t doubt it, sweetheart, now call Zed and let him know we’re on the way back.”

What could go wrong? Apparently everything.

They’d been on a job the previous night. Investigating Wu’s following suspicious activity and K wasn’t acting like his usual self. On edge, behaving in ways Y/I kept wondering what had crawled up his ass.Then all hell broke loose causing them to lose each other at one point. When Y/I finally made it to the roof, out of breath and in desperate need of a drink, she discovered K wasn’t alone. Greeted with an alien named Boris the Animal.

And he was not the happy camper. In fact, he broke out of prison just to hunt K down.

Later on K vaguely explained the history between him and Boris. “I should’ve killed him,” were his exact words, surprising the agent. She’d always known K to be the man to see all life as precious. He’d take the risk in apprehending a suspect rather than putting them down. Boris, however, did not fall under that.

The night ended with K pulling a play out of left field by suspending Y/I for four weeks when she refused to let go of not pursuing Boris. Who’s arrival shook K to his core. Quite literally. And when he called her that night to say, “you know what the most destructive force in the universe is?”

“Sugar,” Y/I sarcastically replied, not really in the mood.

“Regret.”

She went silent for a moment, “You don’t have to wait. Just talk.”

“I promised you the secrets of the universe nothing more,” K reminded her, making the woman roll her eyes in frustration.

“So what, K? There’s secrets out there the universe doesn’t know about? How can we be partners if you can’t even trust me?” When he didn’t answer, Y/I had enough and hung up. Unaware the man on the other end was holding himself together. So desperately wishing he could tell her the truth. The whole truth.

Falling asleep not long later, Y/n woke the next morning like any other day. Completed her morning routine, whipped up some breakfast and nursed a cup of chocolate milk. Something she hadn’t had since grade school but got the sudden crave for. Slicked back her mix match hair into a tidy bun, gave one last look in the mirror to make sure her suit was nice and tidy before heading out the door.

The entire journey to headquarters felt weird. Unexplainable really. A dreaded feeling in Y/I’s chest on the verge of making her physically sick. But what was it?

When she arrived at HQ Y/I was greeted in the elevator by a man she didn’t recognize, but somehow knew her. Saying he was Agent AA and they’d been partners for a while sending Y/I into a frenzy, “I have no idea who you are, and we are certainly not partners. Where’s K?”

“Who’s K?”

“Who’s K?” she repeated, making him flinch by her sudden shout. “You know who I’m talking about. K! Agent K--the best MIB has ever seen. He’s my partner--My K!” Y/I pushed based AA to frantically search for K. Anxiety rose each time she asked a passing agent where he was and they said they had no clue who she was talking about. “K!” she kept calling for him, saying how it wasn’t funny to be playing a prank on her after their argument last night. But with each second Y/I was becoming scared. Circling in the middle of HQ until she finally broke with a pained scream that echoed through the building, “Kaaayy!!!”

It was then O dragged Y/I to her office, stating she was in charge of MIB….and that Agent K had been dead since 1969.

“Okay, you’ve got it all wrong,” Y/I chuckled to avoid having a mental breakdown right there. She was beginning to hyperventilate, struggling to process the buffoonery. There’s no way in hell K was dead. And that he had been for 40+ years. “K is not---what-whatever joke this is needs to stop--.”

“This isn’t a joke, Agent Y/I--.”

“K can’t be dead! That is impossible--I-I just did a job with him last night. We were on the phone before I went to bed. This is insane!! I am not crazy!!” Y/I leaned back in her chair, apologizing for the outburst when she saw how O was staring at her. “I’m sorry, O. That was out of line. But, O please,” she stood up, pleading with her eyes. “You have to understand that this--.” she gestured to the vicinity, “was not my reality yesterday. Something happened to K in the last twelve hours and we need to get to the bottom of it.”

There were a lot of things Y/I accepted in life. Her father left when she was five. Her family kicked her out at 18 when they caught her with a girl. Ex boyfriend cheating on her because her detective job had her working long night shifts. Blockbuster closing down. The Mets losing the World Series year after year. Pepsi replacing Coca-Cola in the MIB vending machines.

But a world without K? Y/I refused to accept it.

So that’s how she found herself at the top of a skyscraper about to make a time jump into 1969. Jeffrey, the store clerk she tracked down who gave Boris the means to travel back in time, followed behind her.

“Okay, you know the rules of time jumps, right?”

Y/I wobbled on her heels, doing her best to not look down. The wind blew in her face, “give me the short version.”

“Okay. You want to save your partner, word of advice: stay away from him.”

“Yeah got it,” Y/I nodded, making a motion with her hand. “Stay away from K just kill Boris.”

“Now,” Jeffrey handed her a pair of goggles. “Take these because it gets pretty windy on the way down.” Y/I spluttered a sound.

“The way down?!”

