#x--daughters-of-darkness--x

[orion-lake]

[goryhorroor]

“horror movies were reborn in the 1930s. sound revolutionized cinema across the board and had a huge impact on the horror genre— and not just in the form of dialogue. sound effects added an extra dimension to terror, from creaking doors to echoing footsteps to the rumbling of castle thunder. music cues built suspense or signaled the presence of a threat. as screen storytelling moved away from symbolism towards realism, the dreamlike wraiths of silent cinema were replaced by monsters that grunted, groaned and howled.”

[luvrgreyy]

WHAT GOOD IS SORRY?

ex husband!leon x f!reader

word count: 3.3k summary: why does one wound those they love so deeply? masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

18+ MDNI. mentions of divorce, cheating/infidelity, awkward leon stuff, guilt, yearning, leon and reader have a child together — and i named her denise for whatever reason, getting stood up by a date, drunk texting, kissing, oral(r!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, bittersweet ending(?) i guess.

a/n: old wip,, this was supposed to be super gut wrenching and angsty but for some reason, my brain didn’t want to cooperate and decided that this would be the ending. also, i’ve been contemplating whether to address this or not and even tho its not a big issue, PLEASE interact with my posts. it’s the only way i’m able to know that you guys actually like the stuff i write, and ever since i’ve started writing on here 7 months ago, i’ve been noticing a decrease in interactions. im honestly losing motivation to write because i truly don’t know if people actually read my shit and like it. anyway, enjoy my mediocre writing ^___^

leon regrets everything he’s done up to this point. running into ada on a mission, going to the bar with her afterwards, and the kiss. the stupid kiss that eventually led up to this.

the divorce.

it all felt wrong, so wrong. yet here he was, driving his car to your doorstep, his stomach in knots despite having done this several times before.

for the sake of your daughter, the two of you had decided that shared custody would be the best option.

he stands at the door, hesitating before knocking, his knuckles hovering anxiously. clearing his throat, he gently raps his knuckles against the door, hoping for an answer. he's already second-guessing himself, wondering if he should have texted or called first.

your door eventually opens, and he's met with a familiar face. you.

you greet him with a civil smile, pressing a kiss into your daughter’s hair before ushering her inside.

he fidgets, adjusting the brim of his leather jacket nervously as he takes in the sight of you.

you reach to shut the door, catching a glimpse of him awkwardly hovering over you porch.

“you okay?”

he tries to find his voice. "yeah, i just, uh... i was just thinking..”

he looks down at his feet, kicking the ground with the side of his scuffed boot, as if trying to buy some time or maybe just willing the floor to swallow him up. when he speaks, his voice is low and sheepish. “when i was— last night, i thought… uh, do- do you remember when.. shit. are you free this weekend?”

”what?” you muse at his question. “leon, i really don’t wanna have this conversation with you again,”

he winces at the rebuff, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as a defensive measure.

leon’s adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard, his ears burning at your words. he looks anywhere but at you, his eyes darting over the porch railing, the foliage, the sky — anywhere but your eyes. oh, those eyes he adored so much.

"no, wait, hear me out,”

"listen..." he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever fallout this might bring, knowing he's already on shaky ground. “i just wanna talk.. to you.”

he shifts his weight, glancing up at the roof of the house as if the heavens themselves could offer a solution. when he does meet your gaze again, his eyes are pleading, his jaw clenched with a mix of anxiety and something akin to desperation.

“i’m sorry, leon. i’m busy,”

he scoffs and his face scrunches up, a pained grimace contorting his features as he cuts you off. “c’mon, please?” he's standing too close now, invading the personal space he once knew so well. “i.. i know it isn’t what we do anymore but—“

“no, seriously. i literally can’t. i have something up.”

“oh.” he deflates slightly at your dismissal, shoulders slumping in defeat. a soft, regretful sigh escapes his parted lips, and his eyes drop, gaze wandering aimlessly. "can- can you can you cancel? is it really important? what about on sunday-? i’m sure we can..“

“leon.” it's not a question this time, you stare at him with the tiniest hint of pity. “i have a date.”

ouch. he freezes, his chest constricting as if he's been punched. a date? the words echo in his mind, each syllable like a dagger to his pride, his ego, his everything. a muscle in his jaw twitches, his hands clenching and unclenching in his pockets. leon swallows hard, his throat suddenly parched.

"oh," he repeats, the sound barely above a whisper. he takes a shaky breath, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him.

he rubs a hand over the back of his neck, jaw working in agitation as he grapples with the blow of your words. a snarky retort rises in his throat, a cutting remark to deflect the sting, but it withers on his tongue, a futile attempt at salvaging pride he knows is misplaced.

leon swallows hard, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally finds his voice, laced with a wry bitterness. “yeah, no worries.. guess that's that," a bitter, hollow chuckle escapes him as he shifts his weight. his tone is flippant, trying to mask the sting of rejection, but the defeat is palpable as he turns to leave. he starts down the porch steps, his boots thudding against the wooden slats.

you finally close the door on him, standing by the door, hand on the knob, unease prickling along you skin like a thousand tiny needles, each one stinging with the weight of guilt. you sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she tries to process her feelings. guilt, regret, a twinge longing — it's all so confusing, so messy.

the weight of his pleading eyes, the desperation in his tone — he had no right acting like a dejected puppy after he cheated on you.

you shake your head, face between your hands. he made his choices, just as you had, and now it was time to move on. you squared your shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped away from the door, determined to let go of the ghost of what was and focus on the life you were building. for you, and your daughter.

but it’s not really easy.

not when you’re sitting alone at a restaurant, waiting for a date that never bothered to show.

your phone buzzes and you hold your breath. hoping for some sort of confirmation, but it's quickly snuffed out.

‘hey, sorry i couldn’t make it. something important came up’ the simple text reads. the same stupid excuse. every. single. time. your heart sinks, a dull ache forming in the pit of your stomach.

a bitter, derisive chuckle escapes your lips. serves you right. you knew he was trouble from the start. yet, your heart aches, a dull throb of pain and disappointment. you feel so foolish, sitting there, waiting for someone who never shows. though, it isn't really new.

now you lay in your bed, having already kicked off your heels and changed out of the uncomfortably tight dress you wore.

you pull the blankets up to your chin, suddenly feeling cold. you toss and turn, brooding and wallowing in misery, and it seemed like you’ve been doing it for hours till you’re startled out of your fitful doze by the buzz of your phone.

it's a text from leon, of course it is. it’s another one of his ‘where are u? i miss u’ ‘can’t stop thinking about you. please let me c u’ meltdowns.

he's drunk again, you can tell by the sloppy caps and the desperate pleas. every time he has a rough night, he always thinks coming over will magically fix everything. and you always refuse, knowing he’s only drunk and alone. but tonight, you feel particularly lonely.

your thumb hovers over the keyboard, and before you know it, you're typing. ‘come over.’ you hesitate, then send the message.

by then, he’s already halfway out the door, stumbling out and nearly falling as he trips over his own feet in his haste. he takes the stairs two at a time, a goofy, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. when he reaches your door, he pounds on it with a fist. his breath comes out in short puffs as he waits, anticipation making his heart race.

click.

the door creaks open a fraction and his eyes lock onto you, looking all soft and domestic in a robe. leon's breath catches in his throat as his eyes drink you in.

he tumbles in, arms outstretched as if he's about to catch something. he's immediately in your space, arms around you in a tight, needy embrace. his face buries itself in the crook of your neck, breathless with relief and something else, something suspiciously like love.

“leon—“ he smashes his mouth against yours, tongue pushing past your lips, the taste of beer and regret in his breath. his hands roam, sliding up your back, gripping your hair, fingers splayed wide as if to assure himself you're real. a low, desperate sound escapes him, half-groan, half-moan as his body presses against yours. he's desperate, sloppy, but undeniably passionate. when he finally breaks for air, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes glassy with drink and longing.

“missed you s’ much, baby,” he presses a kiss to your neck, tongue tracing the pulse point with a reverence that borders worship.

“let me make it up to you, please,” he looks up at you with those big, puppy-dog eyes, an expression so pathetic it’s comical. yet, the desperation behind them makes it anything but.

his hands skim down your sides to your hips, fingers digging in as if to keep you anchored to him. his face buried in the crook of your neck as his hands knead the meat of your ass, claws digging in through the fabric of your robe. his breath hitches as he nuzzles into you, inhaling deeply as if committing you to memory.

he trails a string of open-mouthed kisses down your neck, pausing to nibble on your collarbone before continuing his journey south. his hands never stop moving, roaming over your body with an insatiable hunger.

you let out a soft whimper, arching into his touch. "bedroom," you breathe out, and he happily obliges.

once inside, he kicks the door shut behind him and spins you around, backing you up against the bed. he begins to undo your robe with shaking fingers, your heavy breathing and the rustling of silk the only sounds in the charged silence between you. when the robe falls open, he pushes it off your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet.

the thin, sheer fabric of your nightgown offers little resistance as he practically rips it off you. a shaky breath escapes his parted lips as he reaches for you again, fingers grazing your skin as if he's not quite trusting his own touch.

he guides you to the bed, pushing you to sit on the edge. he immediately drops to his knees before you, face between your legs.

“these ‘re pretty,” he slurs out, before he fucking tears your underwear off.

“leon!”

he chuckles at your reaction, a low, rumbling sound in the back of his throat. “sorry,” he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise in its wake. “gonna buy you new ones,”

his stubble scrapes against your sensitive skin as he slowly trails open-mouthed kisses up your thigh, savoring every inch of you that you’re willing to give him.

he buries his face between your legs, licking and sucking with a single-minded devotion that makes your toes curl and eyes roll back in your head. his scruffy cheeks hollow as he sucks a hickey into the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

god, it’s been so long. the feelings practically foreign.

his tongue begins to lash at your slit, long and flat, with a dexterity that belies his level of inebriation.

“you still mine?” he huffs. “‘course you are, ‘m the only one that can get ya this wet,”

slurp, smack, suck, repeat.

his tongue is relentless, probing your entrance, swirling around your clit with increasing fervor. he's sloppy, uncoordinated, but it only serves to heighten the intensity of it all. every time he pulls back, you can hear his heavy breathing, feel the vibrations of his moans against your most intimate flesh. your fingers thread into his hair, tugging him closer as your back arches off the bed. a keening whimper escapes you, the sound muffled by your clenched teeth as you struggle to maintain some semblance of control.

“fuck, leon—” your words trail off into incoherent mumbles as he drives you closer to the edge, tongue darting in and out with a pace that’ll make a grown woman go crazy. “d-denise, were gonna wake her up,”

a low growl rumbles in his chest as he responds to your whine. there's a hint of accusation in his gaze, but it quickly morphs into a look of raw, desperate need. “don’t matter,” he's relentless, persistent, refusing to back down even as you tremble and writhe beneath him.

he grunts, his attention snapping back to you, blue eyes squinting as he looks up from between your thighs. his tongue is a damn metronome, lapping and smacking with a relentless rhythm that has you chasing the edge of oblivion.

it's like every drunken fantasy he's ever had is being poured out onto you. messy, uncoordinated, desperate. and you’re eating it up. “gonna make you forget all about that stupid date," he mutters through slurred words. "’m the only man who can make you feel this good,"

he's not wrong. the way he's attacking you with his tongue, it's like he's trying to prove a fucking point.

