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redheadspark · 14 days

Text

Here (Part Two)

Summary - Azriel stays by his mate's side, not knowing his family is rallying behind him to find out who attempting to kill his mate

Warnings - Mostly Angst

A/N - Part of the Ocean Eyes Series. I posted this as a sequel of Part One, which got insanely reactions! I am so glad you guys liked Part One and I hope you like Part Two!

Part Three Found Here

"What's the plan, Rhys?"

"I'm focusing more on my cousin's health and her life in the balance than dealing with her attacker."

"That's not where my head is,"

"Enlighten me then, Cassian,"

Cassian rolled his shoulders and eyed his High Lord as Rhsyand was perched at his desk in his office, the sun setting over the rolling hills outside the River House, and the cooler air was blown onto the office with ease. Cassian leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and his head reeling with questions and scenarios that he wanted to figure out immediately. But Rhysand was remaining calm, too calm for the Illyrian Army Commander's liking. He considered the wounded Illryian who was asleep upstairs, his friend's mate, his family. Someone tried to hurt his family and take away his family, and Cassian was fuming from the inside out.

But he was also a changed Illyrian, just as Rhysand and Azriel were. They were all fathers now: Rhsyand with Nyx, Azriel with Alec, and Cassian with his daughter Rose. His daughter, sweet and yet fiery Rose was a splitting image of his mother but had his infectious and playful heart. They all had offspring to protect and think about, no more rash decisions and acting out on a limb. The children had to come first, and Cassian was not willing to do anything that would bring his family harm. Azriel never did that himself, yet that led to Alec almost being killed as a toddler and Azriel's mate now in a bed upstairs hanging between life and death. Nesta would never let Cassian do anything like that, not just for Rose but for Nesta too.

Cassian was the one who found you first, sprawled on the forest floor bleeding from your wing and the arrow still hanging out of your wing. You both were out in the outline border of Velaris, Cassian getting a hunch that there were rogue beings there making their way across the border into Velaris territory. You on the other hand were meeting with some of the farmers and shopkeepers that lived in the cottages there to check on them and talk business in contributing to the Community Center.

Maybe it was fate that he was there and come enough to hear your scream out, but he knew your scream far too well from knowing you since you both were younglings. He flew towards the wail you let out, his heart hitting against his chest far too hard and thinking it was a trick of the mind.

Everything slowed down for him as he gathered you in his arms, you were out cold and the poison already working in your blood. He had to act quickly, time was of the essence, and your time was about to be snuffed out if he didn't get you help in time.

"The marks on the arrow," Cassian stated, reflecting on the arrow that was piercing your wing and sicking out so harshly that it sickened him to rethink it again, "We need to know where they came from so we get a hunch as to who did this,"

"I already have a big hunch, and I got in contact with the very High Lord that I'm thinking," Rhysand hummed, his cooldemeanor was hiding the anger he had. Cassian raised a brow at him as Rhsyand rang his thumb over his fingers back and forth, a tactic he would use when he was thinking deeply, "High Lord Beron has been notified and is coming tonight,"

"What?" Cassian asked in shock, standing up stiffly and no longer leaning against the wall.

"He knows the utmost importance of this since it does involve my cousin…my fucking family," Rhsyand said the last part in a low tone, not a growl but close enough, "We are going to meet at the Townhouse since I know both yourself and Nesta would rather not have the High Lord of Autumn Court in your home,"

Cassian snorted, then gave him a questioning look, "Does Elaine and Lucien know what happened?"

"Feyre reached out and told them to stay at their home here in Velaris for the time being. In fact, I don't want any of the Inner Circle going anywhere outside of Velaris until this is resolved once and for all. We either stay in our homes or at The House of Wind until I say so," Rhysand explained as his violet eyes looked out the window to see the last images of the sun still in the sky before it hid into the horizon.

"Is that an order?" Cassian asked, Rhsyand's eyes shot back to his Commander. Cassian, though tamer than he used to be when he was younger, was still reckless at heart at times. Something inside of him wanted him to find whoever did this and bring them pain. You were family to him, meeting him through Rhsyand when he was a boy and considered him a brother of yours. His rational side was teetering to be pushed aside, and he was fine with it.

"I don't want another member of my family hurt, Cass. I consider you family, long before you became my brother-in-law. You need to think of your wife and daughter and that they need you," Rhysand explained to Cassian, seeing Cassian's eyes soften from the mention of Nesta and Rose, "We need to be smart about this, not reckless. I want you with me when we meet with High Lord Beron,"

Cassian hummed, knowing that Rhsyand was right when it came to being reckless. He then gestured his head over to the doors that lead out of the office, "What about Azriel?"

"I don't want him anywhere else but with his wife, she's his priority now. And besides, I would rather not leave Azriel alone in the room with High Lord Beron. That's if Beron, or Autumn Court for that matter, did have something to do with this. He is not in the right frame of mind to be anywhere else,"

Cassian knew he was right about that too. The rage Azriel must be feeling at this moment, not knowing who in factharmed and attempted to kill his mate, must have been explosive. Cassian himself has been Azriel in such a way before, the anger that would fester deep down and be unlashed by either his shadows or his Truth Tellers. Cassian and strength behind him, but Azriel had something deeper.

Something more menacing.

"Alec is also staying here until his mother is well again, though he still doesn't know what precisely happened," Rhsyand explained as he got up from his chair and walked around the desk to stand near Cassian with his arms folded in front of him, "I don't want Alec anywhere else but here, he's my nephew and he needs to be protected now more than ever. We all do, but epically him: someone is hunting his mother and father, and I won't let him become an orphan under my roof,"

"None of us want that, Rhys," Cassian reasoned with Rhsyand, "He's secure and protected here with you and Feyre, and he's safe with his father, the safest he’ll ever be,”

"Which is why we need to be smart. For now, let's just focus on this meeting with Beron and making sure my cousin is comfortable and safe while she heals and come back to full health," Rhsyand stated, then pausing as he gave Cassian a more cornered look, "How is Alec and Azriel now?"

"Alec's okay, he just misses his mother. As for Azriel…it's hard for him," Cassian confessed. Rhysand hummed and rubbed his eyes, already thinking of the next steps that were to come. The meeting tonight would be far too important, life-changing, and yet his cousin was still in the back of his mind and her health was his main concern.

All he could do now was hold onto his Inner Circle, his family, so close in hopes they wouldn't slip away.

"Alright, buddy. Time for bed, okay?"

"Ok, daddy,"

Azriel softly smiled as he watched his son hop into the massive bed he was going to sleep in, the guest room that wasacross from where you were still sleeping and still healing. He left the door slightly open, being able to see you from where he was in Alec's guest room as Alec was settling into his bed.

Alec was only told that his mother was sick, severely sick, and he was not able to see her. Of course, it confused him at first, not understanding that he wasn't able to see his own mother since he had seen her sick before, but he knew better than to question his father. Seeing Azriel looking worn down and defeated made Alec worry all the more.

But Feyre was a step ahead, making sure he was well fed at dinnertime and kept him busy with his cousin Nyx until it was time for him to go to bed. Still, his mother was in the back of his mind, wondering what was it that made his mother so sick. He missed his mother, hugging her and hearing her voice telling him goodnight. Azriel tried his best to be present with Alec, but his son caught onto something that was hidden from him.

Perhaps a trait he inherited from his father.

"Alec, I know this is different from what we're used to," Azriel explained to Alec, who was watching his father with his wide blue eyes as he was snuggled under the soft sheets of the bed, "But you are being such a trooper for going with the flow of it all. I promise you that things are going to go back to normal soon, okay? As soon as momma is all better, we'll go back to our house and things will be back to the way they were,"

"Is it going to be forever?" Alec asked tentatively as he searched his father's tired eyes. Azriel felt a twinge of pain that his son was still kept in the dark, so speak, when it came to what truly happened to his mother. The last thing Azriel ever wanted to do was to lie to his son like this, to have that trust broken at any moment.

"No, not forever, baby," He reassured Alec as he pushed the inky black hair out of his son's blue eyes, "This is not forever, I swear to you. You believe me?"

"Yes, Daddy," Alec replied, Azriel smiled at his son and leaned over to kiss the top of his head. He was about to leave his son to sleep, and as Azriel eased himself up from the bed, Alec spoke up again in a gentler tone. So gentle, that it sounded like the curtains were swaying in his room from the night breeze.

"Daddy, is momma gonna be okay?"

Azriel could have cried then, seeing his son watch him for an answer. Azriel never wanted this for his family, the fear of losing someone he loved and another person he loved was filled with fear and worry. Alec was only four years old, far too young for something like this to happen in his life. Nothing could prepare him for this: consoling his son and hoping that his wife would pull through.

Alec needed his mother, Azriel knew that deep down. There was no greater bond than Alec's bond with his mother, it was thick and filled with so much happiness and love. Inwardly, Azriel wanted that himself with his mother, and he did have that in the blink of a moment when he was young. To see his mate give that same love to his son was beyond rewarding.

Now his son, looking at his father with worry in his young eyes, was asking about his mother.

"Yeah…yeah she's gonna be okay," he reassured Alec. He had to give Alec hope, the hope that his mother would be herself again. Although he had very little hope, he would at least give some of that hope to his son. He leaned down and kissed his son one more time, "Get some sleep, okay? I'm gonna check on momma and come back to you, I love you,"

"I love you too, Daddy," Alec replied, then curled into the bed under the sheets as Azriel moved away. He felt like he needed to be in two places at once: with Alec and with you. Although you were sleeping and till healing, Alec needed you and needed your warmth. Azriel wished he could change it all, make you all better so you can hold your son. Yet as he watched Alec fall asleep, facing the window with a look of peace on his face, Azriel could breathe a bit easier.

He kept the door into the guest room open slightly, mostly in case Alec needed him as he walked silently across the hall into the room where you were in. Still asleep, facing the empty chair where Azriel was perched for the past few hours, the moon shining into your room to cast a bluish light along your still wounded wings. Azriel could even see the moonlight shine through the thin membrane of your wings, showing the veins and the damage from the Ash Arrow.

But the way you were snuggled against the body pillow, head against the soft pillow, and your long hair draped over your shoulder, you looked more peaceful than you did earlier when Azriel found you. Azriel sat down on the chair, taking in a long breath as he held his hands together in his lap and watched you. Your deep breathing, the softness that was now slowly coming back along your skin and your cheeks thanks to the medicine from Madja.

"I might be talking to myself here, but I hope you can hear me," Azriel said aloud in the room, his voice sounding a bit raw as he watched you in earnest, "But I need you to pull through and get better. I….I don't think I can do this without you. I won't have the strength to, no matter how hard I'll have to try. I need you, our son needs you. He needs his momma, and I…I don't wanna do this alone and without you."

He might have sounded silly since he was talking alone in the room, but then again he needed to get it off his chest. Bottling up all his fear that he's had for the past few hours, would have suffocated him. The only person he was ever safe to unload his feelings, to be open and exposed therapeutically, was the one who was asleep in front of him and unable to be fully present with him.

"I'm sorry I failed you and couldn't protect you," Azriel admitted, sinking a bit in his chair as he was fiddling with his fingers, Clutching them together tightly and refusing to let them go, "I promised you when we were mated that I would protect you, keep you safe and never let anything happen to you. I broke that promise, and I know I can never repair that,"

He thought that if you were awake, you would reprimand him for being hard on himself. Azriel could even hear it clearly in his mind, your kind voice scolding him for being immensely harsh towards himself. You've always helped him out of his moods and insecurities, including what he does and how he takes care of others around him. Azriel thought back to a talk that he had with you when Alec was still a young infant, he was voicing his worry about taking care of his family and if he was doing enough.

He needed you to bring him back to the light, and not have him hide in the darkness.

Azriel reached out and took your hands in his own, feeling the coolness of your skin and yet how soft they were. Healways loved your soft hands, a soothing balm against his calloused and scarred skin. He leaned down and kissed the back of your hand, his lips along your skin had you shift in your sleep and hum.

"Sleep and come back to me, come back to us. Your son and I need you more than anything, so I need you to get your strength and open those eyes for me when you're ready. I'm here when you wake up, I promise. I love you more than life itself, more than my own life, and if I could trade mine for yours then I would in a heartbeat. Just gather your strength, we'll be here waiting for you," Azriel proclaimed to you and your sleeping form. He did speak the truth: he would trade his life for yours since at times he felt you had more good for the world than he ever did.

Azriel cannot picture a world without you, without any of your beautiful traits or your tender heart.

Azriel heard it, almost like a whisper, as he was dead asleep with Alec cradled in his arms in the spare guest room. His arms were tucked around his son, who was snuggled against his father and snoring softly. It was so soft, like a breeze, which didn't disturb the Spymaster at first.

But it was also distinct, not the sound of the curtains fluttering next to the bed or the very soft ticking of the clock on the fireplace mantle. This was a shutter of a whisper, and it was calling his name.

Azriel…..Azriel….

His shadows hummed, licking along Azriel's arms as he stirred a bit in his sleep. Alec was thankfully a deep sleeper and stayed in slumber, even though his father was feeling the sensation not just with his shadows but in his mind. It was a familiar voice, so familiar that maybe it was a trick of the mind as Azriel took in a long breath. But he heard it again, a pinch louder and his name being called out as if the source was so far away. Fighting through a fog that was thick and almost recognizable.

Azriel…Azriel…

Azriel was still asleep, but it was becoming more alert as the voice was getting a bit louder now in his mind. It was no longer a dream, it was something else, something familiar to him. So familiar like coming through the front door of the small little cottage where he lived, or flying amongst the cloud with his wings stretched. Even the familiar touch of your lips against his own made him feel safe.

But he finally heard it, and his eyes shot open on high alert.

Azriel….I'm here…

It was you, your voice, speaking through the bond.

You were awake.

To Be Continued….

A/N - Part three?!?! Let me know if you want a part three!

Tagging - @valeridarkness @impossibelle @acourtofbatboydreams @prettylittlewrites @fxckmiup @sizzlingstarlightsky @iluvyewman-blog @masbt1218 @a-courtof-azriel @homeslices @zanzie @topaz125

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headspace-hotel · 1 year

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against the logic of the lawn

Imagine a box.

This box is sealed with tape or adhesive, which shows you that it has never been opened or re-used. It is in pristine condition. Apart from that, the box could hold anything. It could contain a Star Wars Funko Pop, a printer, a shirt ordered from some sketchy online vendor, a knockoff store-brand cereal, six individually wrapped protein bars.

As a Consumer ("the" Consumer) this is your fundamental right: To purchase a box that is, presumably, identical to every other box like it.

When you Buy Product, it arrives in a box, entire of itself and without context. It has not changed since its creation. If and when Product does change—whether it is broken, spoiled, used up, or eaten—you can Buy Product that is identical in every meaningful way to the original.

It's okay if this doesn't make sense yet. (You can stop imagining the box now.)

Imagine instead a suburban housing development, somewhere in the USA.

Imagine row on row of pristine, newly built houses, each constructed with small, meaningless variations in their aesthetic, all with beige or white vinyl siding and perhaps some decorative brick, all situated on identical rectangles of land covered with freshly unrolled sod. This is the Product that every consumer aspires to Buy.

I am not exactly—qualified, or entitled, to speak on the politics of land ownership in this country. My ancestors benefited directly from the genocide of Native Americans, which allowed Europeans to steal the land they lived on, which is where a lot of wealth comes from in the end, even today. However, I have eyes in my head to see that the act of colonizing a continent, and an economic system that formed as a supporting infrastructure to colonization, have embedded something almost irreparably dysfunctional into the dominant American culture's relationship to land.

This dysfunctional Thing, this Sickness, leads us to consider land to be a Product, and to consider a human upon the land to be a Consumer.

From this point of view, land is either locked into this relationship of control and "use" to varying extents, or it is free of human influence. People trying to reason about how to preserve Earth's biosphere, working within this framework without realizing, decide that we must "set aside" large areas of land for "nature."

This is a naive and, I would reckon, probably itself colonialist way of seeing things. It appears to be well-validated by evidence. Where human population is largest, there is less biodiversity.

But I find the broad conclusions to be strikingly unscientific. The plan of "setting aside part of Earth for nature" displays little curiosity about the mechanisms by which human presence impacts biodiversity. Otherwise intelligent people, perhaps caught up in the "bargaining" phase of climate grief, seem taken in by the idea that the human species gives off a magical anti-biodiversity force field, as if feeling guiltier will fix the problems.

(Never mind that lands managed by indigenous folk actually have MORE biodiversity...almost like our species' relationship to the planet isn't inherently exploitative, but rather, the capitalist and colonialist powers destroying everything.......)

Let's go back to the image of the new housing development. This image could be just about anywhere in the USA, because the American suburban home is made for universal interchangeability, where each little house and yard is static and replaceable with any other.

Others have written about the generic-ification of the interiors of homes, how houses are decorated with the most soul-killing, colorless furnishings to make them into Products more effectively. (I think @mcmansionhell wrote about it.)

This, likewise, is the Earth turned into a Product—razed down into something with no pre-existing context, history, or responsibility. Identical parcels of land, identical houses, where once there was a unique and diverse distribution of life. The American lawn, the American garden, the industry that promotes these aesthetics, is the environmental version of that ghastly, ugly "minimalism" infecting the interiors of homes.

The extremely neat, sparse, manicured look that is so totally inescapable in American yards originated from the estates of European aristocracy, which displayed the owner's wealth by flaunting an abundance of land that was both heavily managed and useless. People defend the lawn on the basis that grass tolerates being walked upon and is good for children to play, but to say this is *the* purpose of a lawn is bullshit—children are far more interested in trees, creeks, sticks, weeds, flowers, and mud than Grass Surface, many people with lawns do not have children, and most people spend more time mowing their lawn than they do doing literally anything else outside. How often do you see Americans outside in their yards doing anything except mowing?

What is there to do, anyway? Why would you want to go outside with nothing but the sun beating down on you and the noise of your neighbors' lawn mowers? American culture tries to make mowing "manly" and emphasizes that it is somehow fulfilling in of itself. Mowing the lawn is something Men enjoy doing—almost a sort of leisure activity.

I don't have something against wanting a usable outdoor area that is good for outdoor activities, I do, however, have something against the idea that a lawn is good for outdoor activities. Parents have been bitching for decades about how impossible it is to drag kids outdoors, and there have been a million PSAs about how children need to be outside playing instead of spending their lives on video games. Meanwhile, at the place I work, every kid is ECSTATIC and vibrating with enthusiasm to be in the woods surrounded by trees, sticks, leaves, and mud.