Jeffrey either doesn’t register the dumbfounded expression plastered on her or chooses to ignore it. “With your eyes tearing up it’s hard to read the time dial plus,” he offers a smile, “it helps you look like a real time traveler. Which is cool.” Her face never changed.

“There’s no way in hell I am jumping off of this building!”

“Time. Jump,” his face reads, ‘what did you think it meant?’ Y/I just gulps, peering out into the distance. Contemplating her life choices. Meanwhile Jeffrey pulls out the time dial, “Okay now I gotta set this thing to the 11th. Uhhh,” his fingers work over the device. Setting it to July 11th, 1969. “That seems right….ish.”

Y/I lifted her head to stare at him, “I’m gonna need that to be on the money, Jeffrey. Time is at stake here. Literally.”

“Now, all you gotta do…is jump,” passing the dial, he gives her a light push on the back, making her stumble and go, “hey-hey, stop. I don’t need to fall to my death before you finish telling me what I’m supposed to be doing.” Slowly itching herself to the edge, Jeffrey explained the final steps.

“Now as soon as you’re moving fast enough that circle is going to fill up with some sort of green time travel liquid or some such and it’s going to glow really bright--” Y/I cursed when she nearly slipped, catching her hand on the smooth surface. ‘God, I shouldn't have chosen today to wear my heels.’

“As soon as that happens you need to break that blue laser line with your thumb to complete the circuit,” Jeffrey scans their view. “At this height that should be uhhh…let’s see massive Earth and 30 something feet per minute uh--.”

The fear of jumping off a building combined with the stress of failing to save K, Y/I felt the pressure break. “It’s 32 feet per second per second.”

“That sounds right--ish,” Y/I mentally groaned at his lack of confidence. “So that would be, I guess uh, about two feet off the ground.”

“Then I break the laser line?”

“No, don't break it!”

“I mean when I’m fast enough,” Y/I reiterates and receives a thumbs up.

“Sounds good.” Well that didn't help her at all.

“So do I break the laser line or do I not break the laser line?”

“Do not lose that time device,” Jeffrey warns, making the woman sigh and accept she’s going to have to wing it and pray she lives to tell. “Or you will be stuck in 1969.” He didn’t have to say anything else for Y/I to understand. She was going to be a fish out of water.

Was it too late to change her clothes and dye her hair?

“How will I know if it works?” She asked, stomach dropping at the sight of spaceships entering the atmosphere. The Boglodite invasion had begun.

“You’ll either know…or you won’t.”

“Fucking A,” Y/I pulled the goggles over her head. They were tight against her skin, but she was able to at least breathe.

Before he left, Jeffrey had one last thing to say. And it really put into perspective how important K was to Y/I. “You must really love this guy to do this.”

“Yeah,” she muttered under her breath, tightness in her chest while heat flooded her veins. “I guess I do.” She brushed the intense feeling as platonic love for K. Their partnership had lasted 10 years. He was more than just a colleague, he was her best friend. Turning back to Jeffrey before he could leave, she yelled, “Wait! How come I remember K but nobody else does?”

“Woah!” Jeffrey exclaimed, looking as if she just unlocked the key to immortality. “Woah! That means you were there.”

“I was where?” She didn’t understand. Yeah she was alive in 1969, five years old in fact. But what the hell does he mean by she was there?

“If you survive you gotta come back and tell me everything, okay!”

“What are you talking about? Where was I?!” she was interrupted by a ship attacking a nearby building. Jeffrey ushering her off.

“You gotta go! Go! Go! Go!,” he fled to safety, leaving Y/I alone on the rooftop. More ships attacked, sending an alarm across the city for residents to seek shelter. Below Y/I made out their screams.

Time dial in hand, Y/I said a mental prayer, “I’m coming for ya, K,” and leaped to her destiny.

1969

Once Y/I settled her heart rate and mentally cheered in victory she didn’t die, her feet carried her off the rooftop and down the elevator. Had her mind not been preoccupied, she would’ve found humor in the man who looked rather scared out of his wits when she entered the elevator. Clutching the paper close to his chest while giving her an odd once over.

“What’s today?” Y/I picked up on his adversary, not meeting her eye at all.

“Tuesday,” he said shortly.

“The date,” she corrected with a sigh.

“The 11th.”

“Of?”

“July?”

“My man, what’s the year?”

“Nine-nineteen sixty-nine.”

“Thank you,” she threw a hand up, startling him more. “God, and I thought people sucked at answering simple questions where I’m from.” She left the elevator in a haste once it hit the lobby floor, rushing out the doors to a 60s New York.

After stealing a rich man’s car, neuralizing two cops and knicking a bottle of coca-cola from a vendor to quench her time travel thirst, Y/I finally made it to Coney Island. Approaching any and everyone to see if they’d seen Boris.