"leon, please," you gasp out, and he takes it as an invitation to continue. your entire body is wound up tight, a taut string ready to snap. he slips a finger in, then two, curling them just right so that they’re pressing against that spongy spot that has you seeing stars.

your legs wrap around his head, fingers threading into his hair as you pull him in as close as humanly possible. his name is a chant on your lips, a prayer to the gods of pleasure. "leon, leon, leon,". denise could come in right now and catch you like this — legs splayed, back arched, eyes squeezed shut in bliss. he's that good. or maybe that bad. you dont know. and you don’t care to find out.

"yeah, just like that," he praises, voice a low, gravelly growl. "love my fingers in this greedy little cunt, don't you?"

your thighs clench around his head, heels digging into his back as you ride out the pleasure. "gonna cum, leon, please—“ yours words trail off into a wail, a keen of pure, unadulterated euphoria.

your back arches, toes curl, and your fingers dig into his hair, holding him to you as the wave crashes over you. he tugs you down to the edge of the bed, practically burying his face in your groin. he laps at your slit, in and out, in and out, until the last bit of resistance melts away.

he lifts his face from between your legs, eyes hazy and unfocused as he fumbles to unbuckle his pants. once he has it off, he's back, pushing your legs apart as he kneels between them. the thick of his length throbs against your lower belly, and you can feel his racing heartbeat through every inch of him that's in contact with you.

he notches the head of his cock at your entrance, pressing in just enough to make you feel the pressure, gathering your juices before giving a long, slow stroke up and down, coating himself in you. he's throbbing, pulsing with need, and you can practically taste the desperation in your mouth.

he presses in, just the tip at first, then a bit more. slow, shallow strokes, in and out. his hips rock against yours, the motion slow and languid. one of his hands cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your closed eyelids to check if he was dreaming. the other hand palms the small of your back, fingers digging in as if to anchor himself. your legs wrap around his waist, ankles locking behind his back as he slowly sinks into you.

he's quiet for a moment, just holding you, his heart racing in his chest as if he's trying to communicate something without using words. his hips move, the action slow and lazy, as if he's trying to spoon you into submission.

he pulls out, just to the tip, before pushing back in. the motion is slow, sensual, a deliberate teasing that has you whining and writhing beneath him.

sweat beads on his brow, tracing down the lines of his face, but he doesn't slow. if anything, he's driven by a desperate need to make up for lost time, to prove himself worthy of you. your back arches, hands scrabbling for purchase on the sheets as he pistons in and out, the force of his thrusts rocking your entire body. he's not gentle, not soft, but rough and demanding, just like he always used to be when he was trying to stake his claim.

he nips at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh before he sooths it with his tongue. “fuck, feels so good,” he gasps out, his words punctuated by the slap of skin against skin. “can't believe i ever let you go.”

"leon," you whimper, the name a plea, a prayer. his lips find yours in a sloppy, frantic kiss. he's drinking you in, devouring your mouth, your moans, your gasps, trying to consume every ounce of you.

he's sweating, hair a mess, face scrunched up in concentration, but those blue eyes remain locked on yours.

you're lost in the sensation, every nerve ending on high alert, screaming for friction, for relief, for release. "leon, leon, gonna cum," you pant, your voice raw, your throat dry. "please, i—" but your pleas are swallowed by his next thrust, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls.

he leans forward, his forehead pressing against yours, noses nearly touching. his hot breath mingles with yours, the scent of his beer-soaked breath and the musk of his arousal mingling together in the most intoxicating way. "love you," he suddenly whispers, the words a quiet, a desperate confession that hangs in the air between you.

“love you, love you, fuck—“

the way your walls squeeze him when you cum drags his own orgasm from him. for a long moment, he stays frozen, buried to the hilt, his chest heaving against yours as he tries to catch his breath.

the heat of your body seeps into his skin, chasing away the chill of the night air. he collapses against you, a boneless heap of satisfied male. his cock throbs, pulses, and drips onto the bed between your legs as he tries to catch his breath. the room is silent, save for your joint heavy breathing, and the occasional groan as his softening length slips out of you. eventually, he rolls off, lying on his back beside you, one big hand coming to rest on your stomach, thumb stroking in a slow, idle pattern. his eyes are hazy, unfocused, but they find yours and hold. a small, sheepish smile tugs at his lips.

"sorry," he slurs out, the word garbled and slightly off-kilter. "i shoulda been better, should’ve tried harder, i... i‘m gonna make things right, i swear,"

he peppers your neck with soft kisses, his stubble rasping against your tender flesh. he's warm, solid, and comforting. gentle and tender, a stark contrast to the desperation that drove him mere moments ago.

he's not reaching for grand gestures or flowery declarations. he's asking for something simple, intimate, and achingly human. a chance to hold you, to sleep beside you, to maybe, begin to rebuild something from the rubble of what once was.

and for a moment, you let yourself believe that he’ll be different this time. that he's not just trying to relive past glories, but genuinely wants to make amends, to start anew.

tags: @crowleyco @withonly-sweetheart @fanilkychae

[diejager]

Could you please do a platonic yandere Vladimir Makarov with teenage daughter reader? Where he finds out that he has a daughter and is watching her but after awhile he decided to kidnap her to keep her safe from anyone and anything.?

Cw: DARKFIC, protective dad, kidnapping, spoiling, isolation, platonic yandere, tell me if I missed any.

He hadn’t expected his drunken one night stand to come back to him seventeen years later, at the peak of his revolution and power in the world. It had left his mind by the end of the week, where he spent a night with a pretty woman that he’d approached in the joy and mirth of winning a seat in the political image of Russia, his seat secured and power promised. He was - felt - unstoppable at that point.

Then he learned he had a daughter, a sweet girl that looked like a perfect mix of him and your mother. Thrust into the beginning of your adulthood and the closing chapter of your childhood, you had grown so prettily, adorable and loving. You were perfect in his eyes. Receiving the love of a mother, being pampered by her with the little amount of money she could scrounge to send you to school and provide for you. She truly cared for you despite being a mistake, a regret that reminded her of their coupling years ago.

While he believed in receiving motherly affection, he didn’t like the way you lived. So poor and hungry, denied the riches and luxury of his name and money. He wouldn’t have you live like that. So he took you, flew down to your quaint home, dressed finely and followed by his entourage while he stared down your mother, waiting for you to come back home from school. He’d forgotten her name - your mother - but all that mattered was you. He knew your name, your hobbies and preferences, but he’d like to hear them from you, to know you by your own words and acts rather than the video surveillance and all the digging he had his men do. 

And when he saw you in person, standing anxiously before him, you looked much more beautiful before him than through his screen. He saw the apprehension in your eyes, the small frown that pinched as you fussed about your mother’s fearful expression, using yourself to protect her from him and his men, ignoring her pleas for you to stand behind her, to let her protect you. But you were fiercely protective and loyal, something he expected from his daughter, yet was still surprised by the depth of it, blindly loyal and faithfully protective to a fault. 

“This…” she didn’t know how to explain this situation, he could see it as plainly as the blackness of his suit, “He’s your father, sweetheart.”

Your face broke between pain, shock and disbelief, but none directed at her, only to him whom you glared so powerfully. You were still so determined to protect your mother, knowing that she hid him from you and had never tried to reach out to him —not that he could blame her, he wasn’t a merciful man, neither easily reachable, nor easy to face. 

He gave you his name and smiled, pulling the sweetest grin he could, seeming soft and tender for a ruthless man like him. All for his daughter, the gem that would inherit his empire. Ever so polite, you muttered your name, voice slightly shaky. You took after your mother, taking her last name rather than his, one that screamed power and danger, but he’d have it changed, no daughter of his wouldn’t be given the name Makarov.

He was satisfied with this, and with little need to stay here any longer, he stood and approached you, his hand calling yours to have you accompany him home. He would have you brought home, where you rightfully belonged. On a throne by his side, dressed in the best silk and fabric his money could gift you, given the best education and taught by the best academic in both English and Russian, and if possible, you’d be taught other arts: literature, ballet, piano, theatre and language. 

But he was… somewhat disappointed that you shook your head, declining his invitation to come willingly. He understood that you’d have to start over again, uprooted and starting anew in a strange world without your mother. Truly, he knew how that felt, but he’d grown, he became better and wanted the same for you: to be better and deserve better. 

“Mom!” your cries and scream hurt him, the sound chiseling at his heart, fighting him to return o your mother’s side.

His men held your mother back, careful not to harm her as per his words, he didn’t need her health jeopardised. He had plans of paying her for caring for you, giving her a monthly cheque to support herself, eternally grateful that she sacrifice everything for you. You were now under his care, protected under his watchful eyes and international spread of allies and influence.

“Don’t cry, милая,” he cradled you, seated on his lap as he wiped away your tears, his hushed but steady voice trying to soothe you, “We’re going home.”[darling]

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | masterlist!

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"God loves you but not enough to save you,"

summary: In the small town near Austin, Texas, you are trapped in a life of rigid expectations and silent suffering. As the preacher's daughter, you endure the mental and physical abuse of your father while your mother, bound by obedience, offers quiet love. Your longing for a father's warmth finds an unexpected solace in Joel Miller, your father's best friend and neighbor. In Joel's presence, you discover a forbidden sanctuary, where your yearning heart is met with a gentle strength you've never known.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡

❝ to my love, Joel.

,...found you just to tell you that I made it real far, i never blamed you for loving me the way that you did.

while you were torn apart, i would still wait with you there.

don't think about it too hard, honey. or you'll never sleep a wink at night again.

and don't worry about me and these green eyes,

baby, just know that i love you. and i'll see you when you get here.

i love you forever, Joel... ❞

THE PLAYLIST! (on spotify)👰🏼‍♀️

the preacher's daughter ▪️ dbf! joel miller

MASTERLIST!🐇

Chapter 1: "But I always knew in the end, no one was coming to save me,"

Chapter 2: "Because that's how my daddy raised me,"

Chapter 3: "I watched him show his love through shades of black and blue"

Chapter 4: "He looks like he works with his hands, and smells like Marlboro reds,"

Chapter 5: "Because for the first time since I was a child, I could see a man who wasn't angry,"

Chapter 6: "Let him make a woman out of me,"

Chapter 7: "You wanna fuck me right now?"

Chapter 8: "The fates already fucked me sideways,"

Chapter 9: "Christ, forgive these bones I'm hiding,"

Chapter 10: "and that's why I could never go back home,"

Chapter 11: "I don't care where as long as you're with me,"

Chapter 12: "If it's meant to be, then it will be."

Chapter 13: "Beautiful people, beautiful problems."

Chapter 14: "You put your hands into your head, and then smile cover your hearts."

Chapter 15: "Something's bad is 'bout to happen to me,"

Chapter 16: "Tag, you're it."

Chapter 17: "If he's a serial killer then what's the worst that could happen to a girl who's already hurt?"

Chapter 18: "He's cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed"

Chapter 19: "Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise,"

Chapter 20: "You poor thing, sweet, mourning lamb. There's nothing you can do."

Chapter 21: "If we die tonight, I'd died yours."

Chapter 22: "I'm always going to be right here, no one's going anywhere"

-THE END-

read it on wattpad!

the preacher's daughter by babyvenoms

ENJOY! and if you guys have any like visuals to this, or art that you made for this I would love to put it here, just let me know! thank you!! 🩵

[rene-spade]

growing up räikkönen | f1 grid

fem! reader x räikkönen family, f1 grid

note(s): reader is kimi’s eldest daughter 👍 2nd pov but for the plot reader has a name. We start off in the 2021 season, reader becomes a driver for mclaren the 2022 season. main idea is everyone is obsessed with her lolol

Warning(s): potentially triggering relationship dynamics, some obsessive behavior tbh bc i like em crazy, mostly cute stuff tho!