The literal, straightforward historical answer to the lawn is that the American lawn exists to get Americans to spend money on chemicals. The modern lawn ideal was invented to sell a surplus of fertilizer created after WW2 chemical plants that had been used to make explosives were repurposed to produce fertilizer. Now you know! The more analytical, sociological answer is that the purpose of the lawn is to distance you from the lower class. A less strictly maintained space lowers property values, it looks shabby and unkempt, it reflects badly on the neighborhood, it makes you look like a "redneck." And so on. The largest, most lavish McMansions in my area all have the emptiest, most desolate yards, and the lush gardens all belong to tiny, run-down houses.

But the answer that really cuts to the core of it, I think, is that lawns are a technology for making land into a Product for consumers. (This coexists with the above answers.) Turfgrass is a perfectly generic blank slate onto which anything can be projected. It is emptiness. It is stasis.

I worry about the flattening of our imaginations. Illustrations in books generally cover the ground outdoors in a uniform layer of green, sometimes with strokes suggesting individual blades of grass if they want to get fancy. Video games do this. Animated shows and movies do this.

Short, carpet-like turfgrass as the Universal Outdoor Surface is so ubiquitous and intuitive that any alternative is bizarre, socially unacceptable, and for many, completely unimaginable. When I am a passenger in a car, what horrifies me the most to see out the window is not only the turfgrass lawns of individuals, but rather, the turfgrass Surface that the entire inhabited landscape has been rendered into—vacant stretches of land surrounding businesses and churches, separating parking lots, bordering Wal-Marts, apartment complexes, and roadsides.

These spaces are not used, they are almost never walked upon. They do nothing. They are maintained, ceaselessly, by gas-powered machines that are far, far more carbon-emitting than cars per hour of use, emitting in one hour the same amount of pollution as a 500-mile drive. It is an endless effort to keep the land in the same state, never mind that it's a shitty, useless state.

Nature is dynamic. Biodiversity is dynamic. From a business point of view, the lawn care industry has found a brilliant scheme to milk limitless money from people, since trying to put a stop to the dynamism and constant change of nature is a Sisyphean situation, and nature responds with increasingly aggressive and rapid change as disturbance gets more intense.

On r/lawncare, a man posted despairingly that he had spent over $1500 tearing out every inch of sod in his yard, only for the exact same weeds to return. That subreddit strikes horror in my heart that I cannot describe, and the more I learn about ecology, the more terrible it gets. It was common practice for people in r/lawncare to advise others to soak their entire yard in Roundup to kill all plant life and start over from a "blank slate."

Before giving up, I tried to explain over and over that it was 100% impossible to get a "blank slate." Weeds typically spread by wind and their seeds can persist for DECADES in the soil seed bank, waiting for a disastrous event to trigger them to sprout. They will always come back. It's their job.

It was impossible for those guys to understand that they were inherently not just constructing a lawn from scratch, and were contending with another power or entity (Nature) with its own interests.

The logic of the lawn also extends into our gardens. We are encouraged to see the dynamism of nature as something that acts against our interests (and thus requires Buy Product) so much, that we think any unexpected change in our yard is bad. People are sometimes baffled when I see a random plant popping up among my flowers as potentially a good thing.

"That's a weed!" Maybe! Nonetheless, it has a purpose. I don't know who this stranger is, so I would be a fool to kill it!

A good caretaker knows that the place they care for will change on its own, and that this is GOOD and brings blessings or at least messages. I didn't have to buy goldenrod plants—they came by themselves! Several of our trees arrived on their own. The logic that sees all "weeds" as an enemy to be destroyed without even identifying ignores the wisdom of nature's processes.

The other day at work, the ecologist took me to see pink lady's slipper orchids. The forest there was razed and logged about a hundred years ago, and it got into my head to ask how the orchids returned. He only shrugged. "Who knows?"

Garden centers put plants out for sale when they are blooming. People buy trees from Fast Growing Trees dot com. The quick, final results that are standard with Buy Product, which are so completely opposite the constant slow chaos of nature, have become so standard in the gardening world that the hideous black mulch sold at garden centers is severed from the very purpose of mulch, and instead serves to visually emphasize small, lonely plants against its dark background. (For the record, once your plants mature, you should not be able to SEE the mulch.)

Landscapers regularly place shrubs, bushes, trees and flowers in places where they have no room to reach maturity. It's standard—landscapers seem to plan with the expectation that everything will be ripped out within 5-10 years. The average person has no clue how big trees and bushes get because their entire surroundings, which are made of living things (which do in fact feel and communicate) are treated as disposable.

Because in ten years, this building won't be an orthodontists' office, in ten years, this old lady will be dead, in ten years, the kids will have grown, and capitalism is incapable of preparing for a future, only for the next buyer.

The logic of the lawn is that gardens and ecosystems that take time to build are not to be valued, because a lush, biodiverse garden is not easily sold, easily bought, easily maintained, easily owned, or easily treated with indifference. An ecosystem requires wisdom from the caretaker. That runs contrary to the Consumer identity.

And it's this disposable-ness, this indifference, that I am ultimately so strongly against, not grass, or low turf that you can step on.

What if we saw buying land as implying a responsibility to be its caretaker? To respect the inhabitants, whether or not we are personally pleased by them or think they look pretty? What creature could deserve to be killed just because it didn't make a person happy?

But the Consumer identity gives you something else...a sense of entitlement. "This is MY yard, and that possum doesn't get to live there." "This is MY yard, and I don't want bugs in it." "This is MY yard, and I can kill the spiders if I want to."

Meanwhile there is no responsibility to build the soil up for the next gardener. No responsibility to plant oaks that will grow mighty and life-giving. No responsibility to plant fruit-producing trees, brambles, and bushes. None of these things, any of which could have fulfilled a responsibility to the future. Rather, just to do whatever you damn well please, and leave those that come after with depleted, compacted soil and the aftermath of years of constant damage. It took my Meadow ten years to recover from being the garden patch of the guy that lived here before us. Who knows what he did to it.

The loss of topsoil in all our farmland is a bigger example, and explains how this is directly connected to colonialism. The Dust Bowl, the unsustainable farming practices that followed, the disappearance of the lush fertile prairie topsoil because of greed and colonizer mindset, and simple refusal to learn from what could be observed in nature. The colonizing peoples envisioned the continent as an "Empty" place, a Blank Slate that could be used and exploited however.

THAT is what's killing the planet, this idea that the planet is to be used and abused and bought and sold, that the power given by wealth gives you entitlement to do whatever you want. That "Land" is just another Product, and our strategies for taking care of Earth should be whatever causes the most Buy Product.

It's like I always write..."You are not a consumer! You are a caretaker!"

#plants #native plants #no lawns #kill your lawn #anti lawn #consumerism #capitalism #colonialism #genocide tw

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lxclerc · 10 months

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐝𝐫𝟑

summary... it’s never the right time for you and daniel, always something pulling the two of you away from each other. requested... yes by literally everyone. yall were coming at me with pitch forks for this warning... age gap (7 years), emotional cheating, physical cheating, angst, angst, angst, light smut (more on fade to black) pairing... daniel ricciardo x horner! reader

note... i am tagging each and everyone of you who asked for a part 2 bc this fic has quite literally loomed over my head ever since i posted it a year ago. literally everytime i open this godforsaken app, someone is offering me their first born for the part 2 so yall better give me all the notes!!!

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

← prev part

high tide came and brought you in

“if you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?”

the question caught you off guard as your friend drunkenly pondered over it out loud. where would you go? you were sober enough to say home, the most acceptable answer that would not invite any other follow up questions. it’s simple and doesn't need a discussion. the reason it caught you off guard wasn’t just that though but because your answer was instantaneous in your head. your answer isn’t a where but rather a who, came your bitter realization.

and you knew that if you could go anywhere in the world right now, it’d be him you’d go to. he always lingers in the back of your mind, everything that reminded him of you tends to bring a certain kind of aching and longing you’ve grown to resent over the months and years spent without him.

daniel sent you away and deep in you, you know he meant good. he’d done a selfless thing, loving you and setting you free. but missing him was unbearable, loving him all consuming and you resent him for doing this to you. you resent the world for making you fall for a man without letting you have him.

still, you did as he told you. you went back to school, pursuing a career in a field you knew he’d be proud of, achieving your dreams and living your life as though a part of you hadn’t been left with him.

your friends carry on with the party. half of university was partying which is a scene familiar to you. this time, it’s on the beach, the salty air and sound of crashing waves echoing with the sound of the music and chatter. still though, you can’t help but scan the place as though looking for him among the crowd of people the same way you always would. you miss the way you’d find his eyes already on you, pools of brown dripping like honey on your skin.

but he’s never there and you feel dirty whenever another man looks at you, their gazes too eager as they look at you as though you’re a piece of meat, never gentle like his as though you’re aphrodite herself walking among mere mortals.

you miss him is the ugly truth. you miss him so fucking terribly it makes you angry. you don’t want to miss him. you no longer want to love him. loving him hurts, as though he’s clawing at your chest and squeezing your heart together in a sick sort of torture.

but even before he touched you, you were his. all he had to do was look at you. you exist in two places – here and wherever he is.

eventually as the night progresses on, you move away from the party. you’re in some fancy country club and the tile is expensive on your feet as you step out of your heels and walked towards the beach, feeling the cool sand against your skin.

in hindsight, you really shouldn’t have been surprised to find him in a place like this but despite looking for him wherever you go, you’d never expect to find him. searching for him has become a comfort the same way longing for him has – in a sick, twisted and painful way.

but he’s here now and in the one time you hadn’t searched for him, he found you. the moment you’d spotted his figure looking out at sea, he turned to you as though a gravitational pull connected you to him.

one year, three months and fourteen days. that was the last time you saw him but he looked no different from the man who’d brought you back to your hotel room only to say goodbye.

and then he smiled and it was as though the sun shone on you again.

“honey,” he says and your heart trembles.

daniel.

it was too early. and you’re drunk and you aren’t entirely sure if you were dreaming or not.

but he stands before you, eyes of brown looking as though you’re aphrodite herself and he can’t quite believe he gets to stand before you. eyes of brown that seem to be sobbing without tears. daniel.

you’re still not talking and he’s letting you, watching you so intently as though he’s memorizing your face. he looked the exact same but you know what he must be seeing. you look nothing like the woman he left behind. you’d cut your hair short and dyed it. long gone were your summer dress, replaced by tight fitting ones that showed off your body. you feel different and you tried so hard to make sure you wouldn’t recognize yourself in the mirror. you hated seeing the woman who couldn’t make him stay.

but in his eyes, you see your reflection and you recognize her well.

“daniel,” you muttered as the crashing waves touched your feet. would you love me now? you wanted to ask.

he smiled again. “you look beautiful as you always are.”

please touch me, you wanted to beg. soft eyes and soft soft hands. you’re lonely without him.

you manage a grin. “sure, old man.”

the laugh that he let out echoed against your soul. “i’m being honest.”

you missed him. god, you missed him so fucking much.

but daniel still would not let himself love you. not yet, not now that you’re finally building something for yourself. you have friends and have set goals. not yet.

“y/n!” someone calls from behind you but you’re hesitant to take your eyes off of daniel, terrified he’d become a figment of your imagination the moment you do. but your friend's familiar calls force you to. “come on, we have to go.”

you ignore her, turning back to daniel and he smiles at you, offering his hand for you to shake. this is the best he can offer for now. “i’ll see you around, kid.”

you wanted to cry, wanted to scream that it’s so unfair, but you smile sadly as he shook his hand, his calloused fingers so familiar against yours.

“in a few years,” you say.

and as the ocean brought him back to you, the waves must return to the sea.

but you were still gone and gone, gone and gone

the next time you see daniel again, you were twenty four. you’re in your last year of university, applying for your doctorate. you loved academia, you loved your two cats and your little apartment downtown, you loved science and the galaxy it holds and you eventually realized that this is why he let you go. he wanted you to have this — be more than someone who just follows a man around country after country.

he wanted you to grow, wanted you to find the things you really loved without influence from him. he wanted you to find your independence and learn to stand on your own two feet.

max brought you here. it’s his first world champion and as his self proclaimed best friend, he refused to allow you to skip this one and so you pulled up your big girl pants and got on with it, arriving in abu dhabi on friday.

by some cruel twist of fate, he’s the first person you find the moment you enter the paddock. it would have been rude to ignore him and so you smile even though you can clearly see the woman next to him and the way she stands close.

goddamn it.

it hurt. it hurt seeing her there. it hurt seeing her cluelessly smile at you. the way he looks at you now, eyes of brown full of silent apologies, looking as though he wanted to reach over and touch you, to comfort you.

you release a shaky breathe, raising your hand in an pathetic attempt of a wave before you walk past him. you aren’t the same young kid like before. now, you have enough self reservation to not actively put yourself in a situation that would only hurt you. you don’t need to play besties with daniel’s new girlfriend.

the moment you enter the red bull motorhome, you hit max at the back of his head.

“what?” he exclaimed as you glared at him.

“you’re an idiot,” was all you said before moving towards your father. you’d ignore daniel and his girlfriend. you’re here to support max – even if he is a stupid idiot – and there’s no need for you to obsess over daniel.

but of course, you still do anyway. even as you watch the race, you’re watching him. he looks good, amazing, fucking edible. he looks like he stepped right out of your dirtiest dreams, all thick neck and stable arms. he looks beautiful, absolutely gorgeous and breathtaking and you selfishly want him just for you. but you’ve always wanted that and you’ve never been allowed to have him.

and then you’re watching her. she’s grace herself, really. she’s exactly the kind of woman he needed and you wonder if she knows about you and then you wonder what it is about her. what is it about her that made it so that daniel thought she’s good enough for him to love when he never could you?

“mate, it’s getting creepy,” max said as he took the seat before you. he looks tired but he looks determined and the way the hair falls over his face makes you smile. max is a very special person to you and you know that he always will. you hold him close to your heart and you know you’d move the earth for him.

you reach over, fixing the collar of his red bull shirt. “shut up.”

“her name’s caroline,” max says. “if you want to get to know her then just approach her.”

you glared at him. you don’t want to know her name. you don’t want to know what her laugh sounds like or the color of her eyes. you don’t want to know what made daniel fall in love with her. you don’t want to know her.

“shut up,” you say again. “i’m still blaming you.”

max laughed and you think him annoying you might just be his way of distracting himself from the race so you let him. you let him talk on and on and on the entire time till he’s needed back in the motorhome. you let him steal yur ice cream and tap your nose.

but when you turned back to her, caroline, you find him staring right back at you, anger and jealousy in those brown eyes you missed so much.

and it was like you’re twenty again, petty and young as you glared right back at him. he had no reason to be jealous when he has her beside him. he has no right to be jealous when he’s the one who’s never allowed the two of you to be more.

these hands had to let it go free

that night, he called you for the first time in three years. his name lit up your phone and your hand shook as you picked it up. his picture, smiling up at you taken at your twentieth birthday stares right back at you.

“daniel,” you breathe out as you press the phone against your ear. you’d arrived back in your hotel room two hours ago smelling of champagne and victory. max’s world championship trophy is laying next to you after being forgotten because your best friend was far too drunk to grab it before his girlfriend dragged him out. throughout the party, you avoided daniel like the plague, keeping to your side of the room and never straying towards him.

“i missed you,” he says from the other end, voice cracking and slurring. he’s drunk and you push back the blanket as you enter the bathroom, hand gripping your phone. “but fuck it, i don’t miss this.”

“what are you saying?”

“he’s my best mate, y/n.” there goes your name. not sweetheart or honey. he says your name like it’s sacred, something he’s only ever allowed to say when he’s at his most vulnerable, completely raw and baring his soul to you. “and i wanted to fucking punch his face the entire night.”

you close your eyes. this is familiar to you. daniel and his raw honesty when he’s drunk. daniel and his jealousy of max. this is all so familiar to you that you feel twenty again. you feel young and out of control and so drunk in love with a man you can’t have that it physically hurts. he’s ripped you off the past few years where you’ve grown into yourself. you’re twenty again and so tragically in love.

“i wanted to punch his fucking face because his touching you, because i’m not allowed to touch you,” he continues as you sink to the floor.

“you’re the only one who’s never let yourself touch me, daniel,” you whispered on the phone, broken down from one phone call.

he laughs bitterly and you might as well not have said anything. “and here i am, can’t even sleep next to my damn girlfriend because i keep thinking of you. it’s so unfair.”

you wanted to laugh too. unfair? how does he get to talk about unfair when he’d been the one to create this mess for the two of you? how dare he talk about being unfair when he’s the one who’s with another girl? this is unfair. it’s unfair to you. he doesn’t deserve to talk about it being unfair.

the night he left you in your hotel room on your twenty first birthday, you’d called his name again and again like a child. you hoped by some magical thing that he’ll appear. you were desperate.

“you shouldn’t have come back,” he says. “not yet. we both weren’t ready.”

you wipe the tears falling to your cheeks. “and when will that happen? when will we be ready? maybe it’s time to accept that it isn’t us.”

you heard him let out a shaky breath. “don’t say that. don’t say it.”

“i’m so tired of waiting. if it wasn’t us then and it isn’t us now, why do we still believe that it’s us someday?”

“ask me to stay,” he whispers. “ask me to stay and i will. ask me to drop her and i will. i will drop everything if you ask me to.”

you cry, pulling your knees against your chest. “goodbye, dan.”

struggled through the night with someone new

the next time you see daniel again, you invited him. you’re twenty five, it’s two thousand and twenty two, you’re engaged and you’d gotten arrogant.

you met your fiance, james, in university. you’re in the same program and the same friend group though you never paid much attention to him. for the most part, you never really paid much attention to anyone. six months later and he asked you on a date, one you’d declined without a second thought. it didn’t matter how many guys asked you out, you always declined, daniel in the back of your mind always reminding you of what you’re truly waiting for.

but james never treated you any differently. he never made it awkward and never put you on the spot. for the most part, you both acted like it never happened. but you applied to the same doctorate program and coincidentally ended up in apartments right next to each other. he was a comfort, a friend you already knew that you could rely on. he never made anymore advances towards you but it was inevitable to grow closer.

he’s stability and curiosity. he never once pulled back whenever you touched him or apologized for liking you. it was a breath of fresh air – to be admired so freely. you did your thesis together, hands tightly clamped together as you defended it.

you were the one to ask james out on a date, knowing he wouldn’t again in fear of making you uncomfortable. and after leaning on each other as friends for so long, transitioning to become lovers was so easy, you didn’t have to worry what anyone would say or think of you. you didn’t have to worry what your family would think. everything was easy with him.

james was so different from the type of love you were used to. you could love him without guilt, without pain and longing. you could love him simply, easily. you didn’t need to ask him to love you back, didn’t need to wonder if he’d still love you tomorrow. it was so easy being with him and you’d gotten lazy. waiting and hurting and crying for daniel was exhausting.

you wanted a love you didn’t have to fight for.

you’ve convinced yourself that you no longer felt anything for daniel, gaslighting yourself into believing that you’d close that chapter and left it in the past. you can move on now. there was no need for you constantly being miserable and lonely waiting for him to be ready.

and yet here you were, your fiance’s arm around you as you stare at the front door. you shouldn’t have invited him. there was no reason for you to do so but you wanted to prove yourself. you wanted to prove to yourself that he no longer affected you. daniel is in the past and you’ve told yourself repeatedly that you’ve let him go but now you wanted to show yourself that you have.

if you’re lucky, maybe he wouldn’t attend at all.