“He’s about six foot, gnarly beard and looks like he could use some screen,” the young couple hippy kept eyeing her up and down, expressions mixed with weariness and awe. It’s not everyday a woman in a dressy suit approaches to ask you questions. Y/I huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose, “I take that as a no?”

It was like this all morning and Y/I was starting to lose hope. But she had to stay. It said in the records Boris murders an alien on July 11th at Coney Island. Maybe if she could find him she’d save another life.

A scream filled her ears, Y/I running in the direction of the ferris wheel. Breaking through a curtain with her gun raised where she found a body laying on the ground. “Shit,” she muttered, head raising a second later to thumping.

There, leaping across the panels of the ferris wheel, was Boris. Y/I trained her blaster up, eyes following Boris’ until she could get a clear shot. She predicted he’d jump to the large billboard, so she focused her aim to await him.

But fate had other plans.

As soon as she lined up the shot Y/I felt cold pressure against her temple. Blood rushed as she mentally cursed herself. Then a familiar southern drawl filled her ears.

“We’ll take it from here.”

“K?” she gasped, eyes wide as saucers. Smiling as she turned to see him, young and alive, “K!”. ‘Damn K was a stud.’ However the happy reunion was cut short when the agent remembered this was a young K. His face visibly surprised at the mention of his name. Y/I once again cursed at herself.

He didn’t know who the fuck she was.

His defensive demeanor showed that. “I’m afraid I’m going to need you to lower your weapon and come with me, ma’am.” Had this been her K she would’ve teased the fact that even so young authority seeped off him. Carrying himself in a way Y/I was sure he had gals falling to his feet left and right.

But she couldn’t tease him. This wasn’t her K. And this K looked like he was about five seconds from losing his patience.

“Sorry, pretty boy,” she found her voice, his face shifting at the nickname. “Can’t let that happen.” Before K could blink, Y/I shot her arm up to push his blaster away, kneeing his stomach causing K to grunt and bend over, before kicking his legs. She made a mental note to apologize to future K once she returns home.

If she manages to pull this off.

Once K was down, Y/I took her chance to run. Unfortunately she didn’t get far. Heading in the direction Boris fled, Y/I got caught in a maze of tents, unable to find her way out. She stomped her foot, “Dammit.” It was there K found her, tackling the agent from behind, “Ooof--!” They rolled on the harsh ground, scuffling their suits and shoes before coming to a stop. K kicked Y/I’s blaster away, annoying her greatly, “Rude.”

They engaged in a small brawl. Which was pretty much Y/n doing all she could to escape and K attempting to get the upper hand but falling short. It was a new thing for K. Having an opponent on his level. He’d never had his work cut out for him until now. This woman was something else. She intrigued him.

After two whole minutes of fighting, they were becoming tired and frustrated. K took a blow to his rib, Y/I’s hair now loose from the hair tie snapping. It came to a climatic end when they fell back onto a curtain and tumbled onto a table full of orange crates. Moaning as they made impact with the ground. Y/I pushed herself up only to yelp in pain and fall back as electricity filled her veins.

The bastard tased her.

Breathing heavily, K wiped the sweat from his forehead. Leaning back on his knees as he observed the unconscious woman in front of him. Now that he got a better look, K assessed her to be in her mid to late 30s. Striking features with signs of aging, some wrinkles by her eyes and smile lines, but breathtakingly beautiful. Hair styled in an unusual fashion. Two toned in a way K couldn’t tell if it was natural on the sides framing her face or if they were purposely dyed a stunning white/gray. The top of her head was layered in y/h/c. Her makeup relatively simple with the exception of bold red painting her lips.

The most interesting detail of the gorgeous woman was she adored a black suit just like him. She stuck out like a sore thumb when all the women wore dresses and skirts. Yes, some wore pants, but a woman in a sleek black suit and tie? Unheard of. Not to mention her suit was made in a different fashion than his own. More tight on her figure, thinner tie, not as boxy on the shoulders.

K’s suspicion rose when he found fancy gadgets in the pockets of her blazer. He’d made sure to disarm her in the event she woke before they arrived at HQ. Besides her gun, he discovered a pen-like tool, and a circular device reading the current date. ‘What the hell?’ he thought to himself, examining the tools closely before pocketing them. Brows raised to his hairline when he found her badge, the MIB logo in bold printed above her identity.

Agent Y/I.

“Huh,” K hummed in wonder, “Well I’ll be damned.” He glanced down at the fallen agent, lingering on her features, “Now that’s something you don’t see everyday.” Badge in hand, K gently lifting the woman in his arms to take to his car. But not before neuralizing the crowd that had gathered around them.

Whoever she was, K was going to find out.

Y/I awoke with a groan. Feeling tension in her neck and back and throat dry as a desert. Bright lights filled her vision, causing her to blink rapidly until the blurriness became clear. Making her brows furrow at the sight of a very different MIB headquarters she was used to. For starters this one had color. Burnt orange furniture and bulky furniture to fit the times. It was buzzing with MIB agents and travelers from other worlds. Y/I heard one alien on the phone with his dad begging to bail him out.