GROWING UP RÄIKKÖNEN MEANS having a chaotic first few years, but with your father everything always works out. kimi isn’t even 22 when you’re born (2001), and your mother is just a fling who sadly passes away before you turn one, but you are his world. he melts at the sight of his eldest daughter; the one who he raised as his alone. Sure, you’ve had a couple step moms, but only one father who happens to be the protective type. You grow up in the f1 paddocks because kimi doesn’t like being apart from you for too long. even with his marriage to jenni, he has her watch you during his races. Just the racing part though, he commonly totes you along with him during anything he can, even media duties. due to his own upbringing, your schooling is the highest of priorities, but it’s still a guarantee you know how to drive anything by age 16. He wants you to be prepared for anything life throws at you, though of course he wouldn’t let you do it alone.

♤ ♤ ♤

SOME DAD! KIMI THINGS; childhood

he named you after himself (kimi -> miki, unoriginal)

when you were ages 1 month - 6 years, he took you everywhere with him

he nicknames you “lumienkeli” snow angel in finnish

his first tattoo was a portrait of baby-you with your full name and birth date

kimi can’t say no to his little girl, so you end up bringing all kinds of stray pets home, even from other countries

you and step-mom jenni iconic duo

uncle seb vettel and michael schumacher (who babysat you growing up) buying you and kimi matching outfits

kimi is very bad at documenting things properly, so jenni organized and labeled his entire “isä ja miki-mäiri” photo album. after they divorced, minttu took over that position, adding robin and rianna.

no-dating rule implemented as soon as you mention a crush at school (you were 6)

crazy dad! kimi who tried to run over your first boyfriend with a snowmobile

a responsible drinker around his sweet daughter but when you’re home attending school, he has his iconic drinking benders (championship era all the way to his divorce era)

kimi who learns to braid hair so you can keep your hair tidy and untangled beneath your first helmet

you are his mini-me (mostly, just in the ways he intended)

♤ ♤ ♤

Twitter; self-ran

♤ ♤ ♤

Instagram; self-ran

♤ ♤ ♤

photo album; written by kimi-matias räikkönen (edited by jenni dahlman and minttu räikkönen)

äiti ja miki-mäiri lumienkeli mik ja isä

2001 <3 (2004)

isosisko miki, minun miki-mäiri miki-mäiri ja robin ja rianna 10th syntymäpäivä setä rami (2006)

miki ja jenni <3 isän vauva miki-mäiri ja

(2003) (kesäkuuta 2002) serrku justus

♤ ♤ ♤

this is the introduction to this fic / au. Please send asks to get the ball rolling! If you don’t know kimi lore, this might not make much sense oops

- ren

[becomingvecna]

normalize using cannibalism as a metaphor for love and intimacy

[writerslittlelibrary]

"Children aren't payment, dipshit"

masterlist

summary: the most feared mob in all of New York only has one rival, which happens to be your father’s mob. When it turns out he is indebted to the feared mob boss Natasha Romanoff, he uses the only thing he has to pay her, you…

pairing: Mob!Natasha x rival mob young reader

warnings: guns, violence, basic mob fic stuff ig :) 

genre: angst, fluff

words: 1339

a/n: this was an adorable idea! (I feel like this is trash, but I just have to get back into my writing flow)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

It has always been difficult, being the daughter of a dangerous mob boss. It wasn’t like you were forced to kill and train with your father’s minions, but you had been living a far from normal life, to say the least.

When you turned seven, your father had called you into his office. 

You had always been a nice and obedient girl, totally opposite of your father, so when he called you to him and told you you were going to stay with your aunties for a while, you believed it. Your father had sent you and your bodyguard to your room, telling you to pack all your important items. 

Once you had finished packing, your father had given you a hug and you had been brought to the car, your bodyguard driving you across town. 

However, once the car stopped at a large apartment building, you had started getting a bit suspicious. This isn’t where your aunties lived…

Your bodyguard had taken you out of the car, but you didn’t want to, leading to him dragging you out, dragging you up to the doors of the building. Once you had arrived at the doors, two women were standing there. One had blonde hair, and the other had black hair. The women with black hair grabbed your arm, allowing your bodyguards to walk back to the car and retrieve your bag, handing it to the blonde women.

After he did so, he walked back to the car and drove away. 

The two women entered the building, walking to the elevator and pressing the button that read ‘PH’. As soon as the doors closed, the women with black hair let go of your arm. However, despite her removing her grip, you still didn’t feel like you could move freely. You were fairly certain that one wrong move and she would be on you again. 

And so, you stood perfectly still, refusing to move, even when the elevator moved a bit. 

The two women barely acknowledged your presence, instead opting to look straight ahead. You felt uneasy standing in between them. 

Once the elevator stopped at the top floor, the door opened at the women with black hair grabbed your arm again, leading you out of the elevator and to a dark wooden door. The blonde haired women walked ahead, knocking on the door twice before waiting for a “come in” to be called from the other side. 

Once the approval was given, the two women walked in, dragging you after them. 

Inside the room was another woman. You recognised her immediately. Who wouldn’t? Your father had always warned you about her. She was the most feared mob boss that New York, or the world really, had ever seen. 

You were in the office of Natasha fucking Romanoff. Were you about to get killed?

The two women walked a bit further into the room, forcefully pushing you down on the chair in front of the desk. 

You didn’t dare protest, nor did you say a word. You were absolutely terrified. Your father had warned you about this women every single day of your life, refusing to let you go outside without protection because of her, and now he had knowingly sent you to her. What the hell was wrong with him?

After you were sat down on the chair, the women with black hair exited the room again, leaving you, Natasha Romanoff, and the blonde haired women in the room. 

“Thank you for bringing her up Carol, you can put her bag in her room,” Natasha spoke, dismissing ‘Carol’ before focusing her attention on you. 

Carol left the room, leaving you and Natasha Romanoff alone. 

“I’m sure you must be very confused, sweetheart, but don’t worry, you’ll be alright,” Natasha reassured, smiling kindly as she stacked a few papers and put them off to the side.

You took a moment, gathering the courage before you spoke. 

“Why am I here…?” you asked quietly, hoping not to disturb Natasha or step out of line.

Natasha smiled, turning to you once more. 

“Your father made some pretty nasty deals. Deals that he couldn’t follow through on. He needed to pay me something, and he didn’t have the money, so I demanded you instead,” Natasha explained, leaving you to look at her with a shocked face.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, sweet girl. I promise you were are much better company than your father’s mob ever was,” Natasha stated, smiling sweetly before she moved to get up, walking around the desk towards you. 

She extended her hand, motioning for you to grab it. 

“How about we go check out your new room?” she suggested, allowing you a moment to think before you nodded and hesitantly grabbed her hand, allowing her to pull you up. 

She led you out of the office, leading you through the pent house towards another door, which was a different colour than the rest of the doors. The door was a beautiful dark shade of your favourite colour, and while you thought your favourite colour would never go with the aesthetic of the apartment, for some reason Natasha made it work. 

She pushed the door open, allowing you to step inside and take in the room. It was beautifully decorated and exactly your style. 

Your eyes widened in excitement, jumping up slightly. You weren’t able to contain your excitement as you saw the room. It was perfect. 

Natasha smiled as she observed your reaction, letting go of your hand to allow you to look around. You did, running from place to place to explore all the play items placed in the cupboards, ending your little exploration by jumping on the bed. 

“I love it!” you yelled out, letting yourself drop on the bed. 

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

You had lived with Natasha for about three months now, and you were happier than you had ever been. Natasha never hit you if you did something wrong, and she played with you everyday. She was willing to drop all her work if you asked her to play dress up, or if you asked her to play with your dolls. 

You had never been more loved than you were now, and you were happy your father had offered you as payment to Natasha Romanoff. 

Her henge people also adored you. You would play with them as well, and everytime they happily played with you. Your favourite were Carol and Valkyrie. They were the two women that had brought you in on the first day, and they turned out to be your best friends. 

Little did you know that Natasha had known you father hit you at home. She knew the mob boss of the rival mob was not just any criminal. He didn’t have morals, or principles. He did what he did when he felt like it. He wasn’t a good person to those he cared about, so when Natasha found out he had a daughter, she knew she needed to investigate. 

She had sent a hengemen uncover to find out more about you, and what was reported back to her shocked her. 

You were hit whenever you stepped out of line, and you were not well taken care of at all. Once Natasha learned about your situation, she decided she had to get you out, setting up an elaborate deal she knew your father couldn’t get out of.

When you father unsurprisingly failed to follow through on his end of the deal, he was in large debt with Natasha, and she knew she could demand anything from him. 

And so, she demanded she would get you as payment, knowing your father couldn’t do anything but follow through. 

Over the months she had build a soft spot for you, and she was more than glad that she had done what she did. She saved you, and now you were happy. 

Natasha Romanoff may not have been the best human being on the planet, but to those she cared about, she could not have been better. 

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @daddipantherr @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @tia-thesimp @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @hor1zond1ar1es @lorsstar1st @superlegend216 @ravensinthedaylight

[floatyflowers]

Helaurrr I'm thinking of a young reader getting their period for the first time any character will do like sibling/parents yk 🥹

Dark Platonic! John Wick, Hannibal Lecter, and Thranduil x Reader

Father! Hannibal Lecter

Hannibal almost had a stroke when he saw trails of blood on the floor, after waking up.

Thinking that someone might have broken into the house and killed you, his 10-year-old daughter, he quickly rushes to where the blood trails lead him to.

Only to find you in the kitchen, in front of the open fridge, eating your favourite snack as if there's no blood between your legs.

Realizing what is happening, he makes you have a bath, and change into new clothes after teaching you how to use a pad.

Hannibal made sure to explain what was going on in a simple way.

But, you only pout.

"Does it have to come every month? Why not every ten years?"

Father! John Wick

When your period arrived, you already knew what you were going to do.

But that doesn't mean John would not coddle you, and make sure you have everything you need.

Especially since his wife's death, he had to be the mother and father for you.

You are the last thing left of his wife, so he will do anything in his power to make sure you are always safe and happy.

He would kill for you, and also kill anyone who would try to steal you from him.

John would make sure to buy the most expensive painkillers and sanitary pads because he is against you using tampons.

Also, the painkillers might be the same ones he uses after treating his bleeding wounds.

Grandfather! Thranduil

Elf women get their period at a much older age then humans, and their period comes every three months.

Meanwhile, you are half-elven, so you got your period around the same age as human girl would.

So, the Mirkwood king got confused when he saw you, his cheerful granddaughter, having bad mood swings.

Directed at him.

Thranduil also got angry, when you were good with servants.

He felt like it should be the opposite, he should be the center of your attention.

So, he locked you up until your period is over.

Let's just say when Legolas got back from his mission, he got into a huge fight with his father.

[orion-lake]

Lzzy Hale Stop Draggin' My Heart Around [X]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Farmer's Daughter 14

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You wake up with your head on Walt’s arm. You lay on your side, facing him as his chest rises and falls, a rumble thundering through him with each breath. His warmth has you in a sheen of sweat. You hesitate to move, not wanting to disturb him.