“are you okay, love?” james whispered against your ear, having noticed your stiff posture. you spent weeks planning your engagement party, stressing over the smallest details but now you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.

you loved this about him – the way he’s able to read you like an open book. james knows there was someone before him – someone who’d left you broken and torn apart. he just didn’t know that person would be attending today.

you nod, taking a sip from the champagne glass you’d been holding as an excuse to stop your hands from fidgeting. “just a bit nervous from the crowd.”

“don’t worry too much. it’s just friends and family.” he gives you an assuring smile, accepting your reasoning as he pulls you closer towards him to try and comfort you.

you’re an idiot, the biggest one there is. max told you himself after you told him that you sent the invite to daniel. you’re a massive idiot and you’re in denial and you set your own trap, tempting yourself when there was no need to and now you were going to hurt james because the moment daniel entered the room, your breath was knocked out of you, heart beating furiously as though it recognized him.

it was daniel. how can you be so stupid?

his eyes meets yours and you missed the way those eyes of brown settle on your skin, grazing as though his soul was touching yours. but they’re sad this time – sad and exhausted and defeated and you can practically hear the way your heart shatters. it was daniel. it has always been daniel. it will always be daniel. how stupid were you to think otherwise? how stupid were you to believe you could ever forgot the way your heart and soul roars back to life the moment he enters the room.

you’ll break james’ heart, you’re breaking your own and you’ve broken his.

the entire time, you and james had stood before the door, greeting all of your guests and showing them where they can wait. you absolutely had no plans to greet daniel. it was bad enough that he was here, but james, sweet sweet james, who had no idea what he was doing dragging you towards the formula one driver, hadn’t gotten the memo.

he didn’t know that having daniel’s eyes on you so close would set wildfires in your stomach and he didn’t know how exhausting and difficult it was to contain those wildfires. he didn’t know that he was burning himself as he all but dragged you in front of him.

“hey,” your fiance says cluelessly. “daniel ricciardo!”

daniel is looking at you and you feel frozen under his gaze. it’s heavy. he makes you feel heavy, like you were cheating on james simply by looking at you. you feel nauseous but with guilt eating up at every cell in your stomach. but you shouldn’t feel guilty. he had no right to make you feel guilty for moving on. he moved on. last you him, he had a girlfriend. why aren’t you allowed to do the same? why can’t you go on with your life and build a future with a nice man that isn’t him?

“i’m a big fan,” james says cheerfully, offering his hand for daniel to shake and forcing him to tear his gaze away from you.

daniel forces a smile to his face, moving to shake his hand and you know this is the part where you’re supposed to introduce him. daniel is your guest after all and so you clear your throat, hoping your smile isn’t as stiff as you feel like it is.

“james, this is my friend daniel. daniel, my fiance james.” you manage to let out, gripping your champagne glass to avoid having to touch either of them the same way you avoid the way daniel’s eyes hardened when the word fiance tumbled from your lips.

“it’s really nice to meet you, mate,” james says with a massive smile. god he’s so nice and sweet and you hate what you’re doing to him.

daniel says nothing, only smiling and you end this entire interaction the moment you get a chance to. pointing at the snacks table, you turned to him. “there’s food over there and max is around here somewhere. nice seeing you again, daniel.”

you were lying through your goddamn teeth. thankfully, he seems to have taken the hint, walking away without saying another word.

the entire night, you feel his eyes on you. even as james makes his speech declaring his love for you, daniel stares at you with hooded eyes. he looks pissed and sad at the same time and you wanted to scream. stop looking at me! you couldn’t take anymore of this. he’s looking at you as though you’re under a microscope – staring into your soul like he could reach you there.

you’re an idiot and now that he’s in the same room as you are, the illusion has left you. you’re not over daniel because you can never be over him. he’s engraved in your soul, his fingerprints all over your heart. he was, and still is, the sun that made your universe turn. you’re choking and you needed to get away lest you burst.

daniel is overwhelming. he’s terrifying and addicting and you hate him but you’re madly in love with him. and worse of all, you’ll spend the rest of your life being in love with him. you’ll spend the rest of your life wanting him and hurting for him and and longing for him and that’s a goddamn fucking tragedy.

you manage to get through the party, practically dissociating yourself. eventually the guests leave one by one, only your family and closest friends left. you sit on the foyer with max, the dutchman watching you drink champagne straight out of the bottle.

“you shouldn’t have invited him,” he tells you quietly. “you were fucking yourself over.”

you roll your eyes. you stare inside the house where daniel is talking to your father. your dad offered his home for your engagement party. you know he likes james. your mother too and your little siblings can’t get enough of him. that fact almost makes you want to throw up.

“i thought i was over him,” you say.

it’s max’s turn to roll his eyes. “you’re just a good liar. you’ll never be over daniel and he’ll never be over you. even i know that.”

you glared at him. you already know what he’s telling you and quite frankly, you had no desire to hear it again. “i hate you.”

“neither you nor dan would survive this long without me.” max laughed and you threw the throw pillow at him.

not that he’s lying. you met max the same time you did daniel and you clicked immediately. he knows everything, comforted you many times as you pined over dan. he’s your best friend and he’s also daniel’s best friend. he knows more than anyone how deep the connection you two shared.

“go home already,” you tell him. you’re tired and slightly drunk and you just want to go to bed now. “and make sure you take him with you.”

max laughed at the way you said him like it’s a bad taste on your tongue but did as you said anyways.

that night, you laid on the bed you and james shared, you couldn’t sleep. he’s fast asleep next to you, his arm over your stomach as you lay wide awake. you shouldn’t have invited him because now he’s turned your world upside down again. everything you’ve built for yourself was gone the moment his eyes met yours. he’s a plague, sucking all the happiness out of you.

eventually though, the restless night was about to get worse as you picked up your phone, scrolling through your contacts till you found his name. you stared at it for a while, knowing that you shouldn’t but you’re rattled and your self control is at an all time low. you shouldn’t have been trusted to make any types of decisions.

you come back to what you need

daniel was waiting for you when you parked your car outside his apartment building, hand gripping his phone as he watched you step out of the vehicle. four years since he first let you go and one year since he last saw you and you look as beautiful as you ever were.

he shouldn’t have told you to come but he’s so exhausted from staying away, from waiting for the right time. there will never be a right time and tonight, he’s done holding back. he wants you, he always has and he no longer has the energy to stop himself from wanting you.

“i shouldn’t be here,” was the first thing you said as he opened the door for you.

a lazy, almost mocking smile covered his lips. “and yet here you are.”

you glared at him but daniel’s heart was soaring. it’s been so long since you were this close. he can smell the perfume that followed you and the scent of your shampoo. he’s so so tired, he just wanted to hold you.

he’s going to make this as hard as possible, you realize. you’re no longer a child, he doesn’t need to play nice and easy with you anymore. you’re a woman now and he’s going to treat you like one. but you just need to get over this. you need closure. you need to put him in the past where he truly belongs so you can go about your life. you need him out of your system.

daniel may be everything you wanted but it’s time to accept that he’ll never be what you need.

“why did you come?” you asked, wanting to get this over with as quickly as you can. three years pining for him in red bull and four years of longing for him and everything leads you here.

daniel cocked an eyebrow. he’s done with playing nice. “you invited me.”

okay, you walked right into that one. “you still shouldn’t have come.”

daniel wanted to laugh. “i guess we both like doing shit that we shouldn’t do. now the question is, sweetheart, what are you doing here?”

“i’m getting married, daniel,” you whispered. “we need to accept that it isn’t us.”

“i thought you did that in abu dhabi.”

he’s being an asshole. “you’re the one who told me to leave. you don’t get to be mad that i’m moving on.”

“you’re not moving on,” he laughed, leaning against the wall.

you glared at him. “yes, i am. i’m getting married!”

he looked at you as though you said something hilarious and you wanted to punch him in the face for it. “and yet you’re here.”

“for closure.”

he stepped towards you and you found yourself holding your breath. from this close, you can see the freckles on your cheeks, the ones you used to spend all your time trying to memorize. the curve of his plump lips and the intensity in his eyes. and when he touched, it felt like the first drop of rain after a million years of dessert. his hand perfectly fitted on your hips, warm and so achingly familiar.

his hand snaked from your hip to your legs, finger light on your skin as he ever so slightly tugged at your shorts. you need to pull away but your body needs him closer. you want him. you want him to get closer. you want him to touch you more, to feel his skin against yours. you can have every single inch of his body pressed against yours and you’d still begged to get closer.

his lips graze your cheek before it reaches your ear, even breathes in contrast to your desperately shaky ones. “is that really what you want, baby?”

with every ounce of sanity you have left, you forced yourself to nod and you can feel the way his lips formed into a mocking smile against your cheek.

“really?” he mocked. “then why are you clutching my shirt like you want more?”

you hadn’t even realized the way your fist is holding on to his shirt, pulling him closer towards you like you’re terrified he’d disappear right between your fingertips.

“fuck,” you muttered, the heat of his skin against yours dizzying. james is nowhere near your mind as your hand slips under his shirt, self control flying out the window as you feel the curves of his abs. you want him. you’ve always wanted him so desperately that you’re willing to go to hell for it. “fuck me.”

he kissed you then, fire in his lips as it finally finally touched yours. this is all you’ve ever asked for and it’s worth the damnation you’d be paying in return. you pull him impossibly closer, going on your tiptoes. you need to get closer. closer, closer, closer.

like an addicted chainsmoker to cigarettes, you can’t get enough of his kiss. you want to inhale the fumes of his breath, of him, deep into your lungs. he tugs at your shirt and you pull away enough for him to get it off.

you grunt in complaint when he pulled away from you, only to swallow it back as his lips attached to the skin of your chest, licking and nibbling as it slowly made it way down.

“oh,” you breathe out as he lips attached to your breast, your fingers tugging at his curls as his tongue circled your nipple.

you should have stopped him the moment his hand unbuttoned your shorts but as he bent you over and his hand slipped between your folds and he trapped your moans with his mouth, you were far too gone. god be damned, morality be damned. you’d crawl through hell for this.

but eventually, reality comes knocking and morning comes and your bliss ends. you woke up from your phone ringing, cocooned in daniel’s arms.

“don’t answer it,” he mutters but sleepily, you grab your phone from the nightstand, seeing james’ name on your screen.

and that snaps you out of it, being reminded of what happened the night before and what you did and you all but jumped out of his arms as though his touch burned you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter under your breath as you hurriedly put on your clothes, daniel watching you still naked from his place on the bed. you turned to him, “this never happened.”

you watched as anger slowly filled his eyes. “are you being serious right now?”

“i’m getting married, daniel!” you’re panicking now, screaming as your phone rings again.

“then why the fuck were you knocking on my door at two in the morning?”

you ignore him, gathering your things. “it was a mistake.”

he’s glaring at you now, looking like he wanted to start screaming. but he remains silent, only glaring as you gather your things and put on your clothes.

you look at him again, apologies and sorrow in your eyes. “i’m sorry but this isn’t me. this can’t be me.”

and then you left, not allowing yourself to look back as you ran to your car. maybe in a parallel universe or a different world, you sit next to each other at the kitchen table and go over the grocery list, but for all the universes and worlds there are, this one was not enough, not for now and not for you and daniel.

when you finally arrive home, your father is in the kitchen, eyeing you up as you walk past him. “where were you? james was looking for you.”

you grimace. there’s a knowing look in christian’s eyes as though whatever you reason he already knows will be a lie. and unfortunately, he’d be right. “i was out with friends.”

“at seven in the morning?” he narrowed his eyes and you hated his timing. of all times, did he have to question you now?

“breakfast.”

you all but run to your room before he can question you further, thanking all the gods that james isn’t there. for a moment, you stood stunned, reeling from the past twenty four hours as the guilt settles in your chest. you need to get as far away from daniel as you possibly can. you can’t be the type of woman who cheats on her fiance. you refuse to be. you refuse to break a good man’s heart like that.

and yet as you finally calm down enough to try and fix yourself, your phone buzzes, his name appearing on your screen saying he sent you a text message.

daniel i’ve loved you in every way i can. i loved you selfishly and so i tried loving you distantly, i tried loving you selflessly, i tried loving you correctly but i just want to love you now. if i could do it all over again, i would love you better but i can’t love you more than i do now.

this love came back to me

the wind is chilly as you step foot in hungary and the dress you wore is definitely not meant for it but still, you persevere, finding your way to the red bull motorhome and greeting your father. the last time you attended a grand prix was abu dhabi 2021 and yet it still feels like home.

“there’s my biggest fan!” max cheered the moment he saw you, immediately wrapping his arms around you. he hasn’t seen you for nearly a year and he missed his best friend. to be fair, no one has seen you for nearly a year, disappearing from the face of the earth after your failed engagement.

after the night of your engagement party, the guilt ate you alive as you realized that you were exactly the kind of girl you didn’t want to be and so you came clean to james. he screamed and cried and said you could work it out but you were exhausted from lying to yourself. as long as there was daniel, you can never be happy with anyone else and no man deserve to be someone you simply settled with.

you realized then that you’d lost yourself. you don’t know who you are, don’t know who you’ve become and so you left everything you know, ignoring everyone’s calls as you attempt to find yourself.

“actually, i’m supporting ferrari,” you joke once max finally lets you go.

“i’ll disown you!” your father screamed from across the garage, making you and max laugh.

“have you seen him?” max asked, whispering as though he’s telling you a secret.

you shake your head. coincidentally enough, or ironically, the first gp you attend in a while, daniel is announced to race in. and max, quite frankly, is far too excited for the two of you to see each other again. he’s had enough watching you both be stupid.

after catching up with max and the mechanics you still know, you find yourself in a cafe with your father, talking about everything and nothing at all. christian watched your every move and you can see the worry in his eyes. he’s part of the people you ran from and you know that it was a cruel thing to do to your father.

and then he was there and you’re all too familiar with the feeling of your world freezing the moment your eyes meet. he looks better, happier and you’re sure you look different too, hopefully more grown.

“you’re here,” he says, unbelieving.

you smile, genuine and free this time. “i’m here.”

and this time around, you were both tired of fighting it. it’s him. it’s always been him. there was no point denying it. he’s the only person you’ll ever want. you are totally and irrevocably in love with him – the kind of love that’s so intense it feels like an explosion of fireworks throughout your whole body. the love that leaves you sleepless but exhilarated, speechless but poetic, lost but exactly where you're meant to be.

and in that moment, your lives flashed before your eyes – marriage, children, growing old together.

daniel ricciardo is the defining moment, the collision of stars that slammed into you so hard it tore your heart in pieces and only he can put it back together again.

he smiles at you and you smile back.

hello, love, welcome home.

and finally, finally, it felt like the world isn’t burning anymore.

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#daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo angst #daniel ricciardo fluff #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo one shot #daniel ricciardo fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 one shot #f1 fanfic #formula 1 one shot #max verstappen

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girlgenius1111 · 3 months

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I'll Make It Through The Winter If It Kills Me

putellas!reader stops taking her antidepressants because she doesn't think she needs them anymore, keeps it from alexia, but she eventually finds out. super angsty, but fluff follows. warnings: mentions of self harm.

-----

You weren't stupid; you didn't think you knew better than your doctor. You were just so tired of everything feeling so... dull. Feeling so empty, even when things were good. Even when they were bad. It felt like your emotions were in sight, but just out of reach. Like you could graze them with your fingertips, the sharp sting of anger, the thrill of excitement. No matter what you did, though, you couldn’t get your hands around them. You couldn’t make the feelings stay. You weren’t sure you’d know what normal felt like if it hit you across the face, and no matter what you told your doctor, she kept encouraging you to give the meds a longer chance.

It wasn’t really intentional on your part, to stop taking them. It just…happened. You missed one day. And then another. And then it had been a week, and even though your head ached, and you had a bit of a hard time sleeping, you felt… better. Not great, not really even good, but better. More like yourself.

That lasted another week, before suddenly, you were back where you started. The joy you’d rediscovered in living faded away, plunging you back into a cave of misery. It wasn’t numbed now, either. It was encapsulating, suffocating. You weren’t okay, not at all. You didn’t know what to do, though. You didn’t want to go back on the medication, and you knew you wouldn’t survive if you kept going like this. You told yourself that you just had to let your body get used to the lack of the medication, and once it adjusted, you’d feel normal again. You’d been high, and now you were low, and the next step had to be a middle ground. The trouble was keeping yourself going until you got there, as well as keeping your sister off your back.

You hadn’t meant to start hurting yourself again, either. It just happened, it was just the coping mechanism you turned to. It was just supposed to be temporary, until everything balanced out and you felt normal again. It kept going, though, you kept going. Until you had to be careful about changing in the locker room, and you couldn’t go a day without doing it. It was the only thing that made you feel, the only thing that made it better. You just needed time. That was it. Just time.

-----

“Wake up pequeña, I am not going to come in here again.” Alexia said with a sigh, poking her head in your door to find you still very asleep in bed. You both knew she’d be back in 5 minutes, ready to drag you out by your ankles, but you grumbled a response and sat up. You’d only gotten to sleep a few hours ago; sleep had evaded you, even as you felt more exhausted than you’d ever been in your life. It was just an adjustment, you, told yourself. Everything would even out.

“If I come in there and you’re still asleep, so help me,” Alexia shouted from the hall, before throwing your door open rather aggressively. You turned to look at her blankly, wrapped up in your duvet, sitting on the edge of the bed. Your sister paused, taking a closer look at your face.

“Do you feel okay? Are you getting sick?” She asked, entering the room and pressing the back of her hand to your forehead. You shook her off, discarding the duvet behind you and moving with as much energy as you could muster over to your dresser.