Good luck with that buddy.

Still feeling the numbness from the voltage, Y/I massaged her jaw with her hand, groaning lightly as she turned her head to scan the rest of HQ. A sudden gasp leaving her as she found K staring at her, making her jolt in her seat.

“Christ, K,” a groan left her throat, eyes narrowed at the man--who again observed her with skepticism. “Would it kill a girl to ask you to turn the electricity down on that thing? I can barely feel my tongue.” He cut right to the chase.

“How do you know my name?”

‘Fuck,’ Y/I gritted her teeth. Pissed at herself for making a simple mistake. Now she had to improvise. Something K always clowned her for. “What? Cause I called you ‘K’?” She could tell he wanted to smirk at her nervous chuckle. “No, I call everybody K. It’s my thing really--What up, K?” the person passing the two gave a look, and the agent continued the ruse much to K’s displeasure. “Kaaaaayyyyy, pasa. Yeah, you know how it is.”

God this was embarrassing. But she was too deep now.

K turned in his chair around to grab something off the desk, “Now that I know what you look like when you’re lying.” Placing the items in front of Y/I, she mentally cursed. It was her neuralizer, gun, badge and time travel device. “Won’t you show me what you look like when you’re telling the truth?”

Oh boy. She hadn’t thought of him confiscating the stuff she had. Super important stuff. How was she going to get out of this? K was the smartest man alive. He’ll know she’s lying no matter how much she tries to deceive him. Time was running out and she needed to get away fast.

Putting on a convincing smile, Y/I leans her elbow on the corner of K’s desk. “I won those at Coney Island on the ring toss,” the lie was met with a gesture of her hand, like she actually was tossing a ring.

“I won a stuffed bear once, but never one of these,” he shakes his head, giving that damn smile where he knows she’s lying. Of course he fucking knew. “Must be good, slick.” God there was the nickname. The one that in the beginning Y/I hated but learned to love as it was only reserved for her. Hearing the younger K say it brought comfort to the agent, reminding her why she was in 1969 in the first place.

“All right, sir,” she pulled herself together, becoming serious which surprised him a bit. “I was minding my own business. I was out there waiting for my girl, who, by the way, is probably worried sick looking for me right now. So I-I just need my things and I need to get back to her.”

“What’s ya gal’s name?”

“Huh?”

“Your gal,” K repeated with a smirk, “what’s her name?” The question threw her off, but then Y/I she did, in fact, say she was waiting for a girl and not a guy. Forgetting she was in 1969 where lgbtq+ unfortunately dealt with prominent homophobia and persecution. ‘Fuck’ she thought again, hoping young K was just as accepting as his older self. Who, when Y/I told him she was bisexual his reply was, “I know, slick.”

By some God awful reason, Y/I’s brain melted at having to come up with a fake girlfriend name, “Schtaron” saying it aloud even made her cringe.

K even looked surprised, eyebrows raising as though he misheard her. “Schtaron?” Well she couldn’t take it back now. So Y/I did the only thing she could do: nod, accepting her fate. K’s mouth opened slightly, processing the information. “I bet Schtaron likes that suit of yours. Hm?”

Y/I peered down at her outfit where K was looking. Crisp black suit matching his only a tad different in style. She raised a brow in defiance, “What, it’s a crime to wear a black suit?”

K shrugged, finger brushing his bottom lip, “Not a crime, but it makes you stick out compared to the other pretty ladies wearing pencil dresses and skirts.”

“Yeah well,” Y/I scoffed with a roll of the eyes. “You men haven’t realized yet that women can rock a three-piece suit and tie better than y’all.” As though confirming her words, Y/I heats up when K gives another glance over her suit. From the tie around her neck to the red bottom heels on her feet.

Obviously he didn’t recognize the shoes since Louboutins didn’t release until the 90s, but K was still impressed nonetheless she’d be brave to wear such footwear in that line of work.

He leaned back in his chair, turning away when he was caught staring, red creeping up his neck and hand raising to adjust his tie. Y/I smirked, pleased with his reaction, while battling the warmth feeling in her chest. Part of her wanted to poke fun at him like she usually did, but there was a job to do.

“All right, listen, pretty boy,” she gets his attention back, visibly reacting to the nickname, “I haven’t done anything wrong except be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I need to get out of here,” she slaps a hand down on the stack of files in front of her, “I cannot be here with you.” They’re suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a beautiful blonde.

“Terribly sorry,” she apologizes to Y/I before turning to K. “X is frightfully upset about the whole Coney Island incident.” K moves to grab his cup of coffee, meanwhile Y/I could not contain herself and was openly checking the blonde out. Which K caught and had to do a double take.