As you lay and listen to his snores, your stomach topturns. The realisation flows through you and turns to ice. As unusual as this awakening is now, this will be your forever. That’s what you agreed to. Your days, your nights, your everything will belong to Walt.

You squirm as suddenly you’re on fire, your scalp speckling with impending doom. You shift onto your back and slowly sit up. You bend your head forward and cover your face as you try to ease the spinning in your head.

You drag your feet from beneath the blankets and turn to sit with your back to him. To your future husband. You just can’t make it sound normal in your head.

You stand cautiously, mindful not to jostle the bed. His low snores carry through the air as you walk across the creaky floorboard, peeking over with each step. Your legs prickle with goosebumps as you get to the door. A shiver rolls over you and you hug yourself as the morning air flows up the bottom of the flannel shirt.

You leave him and find your way downstairs. You turn on the space heater and linger before it, building the courage to detach yourself from the glow of heat. You continue into the kitchen and carefully make your way around it.

The least you can do is make breakfast. You suppose that will be expected from now on. It’s not so out of the ordinary, it’s only Walt will be more than just a guest, more than a friend.

You take out eggs and a tray of breakfast sausage. You pause as you wonder if it’s too much. You hope he doesn’t mind.

You do your best to be quiet as you put a skillet on the oven to heat. You line a pan with the sausages and preheat the gas stove. You flutter your fingers anxiously as you wait, staying close to absorb some of the heat.

“Morning,” Walt’s gritty timbre sends a tremor through you.

You glance over as he enters, a brown robe around him as he rubs his eyes and sweeps his curls away from his face. You return his greeting as you crack the eggs into a bowl to whisk. He hums and nears the counter, grabbing a tin near the back.

“Coffee?” He wonders.

“Oh, no I–” you set the bowl down, “I didn’t– I can do that now.”

“Mm, thanks, sweetheart,” he puts the tin down and sidles closer to you, “sleep okay?”

His hand touches the small of your back as stands close. You nod, “mhmm,” you step up to the counter and grab the beat-up percolator. “Thanks, I… I did.”

“Rain’s let up,” he reluctantly parts and peers through the window as you fill the percolator from the tap, “should go out and check on the truck after breakfast… then we can head up to the bank.”

“The bank?” You shut off the faucet and loud the grinds, then pop the metal lid into place. You put the metal jug onto the burner and twist the knob.

“Get some thing’s sorted. I told your mother I’d bring some paperwork,” he explains as he sits in one of the wooden chairs. He watches you intently as you face him. He’s quiet as his eyes rove you from head to toe. A breath fills his chest, “and we can tell her the news.”

You try to smile and quickly turn your attention back to the eggs. You put oil on the skillet as you clear your throat, “yeah, she’ll… I think she’ll be happy.”

“Could do a lot worse around here,” he grits.

“I didn’t mean…” you shake your head as the oil sizzles, “I only… I’m getting used to the idea still.”

“Seem to be getting used to it,” he remarks, “lucky me got a woman like you to wake up to, make me breakfast…”

“Uh, yeah,” you pour the eggs into the pan.

He lets a long exhale and the chair groans beneath his weight, “it’s like a dream come true. Finally,” he drawls as the savoury smell of sausages blooms from the over, “about time I settled down. Least that’s what the old crones whisper down at the grocery store.”

“Oh, ha, well, everyone talks,” you shrug, “I’m sure they whisper about me too.”

“Uh huh, I heard them,” he scoffs as his tone harshens, “about you talking to Odinson… making eyes at him.”

“What–” you nearly choke, “I…I didn’t— I wouldn’t.”

You scrape the pan to scramble the eggs as your voice knots in your throat. It feels like an accusation but you know it was harmless. Thor was just being helpful and that was weeks ago.

“Well, you won’t,” he says tersely, “from now on, I don’t want you being friendly with the likes of him. He’s no good.”

“Walt, I wasn’t–”

“That’s before,” he interjects, “this is now. We’re gonna be married. Things are different.”

“I know,” you eke out, “but I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t do that.”

“Uh huh, but you flirted with me,” he insists.

“I…” you stop yourself before you begin. You didn’t flirt with him, you were nice to him. Like you always were. Like you had been for years.

“Sweet thing like you, it’s easy to get the wrong idea and men like Odinson, they always get the wrong idea,” he growls.

The percolator trembles and you turn off the burner. You quickly twist the other down to low and put a lid over the eggs to keep them warm. You turn to the cupboard and pick out a mug with an ombre of brown. You pour the steaming coffee and bring it to him.

“You don’t have to mope, I’m just making you aware,” he says, “you’re too sweet to see it. I’m protecting you. That’s what a husband does, right?”

You make yourself smile and swallow, “of course, thank you.”

“No, thank you,” he takes the mug from you with a wink, “look at you, my sweet little wife.”

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | ending.

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"I'm always going to be right here, no one's going anywhere."

summary: it's the end

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 22

masterlist!

previous | chapter 21

The stench hit Tommy first. Damp iron, rotting meat, and something more acrid that clawed at the back of his throat. He stumbled into the room, flashlight trembling in his hand as the beam cut through the darkness.

His boots stuck to the blood-slicked floor, and for a brief moment, he froze.

There they were.

Joel and you, collapsed together in a grotesque tableau of ruin. Joel's head lolled against yours, blood trailing from a gaping wound that soaked his graying hair and matted your cheek.

His arms clutched you fiercely even in unconsciousness, as though holding you was the only thing tethering him to this world. Your face was pale, lifeless, lips parted as if in a final whisper.

Both of you were drenched in crimson, a dark halo pooling beneath your entwined bodies.

Tommy’s knees buckled as his voice cracked. “No. No, no, no!” He dropped the flashlight, its beam rolling away and casting distorted shadows across the room.

He crawled toward you, shaking hands brushing against Joel’s still-warm shoulder. “Joel, Joel, Wake up, Wake up brother,"

"THEY ARE HERE!" His heart hammered in his chest as he pressed trembling fingers to your neck, then Joel’s.

Faint pulses—fragile, flickering, but there. Relief collided with dread. They were alive, barely.

"HELP!"

"Ellie! Maria!" he roared, his voice breaking like splintered glass.

Ellie was the first to burst through the doorway, Maria on her heels. Ellie’s sharp inhale morphed into a guttural scream as she threw herself toward Joel.

"Joel? NO! NO NO! JOEL NO!"

"You can’t—wake up, wake the fuck up!” She shook him, tears streaking down her face, hands smearing his blood as she begged.

Maria pulled her back, gripping her shoulders tightly. “Ellie, it's alright, it's alright,"

"NO! NO LET ME GO! JOEL WAKE UP!"

But Ellie wouldn’t listen, sobbing uncontrollably, her fists pounding against Maria’s restraint.

"Don’t leave me, Joel. Please! You promised!"

Tommy couldn’t look at her. He had to keep himself steady, had to shove down the overwhelming tidal wave of emotion threatening to consume him.

He helped the EMTs lift Joel onto a stretcher, his hand lingering on his brother’s wrist for a moment longer than necessary.

“I’ll go with him,” Tommy said hoarsely, his voice as brittle as dried leaves. “Maria, stay with her.”

Maria nodded, her face pale but resolute, and knelt by your side.

Tommy sat rigid in the corner of the ER, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. He pressed them against his knees, trying to anchor himself, to keep his breathing steady.

But the panic was a wild animal inside him, clawing its way up his throat. He couldn't let it out—not here, not now.

Joel lay on the gurney, pale and fragile in a way Tommy had never seen. His big brother, who had always seemed unbreakable, now looked like a shell of the man Tommy had leaned on his entire life.

Blood seeped through the bandages wrapped hastily around his head, staining the sterile white sheets beneath him.

“Please, brother,” Tommy whispered, his voice trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. “Don’t go. Don't go, please,"

The words were more for himself than anyone else. A mantra, a prayer, a desperate plea to the universe. Joel was his anchor, the one who had always taken the brunt of the storm so Tommy wouldn’t have to.

Without him, Tommy felt like a ship unmoored, adrift in a sea of grief and fear.

He glanced at Ellie, who sat beside him, her hands buried in her face, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

She looked so small, so young, like a child who had just lost her world.

And maybe she had.

Tommy reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on her shoulder. She flinched but didn’t pull away.

Instead, she looked up at him, her face streaked with tears, her eyes wild with anguish.

“He can’t die,” Ellie choked out, her voice raw and broken. “He can’t, Tommy. He’s all I have. He’s all I fucking have.”

Her words hit Tommy like a punch to the gut. He knew what Joel meant to her—how he’d become more than just a guardian, more than a father figure. Joel was her home, her safe place, the one person who had never given up on her.

“I know,” Tommy murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I know, kid. He ain’t going anywhere,"

But his own words felt hollow, like a lie he was telling to keep them both from falling apart.

Inside, he was unraveling. Every time the heart monitor beeped, every time a doctor barked out orders, he felt his chest tighten, his breaths growing shallower.

Memories flashed through his mind—Joel was always by his side, even when they were children and adults, he took care of Tommy, he believed in him, he was always holding him steady when the world felt like it was falling apart.

And now it was Tommy’s turn to hold steady.

To be the rock Joel had always been for him.

But God, it was hard.

Ellie’s sobs grew louder, her hands clutching the fabric of her jeans like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. “He promised me,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “He promised he’d always be here.”

Tommy swallowed the lump in his throat and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. She resisted for a moment before collapsing against him, her tears soaking into his shirt.

“He’s a fighter,” Tommy said, his voice barely audible. “You know that better than anyone. He ain’t giving up now. Not on you. Not on us.”

But even as he said the words, doubt gnawed at the edges of his resolve. He knew how fragile life was, how quickly it could be snatched away.

And yet, he couldn’t let himself believe it. He wouldn’t.

“Just hold on, Joel,” Tommy whispered, his eyes fixed on his brother’s pale face. “Please, just hold on.”

He tightened his grip on Ellie, drawing strength from her even as he tried to give her his.

Meanwhile, Maria sat beside your gurney, her hands trembling as they hovered over your pale, battered face. She couldn’t bring herself to touch you—not yet.

You looked so fragile, so breakable, like a porcelain doll left too long in the storm, your edges cracked and worn.

The steady rhythm of the heart monitor was the only proof that you were still here, still clinging to whatever thin thread tethered you to this world.

She didn’t know you like Joel did, or Ellie, or Tommy. But she had known you long enough.

Long enough to remember the shy little girl in her Sunday dresses, her hair tied up with ribbons, her voice ringing clear and sweet as she sang hymns with the choir.

You had always been so eager to help, bustling around the church like a sparrow, your hands too small to carry the weight of the world, and yet you tried.

Even then, Maria had seen the signs—the way you flinched when someone raised their voice, the shadows in your eyes that no child should have.

She should have known. She did know.

Maria bit down hard on her lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood. She wanted to scream, to cry, to beg for forgiveness—not from you, but from the universe, for failing you.

You were just a child.

All the signs had been there, like a map she had chosen to ignore. The bruises you tried to hide under long sleeves, the hollow cheerfulness in your smile, the way you’d cling to Joel or Ellie like they were lifelines.

And now, here you were, barely breathing, barely alive, because she hadn’t done anything.

Maria leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees as she pressed her hands to her face. She thought of her own son, her sweet baby boy, safe in his crib back home.

She couldn’t imagine him growing up without her, couldn’t imagine a world where he was left to fend for himself, broken and alone. But that was your world now.

You had no one.