“No, just sleepy.” You answered shortly, and Alexia narrowed her eyes at you.

“You look sick.” She argued, crossing her arms over her chest in a rather intimidating manner.

“Thank you.” You replied sarcastically. “Now get out, you’re going to make me late.”

Alexia scoffed indignantly, but walked to the door regardless. “I’M going to make you late. Me. You lay in bed till the last minute, and it’s MY fault.” She mumbled, shutting the door behind her a little harder than necessary.

She wasn’t really that bothered, but she did dramatically complain about you to Olga once she reached the kitchen. Olga, however, didn’t quite share her exasperation with you and your inability to get up on time. Instead, she saw this as cause for concern: you hadn’t been this hard to wake up since before. When things were bad, and they didn’t know. Looking back, the signs were obvious, and Olga wasn’t about to miss them again. Or let her rather emotionally oblivious girlfriend do so either.

“Ale. She’s been sleeping a lot recently, no?” Olga asked quietly, grabbing her girlfriend’s hand to get her attention.

Alexia looked up from the coffee she was making for you, turning to the brunette in confusion. “I haven’t noticed. She’s hard to wake up sometimes, that’s all.”

Olga restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Sometimes, she wondered if Alexia really was oblivious, or if she was just in denial.

“Not like this. The last time she slept this much, she wasn’t doing well, remember?”

Alexia turned back to your coffee, stirring absentmindedly, lost in thought.

“You think she’s having a hard time?” She asked finally.

Olga shrugged. “I’m not sure. She’s been acting a little off recently. It could be nothing though.”

“But it could be something?” Alexia replied. She was never so aware of her shortcomings as a sister than when Olga saw something she didn’t. That was the good thing about being with someone who was so different from her, though. Olga was there to make sure nothing slipped through the cracks with you, a role she’d taken on without a second thought when you moved in.

Olga didn’t have a chance to reply, because you made your way into the kitchen, reaching instantly for the coffee Alexia was making, one you knew was for you. Ale always got up a bit early to make her and Olga coffee, climbing back into bed and drinking it there.

Alexia handed you the coffee silently, and if you noticed that her eyes lingered on you longer than normal, you didn’t say anything about it.

-----

It wasn’t accidental that Alexia had the two of you sharing a room over the next away trip. Ever since her conversation with Olga, she’d been keeping a closer eye on you, and she wasn’t loving what she was seeing. Normally, she’d pawn you off on one of your younger teammates over away games, needing time with her friends, and knowing you needed time with yours. Now, though, her overprotective instincts were kicking in and she didn’t trust anyone but herself to keep an eye on you.

Alexia noticed that you put on a good show, but when people weren’t looking… you looked so desperately sad that your sister longed to drag you away from the group by your ear and pry whatever the problem was out of you. She didn’t, though. Olga had given her a harsh warning before leaving, as did Alba, that you wouldn’t respond well to being cornered, to being forced to talk. You needed to come to her. So while Alexia kept you very close, she made an effort to remind you that she was there, whatever you needed.

The first real, tangible, issue that Alexia figured out was that you weren’t sleeping. She’d passed out before you, as expected, but when she stirred a couple hours later to the sound of you sniffling quietly from your bed, she was immediately wide awake.

You were so tired. Nothing you were trying was working, you just couldn’t sleep. It felt pathetic to be crying, but you were exhausted, you had a match tomorrow, and you just wanted your brain to turn off, even if it was only for a bit. You were trying to keep the volume down, though, because Alexia was famously a light sleeper, and her bed was only a few feet from yours.

Your efforts proved unsuccessful when Alexia sat up in her bed, flicking the light on. She squinted over at you, finding you curled up on your side, furiously wiping at the tears on your face, horrified at being caught.

You were expecting 20 questions from your sister. She liked to fix things, and this situation would definitely be something that worried her. Alexia surprised you though.

Even though there were 20 questions on the tip of her tongue, she remembered both her girlfriend and her other sister’s warnings not to push you. Instead of pestering you like she wanted, she flicked the light back off, sliding out of her bed and gently nudging you over until she could slide onto the edge of yours.

“Ale, what-?”

“Shh.” Alexia whispered, scooching closer and cuddling up to you like she used to do when you were little, and wanted nothing more than her affection. If Alexia was feeling particularly nice, she’d let you curl up against her while the family watched a movie, or while she finished her homework. “You can’t sleep?”

You wondered how she knew. Sometimes, Alexia could be completely dense when it came to your feelings. Other times, though, she was incredibly perceptive. “No.”

Your sister’s presence next to you, though, was already helping, and you felt your eyes drooping as you rested your head against her chest.

“Do you want me to sing you a song?” Alexia teased.

You appreciated that she wasn’t forcing a conversation now, more than you could articulate.

“No, I think my ears bleeding would keep me up more.” You replied, laughing quietly when your sister huffed indignantly, shoving you away from her, before very quickly pulling you back into her arms.

“You like my singing, I’m a good singer.” She retorted, even as she tucked you back under her chin. “Really, nena, how can I help?”

“Stop talking.” You murmured groggily, cuddling in closer to your sister. Alexia smiled against your head, but stopped talking, rather proud of herself for solving this problem for you, even if it was just temporarily. Even if it was just a symptom of a much bigger problem.

You slept that night, without waking up, for the first time in a while. You tried not to let yourself think about the fact that if Alexia fixed this problem, she might be able to help you, just in general, if only you’d talk to her.

-----

Alexia hadn’t meant to snoop. She’d done you a favor, picking up your new prescription, and she was just putting it on your nightstand. Was it possible that she opened the drawer and peeked at your old bottle? Maybe. She was glad she did it, though. Because she found it full. And everything suddenly made a lot more sense.

-----

"Pequeña?"

"Yeah?"

"Why is this full?" Alexia asked calmly, holding up the little pill bottle and giving it a shake.

"That's- that's my new bottle." You replied, looking away from her accusatory stare.

Alexia shook her head. "No, this is your new bottle. I picked it up for you today." She held up a little bag from the pharmacy, and your stomach sank. Your sister would not like this, not at all. She wouldn't like you doing something so unhealthy, and she wouldn't like you lying about it. There was nothing you could say, she'd caught you.

"Nena, I asked you a question." Strict Alexia was making an appearance, and you kept your eyes locked on the ground in front of you. "Hey. Don't shut down on me. What's going on?" She walked closer, arms crossed over her chest.

"I stopped taking them." You said finally, looking up in time to see your sister sigh heavily, and run a hand over her suddenly very fatigued face.

"Why?"

"I just did." You told her.

"That's not good enough. This is why you've been so anxious recently? So depressed?"

You shrugged noncommittally. Alexia was silent for a minute, before her expression changed, face tightened. You knew what was coming before she asked.

"Roll up your shorts." It's given as a command, not as a request, and you backed up on instinct. "Nena,"

"No. I'm an adult, Alexia. I can make my own decisions."

Alexia regarded you carefully, her eyebrows pinched with concern. "Roll up your shorts, please. I won't ask again."

You hated when Alexia got like this. You knew she wasn't really as angry with you as she seemed, she was worried. It just felt so much like you were in trouble. Maybe because you knew you were doing something you shouldn't be. Alexia's worry always manifested as frustration, anger. Maybe because for her, she was angry with herself, for not seeing a problem sooner.

"Alexia, I said no." You turned away from her, stomping towards your room.

"Nena, come back." Alexia demanded, going after you when you didn't respond. She reached your door just as you shut it and locked it, and Alexia felt a spike of panic run through her. Your behavior over the past few weeks was beginning to make more sense and, honestly, she didn't know what headspace you were in, how deeply the lack of the medication was affecting you. If you were back to doing this, it could be bad. Alexia knew she wasn't the expert in helping you with this, but she did know that, right now, she was not comfortable with a locked door in between the two of you.

"Nena, open the door." She fiddled with the knob, even as it wouldn't budge. "I'm being serious, open the door. Now."

You weren't really hearing her. You were thinking about how disappointed she must be in you. She'd been horrified to find out that you'd been doing this to yourself the first time, almost a year ago now. She'd yelled, and you'd run out of the house, all the way to Mapi's. You'd sat on the terrace with Ingrid, talking about everything and nothing, while Mapi gave your sister a piece of her mind. You were sick, she'd told the blonde. You needed support. You weren't doing it for attention. Alexia needed to do better.

And she had. She'd apologized for yelling. She'd gone with you to every therapy appointment for two months, knowing how nervous they made you. She sat outside the room, answering emails or looking at her phone, just in case you needed her. She supported you, wholeheartedly, when you took a few weeks off from the team to focus on your mental health, as you got your medication figured out. You weren't good at communicating your needs to your sister, and she wasn't good at reading your mind, but somehow, it worked.

Repetitive pounding on the door broke you out of your thoughts, and you looked towards the door, half expecting to see your sister's fist emerging through the wood.

"Nena, open. Now, por favor." Alexia begged.

Your anger with yourself only grew. Your sister sounded close to tears and it was all your fault. All your fault. Shakily, you stood up from the bed and walked over to the door, unlocking it. Alexia practically fell into the room, head swiveling frantically as she looked for you. Your eyes dropped to the ground again, and you looked so small, so very shattered.

Alexia knocked the wind out of you a little with the force of her hug, squishing you into her arms and holding you tight against her chest. "You can't do that, you can't lock the door. Not right now, not when I don't know what's going on with you. Please, pequeña, I won't make you talk to me, just don't lock the door." She was pleading with you, and you'd never heard your normally very calm and collected sister so panicked.

Maybe it was the pleading that got to you, or maybe you were just so tired of pretending to be okay. Either way, words you never thought you’d say out loud were spilling from your mouth before you could stop them.

“I’m scared, Ale. I don’t have control anymore, I thought I did, but I don’t, and I’m scared. I’m so tired, I don’t think I can do this anymore. Please help me, I need you to help me,” you sobbed, the admission feeling both terrifying and relieving all at once. At least the responsibility wasn’t on you anymore. Alexia would take care of you, take care of this.

“Okay, okay, nena. It’s all going to be okay. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. We’ll get you help, we’ll get you whatever you need. Whatever it takes. I love you so much, pequeña, we’ll get you better, I promise.”

Alexia kept you wrapped up tight in her arms for a while, and it only reassured you more. As long as she had you, nothing would happen. She wouldn’t let anything happen. While your sister was around, you would be safe. Even if she was keeping you safe from yourself, she’d do it, no matter what.

-----

me: you need to stop making everything have a part 2. just make a longer one shot.

also me: let me know what you want to see in part 2 🙂🙂

#woso imagine #woso x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #alexia putellas x reader #putellas!reader #platonic #woso one shot #woso fanfics

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ragingbookdragon · 10 months

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She feels the warmth flooding down the front of her gear as the frigidness seems to crawl up from her fingers and toes. Her breathing labors as the man pulls her inside the crumbling building under the veil of night and cradles her against his body, her back pressed against his chest. His fingers find their way underneath her vest, and she knows she should feel pain where his fingers press against, but all she feels is a numbness.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters.

“Ghost,” she whispers breathlessly. “I’m scar—I’m scared, Ghost.”

He shakes his head a single time. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“I don’t wanna die,” she says more to herself than to him, panic setting in. “God, I don’t wanna die now. I don’t wanna—”

“You’re not dying,” Ghost growls. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“Ghost—”

“You’re gonna be fine. I’m gonna fix this. I’ll fucking fix—”

“Simon,” she stresses, shifting enough to see his face from the corner of her eye. “I’m dying.”

He swallows thickly and gazes at her for a moment before the lump returns. “Fuck, I—I’m not ready.”

“Neither am I,” she smiles, blood staining her teeth, and leans back, her temple to his chin. “Will you…will you stay with me?”

Simon presses harder against her, cursing the tears that sting his eyes. “Yeah, love, I’ll stay.”

She settles then, flightiness stilling in her veins as she relaxes against him. “This isn’t how I imagined going.”

He doesn’t want to ask. Doesn’t want to hear all the fanciful bullshit she’s about to spew about how they grow old and gray, but Simon also knows he’d rather hear her voice all he can before he can never hear it again unless it’s through a speaker.

“How’d you imagine it?” he forces his throat to open.

Her smile is like the stars in the night sky. “Old. In bed together. In our sleep.” She shuffles a bit. “Our kids find us, cuddled close, safe.”

Simon grits his teeth, cracking them under the strain, his jaw aches. “How many kids?”

“Two boys. One girl. Simon Junior, we’d call him SJ. Jonathan Kyle, after Price, Soap, and Gaz.”

“And the girl?”

“Aphra Emeline.”

He nods. “Good name. Strong. Built for a fancy lady.”

“She’d run everyone over.”

“With your looks and my attitude?” he jokes. “Of course. She’d strike ‘em dead with one withering look.”

Her lungs are starting to fail her, and she shivers. “Simon, marry me.”

He can’t stop the tears this time and they drop down his cheeks onto her head. “Who’s gonna officiate?”

“Me. All power vested in me.” She sucks in a breath. “Do you take me as your lawfully wedded wife? To love, honor, and cherish, through sickness and health, until death do us part?”

“I do,” he promises. “And even after life, I will.”

“I take the same. I now pronounce us husband and wife.” She turns with the last bit of failing strength she has, pulls his mask down, and says, “Kiss me.”

Simon’s calloused hands are gentle as he cups her face, brushes his thumb over her cool skin and presses his lips to hers, tears mixing on each other’s faces as he kisses her with everything, he has in him. All the things Ghost is not, he gives in this moment to her. All his hopes, all his dreams, all his love for a better ending. He gives it up in this moment as he burns it into his mind that Simon Riley will never live after—only Ghost.

“I love you, Simon,” she whispers against his lips, and he shakes his head.

“I love you too,” he manages between hers. “I’ll stay,” he promises, pulling away to press his forehead to hers, staring at her. “I will stay.”

“I know,” she says. “I know you will.”

He memorizes the color of her eyes, the shape of her nose, the feel of her skin beneath his hands, every detail he can about her, and it’s only when her head tilts forward, forehead bumping his lips that he knows.

Simon inhales and exhales one time, a single, agonizing howl.

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purplekissinger · 4 months

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I am the pretty thing that lives in the castle

And I pray one prayer - I repeat it till my tongue stiffens - Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you - haunt me, then! Emily Bronte, ‘Wuthering Heights’.

Y/N became a ghost instead of Myrtle. She couldn't care less about Tom. He wishes he could say the same. Wordcount: 3k.

At their first meeting, Tom even shrieked a little (as he later justified, solely because Y/N took him by surprise). He crept towards the sinks that bathed in the bluish light of the moon, and did not at all expect that someone would jump at him from the ceiling with a “Boo!”

“Boo,” Y/N said reluctantly and passed through him like a light bluish cloud. Tom closed his eyes, but didn’t feel anything.

“Good evening to you too,” he said, looking at her cautiously. Y/N floated up to the ceiling and was now studying the stucco, running her ghostly finger absentmindedly over the frozen gargoyle masks. “What's new?”

“As you may guess, absolutely nothing,” Y/N responded, “but I like that you’re trying to be polite. It's nice.”

“Do you feel ‘nice’?”

“Not really. I'm using words that I learned in life, but they don't quite describe my experience because I've never experienced anything like this before. I'd rather you be polite than rude, and that's my new “nice.”

Tom looked at her, a luminous spot against the black wall, which trembled slightly, like the wings of a strange butterfly. Y/N died wearing a thin shirt, but there was no longer any way she could be cold or get sick.

“If I didn’t know you were a Ravenclaw, I would have guessed by now,” he said.

“I was different when I was alive,” Y/N said judiciously. “More lively”

“You sure were”.

“No, I mean it. I can't explain it enough for you to understand, but this experience is...changing. Everything becomes so transparent, unreal. If I were the same, I would have already cried barrels of tears and flooded the toilet”.

“There is someone who is eager to do that for you,” Tom said gloomily. “Myrtle has been whining all day long, telling everyone what a wonderful friend you were.”

“Me?” Y/N sounded surprised. “I can’t remember that we were friends. However, I did stand up for her a couple of times…”

Tom kept silent a little longer, angrily tapping his fingers on the broken edge of the sink. When falling, already dead, Y/N hit her head here. They didn't fix the sink, instead, they put a lock on the toilet door, but Tom sneaked in almost every evening.

“Is that why you’re not angry at me for killing you?” he finally asked.

“Well, technically you didn’t kill me. You just released a basilisk, which also didn't do anything against its nature, so it's kind of like an accident. Although I can understand why you didn’t tell anyone about it all,” Y/N said. “No, that’s not the reason why”.

“You are very understanding,” said Tom. “Is it okay if I stay here a little longer? I need to prepare an essay on the history of magic, and tomorrow is the final match between the badgers and Slytherin. All of Hogwarts is shaking”.

“Make yourself at home,” Y/N said indifferently.

She went down to the Chamber of Secrets with him when the time came to seal it. Hovering silently two steps behind him, she looked at the tunnels and rusty gratings that were many, many centuries old, and for the first time something like curiosity was reflected on her transparent face. For some reason this made Tom feel almost happy. Y/N’s curiosity became almost human when, rustling its scales, a huge snake slowly crawled out of the black hole in the wall and surrounded them with a ring, and put its terrible head so as to get a better look at the guests, and hissed in greeting.

“I've read that those who speak Parseltongue can look a basilisk in the eyes and survive,” said Tom, looking down, “but I don’t want to test that.”

Y/N looked fearlessly with her dead eyes straight into the face of the creature.

“Yes, the cost of a mistake would be very high,” she said. “What is your pet's name?”

“Susie,” Tom said quietly. “It's a girl”.

Y/N smiled weakly.

“Hello, Susie,” she said. Susie let out a squeal that sounded more like a laugh. “Nice to meet you. Unfortunately, this is not for long, because we have come to seal the Chamber of Secrets forever.”

“For a while,” Tom corrected her. “Susie, I'll be back, I promise. I don't know when, but I'll be back”.

He closed his eyes and stretched his hands forward. The basilisk poked its terrible mouth into his chest, and Tom hugged her.

***

When Tom returned to school the next year, no one noticed anything, and he even began to think that the ritual did not work, but as soon as he crossed the threshold of the toilet on the third floor, a quiet exclamation was heard from under the ceiling:

“Oh! Tom, what happened to you?”

Like a feather or a petal, Y/N slowly descended towards him. Tom looked at her and thought that flying suited her well.

“Is it that noticeable?” he asked suspiciously.