“Alright thanks for the heads up,” he takes a sip, wincing at the bitter taste, “Oh, man, this coffee tastes like dirt.” Y/I snapped her head to him in shock before turning back to the woman, ‘no fucking way,’ her suspicions were confirmed seconds later.

“What do you expect? It was--.”

“Just ground this morning,” Y/I finishes the saying, eyes wide and grin threatening to expand. “O?” ‘Damn O has always been fine.’

Both faced her, expressions of bewilderment. Especially O who had yet to know who Y/I was. It was further proof to younger K Y/I was hiding something big.

Realizing her mistake Y/I attempted to do damage control. “No, I call ladies ‘O’,” her hand waves. Feeling small under K’s hard stare. “To me, O is feminine, K is masculine.” What the actual hell was coming out of her mouth? She didn’t know and couldn’t stop, “You know, I see a couple, I’m like, “O-K.” Before anyone had the chance to react to the utter bullshit she spewed, X was rounding the corner. K dropping a large booklet on top of Y/I’s stuff.

“What a mess,” X exclaimed, standing beside O. “Any casualties?”

“Yes, Roman the Fabulist.”

O appeared devastated by this news. Almost like she could cry whereas X just rephrased the question to specify, “Any human casualties.” Y/I narrowed her brows slightly, offended by the audacity of X which didn’t go unnoticed by K. He matched her expression. To him, all life was precious. Humans and aliens alike.

“No, sir,” Y/I picked up on his strained tone. It was then X turned his attention to the woman seated in front of him with a piercing glare, “Who the hell is this?” He was put off not just by her scowl, but the fact she wore a suit and had mixed-match hair.

“Look, I was…” K interrupted before she could make a fool of herself.

“Stray human caught in the net.”

“Code 43 her and throw her back,” X ordered. O, sensing there was more to the story, diverted X away from the desk, “Sir, you’re gonna be late for a meeting with the Viagrans. They have a revolutionary new pill.” Y/I tilted her head at O’s words, ‘What the hell? Viagrans? New Pill? Oh my….’ She wanted to laugh at the irony, but K was back in front of her, serious as ever.

“Okay, slick,” he leaned on his elbows, waiting for the woman to come clean. Y/I kept her guard up, shaking her head furiously and sticking with the stupid story, “I was waiting for my girl.”

“Schtaron.”

“Yes,” Y/I wanted to crawl under the desk and hide, “she’s….Greek. It’s a family name--very unique.”

A moment of silence passes and K finally gives up. Accepting he was going to have to use unorthodox methods to get answers. “Okay. Just one last thing…..an eye exam.”

Oh no.

Any attempt Y/I made to escape was to no avail. They caught and strapped her to a stretcher like contraption, after she put down three men and managed to disarm K again, making his jaw drop. They wheeled her to a room, her eyes landing on a large machine resembling a device she was all too familiar with. “That’s not an eye exam, K,” she shouted appalled, “That’s a big ass neuralizer!”

“You sure have a lot of information for a gal who doesn’t know anything,” he approached the control machine.

“I see what you’re saying. Woah--!” They spun upside down. “You know what, K, we need to hold up a second. K!” Her y/h/c and white hair fell over her face, Y/I blowing air to get it out of the way. Necklaces smacking her cheek.

A man in a lab coat and white suit approached her. Leaning down with an object in his hand. “Let’s just get this bite guard in here.” Y/I clacked her teeth in an attempt to bite him.

“Hey. Back up,” she did it again, causing him to draw back. “Back the fuck up. I’m not afraid to bite you.” The stretcher jolted up, making it to where she was level with the machine. “K, listen,” she pleaded with a chuckle, “I think we got off on the wrong foot, all right? So let’s stop this show and talk for a second. Don’t put me in this thing, K!”

K thought about it for a moment before replying, “Too late, lass,” and pressed a button. Y/I groaned, stretcher moving to enter the vessel.

“K, no, you have to listen to me. I can help you with this case!” her pleas went ignored, K focusing on the dial. “K!” She makes a face, “I’m doing the truth face--you’re missing it!”

“Ah, I’ll just use my imagination.”

Buzzing filled the room. The neuralizer was closed and locked, beginning to spin in a circle as it lit up. Y/I started feeling nauseous, struggling against the holds. “K, I’m after the same killer you’re looking for. He’s a Boglodite named Boris.”

“Ship has sailed, amiga.”

The dizziness was becoming intense, Y/I blinked her eyes, “K, if we don’t get him now we’ll have to deal with two of them. Two!” K adjusts his headset.

“You had my undivided attention.”

“One will have one arm, and one will have two,” she informs, neuralizer speeding up. Now her heart was about to burst from her chest, desperation consuming her. “K! Listen to me, please!” the stretcher set in place as it locked in. “If you erase me you’ll be erasing the whole world!”

“Fifteen seconds to neuralyzation. Fourteen.”