Tears slid down Maria’s cheeks, hot and unrelenting. She reached out, finally letting her fingers graze your hand. Your skin was cold, too cold, and it made her shiver.

She wanted to hold you, to pull you into her arms like she did with her son when he cried, to tell you it was all going to be okay. But she couldn’t lie to you like that. Not now.

“You were just a child,” Maria whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her grief. “You didn’t deserve any of this.”

She thought of all the times she had watched you from afar, her heart aching with the knowledge she had buried deep down.

She had told herself it wasn’t her place, that your parents were good, church-going people, that someone else would step in if something was wrong.

Until Joel stepped up.

But still, now you were here, shattered and bleeding, because the adults in your life had failed you.

Maria wiped at her tears with the back of her hand, her resolve hardening. “I’m here now,” she murmured, her voice steady even as her heart quaked.

“You’re not alone, sweetheart. You’ll never be alone again.”

She didn’t know if you could hear her. Maybe you were too far gone, lost in whatever dark void had claimed you.

But she would sit here as long as it took, would fight for you in the way she should have all those years ago.

You were just a child.

But now, you were hers to protect.

***

The world around you dissolved into a weightless expanse of white. It wasn’t harsh or blinding; it was soft, endless, like freshly fallen snow untouched by footprints.

There was no floor beneath you, no walls, no sky. Just an infinite void, as if time and space had folded into nothingness.

You felt… nothing.

No pain, no fear, no exhaustion. The gnawing ache in your body, the sharp sting of wounds, the crushing heaviness of the world—it was all gone.

Instead, there was a quiet peace, gentle and all-encompassing. It should have been comforting, this emptiness, but it wasn’t.

Something was missing.

You tried to move, to speak, but your body didn’t respond. It wasn’t heavy or restrained—it simply wasn’t there. You were a thought, an echo in the silence.

Is this it?

The question hung in the air, unanswered. A strange calm settled over you, and yet, deep in your chest—if you even had a chest anymore—a faint tug lingered, a gnawing unease that refused to be soothed.

Something wasn’t right.

And then you heard it.

A voice, soft and familiar, weaving through the stillness like a hymn.

“Honey…”

Your breath—or what felt like breath—hitched. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. Slowly, you turned, and there she was.

“Mama.”

Your voice broke, raw and disbelieving, as you stumbled toward her. She stood there, whole and radiant, as if the years and the violence had never touched her.

Her face was just as you remembered—warm blue eyes, soft cheeks, a smile that had once been your safe harbor.

Tears blurred your vision as you threw yourself into her arms, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt solid.

Her arms wrapped around you, strong and steady, and you buried your face in her shoulder, sobbing like a child.

“Mama, I’m sorry,” you choked out, the words tumbling from your lips in a torrent of guilt and grief.

“I’m so sorry. I left you. I should have done something—I should have saved you—”

She hushed you, her fingers combing gently through your hair. “Shh, honey. Look at me.”

You pulled back, your chest heaving with unspent sobs, and looked into her eyes. They were filled with a tenderness that threatened to undo you.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, her voice firm but gentle. “It was never your fault.”

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling over. “But I—father—Negan—”

She placed her hands on either side of your face, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Listen to me, honey. What happened wasn’t because of you. It was us, it was our fault, all of it,—your father—and me. I was too afraid to protect you. I failed you.” Her voice cracked, but she pressed on.

“But you?” Her voice quivered, trembling under the weight of her own sorrow.

“You were just a child. You were just a child. My baby. My baby girl.” Her hands cradled your face, fingers trembling like autumn leaves barely clinging to their branches.

The warmth of her touch seeped into your skin, but it couldn’t thaw the ice of guilt frozen in your chest.

Her words unfurled in the void, weaving through your heart like a psalm you didn’t realize you’d been aching to hear. Her voice cracked, thick with grief.

“I couldn’t do anything to protect you. I failed—I failed as a mother, as your mother.” Tears glistened in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks like rivers eroding her steadfast resolve.

“I failed you, and I’m so, so sorry for it.”

You shook your head violently, choking on your tears. “No, Mama. Don’t say that—please don’t say that. You were scared. You didn’t have a choice—”

“I was supposed to have a choice,” she interrupted, her voice rising, fierce and broken.

“God entrusted you to me. He placed you in my arms, so tiny, so perfect. You were a gift, my precious lamb, and I—” Her voice faltered, her hands tightening around yours.

“I let the wolves devour you.”

Her grief crashed over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in its depth.

She shook her head, her sorrow spilling out like an overflowing chalice. “A mother’s love is supposed to be unyielding, a shield against all harm. I should have been your fortress, your refuge. But instead…” She looked away, shame twisting her features.

“Instead, I was a reed, bending under the weight of fear, snapping when you needed me most.”

Her words pierced through you, carving out a hollow space where the guilt had lived for so long. Your chest ached with the enormity of it, the shared burden of her regrets and yours.

Her eyes, luminous with love and pain, met yours again. “But you… Oh, my beautiful baby girl. You were never to blame. Never.” Her voice softened, turning into a prayer, a hymn.

“You were the lamb, innocent and pure, while the wolves prowled at your door. And I—I didn’t drive them away. I let them linger, let them sink their fangs into you. And for that, I will carry my guilt for eternity.”

"You did what you could. You loved me the best you could.”

Her smile was bittersweet, a fragile thing that barely reached her eyes. “Love isn’t enough, baby. Love must have action, must have courage. But I didn’t act. I let fear bind me, as surely as chains. Your father’s wrath…” Her voice broke, her tears falling freely now.

“It wasn’t just you he terrorized, you know. I was too weak to stop him, too paralyzed to shield you.”

She drew a shaky breath, her gaze lifting to some unseen point beyond you. “But now, I see clearly. In the kingdom of heaven, where grace flows like rivers of light, I’ve learned what I should have known all along. A mother’s love should reflect God’s love—unyielding, sacrificial, all-consuming.”

Her hands cupped your cheeks again, her thumbs brushing away your tears.

“But you, my child—you are stronger than I ever was. You bore the brunt of his sins, carried his cruelties on your back. You endured the cross I should have carried for you.”

Her words opened a wound in your heart, but they also poured something healing into it. Something divine.

“You are my lamb, yes,” she whispered, leaning her forehead against yours. “But you are also my lion. Fierce, unbroken, redeemed. You’ve endured what no one should endure, and yet you’re still here."

"Do you hear me, honey? You’re still here. You have a chance to live, to love, to heal. To have the life I always wanted for you.”

“I can’t…” you whispered, your voice small and trembling. “I don’t know how.”

She smiled again, this time radiant, her eyes gleaming with something you could only call holy.

“You will. God’s light is within you, burning brighter than you know. You will find your way, my beautiful girl."

"But you can’t stay here. Not yet.”

"You and him doesn't belong here,"

The void around you began to shift, the brightness dimming, pulling her farther and farther away.

"What? Mama, what's happening?"

Her kiss lingered like the warmth of sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “I’ll always be with you,” she whispered, her voice soft as a hymn, “as surely as the spirit of God dwells within you.”

Tears spilled from your eyes as her form began to fade, dissolving into the luminous void like mist burned away by dawn. Her final words echoed in the stillness: “I love you so much.”

And then, she was gone.

You stood alone in the vast expanse, the emptiness pressing in on you. Panic gripped your chest, and you screamed, Your voice cracked, reverberating in the silence, unanswered.

The world around you swirled, a disorienting blend of white and nothingness, until a figure emerged in the distance.

It was Joel.

Joel.

Relief surged through you like a flood, washing away your fear. “Joel!” you called, your voice trembling, desperate.

You ran toward him, but he didn’t seem to hear you. He stood motionless, his head bowed, and as you got closer, you saw them—two figures standing beside him.

His late wife, Jane, her features soft and kind, just as you had seen in the pictures your mother had once saved.

And next to her, a young girl, her smile radiant and full of life. Sarah.

You recognized her immediately, even though you’d only seen her in photographs. Her beauty was ethereal, her eyes unmistakably Joel’s—a mirror of his soul.

You froze in place, your heart pounding as Joel turned to embrace them both. The sight of him holding them shattered something deep inside you.

You called out again, your voice breaking, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t hear you.

“No,” you whispered, your chest tightening with despair. “No, Joel, don’t leave me.”

Then, Sarah’s gaze met yours. Her smile softened, her eyes glowing with a warmth that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. She pointed toward you, her finger trembling slightly, and Joel turned.

His eyes found you.

“Baby?” His voice was soft, disbelieving, as though he couldn’t trust what he was seeing.

“Joel,” you choked, tears streaming down your face. You ran to him, your feet barely feeling the ground beneath you, and flung yourself into his arms.

His embrace was warm, solid, real—just as it had always been.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice trembling with confusion and fear.

“I came to find you,” you sobbed, clutching his shirt as though letting go would shatter you into a thousand pieces.

“No,” he said firmly, his hands gripping your shoulders as he pulled back to look into your eyes. “No, you don’t belong here.”

"What do you mean? I’m not leaving without you.”

“Baby…” Joel’s voice cracked, his hands trembling as they cupped your face. His thumb brushed away your tears, his touch so achingly familiar.

“Look at me. I’m here, where I belong.” He glanced toward Jane and Sarah, his eyes brimming with sorrow and something resembling peace. “Look—I found them. My family,”

Your heart fractured, the jagged edges cutting deep. “No, Joel. You don’t get to leave me. Please,” you begged, pressing your forehead against his.

“Please don’t leave me.”

His breath hitched, and he held you closer, his fingers threading through your hair. “Baby, listen to me..."

"I’m so sorry. For everything. For the pain, for the fear, for all the ways I failed you. But I love you. God, I love you so much.” His voice broke completely, his tears mingling with yours.

Joel’s voice was a broken melody, each word trembling with the weight of his love.

His hands cradled your face like you were the most fragile and precious thing he had ever held, his thumbs brushing the tears from your cheeks as though he could wipe away your pain.

“You are the light of my life,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion.

“Fire of my loins, my sin, my soul,"

"My moon, my sun..."

"You gave me a reason to keep going when all I saw was darkness. When everything else fell apart, when the world was nothing but ash and shadows, you were the one thing that felt real. The one thing that kept me grounded.”

His breath hitched, and he leaned his forehead against yours, his tears falling freely now.

“You’re my anchor, baby. You’ve held me steady when I was drowning, pulled me back when I was ready to let go. You’ve been my salvation in ways I never deserved.”

His hands trembled as they moved to cup the sides of your face, his gaze boring into yours with an intensity that made your heart ache.

“I’m so glad I found you. So damn grateful you walked into my life. You’ve given me something I never thought I’d have again—a reason to live, a reason to hope.”

He swallowed hard, his voice breaking as he continued.

“You’re every good thing I’ve ever known. Every sunrise that painted the sky in gold. Every quiet moment of peace that I never thought I’d have again. You’re the laughter I didn’t think I’d hear, the love I didn’t think I deserved.”

His lips quivered as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering as though he could pour everything he felt for you into that one touch.

“I don’t know how to let go of you,” he whispered, his voice cracking like thunder through the void.

“But I need you to live, baby. You’re the light this world needs, the light I need, even if I can’t stay."

You sobbed, your hands clutching at him like he was the only thing tethering you to existence. “Then stay,” you pleaded, your voice a raw whisper.

“Stay with me, Joel. I need you. I can’t do this without you.”

His own tears fell harder, but he smiled—a soft, broken smile filled with love and sorrow.