“You have become very small,” Y/N said, flying around him. “Like this,” and made a small circle with her hands. “Where did half of you go?”.

This is how he learned that ghosts see the effects of Horcruxes.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she promised. “Who was it?”

And Tom told her. About everything, about how he found out who the Gaunts were, about how he found his uncle, about the Riddles, about how scary it was to look at his father’s corpse, because he was so very alike him, about how he made a Horcrux right there while the bodies were still warm. It was easy for him, he wanted to talk, to free himself from every detail, take it out of his head, let Y/N look, discuss, judge.

She was in no hurry to judge. She just said:

“This could backfire on you.”

“How?” Tom suddenly felt offended. He just now realized that he would like her to admire what a cool magician he is, and maybe even clap her hands.

“I know more than you,” she said vaguely. “Not everything, perhaps, but more. Yes, I’m still on the threshold, but from where I’m standing, it’s clear that you acted very rashly.”

“What do you mean by ‘still’?"

She didn't answer.

All autumn, winter and summer he went to visit Y/N, even leaving textbooks in a niche by the window. It was quiet and somehow very cozy there, the light from the window was so gentle, and on sunny days the stained glass windows seemed to light up with colored lights. Y/N was silent for the most part, but seeing her figure out of the corner of his eye and hearing her thoughtful humming under her breath was... nice. This was his new “nice”, because something inside of him began to change inexplicably, irreversibly and horribly.

In winter, he asked her to come to the Yule Ball, and she agreed, and she blew out all the candles and ruined the chandelier. Oh, the chaos!.. And in the spring they celebrated Y/N’s first Deathday Party. For this occasion Tom stole a lemon pie from the kitchen, but Y/N politely thanked him and said that she couldn’t eat that. She fluttered back and forth, he chewed on the pie, they argued about the technique of using Fiendfyre, and it was a nice evening.

“I won’t come back here in the fall,” Tom said suddenly, because in fact that’s all he’s been thinking about for the last few days.

“I know,” Y/N said. “You are in seventh year. I can count to seven”.

“But I’ll come back someday,” he said stubbornly. “I just don’t know when”.

“I think I’ve already heard this once”.

“I’ll come back for Susie too, don’t you worry.”

“And what will we do then, riddle me this?”

“Seize the Ministry of Magic,” he blurted out. “Y/N, I'll miss you. Will you miss me?”

“I would like to tell you something nice in response, but I’ll tell the truth. Maybe I won't be here soon.”

He suddenly felt very hot. Then terribly cold.

“What do you mean you won’t be here? Where are you going to go?” Tom asked in an unnaturally high voice. “Aren’t you here forever?”

“Not really,” Y/N answered evasively. “You see, when I died, I was not at all ready for this”.

“Can anyone possibly be ready for this?”

“You must be ready, Tom. Now I know that. I was confused and made... the wrong choice. Stuck on the threshold. Didn't go any further. But I can step forward at any moment, I just need to think it over carefully and make a decision”.

“Can’t you step back?” Tom asked. He did not put hope into these words, but it sounded nevertheless.

“No,” Y/N answered simply. “I died, Tom”.

He rested his hand on his cheek and watched her spin, arms outstretched, right up to the ceiling, the invisible wind blowing her hair. He said:

“I regret that I didn’t know you when you were alive. I think we could become friends.”

“We could,” Y/N agreed. “But for this to happen you shouldn’t have killed me”.

Tom jumped up sharply and, his burning face hid in his hands, quickly walked out of the room. The door slammed so loudly that the noise echoed throughout the entire corridor.

***

Tom did not soon cross this threshold again.

He walked from Dumbledore's office after the first unsuccessful job interview in his life, he wanted to get out of the castle as quickly as possible so as not to endure this humiliation anymore, but his feet themselves led him to the third floor.

“You have become even smaller,” said a familiar voice, which he had only dreamed about in the morning. Loud, distant, but somehow comforting. “You're barely visible”.

Tom was silent. He looked and still did not believe that he was seeing her again. Finally he grinned and stepped forward.

“But you’re still the same,” he said.

“The same, but not quite,” Y/N objected, going down to meet him. “I thought a lot and almost decided to take a step further”.

“But not yet?”

“Not yet. This is a complex process, and it doesn't get any easier now that I have all the time in the world”.

“What exactly are you doing?” Tom asked, leaning against the wall. A forgotten feeling of comfort covered him in a cool wave. He felt like he wanted to stay.

“I’m thinking,” Y/N said. “A lot”.

“Don’t you need to, I don’t know, take revenge on your murderer?” he asked and realized that it sounded like a request. Lord Voldemort had a lot of requests that day.

“No, thanks,” said Y/N. She looked him up and down with a curious look and added: “It seems to me that there’s not much left of him anyway.”

Tom tiredly sank to the floor and tucked his legs under him. He wanted to talk to her again and again, so that she would answer sharply, but always to the point. He wanted her to scream at him, to rush to claw his eyes out, he wanted her to thirst for revenge.

“I sometimes saw you in my dreams,” he said. “Like we’re friends or something.”

“I have nothing to do with this,” Y/N said. “Have you made any living friends over the years?”

“Wait for me,” Lord Voldemort said without listening to her. He wanted it to sound like an order, but it turned out to be the third request. “Y/N, I figured out how to defeat death.”

“Sure you did”.

“I am not lying. I really fought it all this time and almost won”.

“I wish you would know how stupid you look now.”

“Are you going to listen or not?! I tell you, wait, I will bring you back, I will fix everything, you will be alive again, I will get you out…”

“Promise?”

“Yes, yes!”

“Lord Voldemort's promise?”

She smiled. Unable to look at her, Tom stormed out.

***

The third time he returned to the castle was on May 2, 1998. He walked along the empty corridors of the third floor, and his steps echoed loudly. He was going to congratulate Y/N on her yet another Deathday. In his hands was not a lemon pie, but an Elder Wand.

The door to the girls' toilet was blown off its hinges by the explosion. He crossed the threshold and saw that the stained glass windows were broken, and golden dawn rays were pouring into the room. For a second it seemed to him that the place was empty, that he was late.

“Oh, Merlin!” a familiar laugh rang out. “What's happened to you, Tom? You have become so very small, smaller than a mouse!”

She came down from the ceiling as before, but for the first time he saw her in the pink rays of the sun, and she seemed almost alive. For the first time he saw her almost alive.

“Come with me, Y/N”, he said softly. His hand trembled a little, grasping his wand. “I will bring you back to life. I will give you back everything and even more. Soon I will have the Resurrection Stone, and you will live again”.

She laughed even louder, twirled as if in a dance, and he felt uneasy.

“Stupid, stupid Tom,” Y/N said. “Still don’t get this, do you? Everyone gets smarter over the years, but you seem to only get dumber”.

And no Avada Kedavra could shut her up.

“But I'm glad you came. Really, I am. I wanted to say goodbye to you, Tom. I'm finally making that step”.

“No,” Lord Voldemort said in a changed voice. “Don’t. Don’t you dare”.

“Or else what?”

“Don't do this”, when was the last time he begged for something, pleaded? Was it with her?! “Stay. Stay, Y/N. I told you, I'll bring you back!”

“You forgot the magic word”. Y/N giggled. She sank to the floor and looked at him cheerfully and seriously at the same time. “I feel sorry for you, Tom”.

He had heard it once before, but coming from her it sounded and felt like “Crucio.”

“I have to go, really. There's no time to chat. I’ll tell you one more thing. Soon you will be offered a choice one last time, so please, please, don’t be stubborn. Can you do this for me?”

Tom looked at her desperately, afraid to blink, and still missed the moment when Y/N melted into the air.

***

The empty platform shines white, as if it were covered with snow. There are no trains here. No people, too. The bench blackens on the platform like a wound. A faint whimper came from under the bench.

A girl is walking along the platform.

She is wearing a thin shirt, but there is no way that she could be cold. The blue tie is fluttering in the invisible wind. She hurries to the bench, bends down, carefully takes out the bundle of robes from there, and opens it, and smiles a little and carefully presses it to her chest.

#harry potter #tom riddle #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x reader #voldemort x y/n #voldemort x reader

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tinandabin · 1 year

Text

Sagau but the reader is the ACTUAL creator part 3

Part 2 part 4

ngl, I was kind of scared to post this cause there were so many people to tag 😭😭

____

It's been what? 2 days? A week? Or perhaps a month without seeing you. The Vision Hunt Decree got stricter, they now used more violent methods to seize the vision under Ei's command. Ei hasn't left Plane Of Euthymia ever since she last heard your voice, all she does is meditate and drown herself in her sorrow.

Morax isolated himself, busying himself in the Wangshen Funeral Parlour, it is rare to see him even talk about Osmanthus wine now. He's trying his best to not think of you, but his mind just can't help but wander to your lovely face.

All Barbatos does is spend his time away at the tavern, drinking away till he no longer can. Drinking as much as he can so he can forget about his miserable life without you.

Oh, how long till they get to see you? Are you really doing all this for a mere mortal? Are they of such value to you? Would you place a mortal above them, your devoted acolytes? This is too cruel for their poor souls, they rather would die a hundred times, no, a thousand times than spend another second without seeing you. They can't live like this. They need you.

_____

"Um-uh, Your Grace, I was wondering if we could go to..Liyue? I would like to sight-see, if that is okay with you," The girl, whose name you found out is Revelyn, asked.

You found out that Revelyn doesn't really have any family, if she did then you would have returned her there. However, she grew up in an orphanage and then was left to fend for herself when she was old enough. You had even initiated the idea of her returning to the mortal realm, but she says she is too scared, for everyone probably hates her, I mean, they took their Divine Creator's attention away from them.

"Hesitate not dear, Seraphina will escort you," You replied, reading some documents and quickly filling out some slots.

Revelyn's body tensed up as she responded swiftly, "I was wondering whether you could come with me!" She ended with a loud huff, both of you surprised at her outburst.

"Oh, I do apologise; however I do not seem to have any free time today," You glanced at your clock and started to skim over the documents again.

"..I see, that's fine. We can go another day," Revelyn slowly got up and took her leave from your office.

Just as you were about to get up, you saw a letter settled neatly upon your desk. Opening it, you read it.

“Hello, Your Divinity, how are you? It has been quite a long time since I last saw you. You make me worried sick, I will not lie.

As for why I am contacting you, ever since you declared the punishment of the archons, Ei hasn't come out of Plane Of Euthymia and it looks like she is slipping into insanity.

As her familiar, it is my duty to make sure she is in her best state, no? I was perhaps hoping for you to end her punishment and we could also have some tea together.

Your Dearest,

Yae Miko ♡. ”

You settled the letter on a stack of books and smiled to yourself, noticing Yae Miko's little attempt to spend time with you. Oh well, you might as well amuse yourself.

That reminds you, didn't Revelyn want to go to Liyue? Let's hope she is fine heading to Inazuma. Inazuma sure is a beautiful place on its own, dangerous nonetheless.

Perhaps you have been too cruel on your acolytes? Ah, let's hope they learnt their lesson.

____

taglist: @shizunxie @dearloonies @iruiji @yani-dere @kiraisastay @fauxizs @salvationprodigy @thetruepair @lunalily19

do y'all like revelyn? I feel like making her the enemy somewhat. the archons vs revelyn who will win.

Masterlist

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cialovesklopp · 5 months

Text

une journée a trois ➻ k.mbappe

summary – they had always been two. but now that they were about to be three, they were starting a new journee. the path of parenthood. ah, the joy of pregnancy

pairing – kylian mbappé x amara imani (oc)

warnings – a somewhat detailed description of childbirth, pregnancy, mentions of morning sickness, labor, breastfeeding

word count — 10.1k

author's note – i guess this is my last official chapter for the mon amour series before i am officially starting my trent fic and the first spin off to this series. i will also be taking mon amour to wattpad where i'll add some more social media since here it came a bit short. there will be a lot of redecorating for my fics in the next time. as a heads-up: i don't know anything about childbirth, my entire knowledge is from google so i am very sorry if i got something wrong. hope you enjoy <3

( masterlist )

it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. she liked to have her life planned out to the finest detail. she wasn’t organized to the smallest but she liked to live her life in a certain order. so this was not supposed to happen now. there was no in-between for her situation. either women were happy or their lives were destroyed right now. and yet she found herself between the two scenarios.

she had been careful. she had put her career first and it had worked in every damn relationship she had ever had (which had not been a lot). she had made it clear that the success of her career was the most important thing and after the whole evan fiasco, she had sworn to herself that no matter how many times she fell in love, she would never lose sight again of her priorities. and it had worked till now.

it was a small mistake that led to her situation now. a moment of a certain emotional weakness that was the reason why she found herself in the bathroom on the floor with her back leaning against the bathtub as she stared into nothing.

kylian had introduced her to a new world of love. one where longing became sometimes too hard and the moment they found each other again, all rational thoughts were thrown out the window. he had shown her what love really felt like and that it was so much more than just endless fights and screaming matches. so… of course she had lost sights of her priorities and acted after her emotions when her heart had missed him too much.

her situation resulted from a sudden stay in the same city. he had been there to play an important match, she had two nights in that same city to tour and overwhelm her fans with her music. it had been three months that they hadn’t seen each other in person so the moment they had known they were at the same place, all sane thoughts had been thrown out the window. they had missed each other too much to even think about anything else than be close again. feel the other again. and now, not even two months later, she found herself on the floor in the bathroom with a stick in her hand. a small piece of plastic that held the weight of the world. two small blue lines that seemed to throw everything out of order. there seemed to be life growing inside of her now.

she wasn’t crying but rather staring into the air. her eyes held no emotion as she held the positive test in her hands. somehow it didn’t seem to set in that she carried life now in her body. that someone was breathing inside her and had their own heartbeat. it appeared surreal to her. the realization that one of her biggest fears had become true.

amara didn’t fear his reaction. that was probably the least of her problems. he had always expressed his desire for children, no matter at which point in his career he would be. he would support her, no matter what. she was the problem.

there had been warnings for this situation. women with so much potential that had been destroyed or ruined because of a child. and it wasn’t just an empty warning. she had seen it with her own eyes. linda, evan’s mother, had been the proof she had needed. a beautiful woman, beautiful and intelligent — a cunning lawyer who was at the peak of her career. but her pregnancy had ruined her and had turned her into a housewife. the vision, evan had always had of her. being pregnant just before she was about to start the second leg of her tour was the most unfortunate moment, this little gift could have come. it threw all plans out of the window.

she absolutely did not want to become one of those women who were at the peak of their career and then got it ruined by an unplanned pregnancy. it was her biggest fear. especially because she was living on the high of it at the moment. everything was going well, — she was breaking record after record — and now everything was about to stop. because she knew she would never bring it over her heart to kill the small human that seemed to be growing in her. it was a part of her now. and she could never take that decision alone.

time passed and she still found herself in the same position, her mind still processing the news. she didn’t notice kylian coming home from training and calling her name. her senses picked up his smell and noticed his presence but her brain felt disconnected to the outside world. her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting and complicated thoughts she just couldn’t work through.

if he was surprised to find her in the bathroom, he didn’t show it. kylian called her name but there was no response except an occasional small hum. the room felt smaller and the atmosphere was uncomfortable with the big news looming over them.

“cherié, tout va bien?” he asked her softly, eyes filled with worry as he kneeled a bit down and remarked how hers seemed to just stare into nowhere with a numb expression in them. she didn’t find the strength in herself to say her fears out. it was paralyzing her from deeply inside and forming a big lump in her throat that prevented her from being vocal. instead she only handed him the positive test, the two lines glowing dimly under the bathroom light. — honey, is everything okay

there was a confused expression on his face that turned into a mix of shock and slight happiness. but any emotion disappeared when he was met with her expression. “this is a surprise,” he said out loud and turned towards her. “are you happy?” his question hung in the air but she couldn’t find an answer.

“i don’t know. i don’t know what i’m going to do.” she admitted, her voice quiet. there was a certain nervousness and fear that underlined her voice, portraying the weight that she carried on her shoulders now. there were so many possibilities and challenges, so many hills and rocks they would have to climb now. she wished she was fearless like all the other women that were over the moon when they got the positive news.

“i was about to leave for a whole year. the second part of my tour is starting in a month. and now i’m…” her throat became dry as the lump became bigger. the words seemed stuck, as if speaking them out would actually make it real. “i’m pregnant.”

she didn’t have to say more for kylian to understand her. that’s just how they were. he seemed to comprehend that she wasn’t mad at the pregnancy. after all, she adored children. she was amazing with them and they both knew they wanted kids. she just feared the impact it could have on her career.

“je ne sais pas quoi faire,” she mumbled under her breath, her lips barely moving. “it wasn’t supposed to happen now. everything was going soo… well, i guess. i don’t want it to end. i don’t want to lose my career.” — i don’t know what to do

he let out a sigh, his back sliding down the wall as he sat down next to her. one hand still held the positive test while the other wrapped around his girlfriend’s waist, pulling her closer to him. “why would this ruin your career? you’re the most successful artist i know. nothing could ruin this now.”

“you’re supposed to say that. but you haven’t seen that pregnancy does to women. i don’t want my career to be ruined, not with the way the world treats women. how am i supposed to be a good mum and a successful woman in the music industry?” she shook her head and put it down on his shoulder, resting it there. she appreciated his efforts to comfort her but he was a man— they would never truly understand a woman’s suffering, no matter how hard they tried.

“we could stay home both if you want that. i take a break from football and i could be home for the both of you,” he suggested and amara looked at him incredulously. it was strange for her how he had accepted it so quickly already, that they were about to be three while she still struggled to comprehend the situation.

she shook her head firmly. “i could never ask you to stop for me. i know how much you love football. it’s your life. this is a me-problem.”