“Fuck-fuck-fuck,” Y/I mumbled, the fear now setting in. The last time she felt terrified--besides that morning--was after getting poisoned by an alien stinger while on a job in 2003. Never had she seen K so scared. Cursing at everyone and breaking every traffic law to get back to HQ. So frighteningly angry he nearly threw hands with Zed while O had to step in to calm him down.

“Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven.” her thoughts became fuzzy. Neurons pulling apart and pushing together. The area of the brain dedicated to memory being targeted causing her mind to spin. “Ten. Nine. Eight.” The least she could do before her brain was scrambled was warn K one last time. “When you see Boris tomorrow, K, kill him. Do not arrest him, you have to kill him!”

“Six. Five. Four.”

Y/I’s eyes closed, steadying her breathing to calm herself and not allow the fear to take over. Memories started to play like a film. From her childhood, to adolescence. High school and police academy. Her time as a detective to the moment she met K. Discovering the world beyond Earth. Every mission, every job. Every precious moment she took for granted.

Outside, K kept replaying her words. Warnings. Whoever she was, she knew too much. Between the technology, the suit, knowing his name as well as O’s, this woman had a past. A past with the same man he needed to find.

For God’s sake she had an MIB badge. She was one of them.

‘Fucking hell.’ “Three. Two. On--.” K stood abruptly and smacked his hand down on the button to shut it down before it could reach one.

Y/I let out a breath of relief, feeling the contraption slow down until it came to a stop. Lights shutting off. “Is this thing off, K? Hey, I don’t think it’s off all the way--can you check real quick?” Cranking her neck as best she could, Y/I desperately needed an Advil. “It’s still whirring and buzzing. I don’t know if I don’t know nothing.” Now she was being dramatic. But who could really blame her after nearly getting her memory erased.

The stretcher exited the machine, pulling Y/I upright causing her hair to become a wild mess. K approached, headset off, and watched her carefully. “I knew Roman. His wife cooked me dinner once and while it was not pleasant, he was my friend.” The men unlatched the metal straps holding Y/I in place, K stepping forward to extend a hand so she’d safely step off while saying, “Last chance, who are you and what do you know?” She took his hand, both flinching at the tiny shock that occurred and Y/I stumbled back once on her feet so they had a bit of distance, but still close. Inhaling, Y/I spilled all K needed to know in one breath.

“I’m an agent at Men in Black, but I’m from the future--we’re partners, ok? Twenty-five years from now you’re going to recruit me in New York, and fourteen years after that, the guy you didn’t let me kill today at Coney Island, he escapes from prison, and jumps back into the past and unleashes a full scale invasion of Earth,” Y/I checks her watch briefly, “we’ve got approximately four days and ten hours to catch him and kill him. So really, we need to go right now because he can be anywhere!” She let out a small groan, letting the air catch up. Nerves arose at K’s blank stare. Y/I unable to tell what he was thinking and that brought great annoyance.

They stayed like that for a moment. Staring at each other in silence. Y/I allowed her shoulders to drop, sighing in the process.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, K turned on his heel toward the door, “Alright.” Puzzled, Y/I blinked rapidly in question, but followed after the man.

“So that’s the story you believe.”

“That one was the truth,” K pointed out. “Wasn’t the whole truth, but I guess it’ll do for now.” Y/I looked at him offended.

“What the hell do you mean? Of course it’s the whole truth!” Liar. “I told you everything.” ‘No I didn’t, but what you don’t know won’t hurt ya.’ They entered the elevator, “The problem with a lie, K, is once you start lying you put yourself….” she trails off when he turns to her with a look of, ‘Don’t even try,’ Sighing again, Y/I licked her lips while placing her hands in her pockets, staring ahead rather than at K.

“Agent K,” a voice called from below as the elevator rose. They turned to find X and O. “What’s she still doing here?”

“Oh I might have cooked her for too long. Thought I’d better walk her out.” Catching on, Y/I said the first thing that came to her mind.

“I put my pants on.” K rolled his eyes, lifting his hand as if to say, ‘See what I mean?’ Once X looked satisfied and took his leave, K gently placed a hand on her shoulder to turn her back around. His touch sent another wave of heat. She straightened her posture, looking ahead.

Y/I jaw hurt from how hard she was holding her laugh. Squeezing her eyes shut, but she still felt K’s gaze, damn well knowing she’d break if she made eye contact. “Please stop looking at me before I lose it.”

“How’d you know--.”

The elevator jolted a stop, Y/I exiting first before K took the lead. She quickened her pace so they were next to each other. Outside K led her to his car, Y/I’s unable to contain her reaction at the sight of his car. A 1964 Ford Galaxy 500. She whistled as got into the car, missing how K was biting back a smirk.

The driver’s door slammed shut behind him, “Okay future-gal, where to?” Y/I’s brow raised, hands making a motion. She didn't have a damn clue at what to do next. Now that her original plan blew to shit.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” K parroted, just as confused and she made a face.