“You can. And you will. Because you’re the strongest person I’ve ever known, and you’ve got so much left to give, so much left to live for.”

He pressed his lips to yours, the kiss tender, full of love, full of goodbye. “I love you,” he murmured against your mouth.

“More than words could ever say, more than this life could ever show. I love you with everything I am, and I’ll love you with everything I’ll ever be.”

The light around you began to shift, and Joel’s form flickered, his edges growing softer, less solid. “Baby,” he said, his voice now barely a whisper,

“you’ll carry me with you. Always. In every step, every breath. I’ll be there, just like you’ve always been there for me.”

“No,” you whimpered, shaking your head violently. “I can’t.”

“You have to, babygirl.” His voice was soft but firm, a command laced with infinite sorrow.

“This isn’t your time. You have a life to live, love to give, and the world needs you. You don’t belong here."

His words sliced through you, leaving you gasping for air. He pressed his lips to your forehead, the kiss lingering, warm and full of finality.

“I’ll always love you, my sweet girl,” he whispered against your skin.

As he pulled away, Jane and Sarah stepped closer, their hands resting gently on his shoulders. You tried to cling to him, to pull him back, but his form began to fade, dissolving into the light.

“No!” you screamed, your voice shattering into the void. “Joel, please! Don’t leave me!”

"No, don't take him away from me please," you look at Jane and Sarah, like they can do anything to make stay Joel with you. But they can't.

His final words reached you like a prayer whispered into the wind. “I’ll never leave you, baby."

"I’ll be in every sunrise, every star, every moment you take a breath. You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

"I'll see you when you get here,"

And then he was gone.

You collapsed to your knees, the emptiness swallowing you whole. The void around you seemed colder, darker, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

But then, a faint warmth stirred within you, like the faintest flicker of a candle. His promise, his love—it lingered, eternal, a part of you now.

The sound was deafening. That high-pitched scream of the machine announcing a life extinguished. But it wasn’t yours.

A force stronger than gravity itself yanked at you, pulling you from the void and hurling you back into the world. You gasped for air, your chest heaving as your lungs filled with fire.

Your eyes fluttered open to blinding light, hospital lights, cold and clinical. Pain surged through you like a tidal wave, radiating from every inch of your battered body.

You looked down and saw the remnants of what had been done—stitches running jagged like broken seams, blood still staining your skin.

You're alive, but barely.

The room swam in and out of focus. Faces blurred, voices merged into static. But one name, one thought cut through the haze like a blade. 

Joel.

“Joel,” you croaked, your voice weak, hoarse, but resolute.

The doctors were at your side instantly, their hands on your shoulders, their voices calm but firm as they begged you to lie down. You didn’t listen. You couldn’t.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, your body protesting every movement, every step, but nothing would stop you.

Not now.

Maria’s voice rose behind you, calling your name, panic lacing her tone. You heard her footsteps rushing after you, heard her yelling for Tommy, but you kept going.

People stared as you stumbled through the hallway, their eyes wide with something between pity and horror. You must have looked like death itself—bloodied, fragile, dragging your broken body forward with sheer willpower alone.

But you didn’t care. Nothing mattered except finding him.

And then you did.

Joel.

He was lying still in the hospital bed, pale as the sheets beneath him, his chest unmoving. The machine beside him was silent, its flatline a cruel, unrelenting sound that confirmed your worst fear.

“No,” you whispered, your breath catching in your throat. “No, no, no.”

Ellie was at his side, her small frame hunched over as sobs wracked her body. Tommy stood nearby, his shoulders shaking, his face buried in his hands.

Maria’s voice was somewhere behind you, but you couldn’t hear her anymore.

You pushed past them, your movements frantic, desperate. “NO!” you screamed, throwing yourself at his bedside, your hands clutching his cold, lifeless face.

“No, this isn’t real. Joel, wake up! Wake up!”

Tears streamed down your face, hot and unrelenting, as you shook him, your voice breaking into pieces.

“Please, Joel. Please, come back to me. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me, please!”

The room felt like it was collapsing around you, the walls closing in, the air too thick to breathe. You pressed your forehead against his, your tears soaking into his skin.

He felt so cold. Too cold.

Your hands trembled as they clung to Joel’s face, your fingers tracing the lines of his cheeks now void of warmth. He was so still, so unbearably still.

The icy chill of his skin seeped into your bones, but you refused to believe this was the end.

It couldn’t be.

“Please, God,” you whispered, your voice trembling like the flicker of a candle in a storm. “Don’t take him from me. Please, not him. I’ll do anything—anything—just let him stay.”

Your words grew louder, desperate, until they became a chant, a plea that echoed through the room.

Tears streaked down your face in rivers, dripping onto his still form.

“Lord,” you prayed, your voice cracking as sobs overtook you. “I have sinned, I know I have. I am broken, unworthy of your grace. But Joel...he is good. He is so good. Spare him, please. Take me instead, but don’t take him. He’s my everything, my heart, my soul. Don’t let this be his end.”

Your fingers curled into fists against his chest, as though you could will his heart to beat again with your sheer desperation.

“You said you are merciful,” you cried. “You are the shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine for the one. Let him be that one, Lord. Bring him back to me. Please, bring him back!”

The room felt heavy, oppressive, as though the weight of the heavens themselves bore down upon you. Your voice climbed higher, louder, animalistic and raw.

“PLEASE!” you screamed. “Don’t you leave him! He is mine, he is yours, and I cannot live without him. Please, God, don’t forsake us.”

The doctors tried to pull you away, their voices a blur as they urged you to let him go.

Their hands gripped your arms, but you wrenched free, throwing yourself onto Joel’s body as though you could shield him from the inevitability of death.

“NO!” you shrieked, your voice ripping through the sterile air. “LET ME GO! NO! JOEL, PLEASE! COME BACK TO ME!”

Your screams were guttural, the kind of pain that stripped you down to nothing, leaving you raw and exposed.

It echoed down the hospital corridors, reaching ears far beyond the room.

Tommy’s heart broke as he watched you. Tears streamed down his face, his hands clenched into fists, helpless to do anything but witness your agony.

Ellie buried her face in Maria’s shoulder, her small frame shaking with sobs as Maria held her close, her own tears falling silently.

You pressed your forehead to Joel’s chest, your body trembling as you sobbed. “It’s my fault,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t—if I had never bring you into this, maybe—maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

His blood stained your fingers, dried and cracking like the earth after a long drought. You kissed his face, his forehead, his cheeks, your tears washing streaks into the crimson smudges.

“Joel,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as your forehead rested against his. “Please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me, baby."

"I need you. I need you so much. Come back, please, come back...come back to me..."

***

Joel’s world was a haze, the edges blurred like an old photograph left too long in the sun. The last thing he remembered was you—your cries, your desperate pleas.

And then, there was nothing.

No pain, no noise, just a quiet stillness that wrapped around him like a soft, suffocating blanket.

When his eyes opened, he wasn’t in the hospital. The space around him was unearthly, bathed in a warm, golden light that seemed to hum with peace.

A familiar laugh rang out, soft and lilting, and his heart clenched as he turned toward the sound.

There they were.

Sarah.

Jane.

His breath hitched as his little girl came running toward him, her curls bouncing with every step, her smile as radiant as the sun. He fell to his knees, his arms wide open as she flung herself into his chest.

“Daddy,” she whispered, her small hands clutching his shirt. “I missed you so much.”

Joel’s throat closed, his arms tightening around her as he pressed his face into her hair. “Baby girl,” he rasped, his voice trembling.

“I’ve missed you too. I’ve missed you every day.”

Jane stood a few feet away, her smile soft, her eyes filled with a warmth that broke and healed him all at once.

“You’re here,” Joel said, his voice barely above a whisper. He reached out a hand toward her, but when she moved to take it, his fingers passed through hers like smoke.

“What...?” Joel’s brow furrowed as he stared at his hand.

“You can’t hold us, Joel,” Jane said gently, stepping closer. “Not anymore.”

His chest tightened, his eyes darting between them. “What do you mean? I’m here. You’re here. We’re together now."

Sarah stepped back, her small hand slipping from his grasp. “Daddy,” she said softly, her voice tinged with sadness. “You belong with her.”

Her words hit him like a blow, and his head whipped toward Jane for clarity, for something to hold onto.

“What?” Joel asked, his voice cracking.

“What are you saying?”

“She’s calling for you, Joel,” Jane said, her eyes brimming with understanding. “Don’t you hear her?”

Joel’s heart stuttered as he thought of you—your face wet with tears, your voice raw as you screamed his name.

It echoed in the recesses of his mind, faint but insistent, like the pull of a tide.

“I can’t... I can’t leave you both."

Jane stepped closer, her hand hovering near his cheek but never quite touching. “Joel,” she said softly, her voice like a balm to his wounded soul.

“It’s not your fault.”

His shoulders shook as he closed his eyes, the guilt rising in his chest like a tidal wave. “It is,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

“It’s my fault you’re gone. You and Sarah. If I, If i didn't lose control, If—”

Jane cut him off, her voice firm but kind. “It wasn’t your fault. It was fate, Joel."

"God’s plan."

"As much as it hurts, we were never meant to stay.”

Tears streamed down his face, his fists clenching at his sides. “But you were my family,” he choked out. “You’re my family.”

Jane’s smile softened, and she shook her head gently. “No, Joel,” she said.

“She’s your family now. The woman who’s calling for you, the one who refuses to let go. She’s your home. And the children you two would have... they’re waiting for you.”

Jane nodded, her eyes shimmering with tears. “You found her, Joel,” she said.

“You found the reason to keep going. Now go back. Go to her. And just know that we’ll always be here, by your side.”

Sarah stepped forward, her small hand brushing the air near his. “We’ll always be with you, Daddy,” she said, her voice sweet and unwavering.

Joel’s heart felt like it was being torn in two. He looked at them, his girls, his everything, and then closed his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

"I love you, daddy."

“Now go.” Jane said.

A force tugged at him, pulling him backward, away from the light, away from them.

Their faces blurred, their forms dissolving into the golden glow as the world around him grew dark.

And then he heard it—your voice. Raw, desperate, filled with a love so fierce it defied everything.

“Joel, please! Come back to me!”

***

(listen to this for this scene, xx)

The English countryside stretched endlessly before you, a quilt of rolling green hills dotted with wildflowers and the occasional stone cottage, their chimneys releasing tendrils of smoke into the brisk morning air.

The sky above was a canvas of soft pastels, where the first light of dawn kissed the earth with a gentle embrace.

Yet, even amidst this beauty, your heart felt heavy—a weight you had carried for five long years.

Five years since everything changed.

The memories came unbidden, sharp as the cold breeze that whispered through the grass. They were vivid, like paintings etched in fire, each stroke searing with the weight of all you endured.

You remembered Texas—the dry, oppressive heat of your small town, the suffocating walls of the preacher’s house, and the silent screams you carried within you.

You were just the preacher's daughter then, the perfect picture of obedience. But beneath the surface, the wounds left by your father ran deep.

His hands left bruises, his words left scars, and his righteous fury left you trembling in the dark.

And then there was Negan.

The man who had stolen you away from Joel, the man who nearly destroyed you both. You still remembered the cold steel of his chains, the cruelty in his gaze, and the weight of hopelessness in that basement.

He had tried to take everything—your love, your freedom, your soul. But the ache in your chest reminded you that he had failed. You had fought.