“une grossese n’est pas un probleme d’une personne. tu n'es pas seule. je te promets que rien ne va se gâcher. ta carrière est remarquable est elle le sera toujours. no matter what you do,” he consoled her, pressing soft kisses on her temple. “je t’aime tellement. mais ça, c’est ta decision et tu es la seule avec le choix. soo… are you happy?” — a pregnancy is not a problem of one person. you’re not alone. i promise you, nothing is going to get ruined. your career is remarkable and will be

— i love you so much. but this is your decision and only you can take it.

she shrugged, the unexpected twist in her plans still burning through her mind. she just couldn’t understand how there was a small human being growing inside her now. something that was breathing inside her. even though it felt unreal — and all at once she knew what she was going to do. what she would have to do now. her world would revolve around that little human being now. and she would do everything in her power to love that little baby that was living inside her. even if it the feeling of surrealism would never truly leave her.

maybe her mind should have adapted to it by now but it still felt disconnected to the situation. as if she was living two lives now. they hadn’t told anyone yet, preferring to keep it their little secret for the moment. especially because they still hadn’t settled in on the idea of getting a family addition.

kylian had noticed her struggles. how she couldn’t work around it. he would find her sometimes in front of the mirror, staring at her stomach. and even then it looked like she still hadn’t made her peace with the situation. amara had come up with several excuses why she had been going softer on training and why she avoided her pr for the second leg of the tour so much at the moment. kylian seemed to have calmed her down a bit about the pregnancy but the fears and rocks it would bring still hadn’t been overcome. even more when she still didn’t feel a thorough connection to the baby in her stomach.

the first ultrasound had been their reality check. that whatever they had been dancing around, was actually happening. there was a grateful look in her eyes when kylian grabbed her hand while their doctor applied the cold gel on her. it was terrifying for her to say the least. their nurse was friendly, nice — she must have sensed amara’s nervousness with the way she had been trying to calm the singer down. it had been risky getting an appointment but kylian had made sure to be extra careful. to make sure that nothing would come out to the press. the least she needed right now was for the time that should’ve been the happiest in her life to be without any media presence.

hearing the heartbeat was a sharp reminder that they weren’t alone anymore. the sound appeared to be precise evidence of life within her, the real confirmation for her pregnancy. it was a new experience for them, a new chapter that was starting soon in their lives. the impending parenthood that was installing its way into their life. several emotions were rushing through them as they made contact for the first time with their baby. and yet, despite the huge importance of the moment, amara’s emotions refused to truly correspond to the situation because of a missing connection between her and the baby.

she looked at the ultrasound screens, her eyes specifically fixing the point the doctor had shown them was their baby. she was registering the moment but struggled to find an emotional place for it. and it wasn’t because amara didn’t love the growing human in her body enough. there was no lack of love or commitment. her brain was just going into panic mode and refused to acknowledge the incoming changes. an automatic self-defense response from her mind who thought it needed to protect her. because even if she knew her career was good, it didn’t take away her fear of having all of that ruined.

as the doctor left them to offer them some privacy, there seemed to be just them now and the sound of a heartbeat. amara didn’t have to look at kylian to know that his cheeks were probably hurting from smiling so much. that his eyes were probably a bit teary from hearing the heartbeat of their unborn child. his hand found hers and he subconsciously intertwined them, his mind still clouded by all the emotions running through his body. she smiled at him, happy to know that at least he seemed to be able to form a special memory with the moment. for her, everything still felt surreal.

and the feeling of it did not leave her, not even in the night.

they were in bed, cuddled together under blankets when amara suddenly woke up from a slight movement. she turned a bit to look at kylian but her boyfriend still seemed to sleep peacefully. as she felt it again, amara looked down and found kylian’s hand on her stomach. casually laying there all protectively. and somehow, it was exactly what she needed to realise that it would be okay.

a small smile formed on her face and she put her hand on her stomach too. this was going to happen and she would be prepared for it. she wasn’t sure whether babies could already hear but it was stronger than her. the urge to promise her baby the world.

“i don’t know whether i’m going to be a good mum to you,” she began softly, speaking low to not wake up kylian. “but i can promise you, you’ll be in good hands with your dad.” she chuckled, the thought of kylian playing with a small mini-him or mini-her exciting her. “i’m sorry that you’re stuck with a mum who doesn’t know what she wants. but i’m trying. i’m trying for you… to be the best version of myself that you’ll need.”

they began slowly, the changes. at first barely remarkable and now they were plainly obvious. life seemed to radiate from her. she possessed a kind of positive aura around her that even the blind could see. she had truly grown into the start of her pregnancy as she entered her second trimester.

amara found herself balancing her life before and during her pregnancy. she had to get used now to the fact that her body was adapting for the small human being in her stomach and that it included good and bad changes. she had overcome her struggles with the pregnancy and the lack of emotion she had had towards it. now she suddenly felt overwhelmed but happy. nearly excited to start this new chapter.

she was four months pregnant and with that also came the first differences that made this pregnancy real. that made it more than just a statement on a paper. a small, noticeable bump had formed on her stomach — it wasn’t very big but remarkably enough that it had made them nearly cry when they had seen it. now kylian’s hoodies had become her go-to attire to hide the small curve on her stomach. his sweatshirts engulfed her completely, serving as a comfortable shield for her womb and a cover up. after all, they still hadn’t told anyone and the little human growing in her body was still their secret.

and just as she progressed into her pregnancy, so did the unfortunate changes like morning sickness or strange food cravings. instead of spending her mornings in bed, spooning with her boyfriend, she now found herself hung over the toilet as soon as the sun came up, with kylian holding her hair. he whispered sweet encouragements and gentle circles which was now a habit for them every morning as she finished her first trimester to enter the second. it was exhausting, crucifying even and drained her. the doctor had told them it would stop soon but she found no change. she would just have to endure it.

even worse were the sudden food cravings. eating had already become hard enough with nothing staying in her body but her strange food cravings made it ten times worse. strawberries were her first sacrifice that came with nurturing life followed by sushi and chinese food. now even the slightest smell of take-out food had her running to the toilet. it was hard and what made it even more hard was the fact that she couldn’t ask anyone for advice other than her doctor.

they hadn’t told anyone of the pregnancy. she had canceled the second leg of her tour without any reason other than the “personal reasons” she had stated in her statement. it had been a heart-wrenching decision, stopping to travel around the world and illuminate people with her music but it was necessary. another sacrifice for her new life she was entering. they had left the world — including their own families — in the dark as they chose to live in their small pink bubble, far away from the harsh reality. amara would never admit it but she was glad. grateful that she didn’t have to share what was supposed to be the happiest time of her life with the world. she wanted it to be their private little moment.

pregnancy did not only change the way they lived. it changed them completely. amara knew kylian loved her but he had changed his love language. he had gone from sweet words and giving gifts to affection and touching her constantly. it had started small, with small caresses on her back and intertwining their hands subconsciously to gentle circles drawn on her hands now soft strokes. and most of them were always centered around her stomach. it was his new way of expressing his unconditional love that was now not only directed towards her but also towards the tiny life growing inside her. they had adapted to parenthood together and it made her fall in love even more.

especially when he talked to their small little miracle when he thought she was asleep. it had started as small confessions towards their baby and had turned into full one-sided conversations now. it warmed her heart when she listened to him, heard how he expressed some of his fears — that amara found were completely unreasonable— and talked about how excited he was. no matter which gender their little bundle of joy would have. only they mattered to them, her, him and the small unborn baby. their bubble was complete.

but the couple knew that their bubble would burst soon and they would rather be the ones to do it than an outsider. after spending one month at home, shielded from the outside, she had decided to come out. and her first official appearance was no other place than kylian’s match. her parents had surprised her with a visit and both knew, they couldn’t hide it any longer now. they hadn’t exactly spoken about a way they would announce it but it was clear that they would have to share it with their families now.

along with her parents she was seated in their usual reserved spots for the families of the players, next to them kylian’s parents and his brother with his children. she played with kylian’s nephew, bouncing him on her lap while her mind wandered off to thinking about how it would be in a few months. when she would be cheering him on with their small bundle of joy.

their eyes met and she watched his smile grow bigger as he spotted her with his nephew — no doubt, the same image of her with their baby was running through his mind. again, there was an overwhelming sense of pride and excitement. amara turned to her mother, who had redirected a question towards her, wondering why her daughter was glowing so positively. and all she could do was grin. they would know later.

though later appeared to be very close as their secrecy came to an end with the opening score. he had hit a beautiful goal after dribbling his way through the penalty area and instead of hitting his usual celebration, he went for the ball. there were shocked gasps around her along with a roar of cheer when he ran around with the ball under his shirt and sent a heart her way. everyone instantly put the pieces together — after all there weren’t many possibilities what it could signify — and immediately they all turned towards her.

“don’t tell me…” her mother trailed off in shock and amara nodded, grinning widely.

“surprise,” she exclaimed, a cheeky smile adorning her face. she lifted the sweatshirt a bit and revealed her four-month old belly that she had been hiding for the past month now.

fayza immediately pulled her into a hug, kissing amara’s temple gently. “félicitation ma fille. oh je suis tellement contente.” — congraulation, my daughter. i’m soo happy

one by one, they hugged her, all expressing their felicitations. even the others that were around to support their player on the pitch threw a happy congratulations towards her.

“how far along are you?” her father asked her, pulling his daughter in for another hug.

she smiled into the hug, the feeling of home spreading through her body. “nearly five months now. i finished my first trimester a few weeks ago.”

“now it makes sense why you couldn’t go out with me,” alice realized and amara sent a wink in her direction.

“how could you keep this from us?” her mother asked in a shocked tone, looking at her daughter incredulously. “amaghị m ma m ga-akụ gị maka idobere m ya ka ọ bụ naanị nwee obi ụtọ. ihe a abughi ihe i zonari nne gi ada.” — i don't know whether i'm supposed to hit you for keeping it from me or just be happy. this is not something you hide from your mother.

amara shrugged. “it was our little secret.”

𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐌

amara.imani and k.mbappe

liked by liyah_clark, achrafhakimi and 26.304.752 others

amara.imani secret is finally out. the reason i had to cancel the second leg of my tour. i’ll back soon but in the meantime, baby imani-mbappé is coming

view all 293.753 comments

liyah_clark the audacity to not tell your best friends that we’re becoming aunts

graceywood can’t believe she hid it from us 😔, i think we don’t mean anything to her anymore

amara.imani I APOLOGIZED ALREADY

amara.imani i even told you the gender, what more do you want?

username project mbappe is officially starting

username man really said, i’m starting my own mini-me

psg félicitation a vous deux ❤️💙

equipedefrance félicitation de toute l'équipe de france

username news of the year

antogriezmann félicitation mon frère

sza i can’t waittttt

kipembe3 la bébé de la team va avoir un bébé, trop hâte

paulpogba kyks le daron, qui aurait cru

cynthia_e so excited to become an aunt to this angel

username please say sike

username i don’t wanna lose my (imaginal) wife

username omg now it makes sense why she was always spotted in sweatshirts

kehlani ohh i’m gonna be auntie kehlani soon 🥹

charles_leclerc new member to the amara imani squad

landonorris best news of the week

graceywood auntie grace is ready for her duties

liyah_clark auntie liyah and uncle charles report for duties too

username i’m not even mad anymore she canceled her tour

username fr, i’m too excited for this

achrafhakimi finally. it was so hard keeping it a secret and not telling you i knew

amara.imani how did you know?

achrafhakimi you never decline a glass of red wine

username omg they’re gonna be parents 🥹🥹

tchaga_ felicitations a vous deux. je vous souhaite le meilleur

k.mbappe 🫶🏾

the news had spread like a wildfire and even people who weren’t interested in the football or music industry knew that amara imani was pregnant. their names had been mentioned in every article for three weeks straight, wondering over the gender of the baby and when exactly it could maybe arrive. her phone was now silent everyday to drown out the constant vibrations of notifications. it was spammed with articles and posts mentioning her — everyone had something to say about her pregnancy.

even players she hadn’t ever interacted with had slid into her dms to wish her and kylian well. not to forget the french national team who had called to congratulate them as well. they had instantly launched a group call, to also include those who played overseas and wished their two friends well. everyone bombarded her with questions about the impending arrival of their baby — their new protégé as they liked to call it now. a warm feeling spread through her body as she thought about the way, their baby already had so many uncles that loved their coming bundle and would help them. they were a big family after all.

as she advanced in her pregnancy and her bump grew bigger, kylian also grew more protective around her. he didn’t allow her to lift a finger to do anything around the house anymore except go to pee. he cooked now and send his mother to drop off food when he was busy or away for a game. his chauffeur had now become something like their housekeeper, occasionally checking in on her when she was home alone. kylian had even hired her a personal shopper that would go shopping for her when she didn’t feel like online shopping. he was doing everything to protect her from doing too much.

and amara understood where he was coming from so she couldn’t even be mad at him. after their latest doctor’s appointment, where they had been told that there was a risk of giving birth prematurely, her own fears had reappeared again. they had never truly left her but now they were living in her brain again. her pregnancy had already been complicated with her uterus apparently refusing to grow to give the baby more space. she had been told it was a protective response of her body after a certain kind of trauma she must have endured — a trauma that her body now refused to live again so it took protective measures. she had been ordered two weeks of bed rest and after that, to do the most to go easy on her body. spare it from hard work.

seven months into what should have been the happiest time of her life and she found herself afraid of her own body and what could happen if she gave birth prematurely. she had worked through the fears concerning her career and now she would have to manage the fears of not being ready to give birth.

and adding to that fear that hovered over her now, pregnancy had also become harder for her. what had seemed to be a small curve before now looked like a midsized watermelon shoved into her stomach. the toll on her body became more prominent now — daily ingestions of vitamins, eating twice the amount of what pregnant women usually consumed — measures like that had become routines for her. she had been warned of a complicated pregnancy but none of what she had been told measured up to what she was feeling.

nonetheless, her pregnancy was also marked with good moments, happy moments where both just got ready for parenthood. moments that had put light on the situation they were living in at the moment. painting the room had been a day where they had created lots of memories they cherished. the singer had been visiting friends of hers who had been staying in the city of love and had come home to find kylian with a screwdriver in his hand while achraf was reading him the instructions for the crib.

“you’re supposed to put it like this.”

“i’m doing that. it won’t go in.”

the two hadn’t even noticed her arrival their focus laying purely on the crib. turned out, he had left training early and had dedicated the entire day to constructing the crib and getting the room finished. her heart had grown twice its size that day. there were so many memories they had already created in that room (looking past their messy make-out session because she was feeling horny) and painting the room of their coming bundle of joy was just an addition to that.

the realization of parenthood and their new addition to the family had somehow wriggled into their lives. during her first trimester, she had pushed the thought of pregnancy at the back of her head, hoping to procrastinate everything that concerned it. now she was excited for the arrival of their little bean and was planning each detail as finely as she could. they were navigating their way around it with the new flow of emotions they were experiencing. as she progressed and her bump became bigger, so got the question about the name their unborn child would carry. it was clear to both of them that their baby would not carry a double-name; they held no importance if the only place where they appeared was on official documents. they would settle on a single name their baby would be known through the world.

he had the entire world scream his name and wear it on their shirts to express their support for him, she had people sing her music all over the world and express themselves to it. both names carried big weighs all around the world and no matter which name it got, there would always be expectations that would have to be reached. yet she sensed that it was more important for him — the matter of the name. so they chose mbappé for their last name. but the problem of the forename still linged.

that’s how they found themselves awake in bed at four in the morning with the question of the name preventing them from sleeping (in addition to amara craving for tacos at two in the morning). they were surrounded by baby name books while their phones had websites for baby names open.

“what do we think of kylian mbappe jr?” he proposed jokingly, grinning at her as he stole another of her sweet potato fries.

she rolled her eyes. “of course, why not? and while we’re already at it, why not instantly start project mbappe and put it into the academy instantly after i give birth?”

he held his hands up on surrender. “it was just a suggestion.”

“a stupid one,” a small giggle left her lips as she declines his proposition. she was kind of glad that he wasn’t stressing so much about the pregnancy as much as she was now. one of them needed to be the easy parent and she knew it was just in her nature to be the stricter person.

“what about… malouanne ?” he read out loud from his phone which earned him a pillow thrown his way. “what? it’s a mix of the names marie, louise and anne. fits perfectly if you ask me.”

“as beautiful as the name may sound, do you want our kid to be bullied at school?” amara instantly retorted back, continuing to read in her book to find a name.

that was how they spend the night, searching for names that would fit their little human and create their identity. the question of the name was always a difficult one because somehow nothing seemed to fit. nothing was enough for their baby. they were looking for a name that just screamed their bundle of joy; that upon hearing it would immediately make them think of it.

“should we add a middle name?” he asked her, putting his phone down to look at her. his hand instantly placed itself on her stomach, stroking it gently. “should we give you a middle name,” he asked softly towards the stomach. a smile made its way on his face when he felt a kick at the spot where his hand laid and amara hissed slightly.

“i think we need a middle name,” kylian told her slyly. “our little bean clearly agrees with me.”

“they agrees on everything with you. i swear i have a daddy’s girl in my stomach.”

her boyfriend grinned at her, cradling her stomach. “well, they are their father’s child” his grin widened when he felt a kick again.

she shook her head in disbelief but knew he was right. bidding him goodnight and placing a last small kiss on his lips, she waltzed a bit around to find the perfect position to sleep in. with her belly growing, so did the matter of finding a good position to sleep in but the huge pregnancy pillow that kylian had bought her seemed to help. still it didn’t take away the ordeal of finding the position. she was nearly asleep, her mind already drifting away when kylian finally closed the books and turned off the light. his hand wrapped around her waist to feel closer to her as he got comfortable in bed.

she had nearly missed his suggestion, already dozing off when she heard his voice. it was barely above a whisper but loud enough to hear.

“i think ada would suit her perfectly as a middle name in case it’s a girl. the perfect mix of you. and you said you wanted to honor your mother.”

needless to say that she fell asleep with a smile on her face. one problem less now in what was supposed to be the happiest time of her life.

a sharp pain shot through her body. she had been seated on the couch, excitingly watching kylian play when suddenly all she could focus on was the feeling of agony that spread through her body. she tries to ignore it but it’s stronger than her. her hands immediately go down to hold her bump as she leans forward, pain rushing through her entire body and making it impossible to think. her mind is consumed with the feeling of crucifying agony and she can’t think of anything else.

as quick as it comes, it subsided again and she takes a deep breath, trying to regain her composure— before it starts all over again. her first thoughts are that she’s experiencing preparation labor — the famous braxton hicks, that her doctor had warned her of and that she had been victim to during her seventh month. but this pain felt different. the match had been long forgotten as she found herself on the floor, tears starting to fall down her cheeks. her body felt weak, too heavy for her to carry to even try to sit up. the salty substance of her eyes had already started to stain the white carpet and she was able to taste her tears. her eyes travel around the room, as she looks for her phone and desperation fills her as she sees it on the other side of the room, charging. she tries to get up, to at least manage to crawl to it but another pain prevented her.

her eyes close, too weak to have them open as soft sobs leave her trembling lips. she’s wallowing in pain, hoping that someone will find her; that kylian will come home soon. she had always been afraid of giving birth in bad conditions, especially as she was early and her due date was supposed to be in two weeks. her arms wrapped around her stomach as she tried to comfort herself by whispering sweet encouragements, hoping that they would at least help her calm down a bit. but the pain did not leave her.

she doesn’t know how long she’s suffering in agonizing pain when she suddenly hears the apartment door opening and someone entering. pearls of sweat are running down her forehead as she’s compressed to the floor, her arms hugging her belly close to her. the solitude had amplified her situation, made it worse as fears had taken over her mind; the fear of having to give birth alone. and she couldn’t be mad at kylian. after all, the due date was supposed to be in two weeks and even that was much earlier than expected. she tries to ignore the pain and at least try to lift her head to see who just came in but the waves of pain that stream through her body are stronger. like electric waves rushing through her body and hitting her everywhere.

it’s his driver that gives her a bit of hope again when she hears his voice. he immediately rushed towards her, kneeling down as he took in the scene.