“I don’t know. Uh…go wherever you went last time.”

Did she forget she traveled back in time? “I haven’t been here last time. I didn’t tell you where I went?” She had to choose her next words carefully to not let anything slip. Nonetheless she let out a light chuckle.

“No, we don’t really talk.”

K huffed, adjusting himself in the seat, “What kind of partners sit in a car all day every day for 14 years and don’t talk?”

“Exactly,” her smile is tight, proving her point. She points a finger between the both of them, “and this is the type of problem it causes. It’s dysfunctional and annoying if I’m being quite honest. And technically we’ve been partners for ten years but that’s a long story and one for another day.” She didn’t miss the curious look that came over him, but it was quickly replaced with frustration.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he put one hand on the wheel while his arm laid across the headrest of the seats, face serious. “You better get useful real quick, or you’re going back to room 43.”

Y/I muttered something he couldn’t hear, turning away to gaze out the windshield. Brows furrowed deep in thought as she picked through her brain for any information.

“Okay, uh,” she bit her lip, “the file--the file I read about Boris before coming here said something about a factory,” she looked back at K, “something happened at a factory on the 13th.” She heard him sigh, and Y/I held back her own. “Look, pretty boy, I’m giving you all I got. You can stare at me with your jedi knight--,” she forgot Star Wars had yet to be released for another seven years. “Looking eyes, but that’s all--we’ve got two days to find out where he’s going.”

To her surprise, K started the car. She tilted her head, “oh, did that spark something for you, cowboy?”

“Roman had this on his person when he was murdered,” In his hand was a matchbook, Y/I reached to take it. On both sides read ‘Cosmo Lanes,’ the letters encased in bowling pins.

“It’s a matchbox.”

“No, it’s a clue,” K corrected, making her look at him puzzled. Then he answered her unspoken question, “He didn’t smoke.” They were off with the roar of the engine trailing behind. Off to Cosmo Lanes with their lead.

The entire drive Y/I kept stealing glances at K. Not hiding her intrigue at all or how she admired his features. Jet black hair, shiny and sleek. Smile lines--which she always found adorable. Brown eyes that twinkled whenever he smirked or gave a genuine smile.

She must’ve been staring because K snapped her out of it as he said, “You lose something over here, darlin’?”

Instead of becoming embarrassed and flinging herself out of the car, Y/I held her chin high, feeding off the confidence she usually carried herself with. Lip curling, as she tipped a brow up, “Say, K, I’m curious. How old are you?”

It took a moment for him to answer, “twenty-nine.”

“Wow,” Y/I hummed, making K give her a, ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Her grin widened, tone taking a teasing nature, “Just that you got some city miles on ya.”

Now it was K’s turn to smirk, “You know I’m starting to understand why we don’t talk.” Y/I chuckled, facing forward in the seat. K turned down the music lightly, “Exactly what year in the future are you from?”

“Twenty-Twelve,” she heard him make a sound, like he was calculating his age in 2012. “Don’t worry, you're still a stud even in your old age. Silver hair suits you.”

“Glad to hear,” Y/I heard his smile, matching her own. “What you said earlier, about us being partners for ten years, what’d you mean by that?” She hadn’t expected that question, tightening her lips as she debated on opening that can of worms.

“Like I said, it's a long and complicated story.”

K’s eyes flickered to her, “we got time.”

She snorted, “Should I really be telling you? I’m not an expert in time travel, but what if telling you about what happens in the future inevitably dooms it?” All she received was a shrug, making her head fall back against the seat.

“Well,” she breathed through her nose, clicking her teeth. “As I mentioned--after you nearly fried my brain--you recruited me in ‘97, but after the first job you decided to retire and had me neuarlize you,” She briefly glanced to find K raising his brows, visibly surprised. “Then five years later in ‘02, you held the key to stopping a homicidal maniac so I had to drag you back to MiB. Once that was over, you just stayed,” leaning her head to look at K, Y/I smirked, “And we’ve been going now ten years strong. My longest relationship really--you should be honored.” She couldn’t help but tease, watching the man flush red.

Even as a young stallion K was easy to fluster.

“I love that,” she giggled lightly, looking away when he turned his head.

“What?”

“Oh nothing,” she jutted, but then came clean, unable to contain her laugh. “Just that you’re still easy to tickle.” Y/I didn’t see it, but K’s gaze lingered on her. Fondness peaking through as a million questions racked his brain but he refused to ask--the leading being just who was she to him? Yeah they were work partners, but call it intuition, K felt there was something more to Y/I and what she meant to him.

Whatever it was now was not the time to drown himself in theories. Gathering his priorities, K kept only two things in mind: 1) they had a job to do and 2) this woman was from his future. They needed to find Boris, stop him from changing the future, and get her back home.

They pulled up to the bowling alley, K shutting off the engine after putting the car in park. Y/I leaned forward to get a better look. “How well do you know this place?”