You had survived.

California.

It had been your dream once—a place where sunshine and salt air might have smoothed over the jagged edges of your memories.

You had imagined golden beaches and blue skies erasing the shadows of your past.

But when the time came, the brightness of that place felt like a lie. It was too glaring, too sharp for a soul so fractured.

Instead, you fled across the ocean to the English countryside, where the world moved slower and softer.

Here, the hum of life was a quiet balm, the rolling hills and open fields a canvas of peace.

The sound of children’s laughter pulled you from your thoughts. Their bright, melodic voices mingled with the chirping birds and rustling leaves.

You turned, watching them run through the yard, their small figures glowing in the morning light. Their joy was an anchor, a reminder of what you had fought so hard to build.

A faint smile tugged at your lips. They didn’t know the depth of the ground beneath their feet—the battles you had waged, the demons you had vanquished to stand where you were now.

There had been years of sleepless nights, haunted by the shadows of your father and the cruelty of men like Negan.

Therapists had tried to reach you with kind faces and soft voices, but no amount of words could silence the screams in your mind.

The memories were relentless, dragging you into spirals of despair until you admitted yourself to a mental hospital.

Healing had been slow, agonizing work, each step forward feeling like climbing a mountain barefoot. Not all scars faded—some you carried like a hidden roadmap of your survival.

Yet here you were, standing in the golden light, breathing in the scent of wild lavender, alive and grateful.

The breeze caressed your skin, and then you felt it—a hand, strong and steady, sliding around your waist.

That touch, that presence—you knew it as intimately as your own heartbeat. It brings you comfort.

“Lost in your thoughts again?” His voice was low, warm, familiar. It settled over you like a prayer answered.

Joel.

There he was, standing before you, a figure drawn from dreams and memory.

His face was lined with years, his hair streaked with more gray now, but his eyes—those deep, brown eyes—still held the strength you had clung to through every storm.

The memories rushed in, unrelenting. You saw the hospital again—the sterile smell of antiseptic, the blinding lights, the cacophony of voices urging you to let him go.

You hadn’t.

You couldn’t.

For those agonizing moments, you believed you had lost him. You had screamed and sobbed, clinging to his lifeless form, willing him back to you with every ounce of your soul.

And then, like a divine answer, Joel had gasped for air.

It had been nothing short of a miracle.

The doctors called it improbable; you called it grace.

A man who had been stitched together by tragedy had been handed back to you, like Lazarus rising from the tomb.

But even miracles come with scars. The year that followed was not without chaos.

Joel was proven innocent.

With all the evidence back in Negan's house, his DNA all over the place and the bodies and thanks to Emma, who had captured Negan’s confession on tape.

The truth had shifted blame away from Joel, painting Negan as the monster responsible for Jamie and Ben’s deaths.

Joel finally walked free, but freedom didn’t erase the shadows.

For a year, both of you were haunted by what had happened. You by the ghosts of your father and Negan, Joel by the weight of Ben and Jamie and the fear of losing you again.

Yet, through every sleepless night and every whispered fear, you clung to each other, vowing to fight for the future you both deserved.

And look where it had brought you.

Joel’s hand tightened around your waist as you gazed into his eyes. The love there was steady, unyielding, the kind of love that had carried you through hell and back.

He's your sanctuary, your savior, your home.

You thought of the vows you had whispered to him on your wedding day, standing beneath an arch of wildflowers in this very field.

“To love and to hold, in sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow, until death do us part.”

Yet your love had defied even death.

You rested your hand against Joel’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart—each beat a testament to the life you now lived, the love you had fought so hard to keep. The world around you seemed suspended, wrapped in the golden haze of the countryside, but your mind drifted to places far from this gentle field.

“You’ve given me a life I never thought I deserved,” you whispered, your voice trembling under the weight of gratitude and sorrow.

Joel’s lips curved into that faint, familiar smile—the one that always held a mix of strength and tenderness. “You gave me one too, doll. You’re the reason I kept going.”

The words settled deep into your chest, yet a shadow flickered behind your eyes. The life you held now—this sanctuary you built together—wasn’t free. It had been bought with sacrifice, and you could never forget those who had been lost along the way.

Emma.

Her name was a quiet ache in your heart, a hymn of both love and loss. You still saw her sometimes in your dreams—her soft smile, her fierce determination, the way she had stood between you and Negan that final time. Her blood had stained your hands, her final breath etched into your memory like scripture on ancient stone. Jim, her husband, followed her into the grave, his love for her carrying him into the arms of eternity.

At night, you knelt at your bedside, your hands clasped tightly as you whispered prayers into the silence. “Lord, grant them rest. Let their souls find peace in Your grace. For Emma, for Jim, for the girls who never found freedom. For the innocents who were lost, for those who suffered.”

The words felt like offerings, fragile and holy, sent up to the heavens where you hoped they might find solace.

And then, there were your parents.

Your father’s shadow still lingered in the corners of your mind. His voice, heavy with righteous fury, had once filled your world with fear. His hands, meant to guide, had instead punished, and his sermons on forgiveness had tasted bitter on your tongue for years.

Yet here you were, trying to live those very words he had preached.

Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.

Forgiveness wasn’t a flood; it was a river—slow, winding, carving through the stone of your heart over time. You had forgiven your mother first.

She, too, was a prisoner in her way, bound by duty and fear, but her love had always been there, quiet and trembling.

Your father, though—he was the stone that took the longest to break.

You had stared at his face in your mind, the lines of anger and authority softened now by memory, and whispered, “I forgive you.” The words felt like pulling thorns from your skin—sharp, painful, but freeing.

Even now, the pain lingered, like bruises that hadn’t fully faded.

But you had chosen to let go, to leave those wounds in the hands of God, the ultimate judge and the endless source of mercy.

If He could forgive, how could you not try?

The weight of your past drifted on the breeze, carried high into the endless sky where it could no longer touch you.

The air in the English countryside was sweet and clean, like a hymn sung in spring, wrapping your soul in a quiet kind of grace.

This was your sanctuary—a land flowing with the milk of peace and the honey of redemption, where time felt softer, like it had been ordained just for you.

Joel’s decision to move here had been as much for you as it had been for himself. Away from the cities, from the noise, from the echoes of everything you had left behind.

The ranch, with its soft bleats of sheep and a garden kissed by sunlight, was a place to plant roots—not just in the earth, but in each other.

Joel still worked, commuting to London for his business, but home was here, in the rolling green hills, with you and the children.

Tommy and Maria, now raising seven-year-old Luke, remained stateside, but their love traveled across oceans. Ellie, newly wed to Dina, lived closer in London.

She came often, her laughter filling your home like music, her love for her little brother and sister an anchor in your growing family.

Frank and Bill, although they can't visit much to England, they always have time for video call you and the kids, and sending them the strawberries from your own garden.

You, once a wandering soul yearning for a place to belong, were now a wife and a mother.

Two beautiful children—Emma, with her bright, curious eyes, and Jack, with his chubby hands that reached for the world—had brought new meaning to your life.

And Joel…your husband, the father of your children.

Joel had become a father again, though you could see in his every move the man who had always been a protector, a nurturer, even through his hardest years.

This was the family you had prayed for as a child. A home stitched together not just by blood but by love, by the grace of second chances.

The children’s laughter rang out, clear as church bells on a quiet Sunday morning.

You turned toward the sound, watching them run through the field, their joy as boundless as the sky.

Gratitude swelled in your chest, a psalm of thanksgiving rising silently to the heavens.

A car horn echoed in the distance, cutting through the stillness. You squinted toward the road and saw a familiar truck pulling into the drive.

Tommy, Maria, Luke—and Ellie and Dina. They had come to celebrate Joel’s 56th birthday.

A smile broke across your face as you waved them in. “Emma! Jack! Come here!” you called, your voice full of warmth. “Uncle Tommy’s here! Your sister’s here too!”

The children turned, their little legs carrying them toward you as fast as they could.

You scooped up Jack, his tiny hands clutching at your shoulders, while Joel bent to lift Emma, who squealed in delight as her arms wrapped around his neck.

“It’s Daddy’s birthday today,” you reminded them, your voice playful. “What do we say to Daddy?”

Emma and Jack turned their bright faces to Joel and shouted in unison, “Happy birthday, Daddy! Thank you for everything, We love you so much!”

Their tiny hands reached for him, planting sloppy, sweet kisses on his cheeks.

Joel’s expression softened, his lips parting slightly as he stood in awe of the moment, his hands gentle yet secure around Emma.

Ellie arrived just in time, stepping out of the truck with a teasing grin. “Here comes your favorite big sister! Who wants candy?”

Emma and Jack squirmed out of your arms and Joel’s, running to Ellie with the excitement only children could muster. You laughed, watching her kneel to their height, pulling candies from her pockets like a magician performing a miracle.

“Happy birthday, old man,” Ellie teased as she stood, turning to Joel. “Old as a fossil now, huh?”

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “Still got more energy than you, kid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ellie replied, rolling her eyes, though her smile betrayed her affection.

As the others went inside, you heard Tommy has played Harvest Moon by Neil Young inside your house, full volume, as Joel saw him give him a wink and a thumbs up.

You laughs when you saw it, "This is our song," you said to Joel, as he wrapped you around his arm, "I can still remember those rides with you, baby."

You chuckles as you lingered with Joel, the two of you standing in the soft afternoon light. The air was quiet again, save for the rustle of leaves and the distant laughter from the house.

“Happy birthday, Joel,” you said softly, holding out a gift wrapped in simple paper.

He opened it slowly, his breath catching as he saw what lay inside. It was a photo album, filled with snapshots of your life together—the two of you, the children, Ellie, Tommy, Maria.

On the first page, written in the shaky handwriting of Emma and Jack, were the words: 

Happy birthday, Daddy. Thank you for everything that you've done for us, we are forever grateful for you, we love you so much! -With love, Always, Emma, Jack, and Momma.

Joel stared at the page, his fingers brushing lightly over the words. His throat worked as he tried to speak, but no words came. Instead, he turned to you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

He kissed you then, deeply, his lips pressing into yours with a fervor that spoke of everything he couldn’t say. When he pulled back, his voice was rough, filled with emotion.

“You’re the best gift I’ve ever had, doll,” he said. “You, this life, and these beautiful little minxes and the big minx we’ve got. I never thought I’d deserve this.”

Tears stung your own eyes as you cupped his face, your thumb brushing over the lines etched by years of sorrow and joy.

Once, you were just a preacher's daughter—raised in the shadow of a pulpit, where every word of faith felt like a heavy garment, protecting you from the world's harshness.

Your life shaped by doctrines, by prayers, by the weight of others' expectations, as though you were a vessel to carry their beliefs, not your own.

Yet, through the storms of confusion, there was always a flicker—a quiet flame deep within you, a seed planted by grace, watered by love.

You hadn’t always seen its roots, but God had always been there, gently guiding you when the world seemed too loud, when your faith faltered.

He had whispered your name in the dark, reminded you that you were never alone.

Now, standing here with Joel, the weight of the past felt lighter. The ghosts of old wounds, of the pain that once defined you, no longer reached into this space you and Joel had carved out together.

His calloused fingers, reminders of everything he had fought through, told a story of survival.

And yet, in the stillness of the twilight, his touch was gentle—a promise of love and safety, a love you had never dared to dream possible.

As the stars began to pierce the darkening sky, you and Joel stood together, watching the first one flicker into view.