“i don’t… i don’t want to give birth..” she managed to croak out, pain preventing her from speaking clearly. her voice was filled with agony as small sobs left her lips. "je veux kylian.” — i want kylian

there was no hesitation, no time to panic or doubt. she was sobbing as she tried to catch her breath while he swiftly retrieved his phone to dial the emergency services. while his other hand held the phone, the other was softly stroking her back, hoping to transfer some solace to her. a bystander would have interpreted the scene in front of them completely different but right now, it comforted amara. calmed her down knowing she wasn’t going through this alone anymore.

he also called kylian but he soon realized it was of little avail, when his eyes caught the screen where the camera had just zoomed on the french striker. the feeling of desperation now seemed to have caught onto him too as he quickly grabbed amara’s phone to place another urgent call. this time to his brother who had not been selected for the match. their call was not very long, only sharing the most important details. his heart lightened a bit when he saw the sudden substitution of kylian. but the feeling of relief was as quickly gone as it came when his eyes fell on the woman next to him, who seemed to take the pain harder with every second that passed.

staying conscious started to become hard for her. she felt a bit of relief when the medics had finally arrived, instantly carrying her to bring her to the closest hospital. but he was still not there and it freaked her out. she couldn’t give birth alone. not without him. there was chaos around her, several voices as she was rushed into the hospital and yet her brain only focused on one thought: she needed him here. she had been put into a private room to not attire a lot of attention as they were aware of her identity. they had told her she would soon be ready for the next phase of this journey but she didn’t want to start it. not without him so even though her body was killing her, she held onto the pain till he would be there.

they tried to calm her down as her contractions intensified but it was to no avail. she needed him to be there and hold her hand. be her sanctuary to guide her through her fears. every reassurance that was spoken to her didn’t mean anything to her cause they weren’t whispered by his lips. she wanted him and no one else.

kylian had instantly run to the changing rooms to get his things as soon as he had been informed of the news. there was confusion at first, when he suddenly saw his number on the changing boards but the small explanation from his coach was enough to suddenly hug enrique and rush out as quickly as possible.

there was no time to care about any traffic rules. she was more important. they were what mattered now. short messages had been sent to his families to inform them of the situation before he ran into the hospital, looking to support his girlfriend during this important moment. he didn’t care whether he hadn’t parked right or how many speed limits he had crossed, all he wanted was to hold amara’s hand.

from the reception desk he had instantly been taken to her room where he rushed to her and engulfed her into a close hug. he had seen her in so many states before but this was new to him. unknown territory like each time he went to play on an adversary’s side that he had never crossed paths with. his heart hurt as he took in her appearance; her face scrunched together because of the crucifying pain, the sweat pearls that rolled down her face along with her tears and the small sobs that left her trembling lips. amara was truly in pain.

“t’es- tu est la…” she managed to croak out before another sharp flash of pain shot through her, making her scream in agony. — you’re … here

he wiped her tears from her face and pressed a soft kiss onto her cheek, able to taste the salty taste of her tears. his heart broke as he thought about all the time she must have spent here without anyone close to her and in pain. she had always been scared of facing labor alone, just the thought of it made her doubt everything but he had always been able to calm her down. promises had been exchanged when she had longed for the reassurance that no matter what came, he would always be there for her— in this moment. she would never have to go through this alone.

“je suis venu le plus vite possible,” he mumbled, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. hoping that the solace and feeling of warmth the act usually transferred would calm her down a bit. she cried again, this time though she wasn’t sure whether it was due to his presence or the pain that her body had to endure at the moment. — i came as quick as possible

he lifted their intertwined hands to meet his lips and pressed a kiss on it. “je te l’avais promis. je serai là.” — i promised you. i will be there.

she nodded, another contraction hitting her and preventing her from speaking. her body was overwhelmed with emotions; pain, fear. comfort all present in her body. a bit of solace had been found from kylian being there but the feeling disappeared when the doctor came in agan. when she announced that it was showtime and should have to push now. there was no going back, no time to have second thoughts. it was all happening in this instant now.

labor was hard. jolts of pain were shooting through her body in short periods and each time she had to push through them. she didn’t care if the entire hospital heard her screams or whether she was breaking kylian’s entire hand with the amount of force she was squeezing it. she couldn’t see anything except pain. and what her desperate even more was the fact that nothing seemed to change.

the nurses and doctors were telling her that she was doing a fantastic job but she still felt as if she hadn’t even pushed once. as if nothing had changed. no matter how much she pressed.

“you’re doing so well ma belle,” kylian encouraged her as another of her screams pierced through the room. “you’re so close.”

“why doesn’t it feel like this?” she yelled out in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks. she was hot, her forehead was sweaty and her body felt weak. she couldn’t push anymore.

“miss, you’re nearly done. we can already see the head,” their doctor tried to motivate her. “we just need two more big pushes.”

her surroundings drowned out as she gathered all the strength that was left in her body to push. everything around her became blurry, colors, shapes, persons. her mind was too tired to make her sight clear and she had no energy left anymore to try to focus.

“we need one last push,” they called out to her as she nearly broke down on the bed.

“i’m tired, ky,” she cried tiredly. her eyes barely open. she looked desperately at him. “it hurts so much. i can’t do it anymore. i just want this to be over but it hurts so much,” her sobs left her body and his heart ached as he listened to her.

“t’es la femme la plus courageuse que je connais. et je vais pas te mentir, je ne sais pas dans quelle douleur tu es. mais je sais que tu es la seule à pouvoir le faire. bientôt on aura notre bébé dans le main. one last push and it’s over, okay?” their eyes mirrored every emotion present in the room. the fatigue but also the exhaustion. pain but also love: there was everything. — you’re the strongest woman i know. and i won't lie to you, i don’t know what the pain you’re in feels like. but i know you’re the only one who can do it. soon we’ll have our baby in our hands.

amara nodded as she took a deep breath to push again. she’s clutching kylian’s hand with every last remaining strength as he continues to encourage her. the pain she’s feeling now was much higher than what she experienced the last five hours. suddenly she feels everything. as if her senses have been amplified. there was a sharp pain accompanied by an agonizing scream and suddenly there's a new voice in the room.

she’s asked to hold her arms out as kylian’s eyes fill with tears and all of sudden she’s holding her baby. their little girl. the joy of their life they’ve been dying to meet.

her eyes are filled with tears as the realization hit her. all the pain is suddenly forgotten, as if it never existed. now her body’s only consumed with happiness. she’s crying hysterically as her baby continues to let out cries. the sign of life. that everything was going well. she didn’t need to look at him to know that he was crying as well.

every of her muscles is feeling exhausted when they take their new child away to do its first medical care. kylian himself wasn’t one to often feel very emotional but when he had been asked to cut the chord that had connected amara and their bundle of joy for nine months. she’s finally here and he suddenly understood the feeling of surrealism that amara had told him about.

after the first checks had been done, their daughter had been placed into her arms again. and somehow she must have had still some liquid in her body as her eyes began to water again when she truly held her daughter for the first time.

“she doesn’t seem like a faith,” amara whispered, holding her daughter who was covered in a soft, fluffy, pink blanket. she had opened her eyes for the first time and again, a few years left her eyes when she stared into her daughter’s beautiful eyes. they had her eye shape but all she saw looking into them was kylian. she had inherited her father’s eyes. the fact that she could reference to kylian as dad now spread a new kind of warmth through her body.

“no. it kinda feels wrong,” he agreed. as he gently trailed a finger over her delicate face, he couldn’t help but fall more in love with the woman in front of him. he had always known that he would always love her, no matter in which reality they found themselves. and he had fallen in love with every one of her versions. and now he found himself falling for her new role. he had fallen deeply for amara in her role as mom. he couldn’t believe he had ever doubted. she was perfect. “what was the second name we chose again?”

“are you talking about anaïs?”

kylian’s smile grew bigger as he continued to stare at his daughter. he had learned the meaning of infinite love with amara but the term of unconditional love. it was this small human that taught him what it meant. what people were talking about when they talked about loving someone unconditionally. “yeah. i think she looks more like an anaïs.”

and looking at her, amara understood. she had stopped crying and was looking at her, as if she was taking in her new surroundings. she had been removed from the safe comfort of her mother’s womb and had now to get used to the outside. “anaïs-ada mbappe. welcome into the world.”

she pressed a soft kiss to her cheek before turning to look at kylian and both smiled. they had done it.

“t’es prête papa?” she asked him teasingly and motioned for him to step closer. “take off your shirt. it’s your time now.” — are you ready papa

she was tired. exhausted. there was fatigue written all over her face and yet her face still wore a smile as she watched kylian take off his shirt to have his first skin-to-skin with their daughter. he gently took anaïs out of her hands and sat down on the bed next to her.

he had her cradled against his chest, the warmth of his chest spreading was a connection between them. an expression of love sacred to only them. their phones were vibrating but they ignored it. only their little family mattered now. “salut ma princesse,” he whispered to her softly as she wrapped her hand around his finger. “moi, je suis ton papa. et je t’aime tellement.” — hello my princess. i’m your dad. and i love so much.

their tiny miracle was held in his warm embrace as time around them seemed to pause. no one else existed in their bubble that shielded them from reality going on outside. it was only them. and somehow, as they held their daughter in their hands, the idea of parenthood didn’t seem so scary anymore. amara fell happily asleep, knowing that they were going to do this chapter together.

𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐌

amara.imani and k.mbappe

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k.mbappe bienvenue au monde anaïs mbappé

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it was their first day at home. and with the first day also came the first night and the first cries.

it still felt so unreal to them how they had left their home as two and had come back with another person. their family addition that represented the proof of their love. putting her down for the first time in her room filled the air with a warm atmosphere. there was so much love around them as she placed anaïs in her bed after putting her to sleep. a small light of the nightlight they had bought cast a yellowish glow around the room, revealing a few of the fine details they had put into the room. their eyes did not leave their daughter, they were too much in awe of what they had created.

she’s woken up by anaïs’ soft cries in the night. a quick glance at the small clock next to the bed told her it was just one in the morning. she’s tired and every bone is begging her to stay in bed but her motherly intuition prevents her. turning, she saw kylian still sleeping profoundly next to her as she gets up to calm down their daughter.

“you’re hungry, aren’t you,” she asked her daughter in a gentle tone as she picked the small baby up and sat down with her on an armchair next to the crib. she thanked kylian’s brilliance for having had the idea of installing one next to the crib. “ça va, maman est là. maman va s’occuper de toi,” she soothed anaïs’ cries as she got ready to feed the little human in her arms. — it’s okay, mummy here. mummy is gonna take care of you

just as she had predicted, hunger had been the cause for her awakening as she watched anais latch onto her breasts, hands grabbing onto each side. her cries quickly subsided as the little girl got fed while amara tenderly stroked her cheek. she waited for a bit longer after making sure anais had burped and rocked her little princess back to sleep before joining her own bed again. she couldn’t even find it in herself to be mad at the way kylian was sleeping so profoundly, as if he hadn’t heard her cries. it was her first time experiencing motherly intuition and tending to her responsibilities. she placed a soft peck on his forehead before falling asleep again, her mind drifting away before she had even truly placed down her head on the pillow.

the second time anais woke up, it was kylian who tended to her needs. amara stirred, ready to get up but the french striker tells her to go back to sleep. that she was already exhausted enough and her body needed some rest. after changing her diaper, he instantly took off his shirt before picking up his daughter and putting her close to his chest. immediately her cries stopped when she felt her father’s warmth and comfort as his fingers gently brushed against her head. they stood in the same position for the next thirty minutes before anais fell asleep again, their small bond blossoming through moments like this. amara’s still heavily asleep when he slips back into bed again, wrapping his arm around her waist to find sleep again.

but his sleep didn't last for very long before they heard her cries again. this time though they had managed to find three more hours to sleep with the clock indicating that it was already eight in the morning. amara was about to get up to look after their daughter when kylian grabbed her hand, motioning for her to stay in bed.

“you went last time,” amara muttered tiredly, already looking for her slippers but kylian shook his head.

“go back to sleep cherie,” he interjected, putting a shirt on. “you need it more than me.”

“your holidays are over tomorrow. if anyone needs sleep it’s you.”

he shrugged, standing up and ready to go look after anais. “and you just gave birth a week ago. repose toi un peu,” he convinced her and she nodded, knowing it was useless to argue with him. she gave him a last kiss before closing her eyes again, fatigue instantly taking over. she didn’t know what had been the matter this time but since her cries quickly stopped at the sight of her father, she knew he had everything under control, her instincts could relax as she slept a bit more. — get some rest

she woke up to an empty bed the next morning. it’s the feeling of coldness next to her that managed to bring her out of her sleep even though she was still tired. she knows that kylian must be around somewhere with anaïs but she enjoyed staying in bed for the first time since she gave birth. regain all her forces.

there was an instant smile on her face when she saw her daughter in kylian’s hands while walking out their bedroom. her heart grew twice its size when spotted them on the sofa with kylian talking to her and anaïs having her eyes wide open. as if she was understanding or at least trying to follow what her father was telling her.

“regarde qui s’est réveillée,” he said softly to his daughter, noticing amara’s presence. “tu as vu maman?” — look who woke up

— did you see mummy?

“vous êtes trop beau ensemble,” she greeted him with a kiss as she sat down next to him and reached for their daughter. anaïs calmly got comfortable in her mother’s arms, not making much of a fuss as she got ready to eat. — you’re too beautiful together

she had a fond smile adorning her lips, looking at her daughter. this tiny human being that changed their lives around. even though she was only a week old, they could already recognize that she was her father’s photocopy. that she would be his except for the shape of her eyes. the one thing anaïs had inherited from her.

“t’es la femme la plus forte que je connais. je ne sais pas comment t’as fait. comment tu fais…,” he told her completely in awe which made amara chuckle. — you’re the strongest woman i know. i don’t know how you did it, how you do it

“et toi tu es l’homme le plus beau, magnifique de toute cette terre. no one i would rather have than you as the father of my baby. — you’re the most beautiful, amazing man on this earth

“she makes everything better,” kylian chuckled as he got up to prepare breakfast for them.

amara nodded, softly cradling her daughter while she breastfed her. her small little hands were placed firmly (as firm as they could be for a one week old) as she drank the breast milk.

“weird how i’m ready to go to war for someone i’ve practically known a week. and yet she’s the answer to everything.”

he understood that feeling better than anyone. if the world turned around him before, now his world turned around her. he was ready climb mountains, cross jungles or put the world on fire if it was necessary for his daughter’s happiness. he would do anything for her. “i love you two more than anything.”

his eyes held that famous sparkle as he spoke and amara leaned in to place a kiss on his lips. in the span of a week their lives had changed and they had been thrown into the world of parenthood. the one thing no matter how much one studied, there was never the perfect preparation. one would never know how parenthood actually worked out till they were parents. it was a new path to life.

amara and kylian had each other to overcome the hills and rocks that may have been put onto their way. anaïs was the confirmation of what they had always been. a family. their bubble was finished and perfect now. they had everything they needed.

taglist: @lorarri @aechii

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sailoryooons · 10 months

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Okay hear me out, but maybe a little bit of enemies to lovers, little bit of smutty goodness between witch hunter!yoongi and witch!reader?? Idk why this popped in my head but I’m kind of desperate to see a little something now lol.

Also, I love you ❤️

❀ Pairing: Witch hunter!Yoongi x f. witch!reader

❀ Summary: For years, you and Yoongi have played cat and mouse. It’s his duty to rid the world of witches, but he always finds a new excuse to let you slip through his fingers. When you find yourself at his mercy, you wonder if the great witch hunter will finally end your game of chase, or if there’s something that will stay his hand.

❀ Word Count: 4188

❀ Genre: Urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, a hint of angst, smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: On screen character death (not permanent though), depictions of blood and intense action sequences, scary demon thing, depiction of weapons, hints at violence between two groups of people, mild world building, a bit of angst, explicit language, explicit sexual content featuring light nipple play, unprotected vaginal sex, emotional sex, a lot of spit, UNEDITED.

❀ Published: August 3, 2023

❀ A/N: I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to control myself with some of these ideas because god dammit Sarah, I want to turn this into more than ~4k of a work. Like this idea inspired me so much, you have no idea how insane I wanted to go on this but I had to CONTROL MYSELF because I promised that this year I would keep it tame. I love you so much and I’m so sorry that this is like 90% plot and 10% smut but I kept inching toward 5k and I was like I HAVE GOT TO STOP MYSELF JESUS CHRIST and dkfgjdiogjfoigjg I am telling you right now, I want to come back and revisit this fic and makie it like a four chapter thing or something because GOD I LOVED THIS IDEA AND YOU KNEW JUST WHAT TO REQUEST. Also this is unedited!!!!

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Most nights, Yoongi dreams of you. He knows better, and yet he can’t help himself. It’s like you’re living under his skin, a virus that has taken root in the marrow of his bones. He doesn’t know how he would dig you out if he tried.

If he tried.

If anyone from the Conclave knew the dangerous game that Yoongi is playing, he would be ousted or killed. Killing would be the mercy, but he’s garnered enough hate within the elite members of the Conclave to know they’d rather him suffer cut off from his resources. His friends. His family.

Still, Yoongi walks a dangerous line. He knows it’s wrong, letting a witch infect him like a sickness. He is sure that he’s under your spell. There’s no other explanation for the way he always lets you slip away. For the way he closes his eyes and imagines the flutter of your heart against his, the sound of your gasps, the warmth of your hands.

Stars explode behind Yoongi’s eyes as he presses the heels of his hands into them. He’s exhausted, limbs heavy and sore from a day of bloody work. The activity downtown has only worsened the last few months, making Yoongi hunt multiple times a day and return home banged up.

The pain he can handle. Witches and their demons are nothing new to him. But he knows there’s something he’s missing, something lurking beneath the surface of the increased activity and the strong demonic presence in the city.