“I know its reputation.”

“I don’t like it,” she shook her head, finding it sketchy. “I hate going in blind. I’m gonna need my gun back.”

“Sure thing, slick,” a handcuff clasped on Y/I wrist, a gasp leaving her as he cuffed her to the steering wheel while she gaped at him like he lost his damn mind.

“K! What the hell?!” she fought against his grip, “I need to go in there with you!”

“You just sit tight. I’ll be fine.” K was out the door and entering the establishment. Leaving Y/I shouting after him, “Stop--K! You can’t go in by yourself. When I get back to the future I’m going to have serious words for you!” She puffed out a breath as his suit clad figure disappeared. Her hands searched around the car, ‘I wonder…’ reaching for the ashtray, Y/I made a ‘ah-ha!’ sound as she found the spare key underneath.

“Same old K,” the smirk stayed on her lips, freeing herself from the cuffs and racing out the car. Going quiet as she accessed the center to take in the scene. K had his gun on a man, who in turn had four guns pointed at him. Grabbing the first thing, a bowling pin, Y/I inched her way until she was bringing down the pin on the alien’s head. Promptly knocking him out.

“See you still keep the key under the ashtray,” she saw the flicker of what looked like astonishment.

“Lucky guess,” he played it off, facing the man who was not passed out on the floor. “Now, where were we?”

After landing a spare on the lanes, finding the owner’s dead body, and a call to O for information, the two tracked down where Boris was heading next. From what K said, it was the factory.

Now they had two days to spare until then. And frankly, Y/I was beat like a tennis ball after Wimbledon. She needed a hot shower, food, and at least ten hours of sleep. It was pushing close to 6pm and Y/I was about two seconds away from making a bed out of K's backseat.

“Where are we?” a yawn escaped her when the car came to a halt. Squinting at the unknown building they were in front of.

“My place,” K casually replied, exiting the car as if it were nothing while Y/I choked on her saliva.

“Your what?” The wind hit her as she climbed out, gawking at the man. People passing by gave them looks which they ignored. “Why are we at your place, K?”

His brow tipped up, “You’re exhausted. So we’ll pick things back up tomorrow.”

“Okay….” she agreed, but her tone was still confused. “That still doesn’t explain why we’re at your place.” Then it hit Y/I, heat filling her veins and she began to splutter. “K, If you’re insinuating what I think you are, I can go get a hotel.”

“Oh really and how are you gonna do that?” K countered, hands going in his pockets. “You don’t have any money on ya, sweetheart.” Y/I tilted her head in surprise.

“And just how do you know that?” She could’ve sworn she had her credit cards on her. Learning not to carry cash on her at times now that most places were switching to cards only or never had change in the registers.

Fuck K didn’t think about how that would sound. Face redding as he adjusted his jacked, “Um,” his throat cleared, “I confiscated everything on ya at HQ and there was no wallet. Just assumed you weren’t carrying any.”

Instantly Y/I fished for her MiB badge, where she hid her Capital One credit card. Flashing it to him, “I have this.”

“What is it?” He snatched it to get a better look. Reading the print of a name he assumed was her alias, several numbers in a line and expiration date. Not recognizing the company labeled at the top.

“My credit card,” she said as if it were obvious, forgetting where she was. K’s face was questioning, making Y/I go, “What?”

“This won’t work at a hotel, slick,” he passed the card back, but not before reading it one more time. Before she could ask why K gave the answer. “For starters Capital One doesn’t exist yet. And the expiration date will have everyone turning heads,” his face turned serious, “but the main thing, if you attempt to pay with that, the authorities are going to have a field day wondering how you managed to forge a credit account.”

Y/I’s jaw dropped, absolutely floored. Forge an account? Yeah the name on the card wasn’t her real name but it was the MiB issued credit card and worked perfectly fine. And she was certain she hadn’t maxed it out yet. It’d just been used on her daily bodega order that morning.

“This isn’t fake! I get it’s not my real name, but thanks to MiB it hasn’t let me down yet. How will it--,” she cut herself on as it crossed her mind. What he was trying to tell her without really saying it. Y/I brought a hand to her nose, scrunching it. Feeling stupid she hadn’t realized it sooner as a sigh left her, “I’m not supposed to have a credit card.”

In fact, no woman was supposed to have one. They wouldn’t get the right to open their own credit accounts until 1974. Where they’d be free without having a husband, father, or brother cosign on one.

Gotta love the 60s…..

“What’s it gonna be, slick?” K voice brought her back to reality. Lifting her eyes from the pavement to meet his. Air caught in her throat suddenly, ‘Wow K has beautiful eyes.’

“I’m taking the bed,” Y/I gave in, lighting a cigarette she stole from a pack in K’s car before heading into the building with one thing on her mind: sleep. “I deserve it after jumping off a damn building and almost having my brain cooked.”

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