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds—the verse that had carried you through your darkest hours, and now, you felt the truth of it wash over you.

Your heart, once shattered, was whole again.

Your soul, once heavy, was light with love.

Through all the loss and pain, God had been with you, guiding you through, and now you stood here, redeemed—not by your own strength, but by His infinite mercy.

“I love you,” you whispered, tilting your head to press a kiss to Joel’s cheek.

“I love you too, doll,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “More than words can say.”

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he rested his forehead against yours. “Don’t ever leave me, okay?”

You leaned into him, your voice a gentle promise as you whispered into his ear, “I’m always going to be right here. No one’s going anywhere.”

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, his breath warm against your skin. You leaned into him, feeling his strength, his warmth, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

In that moment, all that mattered was the two of you, standing in the soft twilight, wrapped in the cocoon of each other’s love. 

For once, you were free.

Free from the past. Free from the darkness that had once suffocated you. Free from the weight of the world, because here, in this corner of earth, you had found your peace.

This was no longer a dream—it was your reality. A life that had been rebuilt in the image of grace. More beautiful than anything you could have imagined.

Your life, once a patchwork of broken pieces, was now whole. A garden blooming after a long, hard winter.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours—built with love, nurtured through faith, and made whole through forgiveness.

And as you crossed the threshold of your home, the warm light spilling over the threshold, you realized this wasn’t just a happy ending.

It was your promised land. The life you had always longed for.

This was salvation.

With Joel by your side, the stars above, and the grace of God wrapping around you like the softest blanket.

You knew, truly knew,

That you had finally found your home.

－ＴＨＥ ＥＮＤ－

To the readers, Thank you so much from the deepest place in my heart for walking this journey with me. Your time, your attention, your willingness to explore this story with me means more than words can say. Writing this story, sharing these moments, has been a gift—a gift made even more meaningful by the space you've given to these characters, to their struggles, their growth, and their love. It is a beautiful thing to know that stories, like the ones we share, can find a place in someone's heart. I am forever grateful for you, for your patience, and for the grace you've extended to this narrative. You are the reason these words exist. I hope that, in some way, this story has touched you, made you feel something real, something true. If it has, know that my heart is full of gratitude. Thank you for being here. Thank you for being a part of this. Thank you for all the support and love from the beginning of it. and special thanks to Mother Ethel Cain, Hayden, your masterpiece change something inside of me. Until I see you in the next story. 🩵

With all my love, N.H xxx

[rene-spade]

Ok but how are the crazy f1 dads with their daughters dating? Who on the grid do they like?

oof this is a loaded ask bc they really are all out of it 😭 they just love their babies fr

♤ ♤ ♤

dad! kimi | growing up räikkönen!

FIRST OF ALL kimi doesn’t really vibe with most people in general, let alone anyone who’s trying to get with his little lumienkeli. kimi was lucky to raise a little girl similar to him, who listens when he places a no dating rule lasting until she’s 21 (as far as he knows anyways). despises the guys on the grid trying to get with her; he was one of them once so he thinks of them as animals, especially leclerc who’s known for his brow-raising dating life. also hates pierre but he already didn’t fw him bc he’s french. he is SLIGHTLY more easy going with women around his daughter so any grid guys with girlfriends might have an advantage. he finds that he wants the im-a-dog-and-ill-do-whatever-my-girl-says type for his daughter, but he dislikes unintelligence. he does not like anyone on the grid, but he best tolerates:

mick schumacher!

oscar piastri (+lily)

he vibes with kika okay but hates pierre 💀

bonus! he actually really likes max but his hate/distrust for jos overpowers that so he’s not letting that happen

♤ ♤ ♤

dad! jenson | growing up button!

OK SO JENSON is a bit less intense than kimi, however he is much more publicly affectionate with his daughter which means that he has definitely gone on public rants about how no man is good wen enough for his baby. that being said, he is a decent judge of character so he doesn’t hate anyone on the grid. but he gets real serious when he notices people hitting on his baby. this is mostly bc he was def a whore when he was younger so he isn’t quick to trust guys who are living the same lifestyle he was. he kind of turns on dad-mode when he notices anyone eyeing her up. but alas, he raised his own mini-me, who attracts just about everyone, and who likes to flirt back. it takes warming up to, but he can see himself fine with most of the drivers. he most prefers people who are friendly and who didn’t act like him when he was in f1 like:

george russel

daniel ricciardo

lando norris

♤ ♤ ♤

dad! fernando | growing up alonso!

NANDO IS DEFINITELY one of those guys who thinks he’s a “cool dad” bc he’s a young father and his daughter is his best friend. but in reality he’s one of those intense, fiercely overprotective dads who have impossibly high expectations for his daughters partner. 100% the type to punch a mechanic for saying gross things about his princesa. he’ll be calm and in a good mood then someone on the grid (or any man ever) mentions his daughter and he’s like 😐. UNLESS! it’s carlos. carlos is the only one who meets his standards, sorry to literally everyone else. but even with carlos, he can be a little stern just to get his point across about not messing with his only child. he just feels the need to personally approve of his daughter’s partner bc he’s hyper-paranoid about someone hurting her. his list looks something like:

carlos sainz!!!

that’s it

i mean if you put a gun to his head maybe max bc he’s a winner but he needs to learn to speak spanish so-

♤ ♤ ♤

dad! jos | growing up verstappen! unfortunately

FUCK JOS VERSTAPPEN obviously, however this man is one crazy dad who we have to discuss. his love for his youngest daughter is wild and unpredictable, and it’s very different from the way he treats his other children. his baby has some extreme one-sided beef with him that he’s smart enough to know about, so he isn’t too forceful about bonding, it’s definitely more desperate since max found success in f1 and she sticks with her big brother now. her entire life, he’s never allowed her to date, and when he found out about her first secret bf, he got arrested for trying to kill the kid so. he has IMPOSSIBLY high standards for his daughters partner and definitely wants her to marry within the f1 community, but he hates losers and despises half the grid.

suddenly he’s charles leclerc’s biggest fan !

lewis hamilton but he’ll never admit it

MAYBE carlos sainz

bonus! max obvi likes daniel ricciardo best but jos doesn’t fw him like that

♤ ♤ ♤

Ren

[wandaspup]

I want to say the most disgusting, down bad things I would let this woman do to me but I’m too lazy to. 😩😩🥵 I CANNOT STOP LOOKING AT MOMMYS THIGHS. I want to bite them, kiss them, ride them and then I want her to squeeze my head between them as suffocate me as she pulls my hair…and other stuff 😖😖😖😖

[writerslittlelibrary]

Mob!Natasha x daughter!reader headcannons

masterlist

a/n: I figured writing some headcanons was a bit less pressuring, and I enjoyed this so much! I’ll definitely be writing more headcanons in the future :)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

Mob!Natasha who found you when you were just a baby. She heard crying coming out of the closet after she had just killed her target. Turns out, he had already found his next victim, you. Luckily, Natasha was just in time to save you from that horrible life and raised you herself

Mob!Natasha who raised you in the safety of her Russian home. Protected, hidden, and far away from the dangers of the world

Mob!Natasha who only allowed Melina, Alexei, and Yelena to see and know about you the first 5 years of your life

Mob!Natasha who started training you for active combat the moment you could stand, wanting you to be able to protect yourself, should you ever end up being mixed into one of her ‘jobs’

Mob!Natasha who loves you more than anything in the world, getting you whatever you want whenever you want it, yet still making sure you’re not becoming a spoiled brat

Mob!Natasha who puts her trusted bodyguard, Bucky Barnes, on any and every outing you go on. You leave the house for a walk? You better count on the fact that Bucky is coming. You want to go shopping? Don’t worry, Bucky will simply come to help you carry your bags. You want to have dinner with someone? Bucky will simply sit a few tables away from you, giving you privacy yet keeping a close eye on you

Mob!Natasha who is terrified when your existence becomes known after you and her are spotted going for a little shopping trip. She will upgrade her security everywhere, putting multiple bodyguards by your side every time you leave the house. Of course, she still trusts that Bucky is the best at keeping you safe, but just to be sure, you get a few more of her men

Mob!Natasha who sometimes allows you to sit in on her meetings, letting you sit next to her, or on the ground, whichever you prefer. It’s not like any of the people she is meeting with can say anything. That is if they want to keep their lives of course. Sometimes, if you forgot to bring something she will slide you her notepad for you to doodle on, or she’ll just stop the entire meeting and order one of her men to fetch you whatever you wish. She gets to decided how her meetings go, of course

Mob!Natasha who knows you adore her henchwomen more than anything. Your personal favourite is Natasha’s assistant, Maria. You know her and your mom have some more going on. You are not blind to the lingering touches and the sneaky looks they send each other. Of course, you are a big fan of Carol. She is just so cool and nice to you, even though she can kill someone with basically a glare. To you, she is the sweetest human on the planet

Mob!Natasha who knows you adore your aunt Yelena more than anyone on the planet. Because of that, she makes sure Yelena gets the opportunity to visit more than enough. Everytime Natasha has to leave for a slightly bigger ‘job’ she simply calls Yelena to keep you company. Natasha knows you don’t need a babysitter anymore, but she likes the idea of you not having to be lonely. Besides, it is much safer for you to be accompanied by your aunt Yelena

Mob!Natasha who knows how much you adore playing board and cards games, so she told her people to never deny you a game, were you to ask. Luckily, you mostly gravitate towards Carol and her girlfriend Valkyrie, and who were they to deny you a game? They loved your company, and they loved playing your card games with you

Mob!Natasha who, when you start dating someone, runs thousands of background checks, does hundreds of checkups throughout the day, and makes sure to give whoever you decided to date a little talk, letting them know exactly what’s waiting for them were they ever to hurt you

Mob!Natasha who had the best private tutors coming to your home to teach you everything you needed to know, giving you the highest level of eduction you’d ever need

Mob!Natasha who knows that you are financially set for life, but who still allows you to go to college if you would ever want to. Of course it would be an expensive, high security private school, but still

Mob!Natasha who takes you on the multiple holiday trips during the year. You want to go to Spain? Pack your bag because Natasha will have planned a trip next week. Obviously you both will simply take her private jet, but she needs a week to book some fancy holiday home for you two to stay at

Mob!Natasha who, despite her fortune, often books small, low budget holiday trips. Everyone knows those small holiday homes are the best and the cosiest. What kind of mother would Natasha be if she didn’t give you that experience?

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @tia-thesimp @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @hor1zond1ar1es @lorsstar1st @superlegend216

[wishchip106]

thinking about how Charles had a direct phone line to the president in dark pheonix

the president would call him 🤯

“heehee late night chats with the president of the united states! 🤗😜”

and also the fact he just casually connects with nasa and they’re all used to it 😭

how much authority does this man have 🤨

i really don’t get what Raven was mad about for him doing all this press stuff

IF UR BESTIES WITH THE PRESIDENT YOU WONT BE SHOT IN THE STREETS

THE XMEN HAD FANS???? HOW IS THAT A BAD THING???

sure Charles might have a big ego but who wouldn’t when ur having tea in the white house and talking about government plans 🤨

i would honestly

step off the bald man Raven, he is risking plenty being a telepath and being trusted near government officials. i am sure as hell there are some anti-telepathy people around and about 😾

but also the president was a fake friend he immediately dropped Charles once his daughter started acting up

like BITCH??

like one incident and went “nah, public execution is back on”

Charles get urself some better friends 😿

tf are you looking so ominous for

calm down