Yoongi knows he could ask you. He’s thought about it a few times over the last few weeks but he’s talked himself out of it each time. The curiosity has always lingered there, waiting for him to ask in those moments where you cross his path, coy and sharp as ever. In the minutes you linger, shooting him insults he thinks you don’t mean and playing little word games.

He doesn’t ask, though. And you never offer, despite the fact that your sharp eyes and knowing smirk lead him to believe you know he wants to ask.

Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t. Not giving you what you want is part of the fun. He likes the way it makes you bristle, magic crackling at your fingertips. He loves the way it makes you narrow your eyes at him, lobbing empty threats that make him want to purr.

Whatever this effect you have on him is potent. He can’t shake you off, can’t outrun you.

And worse, he doesn’t want to.

Rain begins to beat on the bedroom window outside. Though his limbs are heavy from slogging through the sewer system downtown after a witch and her ivax demon, he’s a little too keyed up to sleep. Yoongi senses something staticy in the air, an energy that he can’t name.

Opening up his phone, he flips through his text threads with members of the Conclave. It seems everyone is in it tonight, the demonic activity buzzing and the monsters worse than usual. He frowns when he sees Seokjin mention a prowler crawling through the warehouse district. Yoongi knows that’s where you live and an unexpected sense of unease slivers down his spine.

He locks his phone and tosses it on the bed. He doesn’t need to worry about you. You’re one of the most skilled witches in the city and you’ve killed scores of demons and others alike. He should remove your head for the number of hunters you’ve put in the ground, but you’ve killed triple that in witches.

Which is why you’re alone. It’s not lost on Yoongi that you’re a witch without a coven and with unusual alliances living in a warehouse all alone with a prowler on the loose. If you know it’s there - you have to know it’s there, being you - he knows you’ll go after it.

“Fuck,” he sighs at the ceiling.

Grabbing his phone, Yoongi sends off a quick text.

Yoongi: Anyone dispatching to take care of the prowler?

Councilman Haer: Negative. The Conclave will not be dispatching. The Warehouse District is not critical and it’ll go back down after it’s satiated. Prowlers aren’t controlled by witches, it might even take a few out for us.

Yoongi stomach flips as he squeezes his phone tight before getting up. He’s tired of the Conclave’s inaction. He knows he’ll get in trouble for going after something so dangerous without backup, but he can’t ask Seokjin and Hoseok to back him up on this one. Not unauthorized, and not for something so dangerous.

Unsanctioned hunts is exactly how Yoongi has ended up at the bottom of the pool among Conclave members, but he doesn’t care. Politics can’t erase the fact that he’s the best fucking hunter in the city, and no councilman who won’t get their hands dirty can give him grief for doing what needs to be done.

This isn’t about the Conclave, though. Yoongi knows it. Seokjin would know it, if Yoongi told him what he was doing. But the thought of a prowler tearing through the low-income streets in the Warehouse District doesn’t resonate with him. Neither does knowing that you are one of the witches in the line of fire.

Yoongi dresses and arms himself with military proficiency. A black, long-sleeved shirt with a form-fitted leather vest over it to prevent most stabs and cuts, knives sheathed along the ribbing of the vest, breathable pants with a tactical belt and pockets full of hunting necessities, and his necklace with the Conclave helix.

At the last second, he grabs a jacket and pulls the hood up to keep the beating rain from soaking him through. While he has some talent with magic to help him heal faster and make his blows stronger and faster, he’s not skilled in the way of weather or anything advanced enough to keep him dry and comfortable.

Nervousness settles into him as he takes the subway to the Warehouse District. It’s not far, but the train is empty and filled with dirty puddles left behind from passengers. Lights flicker above as the subway rockets unevening on the tracks, making him dizzy.

When he steps off the train and into the wet underground of the station entrance, he knows something is amiss. His fingers twitch as he jogs up the steps, boots splashing loudly as the rain comes down. Wind whips at him here and when he hears a crack of thunder too loud and rumbling to be human, his instincts kick in.

Yoongi takes off running. He knows where your warehouse-turned-loft is. He’d originally scouted it out to eliminate you. Now, it’s something he’s always kept an eye on, steering other hunters away from your home. It’s silly, he knows. You’d call him weak if you knew, probably. And yet he does it, diverting danger coming your way when he can.

Now, danger is already there.

The storm rages harder as he heads your direction. Wind pushes at him, making Yoongi lock his muscles as he fights the freezing cold rain and the debris that blows down the street with the force of the storm. He hopes that it keeps people indoors and away from the prowler.

But Yoongi sees the purple lighting lance out of the sky, an explosion of radiant beauty for a moment before it strikes nearby, blowing transforms into white sparks and he realizes what is so uncanny about this storm.

It’s you. You’re the storm.

A roar of rage shakes the air as he comes around the corner to your street. The warehouse you live in is at the end of the road right up against the bay. The wind is mixed with salt spray, stinging his eyes as he runs towards the shadowy outline of your building, nearly impossible to see in the rain and night.

Yoongi manages to roll one of the heavy doors open to your loft, muscles screaming with effort. Stepping inside, chaos greets him. The ceiling is blown out above your home, rain pouring in from the sky. It tastes like lightning and blood. No doubt your storm is what ripped the ceiling apart, but when he sees the prowler, he doesn’t blame you.

A massive creature stands ten feet tall, rippling with leathered hide and spikes on its back. Long, gangly limbs drag on the floor with black, sharpened talons on the end of each of its three fingers. The prowler walks awkwardly and Yoongi notes the scorch mark in its left shoulder, making it lean as it drags itself toward its intended target.

Which is you, laying on the ground bloody and rain soaked. Yoongi doesn’t even think. He has no idea if you’re conscious or not, but he’s moving across the room, putting power into his step as he pulls out two of his daggers and jumps high up into the air.

Yoongi’s intent is to land on the back of the prowler and sink each blade in as he falls. He doesn’t anticipate the demon to turn away from bloodied prey, but it does, swinging its arm wildly to bat him away. He’s lucky that the forearm catches him in the stomach and sends him flying and not the flaws.

Closing his eyes and bracing for impact, Yoongi is surprised when he doesn’t slam into a wall. He opens his eyes to see himself floating toward the floor, suspended briefly before the phantom energy drops him gently. He lands with shock, looking up to where you’re sitting up, one hand extended toward him.

At least you weren’t out cold or dead. Yoongi is really happy that you’re not dead, but it’s cut short as the prowler charges him.

This time, Yoongi’s ready. He runs at the beast, waiting until he’s right outside of the window of its swiping claws before he dives to his knees, sliding under the creature and between its legs. He twists his hands, cutting the inside of the creature’s thighs as he goes.

It shrieks, shaking the building and scattering Yoongi’s thoughts. He feels fizzy and confused for a moment, the mind breaking scream of the prowler enough to make him vulnerable. He feels a hand on his face and he looks up, momentarily stricken with the thought that he sees an angel.

“Thank you,” you breathe, and he recognizes your voice. Usually it cracks like a whip, but this is soft. Strange. It terrifies him. “I’m going to do something that is probably going to kill me. Just know that I liked our game, Hunter.”

“What are you doing, Witch?”

Your smile is like the sun. He doesn’t think he’s seen anything more beautiful. Your face is covered in blood and rain, turning your neck scarlet as it runs. There’s a gash above your brow and he sees a blackened wound in your stomach.

It is amazing, how a creature like you, bred to be an evil, wicked thing can look radiant. Holy. Wonderful. Your hand is cradling his face and it feels warm, despite the rain and blood on your hands. Your thumb is soft as it sweeps across his cheek, a touch more reverent than he’s ever known.

“Witch,” Yoongi starts, unsure what you’re doing.

“I’ll miss that. Take this.”

Before Yoongi can react, your hand falls from his face. You move past him with absolute confidence, lifting your chin. You have a limp as you do, and Yoongi reaches after you but you’re already out of his grip.

Something stirs in the air. He’s only felt power rippling like that once before when he was a child, and the entire Conclave worked together to slaughter an Eldritch Witch that had attacked them and taken out more than half of their hunters.

Now, Yoongi feels that dark presence again, energy buzzing against his ears as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. The prowler senses the power disturbance too, backing away from you as dark particles begin to gather around your hands.

Above you, the rain hovers, disrupted by the frequency of your magic. The buzz in Yoongi’s ears gets louder as he climbs to his feet, clapping his hands firmly over his ears, wincing as it gets higher and louder. He thinks it might burst his ear drums or crack his skull open.

Disks of dark particles circle you as you approach the demon, which is now roaring once more, trying to disrupt your thoughts. It doesn’t work, the air vibrating with dark matter. You’re at the center of the swirling darkness, the rings rotating around you like an access.

The sound stops suddenly, and for a moment, Yoongi thinks he’s deaf. Black matter pulses from you, exploding outward. Yoongi hits the floor, realizing if he gets hit with your magic, he’ll die. Never before has he witnessed the Eldritch Blast of a witch, but he knows that it's only used as a final stand.

I’m going to do something that is probably going to kill me.

The finality of your words shreds him open as the shockwave of your magic barrels at him. He thinks he’s going to die as it expands toward him, but instead, it arches over him, battling down against a magical barrier.

Take this. Yoongi realizes you’ve warded him from your destruction, keeping him safe as your blast levels the world around you. He feels the magic beating down on your ward like raging fits, vibrating and shrieking under the pressure of the magic.

It even keeps him from being injured by the collapsing debris.

Yoongi looks at you as the world falls to pieces. You go down to one knee, then the other, swaying as the darkness cascades around you in a final flutter of power. Then you fall over, heavy and unmoving as the rest of the building comes down.

All he can do is scream.

Most nights, you dream of Yoongi. You don’t know when it started - perhaps that first night after you met him? You can’t be sure. All you know is that at some point, the hunter poisoned you from the inside out, a disease taking root and rotting you all the way through to your core.

You always knew that dreaming of him would get you killed one day. But Yoongi was different. Wiser than the rest of his wretched Conclave. Smart enough to question his way of life and his faction’s merciless killings. You think he’ll start asking the right questions soon, that maybe he’ll start seeing the signs that who he has sworn loyalty to isn’t who they say they are.

But Yoongi never asks questions.

It’s easy to tell he wants to. There’s always that little pause at the end of your meetings. You used to think it was perhaps he was trying to decide whether or not to kill you. Perhaps it was that at first, but now it’s something a little different. A little more. Like he is on the edge of finally asking you what exactly is going on in the city that he protects from monsters.

Yoongi is simple, though. He likes his little life tucked away in the Art District and he likes the wash, rinse, repeat of killing demons and corrupted witches nightly. You think he likes your little run-ins.

Now, you’ve finally paid the price of letting him live these last two years. Had someone told you before you’d met Yoongi that you’d sacrifice yourself for him and the rest of a small neighborhood, you’d have laughed in their face. You weren’t a hero, though some might think slaying your own kind and their creatures was worth praise.

Penance and praise are not the same, though.

Dying seems like a good way of paying off your list of wrongs. Especially to save Yoongi. If only to save Yoongi, if you were being honest.

Witches have a lot of lore about death and where one goes in the afterlife. You’re not sure where you are, if you exist, or if you’re even really a thought. It feels like nothingness and everything all at once, a void of floating consciousness. There’s no pain, but you remember the warehouse. Remember the prowler ripping down the door and coming for you specifically.

And him. You remember Yoongi coming in, looking like a fucking angel of old as he leapt through the skies. Together you might have taken on the beast. But prowlers are notoriously difficult to destroy, and you were in no shape to protect Yoongi, much less fight by his side as a reliable partner.

That left you with one option, and though you knew it would end you, you’d done it anyway.

Yoongi’s face swims in your mind. Soft and round, eyes like the bottom of the ocean, a single pink scar carved through his right eye. Mouth soft and petal pink, hair silky and dark, reaching to his shoulders. He’s small for a hunter but he’s strong and broad, his mind his best weapon.

Witch, Yoongi had said. The last words you’d hear from him, spoken with a softness that you’ve never heard from him before. Rain-soaked and wide eyed Yoongi, looking at you like you held the flame of life, like you were something more than a creature on the other side of the trench.

The best thing you could do for him was die.

So you summoned your magic from deep within you, that ancient, sleeping thing. You try not to think about what Yoongi’s last memory of you will be, an eldritch horror that will remind him of the creature that slaughtered his family as a child.

Yoongi will never get to ask his questions. You’ll never get to tell him why you haunt the streets killing your own kind. Yoongi will never know the softness of your kiss. You’ll never know the gentle press of his hands.

Something brushes across your forehead. You feel now and you frown. Or can you frown, in whatever plane of death this is? You’re not sure, but you feel… the weight of your own body. The beating of your own heart. The rush of air through your lungs as you breathe.

Awareness prickles at the back of your neck like a needle. Slowly, you begin to feel solid. Your fingers twist in soft sheets, and when you turn your head, you feel the plushness of a pillow. Smell petrichor and cedar.

It smells like… Yoongi.

“Hmmm?” you feel the vibration in your throat at your unspoken question, nothing but a rumble of noise and confusion. Something cradles your face. “Hunnn..?”

A deep, throaty laugh. “Mmm, I take care of you for a week straight and we’ve moved on to endearments?”

Your eyes flutter open, lids heavy. The world swims into view, a little blurry as your eyes try to focus in the dimly lit room, taking in the bed you’re in and the face hovering above yours.

“Yoongi,” you breathe, your heart expanding with unfettered joy.

“That’s the first time you’ve ever said my name.”

“What?”

“Say it more often.” He leans forward and you watch as his dark eyes drink you in. “And never do that to me again.”

Before you can ask him what that is, Yoongi’s mouth is pressing against yours. You melt immediately, going boneless in a bed you’re unfamiliar with, lost in the citrusy taste of his mouth and the gentle press of his lips. His kiss is soft soft soft, blurring reality as he pulls at your bottom lip teasingly before pulling away.

Eyes fluttering open, you stare at him in wonder. He hovers above your face, haloed by inky-black hair. “Yoongi.”

He smiles. “It sounds much better than hunter. Hun can stay, though.”

“You’re not calling the shots.”

“You’re in no condition to fight me.”

“I killed a prowler, I think you’re no problem.”

His eyes glow. “I think perhaps you’re right. But for now, you’re at my mercy.”

“Kiss me again.” You lift your hands and bring them toward his face, brushing a finger over the bottom of his scar. “And don’t stop this time. I’ll ask my questions later.”

“Of course, witch.”

Yoongi’s kiss is hungrier now. Desperate. Full of all the questions he never asked and you meet him with equal fire. You don’t care that you’ve beat the odds and lived. You don’t care about anything else but the weight of Yoongi straddling your waist and the feel of his velvet soft skin beneath your hands.

Every inch of him is warm, filled with the heat of the hunter’s fire that burns through every member of the Conclave. This hunter burns brighter than the rest, though. Warmth blooms where your fingers press over his stomach and chest, ridding him of his shirt. Fire burns where you grab his arms, arching into him as his teeth skim your throat.

You’ve never felt this in sync with someone, bodies twining together like you were made for one another. Yoongi’s hand is scorching as his touch ghosts down your body, his touch light and teasing as he lowers his mouth to your hardened nipple, catching it and giving a gentle suck.

Honey-dipped moans slip from your mouth. Yoongi’s mouth is wet-hot against your skin, tongue laving hungrily as his hand seeks the heat between your legs. Your thighs open for him easily, giving Yoongi access to the dripping mess of your folds. He curses when his fingers slide between your slit, gathering slick to circle his digits around your clit.

“Fuck,” you hiss, hips twitching. “Don’t bother. I can take you now. Want you now.”

“I told you that you were at my mercy.” You summon your magic, rattling his shelves. Yoongi leans over to your neglected nipple and plucks it with his teeth, making you squeal and shiver, pleasure rattling you. “Fine,” he agrees. “Greedy witch. Should have known.”

“Not greedy,” you shoot back as Yoongi sits up and sheds his pants. Your hands follow him, tracing the faint scars on his stomach, pressing against the muscle of his tapered hips. “I’ve waited for months for you to do something. To say something.”

“I’m not good at that.”

You hum. “It takes me dying for you to take initiative?”

“A lesson hard-learned and never to be repeated.”

Yoongi’s cock is hard, bobbing heavily as he shuffles you under him and presses your thighs open for him. The brown tip is sticky with precum, his shaft long and thick enough to make your cunt ache for him more.

“Nice cock,” you tease as he pumps himself, hand gliding and spreading his precum down his shaft.

He grunts. “Can’t wait to feel this fucking pussy,” he mutters, leaning forward and pressing the tip to your entrance. You make a breathy sound, eyes fluttering shut at the pleasure-pained stretch. “Think you can take it, witch?”

“Yes.”

Yoongi sinks in and you second-guess your statement for a second, but the stretch of his cock pressing you open feels good. Deliriously so, your back arching as he bottoms out. You feel him in your gut, deeper than anything ever before and you whine as he draws his hips back before snapping them forward, punching the breath from your lungs.

He sets a deep, hard pace. You grip his biceps, feeling the muscle flex in his arms. Every part of you is on fire, lit up from the closeness of your bodies as Yoongi leans down and melds your mouths together, continuing to fuck you so deep you know you’ll never forget what it feels like.

Every brush of his cock against your g-spot drives you mad. Every whisper of your name - your name, not witch - makes you shudder. His tongue is hungrily as it brushes against yours, his moans deep and throaty as your pussy grips him tight.

“Fuck,” he pants, sliding a hand down your body to grab your thigh and hoist your leg higher. It changes the angle, making his stroke somehow deeper. Your eyes roll back and your head digs into the mattress as you fist at the sheets. “You can fucking take it.”

“Keep going.”

“As if i could fucking stop.”

You never want him to stop. Fucking you, kisses you, teasing you, shadowing you as you take on the world. You want every part of your life colored with Yoongi. You want him to be a part of your mornings, your fights, your weaknesses, your strengths. You want to rile him up, needle him with little insults that get him going. Tease him to make him laugh and share that secret smile.

Every moment has led to this. You don’t know how you never saw this outcome, here with him, crying out his name as your orgasm crests into an unstoppable force. When you come around him, it’s with his name in your mouth and so much need for him in your heart that you think you might explode with energy for a second time.

After, when you’re wrapped in Yoongi and you feel his hunter’s skin blaze against you, sweat-slick skin pressed close, you think that finally, he’ll ask those questions. You’ll give him answers.

“Don’t do that ever again, witch,” Yoongi warns. “I will follow you into death.”

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